The Cause of her return

The Cause of Her Return

 NOTE: NO PHOTOS IN THIS BLOG; ALL PICTURES ARE ADVERTISEMENTS.

Genre - Fiction

Sub-genre - Comedy

Length of blog - 1600 words

“What should I put the leave down as?” Rahida said.

"While in Mussoorie, I am not going to bond with Ruskin. With James maybe but not with Ruskin", Sudha said.

“You need to make a quick decision. Prolonging it hurts more”, Rahida continued into her handphone, "I am putting your reason for leave as 'Men Problems'."

Both laughed. The line got cut off. The gist of the call was that Sudha was not reporting to work for another five days. The assumptions of Rahida and Sudha about Sudha’s ‘Men Problems’ would differ like the north and south pole. Rahida assumed Sudha was not able to get a man and was in Mussoorie to get away from it all.  While in reality, Sudha was running away from one man into the hands of another. The next Rahida would get to hear about her colleague would be after a week; next working Monday. And what Sudha transpires through is a story that would amuse Rahida as well as the reader. This was the stuff - the office water-cooler gossip - Rahida loved.

Rahida entered the office next Monday morning Sudha was supposed to re-join work. She knew a story was in store for her today. She was in time to see Sudha enter her cabin.

“Where’s Frankie?” Sudha continued, “I need to tell you guys something.”

Frankie was Sudhas’s bum chum, both being from the same chemical engineering college. They were into all the rascal parts together since graduation –at least in parts -if not majority - of their journey of being at one of the upcoming polymer companies.

“Smoking- zone”, Rahida messaged Frankie.

Rahida and Sudha left for the smoking zone. Frankie greeted them in a few minutes. They all ordered a glass of tea from the chai-wallah.

“Sameer held out a board, ‘Sudha’, upside down”, Sudha said.

“Why are you back?” Frankie said, she seemed to know Sudha’s story.

“That’s what I’m trying to tell you”, Sudha said.

Rahida felt left out. She was happy to be part of the three musketeer’s clan they had become. But sometimes Frankie and Sudha were Laurel-and-Hardy-esque.

“I wanted to run into his arms over the feeble trellis in between us”, Sudha said.

Rahida awed at the Hyperbole.

“He bade me towards the exit where he received me in his van. I loaded my luggage onto the back seat of the vehicle, and we drove off”. Sudha said.

“How was the weather?” Rahida said to assure them of her presence.

“So you decided that Nitin is the right guy?” Frankie said.

“Yes, do you want to hear me out?” Sudha said a little bit annoyed.

Rahida felt she was on another planet. Firstly, because she was in a topic where bum chums tell their hangover stories, as it were, also Sudha from having no guys in her life to now having two of them.

“Oh yes the view! Chilled breeze blew over me through the open window. He offered me a jacket from the back. His gloved hand on the gear-stick was to die for. He slowed the van onto the side of the road. I tell you the warmth of the jacket couldn’t numb my mind”, Sudha said addressing the remaining two.

“I’m after all supposed to be married to Nitin”, Sudha said addressing Rahida.

Rahida was over the world for the new information, it meant she was accepted and her thoughts of them being the three musketeers was coming true.

“I was frustrated by the routine married life in Delhi. I was  happy – but I wanted more. Maybe I was being greedy. But it’s good to be selfish”, Sudha said and nodded her head.

Rahida wondered about Sudha’s libido. She was married, yet had recently gone on a tryst with a guy in taxi. Sudha had met the guy on Tinder, and then they had picked up quarts of whisky mixed it in a plastic water bottle and had drunk the concoction riding all night in different taxies.

“But did it end in sex?” Rahida could hear Victoria ask. 

Victoria was Rahida’s best mate out of work. Rahida often laid all of the office gossip onto Victoria.

“Only then would it be called cheating”, Victoria had said, “Drinking all night with a male friend is not a sin.”

Victoria and Rahida debated on their respective office gossips.

“Sudha needs to be yearned for, and Nitin is stuck in-between his sick mother and her”, Frankie said to get the story going.

Anyone of them would get a call on their ‘office’ cell phones and this would end abruptly.

“It was difficult to be alone with him – Nitin being the sole earning member of the family”, Sudha continued, “No time for me.”

Rahida nodded.

“I made my decision after mulling on it for over a month. Only Frankie knew. And then I called you to inform I was not coming to work last Monday”, Sudha continued, “And you gave some valuable advice to make a quick decision”

Rahida pondered on her advice but recollected that she had given it to her thinking that Sudha was lonely and not having two hotties and married to one. Rahida had started imagining Nitin and Sameer; Nitin with a slender model look, while Sameer on the bulky yet fairer like the snow clad Mussoorie mountains.

