The Lost World of the Dog

 Don’t get me wrong - I love the Enchanted Forest. It serves as a nice little cozy home. Our magic remains undefeated in keeping it hidden from the rest of the world. I have never seen any intruder stomp into our Forest. However, the Elders in the Forest keep telling us kids about Hunters – that we must keep away from them, and how dangerous they are, and how we shall be killed if they spot us, and… you get it. Thus insist the Elders. “Don’t be fooled by the innocent-looking Hunter. You may assume them to be adorable. But my grandpa had witnessed how a Hunter had killed another in a fight. It was most brutal. There was blood all around. More importantly, it was against our principle of Peace,” Elder Belfer had told us the other night. I had a rather sleepless night after that storytelling session.

Let me tell you something more about the Hunters. Adorable is an understatement for them. They are hairless apes who usually mind their business. Now, I am a young child. But I have heard how the Hunters evolved from bigger-sized hairy apes. They climbed down their trees, made homes in caves, and began hunting animals (and yes, each other, if you believe Elder Belfer). Hence, Hunters. Told you. Nothing quite exciting there compared to us Elves!

Hunters, like their bodies, have tiny lifespans. I read a storybook about how quickly a Hunter dies – a span of just 30 years. That’s like a blink of an eye compared to the lifespans of 300,000 years for us Elves. Sure, we also grow up to a height of 30 feet. As a 40,000-year-old kid, I am already 14 feet tall.

Now let me tell you a secret - I am not one of those nice kids. I mean, I usually am. But I have got a naughty side to me. Which kid doesn’t, right? So when I was slightly younger, I think around the 25,000-year mark, I went on a little adventure. Again, which kid doesn’t have his secret tricks?

I remember that evening clearly. Bunky and I were done with our little play of throwing pebbles in the river. But it was a little earlier than usual. Bunky was not feeling well so I was left to go home early. But I didn’t. Instead, I muttered the magical words and stepped out of the Enchanting Forest.

As luck would have it, I was immediately amidst Hunters. I was not surrounded by them in a bad way though. They did not attack me. They kept looking at me – a few had stones in their hands, others had arrows. Of course, I could simply stomp on them but that’s not what the principle of Peace suggests. After a brief awkward silence, what caught my eye was something tinier than the Hunters. A dog. It had a rope made of twigs around its neck with the other end of the rope in a Hunter’s hand.

I immediately fell in love with the little thing. I bent lower and began petting his head. The dog turned around a bit – suggesting me to pet it some more. I immediately picked it up and let its soft head brush against my cheek. The dog looked at me and we both smiled. The Hunters murmured something to each other and returned to their business of whatever Hunter-y things they were doing. I sat down under a tree and kept playing with the dog. This was so much more fun than throwing stones with Bunky.

The next day, I stepped out of my home earlier than my decided play time with Bunky. As soon as I reached the river, I jumped into the Hunter world. It did not disappoint. The Hunters were less surprised than my last visit and the dog had welcomed me with a wonderful hug. I kept giggling the whole time!

This continued for a week. On my last visit, the dog sat in my arms visibly scared. I saw two Hunter groups fighting among themselves. I looked around to see a few Hunters killed by stone wounds while a few had arrows stuck in them. The dryer lands made me realize that the Hunters were fighting over food. When I returned to the Enchanted Forest, I was scared to return to the Hunter land again. What if they hurt me while they fought?

Sadly, my adventures weren’t to last for long. Bunky and his mom told my mom that I had stopped coming at the riverside – a sheer lie. I used to go there but only to step out of the Enchanted Forest to meet the dog. Mom got a whiff that I was up to something and sealed my magic abilities.

It’s been a few days to that incident though. I have grown up by 15,000 years and mom trusts me not to take a misstep. So here I am! At the riverside. Surely, the Hunters wouldn’t mind a visit from me. Surely, I will just step into their forests, and greet them while they go about with their stones and arrows. Surely, I will spend some time playing with a Hunter’s dog!  

Excitedly, I utter the magic words and step out of the Enchanted Forest. In such a short time, Hunter’s world has changed quite a lot. It’s hot. There are very few trees. A huge cart on wheels driven by a Hunter almost runs over me. I look around for a dog but there aren’t any. I am scared. This isn’t the adventure I was looking forward to. I mutter the magic words and run back to the Enchanted Forest. It was a nightmare out there. 

