The evening sky saw a group of vultures sitting on a lone tree wrapped up in a peculiarly intense discussion.
'The guardians of the death. That's what we should call ourselves.' Vulture on top branch chimed in. The vultures were looking for a new name for their tribe. 'No! We don't guard the dead, we eat the dead. We eat dead things that no one eats.'
The vulture perched beside him replied. 'We clean up the mess, we are better than the rest.'
And finally, they decided on the name - The guardians of the land. .
It was the best shot. The camera captured the spontaneity with ease. The black and white checkered tiles complimented the turquoise walls. The mortal was captured right in the middle of the door heading somewhere. The picture was perfect. The reality, not so much. Stopping time to collect the right shot meant the inconvenience of starting the time again. It took considerable energy to reboot the space-time continuum. Energy from the living breathing object. Energy from the living mortal walking who was captured heading somewhere. But art is worth it. And so is the perfect shot..
Lessons from parents are meant to be ignored and remain forgettable. When the bottle washed ashore, the ruins of the shipwreck and last night's wild party remained unforgettable in the minds of the seven survivors. The rowdy teenagers were drunk celebrating their friend's birthday. The boat party went horribly wrong when they played with aerial fireworks and a dangerous dare. The seven survivors were seriously injured. One of the drunk kids wasn't lucky. The water swallowed him eagerly. "Don't get into trouble," the parents often said. When mistakes turn into deaths, lessons remain unforgettable. .
Saahil took his Royal Enfield and decided to ride on a stormy night. His earplugs were singing 'Highway to Hell'. When AC/DC runs on maximum volume, it doesn't matter whether it rains or not. Rainy days on highways always see accidents. Streetlights and headlights turn invisible. They're not always vehicular accidents, though. Sometimes, these accidents are of other kinds. The kind Saahil found sitting on his passenger seat. The kind that appeared out of nowhere, whispering 'come'. The kind that snatches the victim, from the living world..
She inhaled deeply. Thousands of thoughts rumbled inside her shouting "Loser! Your marriage is over, plus you got fired. Feel ashamed! No one wants you." Her mind wandered to the regrets and the wrongs. And then, she breathed out. Inner peace, she realised, is damn hard.
She inhaled again, a gush of wind filled her lungs, soothing waves tried touching her. Calmness engulfed the air as she opened her eyes. The serene beach gleamed like silver and a crow came closer. The loud voice was still strong inside, but she realised it could be tamed..
Sister Julie asked, 'Is this the painting where...'
"I told you, I'm an artist! How am I supposed to bring the painting alive? Without it, how do we collect donations? I have to paint!" Sister Agatha replied.
"It's marvellous, Sister Agatha, will you teach me, to paint... like you?'
The older nun looked at the younger nun with compassion and said, "Yes, of course. But first, we need to find someone with a pure soul. Someone like Brother Quinton.'.
Manohar found two white flowers on the ground. He would've picked them up, but his back was in pain. He would've taken them to his wife, and she would have smiled the brightest smile he would have ever seen. But today was different. He couldn't pick up the flowers because of his bad back. Because carrying her all the way from the village was tiring. Because in a fit of rage, he punched her so hard it dislocated her neck. Because the excruciating pain of his back blended with the pain of losing the love of his life..
"When I returned from tirth yatra, my house was locked. I had no key. My family abandoned me." Shamsher Singh took a powerful whiff from a local tobacco stick, puffed out smoke with a deep breath. "Now I work as a hotel cleaner. The owner gives me food to eat and a bed to sleep. But most importantly he gives me my fix," he smiled at his cigarette. "So what's your story?" he asked Bhavani, a 64-year-old lady with a suitcase. She wiped her tears. Can I try this? She asked, looking at the pack of cigarettes.
"You are getting predictable, all your stories sound same."
"What can I do, my life's boring."
"Do something about it."
"Like what? Get away from my home, and travel endlessly to the corners of the world?! Is this how you think my stories will get interesting? You sound selfish, and unresponsible, quite unlike you."
"I was only critiquing your work. But your plan sounds good too."
The Angel relished the hot tea famous for it's addicting taste offered by the Demon friend, hugged, said goodbye and left the gates of Hell with a traveling backpack.
"We are one, you and me, but I had to move, move around and distance my being so that I could feed you, my other half. I have to feed what you need. You need love and affection. You need blood and bones. And I am ready like never before to feed you, my love. I will watch you flourish, as you touch the sky." 65-year-old Sitaram was talking to his beloved tree, standing on the sun kissed yellow field. A muffled crying voice was heard. It came from under the ground beside the tree..
The silver shiny star was shining on top of a tree. Draped in the golden tiny balls of the chain, the Christmas tree lit up the deranged, albeit a beautiful room which smelled of sulphur and 4 bleeding bodies. The bell rang, there was a happy chatter outside, guests waiting for the party. The young demon smiled, it didn't know that to possess, one needs the body alive. Now no need to be sorry for the tiny massacre, it thought, practice makes perfect. The bell rang again. The door got unlocked. Merry Christmas, the demon smiled..
"But I am older than you!"
"Only 5 years older, I am not a kid, at 40, no one is a kid. Think about it will you, we've known each other for more than 3 years now. Also, you are looking beautiful today."
"It's my grandmotherâ€™s dress. She gave it to me when I left Rajasthan for Mumbai. Now Iâ€™ve got to go. Work to do." As she left, Devashankar yelled standing beside his Ganpati creations, "Okay, but we are meeting at 8 today, right?" "Yes." Bhurki replied then left with a shy smile and a cool sway.
Annoyed that no other auto was available, in a scorching summer heat Radha saw a yellow auto. But the driver was sleeping inside. She went up to him and screeched, "It's an emergency! Please take me to Sagar Nagar." He didn't wake up. Every time, this trick used to work, but not today. She pushed him. He tumbledÂ down. She got scared and yelled. This time, it was an emergency. The auto driver had an heart attack while he wasÂ sleeping.Â .