Sudha hugged Rahida for the advice.

“On the day I left. I decided that I would go to Mussoorie and make a decision fast”, Sudha said.

Rahida wondered whether this was what Sudha meant about the James and Ruskin metaphor.

“Two weeks is fast enough”, Frankie said. “Did you tell Sameer you had left all of Nitin in Delhi.”

“No, before I could, his lips were on mine. In the chilled weather I couldn’t feel much through my numb lips, or maybe I was distracted”, Sudha continued , “He lived out of a let-out on a slope facing the east. During sunset the sky would be aglow with the orange reflection of the ocean cast on the snow clad peaks. His place felt bare – a woman’s touch was required to liven up the space. I spent the days tidying up the room and noticed Sameer roam about in a singlet in the chill temperature. He was used to it.”

“Lady fast-forward”, Frankie said.

“At night, Sameer kissed me and when things became a little heated, I told him I was on my periods. Five nights later, Sameer had asked me to bed early. I knew tonight was the night and I was not in the mood. The decision in my head not yet being made”, Sudha continued, “I wanted to know him better and begin a courtship rather than to have a Ruskin Bond book in my face. I wanted a James Bond who would be in my face"

“I had come to this hill station to sort my thoughts out”, Sudha continued, “I got the time to think. And I understood that I was looking to bear fruit”

And then when we were doing it, I sat on his penis in an awkward position and it broke!” Sudha said.

“Ahhhh”, Frankie said.

“I broke it”, Sudha said.

“What crap”, Rahida said.

Rahida’s novel which lay at the base of her handbag did not have such drama.

“Little did I know that this would alter my decision and help me make my mind up. The altercation was simple”, Sudha said.

“And what did happen of poor Sameer?” Rahida asked.

“His flaccid penis oozing blood out the one-eye that it has. We applied ice all night until the bleeding stopped. Sameer did not get sleep. We visited the doctor the next day. I had to drive the poor fellow to the hospital but did not enter the premises. I stayed in the car”

“The doctor told him that there was a rupture in the urethra. It would heal in its own time. So, I entered the train back to Delhi after a week of handling Sameer’s daily affairs”, Sudha said

As soon as she could be alone in her air-conditioned cabin - Rahida was on the phone with Victoria sharing the dick-breaking story.

“So the third musketeers has lived to tell another tale”, Victoria continued, “And Sudha decided that a life without sex was what she did not want.”

“Whether Sameer would be fit as a fiddle for her to twiddle it around her middle was not the answer to her predicament”, Rahida continued, “But the fact that, she was not paying attention during sex and sat on Sameer’s penis in that awkward manner had made her realize that, her heart was back in Delhi” Rahida said.

“So Nitin has accepted her back?” Victoria said.

“He did not know she had left him. Her father-in-law came to pick her up after her ‘vacation’”, Rahida said.

“Oh yeah so that’s cool from Sudha’s point of view. Why do such episodes not happen to us?”. Victoria continued, “Wow, what a story, it even has a sex scene, and the scene cannot be deleted as the action sequence on a penis needs to be present in the story."

“There are a lot of sex-scenes between our Laurel and Hardy pair”, Rahida continued.

“Yeah I remember the one where Frankie and her first boyfriend used to do it in a room in front of his fish tank and later found the water murky. They surmised the fish were getting excited and ejaculating too”, Victoria continued, “When are we going to lose our virginity?”

Rahida laughed. They cut the call.

--- THE END ---

A Place called Bumtore

 

A Place called Bumtore

 NOTE: NO PHOTOS IN THIS BLOG; ALL PICTURES ARE ADVERTISEMENTS.

Genre - Fiction

Sub-genre - Comedy

Length of blog - 1800 words

                “There is a place called Bumtore in your Excel sheet?” Selim continued, "I checked on Google, no error in spelling, maybe the pronunciation is bimtorey, or bumtire or boomtaur”

                “It’s pronounced - 'bum-tore'”, Thawatchai continued, “I know coz it’s my hometown.”

                Selim looked at his friend from the navigator seat of the car.

                “And why am I hearing about this now”, Selim said.

                 "It is just an ancestral home used once in year by a handful of my relatives, that is if they care to visit", Thawatchai said.

                They were off for a weeklong coastal road trip. They had hired a car and would be stopping at the various pre-scheduled spots.

                “I got to hand it to you”, Selim continued, “Using Microsoft Excel to formulate the plan.”

                “We use excel at our offices to help us work better, why not use it to better our personal lives as well”, Thawatchai said.