That Saturday Night

The only thrill about wearing the white uniform on Saturdays is that it means a shorter time at school is followed by a Sunday. Not that I hate being at school – it is fun to discuss the last day’s TV with my friends. Though cricket is our usual talking point, we also enjoy discussing TV shows - especially the Hindi-dubbed re-runs of old English comedies. The collective crush among us boys was Brenda from Bumpy Road. Though these talks made school bearable, this Saturday had turned out to be the worst.

Our tuition teacher had freed us just so close to school hours that we had to cycle in a rush to make it inside the school gate in time. But then, my old school shoes had proved so useless on my run up the school stairs. I had hurt my knee after a stumble. That meant just watching my friends play during the games slot while I sat on the sidelines with a dressed-up knee.

Then, our Science teacher had distributed our Unit Test answer sheets. While both my desk mates had scored more than 15 out of 20, I was at a dismal 11. Could this day please end?

At home, mom saw my hurt knee and scolded me for being so careless. But, in the evening, she gave me a plate full of grapes while I watched TV.

“Did you get the remaining Unit Test answer sheets?” she asked while I was lost in a TV show episode.

“No, the class teacher said we’ll get them on Monday,” I had lied effortlessly.

We must get our answer sheets signed by our parents. Going through Grade 1 to Grade 10, one thing I have learned is to delay the news of a bad score as much as possible. It helps in making the weekend a good one. I was wondering if mom would let me watch TV till late tonight.

“No point waiting for the other papers. Your scores in this Unit Test have been terrible. From tomorrow, wake up early and start studying for the next exam. This injury won’t let you play anything anyway,” mom had my Sunday planned already.

I hated this Saturday. No, I hated this life! I switched the TV off and stood next to the window. My fascination for watching the cars’ headlights as a kid had continued to this day. I loved how the cars raced by while the bikes stayed behind, and the pedestrians lost the race easily. In all my sadness, I wondered how wonderful it would be if, like a car, I could zoom past the upcoming Monday. Why just the Monday? I could zoom past the upcoming Unit Test as well. How amazing it would be to get past this entire phase of tests and education. Maybe I’ll be happier after 20 years. And happiest after 40 years? I may have smiled unknowingly at this distant happiness.

“Enough of daydreaming. I will serve you dinner soon. Study a bit, then go to bed,” I heard mom saying. She had stopped working as a math teacher after her marriage but that had not deterred her from being a disciplinarian at home. I realized how my studying made her happy and, honestly, that was my only incentive. But it was beginning to get tiring. I needed a break… or just a time leap.

After dinner, I got into bed and quickly finished muttering my prayers. My thoughts soon went to Brenda from Bumpy Road. How beautiful she was! My mind soon diverted to imagining her in an Indian outfit. She’d look so good in a peach-coloured kurti. And with this thought, I drifted into sleep.

A Little Hell-ping

I was never one to get excited about receiving gifts. I always thought they would be a massive inconvenience to the gift giver. Besides, in my twenty-six years of existence, I had never received anything worth getting excited about. From toddlerhood colouring books and teen years pens to twenties perfumes, all my gifts just told me how clueless people were when it came to gifting. I was quite unemotional about all my gifts. Until now.

Seated at my desk, I could not help but take turns staring at the note and the gift. The note simply said, “As requested. From S.” Could this be Shalin, my old roommate? Or maybe Suparn, my nephew? I had not received a gift in a long time now. Living alone in a city distant from my hometown, I was still at the mercy of my parents. And they had never cared to drop in a gift – just comfortable sending money to cover my expenses. Puzzled, I had unwrapped the shiny black wrapping paper and the gift had just rolled out on the table. A small black cauldron. ‘A free gift never hurts, as meaningless as it may seem,’ I thought as I kept the cauldron next to the other items on my desk – a cutesy cactus, a bobblehead Batman, and a prism paperweight. Sure, the cauldron was a total misfit but this was not the time to pay attention to my desk aesthetics.

With Christmas just a week away, today was the deadline for submitting the New Year special cartoon strip to Raman. But I was not too enthused about it. What was the point even? Raman got the credit for the strip, a New Year bonus and, of course, followers on social media. Meanwhile, all I got was peanuts. It was time to send that job application to that comic strip app startup, Comicoo. A job still meant getting peanuts but it came with getting rid of that terrible feeling of earning Raman free credit for my creativity. But then, a job would mean no freedom. Ugh, why does everything have to be a decision?

'To launch the sketching app or to compose the email,' – just as I was lost in this thought, I heard a gurgling sound. I looked around and realised that it was the cauldron. I picked it up and saw a dark liquid brewing inside it. The cauldron felt warm to the touch. A hissing sound accompanied the swirling liquid and I heard an incisive instruction, “Drink.”

I narrowed my eyes and kept staring at the shiny dark liquid. Should I really? What if this is all mischief? A decision to be made again. In sheer frustration, I gulped down the liquid in one swift swig. My throat immediately began to sting with a burning sensation. A violent bout of cough followed as I felt myself collapse off my chair. I was such an idiot… such a fool! My attempts at grabbing the table failed even as darkness clouded my eyes.

I opened my eyes with a struggle. Someone was working on a computer in the darkness of a room. He had his back to me and, so, obviously, could not see me. Curiosity made me approach his desk – one step at a time. The man looked lost on the screen. Another step. I saw that the man was busy on the sketching app. The ashtray full of cigarettes, the man’s skeletal build, and his frequent mutterings collectively pointed at the enormous stress that he was reeling under.

Another step and I recognised the workplace - the Comicoo office. I had been there just once – but its fresh airy interiors had now been replaced by humid, peeled walls. I looked at the man again. Then it dawned upon me. The droopy-shouldered, talking-to-self man was me.

Darkness loomed over me as I felt losing myself to time. As I opened my eyes again, I had to rub them to get a better sense of where I was. In my room. In the present.

Coming back to my senses, I immediately returned to the desk, completed the Christmas special sketch, and dashed it off to Raman. That Comicoo job spelled hell. As I closed the lid of my laptop, it all came back to me. 

The cauldron. The liquid. I realised, no… I remembered what the gift was. It was all thanks to indecisiveness, my companion since childhood. I ran back to the treasure stash of my younger days. It was a rusty old trunk that housed my past. I had to get rid of the heaps of comic books, hurrying to get my hands on what I was looking for.

And after a brief struggle, I found it – a letter that I had written years ago.

“To learn sketching or piano? I am so confyused Please tell me. All I want is the gift of making the right dicishon.”

I read the childish note again and hovered my eyes up to check the date. It was written exactly thirteen years ago. And then I saw it. A typo. The note was addressed, “Dear Satan…”

Leaving the Station

 A rough day at work. Correction – another rough day at work. Listening to stupid supervisors, directing the laborious labourers, and uploading everything on the sluggish system – this train journey was a break blessing from the hell that was my life of being a junior construction engineer.

As always, I was stuck at work for longer than expected and had to rush through the train station crowd. I had so dearly wanted to pick a Dhruv comic book on my way but then I would have surely missed the train. With a slight regret, I made my way to my seat – only to find the entire lower berth occupied by a family. “Uncle, this is my seat. Can you check your ticket once? I am sure there has been a mistake,” I said to the man who was busy eating a banana.

“Yes, it could be your seat. We will sit here for some time and, once the train starts, we will be on our way. Our seats are too crowded right now. Just let us finish our lunch,” he said calmly and took another bite of his banana. For lunch.

I sighed, looked around for a place to sit and found one on the side lower berth. I did not want to miss out on the fun of looking out at the neighbouring train when the train started moving – its slowness kept one guessing about which one was moving.

“Are you always this kind or just too silly to believe that they will leave?” In my eagerness to observe the trains, I had not noticed the girl sitting opposite to me. She continued reading her comic book even while I struggled to make sure that she was talking to me. It was a Nagraj comic book and I felt slightly jealous.

“They’ll leave, right?” I turned my gaze away from her to see the man take out his chappals, and get comfortable by folding his legs under him. The banana was in its last stage.

“Of course, they will. Once they reach their destination,” she replied as she turned a page, “Just ask them to leave. Unless you plan to sit on my seat for the entire journey, which, frankly, is out of the question,” she smiled.