                 On Thawatchai’s coaxing, Selim had taken half day leave and readied himself, picked his bags and reached the car rental place before 4 p.m.

                “We beat the weekend traffic out of the city. That’s a good start to our vacay”, Thawatchai continued, “I thought you would be late, and a miniscule part thought that you would cancel.”

                “Nah! I am too lazy a person to give up on a holiday”, Selim said.

                They headed westwards into the sunset and began to recce for a hotel. They setup their alarms for daybreak and left southwards. They decided to take all the roads that would be hugging the coastline. However, they had to move inland to crossover an upcoming creek.

                “That is the only bridge that takes us far from the west coast”, Selim said.

                "Yes, the next three creeks we would be crossing via ferries”, Thawatchai said.

                “I did not know that this was a trip to your native place”, Selim said.

                “No. Bumtore is not our destination, but we would be spending a night there”, Thawatchai said.

                Selim was on the phone checking the excel sheet.

                By afternoon they had reached their second destination. A lazy white-sand beach greeted them. A fishing village accompanied with a marina. Here they played it by ear and got lunch at one of the fishermen’s houses. The village was trying to attract tourists without trying to be too commercial about it. And they found themselves being guided towards a home-stay. A huge hall with many bunkbeds in it constituted their stay. They were lucky that it was only the two of them in it, that too on a weekend. They were informed that the place had just been vacated by a gang of bikers. The townsfolk showed them a plethora of things that could be done in their village which included, boar hunting at night, shell collecting, volleyball with the local boys in the evening, help with fishing lines out in the ocean on one of the trawlers, etc.

                A hearty breakfast the next day and they were off.  

                “Seemed like we could have stayed out our entire seven days there”, Selim said.

                “Yeah, a wonderful little nook”, Thawatchai said.

                The sea view on their right was breath-taking. They stopped whenever they felt they wanted to give justice to the view. Lunch was at another beach – this time the beach had dark sand. Tea at another beach. Their journey to their night stay was atop a hill.

                “Can’t wait to see the view in the morning”, Selim said.

                They had reached the place after sundown. The enquiries at the hotels near the bottom of the hill had eaten into the daylight. The view of the waves being formed in the middle of the sea, the next morning was as awesome as they had imagined the previous night. The view to V-shaped beach below was obstructed by the coconut tree tops and the red-tiled roofs. But they could see all the way from the horizon to the waves forming way out in the middle of nowhere and rolling towards land.

                “Next stop, our first ferry”, Thawatchai said.

                There were not more than a handful of cars plying to the other side in the ferry. Mostly commercial vehicles. It was Monday morning after all. They passed many fishing villages, some small, some set away from the main road, all gaudily coloured. They went through one - the narrow roads of a fishing village not meant for cars - when Selim read the map wrong. A couple of dead ends too. Their oath of sticking to the coast, always their motivator.

                By lunch they had reached the next ferry crossing. A quick snack and the journey continued. A few more beaches and they were settled in another home-stay. This time it was the local priest’s son’s house. That was realised by the singing that went late into the night.

                “Yes, he looks very noble, but he was accompanied by the chicks of the village, dude”, Selim said.

                “Too bad we are not religious”, Thawatchai said.

                Both laughed as they finished their breakfast and carried onwards.

                “This is my favourite spot”, Thawatchai said. They had stopped passed a small stream. And Thawatchai had led Selim off the road into a thicket. The vegetation covered a cove formed where the sea water met the fresh water. Shells rolled In the sand.

                “On it’s like a secret mini-beach”, Selim said.

                A couple of beers later, they ate lunch at the next spot they could.

                “We will stay at a place one hour from here, but we won't stop there. For no, we will continue south to the thrid ferry and check out the earliest boat we can take, as it would save us time tomorrow” Thawatchai said.

A dubious factory loomed in front of them. It was on the other side of the river. They had passed the inn where they would spend the night and were headed into the industrious looking town which included the jetty from where they would catch their ferry. They understood the first one next morning was at 6 a.m.

                “Let’s check and see if we get a good place here, it would save us a couple of hours of travel time tomorrow morning”, Selim said.

                A couple of stops and they summarised that this was not their kind of place.

                “Were those hotels or make-out places?”, Thawatchai said.

                “Hardworking salted men need those services”, Selim said.

                They both gladly did the back and forth away from the brothel-like inns. The next day, after their ferry ride, they faced the factory that seemed to have made this area into what it was. They left the gloom behind onto the last stretch to Bumtore.