“Can you guess which train is moving right now?” I asked her – as I saw the other train move, or was it ours that was leaving?

She looked at me oddly, narrowing her eyes as she shook her face, “Just look at the wheels?”

Instinctively, I saw our train’s wheels moving and thought, ‘What a killer of joy! The idea is not to look at the wheels.’ I saw the girl place her comic book, still open but face down, on her backpack as she stood up and left. I noticed that her backpack was exactly like mine, except for a little keychain of the Hulk dangling by the zip on its side pocket. What a character!

Meanwhile, my berth’s colonizer was collecting his family’s banana peels in a plastic bag and was shoving it under my berth. I returned to look out of the window – it was time to enjoy the backward flow of numbers on the poles near the station. 37… 36… 35…

“These ones?” I heard a man say as he pointed at the family. The girl, who had spoiled my guess-the-moving-train game gave a little nod, and the ticket checker immediately asked the occupant family to show their tickets. The banana guy tried to reason with him but, eventually, all of them stood up to leave. “Take your trash along,” said the girl as she got back to reading her Nagraj ka Badla. The man looked at her in anger, picked up the plastic bag, and shepherded his family away.

“That was well done,” I picked up my backpack, kept it on my now-empty berth and took my seat while smiling at the girl.

“You should have done that yourself. And you are welcome,” I was getting used to this sarcastic tone.

“Oh yes, thanks. I didn’t know it would work like that. Did you have to bribe him?” I asked her while taking out my wallet.

“Not everything works on bribes. Sometimes, you just have to act,” she said, still refusing to get her eyes away from the comic book.

The view outside the window from my berth’s side was not so engaging – just plain grounds and meaningless trees. I had lost count of the poles of course. Nagraj’s queen had cost me the thrill of two games now.

I was about to take my earphones out of my backpack when I saw the Hulk keychain dangling in its side pocket. Oh no! Nagraj lady was surely going to spit venom at me now. Just as I picked it up to return it to her, my eye was caught by the envelope peeking out of the bag’s front pocket. I recognized its peculiar pink and that offensively filthy floral design. I immediately picked up the backpack, approached the girl, and said, “Excuse me. I am sorry but I picked your bag by mistake.” She took the bag and kept it behind her. As I continued to stand next to her, she simply looked at me and raised her eyebrows in question.

“Are you going to Delhi for Unnati’s wedding?” I asked.

“You had no courage to talk to the ticket checker but you had enough of it to go through my bag?” she asked as she snapped shut the adventures of Nagraj.

“Wait, wait. I didn’t go through your bag. I just saw that ugly invitation card in its front pocket,” I said pointing at the bag.

She looked back at her bag and said calmly, “Hmm, yes. I am going to Unnati’s wedding. More like Bipin’s wedding. I mean I am going from the groom’s side.”

“Do you mind giving Nagraj a break? I have something to tell you about Unnati and standing in this passage is a bit awkward,” I said. The train had come to a random halt – quite usual with Indian trains.

We were soon sitting next to each other. “Well, so… before I start,” I said as I took out the same invitation card from my backpack, “I am going to the same wedding. Unnati happens to be my ex. And I don’t know how to put it mildly but she is a horrible person!”

“Wait, you’re going to your ex’s wedding?” she asked looking at me in amusement.

“I know how it seems but her family is like a friend of my family’s and I am going as the representative. But if you are the friend of the groom’s, I thought I’d let you know about Unnati - an attempt to save him? Consider it as a favour for what you did for me, maybe.” I left my words hanging.

“Well, this is awkward. Bipin is not my friend. He is my ex,” she let out a loud laugh, “And thank you for letting me know that Unnati is his perfect match. How I’d love to see them both suffer! I am Preksha, and you are…?” she asked.

The train’s wheels were set into motion.

Missive and Miss You

 Letter from Sumeet to Nikhil

Hi Nikhil,

                Please accept my apologies for writing in so late. I hope you are back from your trek with no bones broken this time. As for my absence, there were some issues with our Tokyo factory and I had to be there to set things right. I know the engi-nerd (if you still identify yourself as one) in you would be keen to know about the details – but trust me, I have nothing to share on the technology front. Our employees in Japan are far too efficient to leave room for any concern of that sort. It was all about good old regulatory compliance. A few signatures here and there magically lifted the factory back on its feet.

                Anyway, do not think for a moment that I have forgotten about our next step. My earlier hesitation aside, like in my last letter, I assure you again – we must meet. It has been a good seven years since we started this written correspondence (RIP dear findpenpals dot com). Over these years, we have shared so many details about our lives – from favourite songs and dreadful movies to forgiven enemies and dead relatives (again, RIP findpenpals) – that it now seems alright to exchange a few words with you in person.

                As for the terms of our meeting – I cannot seem to find any. For obvious reasons, you might expect my company’s security to have an eye on us – even while we meet at the said cafe. But do not consider them obtrusive in any way. I have grown used to their hidden presence in public and it’s a total non-issue. No gifts shall be accepted (certainly no trinkets from your treks) and you’d be wise to not expect any from me either.

                I shall have to cut this letter short for I have another meeting to attend – this time, it’s Toronto that demands my attention.

Cheers, etc.

S

Letter from Nikhil to Sumeet

Respected Sumeet,

                Thanks for writing such a formal letter. As I had suspected right within the first few months of bumping into you on findpenpals, you have been bitten, naah… entirely consumed, by the corporate bug within just two years of leaving college. My trek went fine and, even with my forty-two years, I am quite proud of having my every bone intact. You had to be there to feel the fresh air and the sound of the river. Well done on the Tokyo magic though! I am not proud or anything – all you did was to scribble your name. Can’t wait to read your company’s media release boasting about how you tackled this monstrosity. Also, well done on the engi-nerd pun – your wealth continues to offer no help to your wordplay.

                Not a day goes by when I don’t offer condolences to the blessing that was findpenpals. It gave me the superpower to express my thoughts, and more importantly, offered me a friend – someone who flies across continents and still pays attention to the blotted features of my eventless life. Talking of which, remind me to tell you about a calendar that I saw during my last trek – it glows in the dark! I would have bought it for you but naah – what use does a rich boy have of trinkets from poor me?

                As for the meeting terms, I won’t mind your bodyguards as far as none of them sits between us on the café table. Would they mind if I get them some gifts? I got some bug-shaped bookmarks on my way back from the trek. As for a gift from you, nothing less than all the stocks of your company would be acceptable.

                I would have told you how thoroughly excited I am to finally meet you in person. But then, like Toronto operations wait for your attention, my pile of unwashed clothes waits for mine.

Yours in anticipation,

Nikhil

Meeting Day

Nikhil had been sitting at the café for about fifteen minutes since their designated meeting time. It was a small café offering nothing more than sandwiches, tea, and coffee. He had decided to reveal everything to Sumeet in person. This seven-year façade should not go on forever anyway. Having ordered his second cup of coffee, Nikhil’s anxious excitement was drifting out to give room to empty frustration. His eyes wandered to the café’s door once more. And yet again, he was disappointed. A girl in her late twenties was walking in. He wondered if maybe avoiding looking at the door would bring Sumeet in. He looked down at his cup of coffee and let out a small chuckle at the silliness of his thought.

“So you had not lied about laughing out aloud to yourself,” said the girl standing next to him.

“Excuse me?” Nikhil looked at her in surprise. She was wearing a rather plain-looking outfit with an ordinary bag hanging off her shoulder.

“You weren’t the only one making things up, Nikhil, if indeed that’s your real name. It’s me – rich boy. Not a boy, and not rich either – as you can guess from the absence of my security personnel,” said the girl with a grin.

“Wait, so… You are Sumeet? I mean you are... whoever you are? You were lying to me, this entire time?” asked Nikhil, still struggling to figure out his thoughts.

“Just as you were to me! You certainly aren’t the chirpy forty-two-year-old adventurer you claimed to be. I’d put you around twenty-eight? Did you really leave your job and go on solo treks funded by borrowed money? Also, this stunned silence speaks nothing about the quick-witted Nikhil that I was promised in the letters,” said the girl taking a seat opposite Nikhil.

“Stop making observations about me… and wait, what’s your name? Also, what do we do now?” asked Nikhil.