                “Did you notice, that this could be any country having a coastline. Rivers running into the ocean at periodic intervals, the beaches close to the rivers have black soil, while the ones away from the silt, having white-sand. Hills with roads that seem to exit into the ocean, except to wind away into a fishing village”, Selim said.

                They reached Bumtore around lunch and booked themselves into a hotel close to the only entrance to the long beach.

                “No. I do not have any relatives still living here. Hence, we are staying in the hotel”, Thawatchai continued, “My ancestral house is way south on the outskirts of Bumtore. I will show it to you when we are passing it tomorrow”

                They were in their beach clothes, heading for the beach for an evening swim.

                “The south end of the beach is a gated community while the north is encased by Hilton Hotel group of Hotels. So, this is the only entrance”, Thawatchai said.

                On the beach they headed northwards, away from the throng of locals at the south end. The beach was flat except for a few car sized rocks at intermittent intervals.

                “Don’t you find the name peculiar – Bumtore”, Selim said.

                “The joke grows on you”, Thawatchai continued, “I’ll tell you what I have found peculiar- these rocks are peculiar. I have come to this beach many a time, during low tides too, these rocks seem to be placed here without any correlation to the surrounding terrain”

                After a few more paces, they entered the water where it seemed like a good secluded spot. They saw two bikini clad women jump over the short Hilton fence onto the beach and head their way. Soon both the groups were ogling each other up.

                “Go and speak to the tall one”, Selim continued, “I have dibs on the short dark one.”

                The weather had turned breezy and dark clouds seemed to gather on top of them. Neither the girls nor the boys in their flirtations noticed the gathering of storm clouds coming in from the sea. Until there was loud clap and it began to pour. Both the groups looked at each other.

                “Count the seconds after you see the lightning” Selim said.

                “Dude look the clouds on top of us seemed to have formed a circle”, Thawatchai said.

                Two more thunder claps without any difference in time between the lightning strikes and the thunder, made Selim and Thawatchai get out of the water. They saw the girls follow suit. In the distance, the crowded south end of the beach was empty. They walked fast not wanting to run like sheep in front of the two girls.

                “Lets head for the Hilton hotel”, Thawatchai said.

                “Trees dude, lightning strikes the trees first”, Selim said.

                The rain was relentless. They crossed the first set of rocks. Another two more to go before they could exit the beach. They walked faster. The storm clouds had curled overhead and were rumbling on. As if waiting to let out another lash of lightning.

                “Badagboodoog”, said the clouds with a flash of lightning.

                Selim saw Thawatchai looking down at the sand. Selim looked around to see where the flash was. No luck! Everything was hazy and the light seemed to come from all around. The girls behind them too, had avoided the woods and were following them to the exit.

                “Do you know how glass is made?” Selim said.

                Thawatchai did not look up from the sand.

              “Sand when heated forms glass”, Selim continued, “And when lightning strikes people standing on sand, these rocks are formed. You found these rocks peculiar, right? Now you know why?”

                Thawatchai walked away from Selim towards the woods, while Selim laughed his anxiety into the rain. Selim tried to get close to Thawatchai

                “Blood has made the glass brown in colour”, Selim continued his laugh, “Tomorrow people would simply see a new set of rocks.”

 Thawatchai zigzagged away from Selim, as if the silly rock-becoming joke would come true. Or perhaps He did not want any part in Selim’s mockery of mother nature at her wildest.

                At long last, they reached the beach exit and the boys went straight to their hotel room.

                “Now I know the reason why this place is called Bumtore”, Selim said.

 

--- THE END ---

For the Loss of a Match

 

For the Loss of a Match

 

NOTE: NO PHOTOS IN THIS BLOG; ALL PICTURES ARE ADVERTISEMENTS.

Genre - Fiction

Sub-genre - Comedy

Length of blog - 1100 words

                Nicky met Lizam in the years after passing out of college through a common friend. He came to know Lizam as one of the best story tellers in his friend's circle. A wonderful orator who could captivate his audience with his descriptives.

                “I entered the room to see my brother sitting and watching the TV”, Lizam continued, “He was without a shirt”

                Lizam started to tell a story. He raised his hands over his head and folded them behind his head and rested his head on the folded hands.

                “He was sitting like this”, Lizam continued,” As if he was relaxing, then I noticed his underarm was red. Only one underarm was red.”

                “What had happened was that the girl he is going around with had tried to wax his armpit hair”, Lizam said.

                All of us laughed.

                “And what about the other underarm?” Nicky said.

                “He wasn’t that madly in love with her to let her do the other one”, Lizam continued,” Those were Shabnam’s exact words.”

                Shabnam was Lizam’s younger brother by one year.