“We do what we have done in the past – share stories from our lives. Are you okay with that? And it’s Smita. Sumeet is my brother and it was our collective idea to sign up but then he lost interest in a matter of a few letters and it was all me after that. Shall we spend a moment in peace to pay respect to the death of the findpenpals website?” Smita asked and beckoned the waiter. “One coffee please.”

“Without sugar please,” said Nikhil still eyeing her suspiciously, “Yes, we can do all that. And yes, it was quite sad when they decided to shut down the website – I mean the fact that we’re both here after seven years of letter writing shows that what they tried was not an utter failure and yet…”

“True, and sad indeed. Not all things that work live forever, right? But hey, you remember about how I like my coffee. Now tell me all about the adventures from your last trek,” asked Smita.

“Umm, as for that, there was no trek – not the first, not the last. I work at a government-run library for poor kids – all my ‘adventures’ were snippets from the books that I read in the silence of the library. Sorry, but you can sue me – I guess that’s what a corporate type like you would do, right?” asked Nikhil, not quite eager to leave anymore.

“That can be arranged. But the corporate type sitting in front of you is actually just a struggling painter. I paint landscapes of cities and try to sell them at an art shop. So now you know what I meant by our operations at Tokyo and Toronto,” Smita smiled as she took the cup from the waiter.

“That was smartly done,” said Nikhil with a nod. “Talking of art, I know we had agreed on no gifts but still… here.” He took something out of his bag and kept it on the table. In the funkiest font, written on a table-top calendar were the words, “WHEN THE LIGHT GOES LOW, I GLOW!”

Smita took the calendar in her hands and let out a hearty laugh.

Pop goes the Genie

“Well, that’s what you are getting today for your breakfast,” he said while sliding the bowl of oats towards me.

“Well, that’s what I am not eating today for my breakfast,” I said, sliding the bowl back across the table to him.

“You know there are children in the world dying of hunger. And here you are, saying no to high quality nutritious food,” he slid the bowl back to me.

“A classic. Be a better man… er… or whatever you are, then? Serve these oats to those hungry children,” I refused to touch the bowl. “You know there are also some kids in the world eating chocolate frosted sugar-bombs for breakfast. And here you are, asking me to eats oats for the second day in a row. You should have thought of these things before bringing me here.” I threw my hands up in frustration.

“Look. For the last time, I am not the one who brought you here, okay? Not out of my will for sure,” he snapped a finger and my bowl of oats turned into a plate with a burger and fries.

“Cool!” I grabbed the burger and took a bite. “And sorry. I know you didn’t bring me here. I won’t mention it again. For some time at least.” This food is delicious! “Oats and now this. You need to learn how to maintain a balance while dealing with 12-year-old kids. Dad.” I smiled while looking at him.

“Stop calling me that. I am not your father,” he snapped at me with a hint of anger. “You know I can vanish your plate too? Or turn it into good old puri sabzi?” he smiled with a hint of mischief and then continued, “As soon as your mother traded you, your well-being became my responsibility.”

“No puri sabzi please! And you happen to be a people pleaser. Can I get a Coke to go along with these? Besides, do you realize the stupidity of what you two did? You took a child away from his mother only to grant her a wish and now you are worried about my well-being. Well, genius, a kid’s well-being is with his parent!” I was thoroughly enjoying the fries.

While he kept looking at me – either in surprise or immersed in deep thought – I couldn’t tell, but my mind again went back to how absurd my mom’s entire deal with Mr. Genie was. All she wanted was to get rich and, the ease with which she just handed me over to him, was honestly hurtful.

Today began my second week with Mr. Genie. I was still thinking about the Coke when he said, “I am bound by my rules!”

“And I am bound by my hunger,” I said smiling between bites.

“Tantrums all the time. But I know you’re quite happy here,” he looked at me intently.

“Well, you rescued me from the evils of my existence. It also helps that you live in a palace. How is that Coke bottle looking?” I asked trying to hide my thoughts about my previous life.

“No Coke in breakfast. And I heard that you’re talking about me to your friends as your Cool New Genie Dad. Not cool at all,” he said firmly.

“It was a joke. Nobody is coming to you with a wish. None of my friends have kids you can snatch anyway,” I replied.

But the fact was Mr. Genie made a perfectly good dad. He was caring, he listened to me, and most importantly, I trusted him never to give me away in exchange for anything. 

And then it struck me. What if I suggest my friends to talk to their parents about a deal that could get them all rich?

Writing prompt

The Vanishing Heirloom

 “Keep these,” I said to Anil, unable to control my giggles as I gave him the Rs. 500 note. “Today’s stuff is really good. I haven’t had something like this in ages,” I took another sip.

Anil held the note against the flickering light.

“A clear fake,” he said flicking the note.

“Your head is fake, Anil. The stuff’s gone to your head,” I tapped at the back of his head.

“Look here, Bhaiyya. No tiny watermark on the right. But I am sure they can’t catch it. Besides, I don’t want you to lose...” I snatched the note from him and checked it against the light myself. Anil was right. It was a worthless piece of paper.

“Where did you learn all this?” I asked him, still giggling, unable to keep my surprise in check. How can an illiterate villager know about counterfeiting?

“The secret of village smartness is the same as our sadness. Lots of free time,” said Anil.

“I am going to get you a job, Anil. You just wait. We’ll put all that smartness to work,” I punched him playfully in his stomach.

“Bhaiyya, I have observed something else too,” he said hesitantly.

“No Anil, not the right time. We talk only about childhood when we are high, right? I loved being here as a kid. What else do you remember?” I had had enough of his intelligence.

“Listen Bhaiyya. Look at me and listen,” he held my face in his hands, “The holy rocks near the big banyan tree. They are fake,” and he released my face.

“You have lost it, Anil. Those have been there for ages. Who will dare to…” but Anil didn’t let me finish.

“I don’t know who. But the original holy rocks are gone. Poof!” Anil burst an imaginary balloon and found it funny.

“And how do you know this, genius? No tiny watermark on the right?” I asked.

“Free time, Bhaiyya. Lots of it. Want to go check? But only if you date it with your testing apparatus,” he said.

“You had this all planned, didn’t you?” It couldn’t just be Anil asking me to use my dating equipment without a prior thought.

Anyway, I brought out the date-tester and we walked to the big banyan tree. Within seconds of pointing the camera at the rocks, the screen revealed its age, “Three-five years.”

“This… this can’t be. These rocks are centuries old,” I murmured. I repeated the test. Thrice. The same result.

“The old ones may be. But these ones? Certainly not,” replied Anil, “Unless your camera is drunk too,” he laughed. All I could do was smile as I looked at him. I touched the rocks as if my hands could do a better job of dating them than the equipment. Honestly, my hands couldn't tell the difference.

We soon called it a night. I had had enough of merrymaking after this discovery.

The next day, I caught up with Anil as he lazed on his cot.

“So, when did you figure out that the rocks were gone?” I asked him after a brief chat.

“About a fortnight ago. The texture felt so different when I was praying,” he replied matter-of-factly.

“And nobody else knows? How can that be?” I asked, my eyes narrowed.

"Did your hands figure it out?" Anil asked with a shrug.

“Who was here in the last few months? Any outsider?” The village’s holy rocks going amiss was no small deal. This could well cause chaos among the villagers. Their lives revolved around these rocks – with even festivities dedicated to them. Even my upbringing was dotted with tales about these rocks – how they were discovered by a traveller who then proceeded to settle our village around them.  

I asked the same question around the entire village. And found out about the visit of only one person who didn’t belong. The NGO teacher.  

The NGO – Among the Masses (ATM) – had its teachers visiting the village every now and then. They supplied educational material to the children – sometimes books, sometimes toys.

Once back in the city, I met the NGO teacher myself. She said she knew nothing about the rocks and was in the village only for a day. But I knew there had to be some connection.

After the NGO’s office was closed for the day, I managed to sneak in. Reaching the manager’s cupboard, I read through a few papers and found out what I was looking for. Pictures of the holy rocks. Stapled together was a letter from the Scientific Society. 

"Scientific Society recognizes Among the Masses (ATM) for its relentless support to scientific advancement. The dinosaur eggs discovered by ATM in the village will undoubtedly go a long way in evolutionary research. For this assistance, the Society extends funding of Rs. 5 Crores to ATM.”

[inspired by a true event - https://www.indiatoday.in/india/story/stones-worshipped-villagers-madhya-pradesh-fossilised-dinosaur-eggs-2478388-2023-12-20]

The Whispering Grove

 ‘A failure. Yet another one. In an unending series of failures. My research is a failure. I am one too. And so is every bit of science that I have ever studied. Failure, failure, failure.’