                “Mind you, Shabnam was smiling before I entered the room and looking at that smile that did not fade throughout our conversation, I can write and give it to you that he will marry her and only her”, Lizam said.

                Nicky held out a napkin from the bar table and Lizam penned down something. Soon Nicky heard the  news of Shabnam’s wedding. One day prior to the wedding, Nicky reached the wedding house soon after breakfast to lend a helping hand in the wedding preparations. Nicky was all too familiar with the great Indian weddings. How the family relatives, friends, near and dear ones would start the celebrations one or two days prior to the wedding.

The names all over the country would differ – Haldi, Mehendi, Roce, Saivar, Sangeet, Umbrache pani, almajevon, etc. – but the premise the same; to party. Haldi, Mehendi, Sangeet were terms used by non-Catholics of the country for the rehearsal dinner which may or may not include the engagement ceremony. Haldi in Hindi translated to turmeric – turmeric powder mixed in water applied to the bride and groom’s skin in separate private parties in their respective homes. Southern Indian weddings would add sandalwood powder - sandalwood being a native tree - to the Haldi mixture. The Haldi ceremony followed by a Mehendi ceremony which could transpire to the second and third day too. Mehendi ceremony constitutes for the bride and her posse being tattooed with henna. The already yellow from the Haldi bride’s hands and feet are stained orange by the crushed leaves of the henna plant. The groom’s side can have a Sangeet ceremony – Sangeet translating to Music – so a musical dance night ensues.

Likewise the Indian west-coast Catholics apply coconut milk to the bride and grooms in separate private parties. Whereas, the East Indian Catholics call it Saivar where the wedding parties – in their separate localities – have a procession to all the wells in their area and collect water from the wells and leaves from the mango tree. The latter giving the name Umbrache pani –Umbra translating to Mango tree and pani translating to water. The bride and grooms then bathe in this water. The groom has a shave too. The East Indian weddings were the most fun. Nicky loved the trumpeters who accompanied the wedding parties all around the village.

Nicky referred to the live band as trumpets of joy – because the dance included raising one hand above the head and shaking the hips in merriment. Today Nicky knew there would be no trumpets of joy, but, would include the common factor to all the above dinner parties – alcohol.

The beers were flowing since the time he had reached the groom’s apartment building. Nicky opted to lay out the decorations on the terrace where all would gather and then helped in decorating the wedding car. After which he headed home for a late lunch before readying himself to go back for the Roce. Nicky was tired of the alcohol. He was feeling hollow at the lack of a partner – that special someone who would understand him. But alas! He was without a match. He cursed his luck for whenever he landed up dating girls, thier frequency never matched.

“And then there is the day after the wedding where the bride goes back to her maternal home to visit her parents”, Nicky continued, ”Again the names differ – portoney, paspatni, mooh-dikhai, portapan, khallijevon etc. – more alcohol”

Nicky was making conversation with the guy standing next to him at the wedding house. He was trying to find solace in the routine of the various marriage ceremonies, but found none. Instead he found an egg enter his hand. Nicky did not like this part – where after all the relatives applied coconut milk to Shabnam and seated next to him, Lizam and one of Shabnam’s close friends – the rest would apply raw eggs, beer, ketchup, whatsoever viscous liquids they could get their hands upon. The three of them would have to endure this barrage of uneasiness.

Nicky felt it was a waste of a sanctimonious ritual, plus God forbid, what if some skin allergy be formed. Tomorrow the groom had to get married for Chris sakes! Nicky applied the coconut milk as soon as the relatives were done and before the mischief started, he headed for the terrace. He handed over the egg to another friend. On the way up, he remembered his birthday – how cake was applied maliciously to his face -so much so that he had to visit a specialist to remove the fungus growing in his ear; from the two-week old birthday cake in his ear.

Nicky shuddered at the thought as he entered onto the decorated terrace and reached for the cigarette packet in his pocket. He would have a  smoke and would wait for the crowd to pour in after their lowly endeavours downstairs. He searched his pockets and realised he did not have a match. He looked around and found himself to be the only person on the terrace. He trudged back two floors down the stairs to the grooms flat. As he entered the flat, the wall of people in front of him seemed to part. There was a cheer as Shabnam and Lizam in all their dirtiness had had enough from the onslaught of the various viscous fluids and were running towards the crowd. Nicky who was unaware of the rushing brothers got himself caught in a slimy embrace.

                They had pre-decided that they would do that; catch the miscreants and teach them a lesson by rubbing their gooey bodies on their clean clothes. And Nicky for the loss of a match got stuck in the crossfire.

 

--- THE END ---