I talk to myself as I finally sit on a rock. It’s been quite a treacherous walk from my laboratory. I have been escaping into these woods whenever I need to clear my head. The disaster of last night’s experiments felt like a stab. Can’t even quit the darned thing now that I am sitting on a big pile of Government grants. Though I can just walk away. Begin a new life. But that won’t be right.

How long has it been since I left this morning? I check my watch. Close to five hours, it tells me. And a drop of water falls on my wrist. Rain? Great. I am not good even at taking a walk without getting soaked. But it isn’t a raindrop. Just a drop of water from a tree looking down upon me.

There are so many of them around. Tall, dense, and huddling a lean patch of grass at the center.

Suddenly aware of how thirsty I am, I lick the drop of water off my wrist. It tastes sweet. With a smile, I look up at the trees thanking them in my head.

“You’re quite welcome,” I hear almost an inaudible whisper.

‘Wonderful, now I am imagining things,’ I think, laughing at my sorry state.

“No, you aren’t,” the whisper replies. “Self-sustaining crops, isn’t it?”

So the trees talk and they know my research topic. I hate even the mention of it. I am surprised. For a bit. But then a scientist like me knows, what this is. My tired brain is playing tricks.

“What of it? It refuses to work.” There is nobody around anyway. A little conversation with the trees won’t really hurt.  

“But it does,” said the whisper. “All it takes is a little push of your faculties.”

“Seven years and counting. The faculties don’t exist. There’s nothing up here,” I tap at my temple and admit without hesitation.

“Come on now. Take a little walk. The tree with the hollow has something for you,” the whisper is almost encouraging.

Well, if the research won’t work, this certainly would. I walk up to the only tree I can see that has a hollow in it, almost sure that I am so tired even my hallucination is malfunctioning. I peep inside.

Nothing but a patch of fungus. “Thanks for introducing me to garbage,” I say.

There is no whisper now. But then I see something different about the fungus. It’s not the usual creamy, mouldy patch. It is green. So very green.

“I small bite for man, a giant step towards complete lunacy.” I use my fingertip to swoop a patch, and taste it. Wait a minute. This tastes like… spinach. But how? These aren’t plants nor animals. Could chlorophyll-contained fungus really be the answer to self-sustaining crops? I pay closer attention to the lingering taste in my mouth. Definitely spinach.

Only a lab study can provide the answer. The environment in which this fungus grows, the right temperature for it, how it creates more of itself if at all it does that? I must take this to my lab.

I take a handful of the fungus patch, and sparing no second thought to the whisper of the trees, begin walking back towards the lab. How do I keep track of the directions? Good old fairytale technique. Dropping things on my way back. I collect a few fragrant flowers, a few lush leaves, a few straight sticks - arranging them as I go.

And then, I am so hungry that I have to eat more of the spinach fungus. It’s too dark now to notice the flowers, or the leaves. I can’t be too far away from the lab though. I take off my shirt, rip it and drop its shreds. That should take care of the path back to the grove, back to my glory.

I can see the lights at the lab now. Hunger strikes again. I eat the spinach fungus and give the shirt-treatment to my pants. I wish to share the happy news with someone. But I am also glad nobody can see me in this state. And then I fall. Must get up. The lab. The research. Must get up. Must…

News flash: Famous bio-scientist Dr Matt was found dead under suspicious circumstances near his lab this morning. His autopsy suggests the presence of strong toxins in his body. Preliminary reports suggest the absence of any foul play and investigators are hinting at self-harm...

A few years later. At the grove. Another tired, dejected man is sitting alone thanking the trees for the drop of water. “You’re quite welcome” he hears a whisper.

The Clockmaker’s Secret

The last 34 years in Jungadh have offered me everything that I need. Eventless life, wonderful weather, and more importantly, a thin population. And yet, it is time for me to wrap up and leave. More than 35 years and people notice my oddities. The old begin to die, babies begin to arrive, and I remain as I am.

It’s past midnight and I am still staring at the dying dance of the flames in my shop. But I won’t let it die just yet. Let me savour these last few pleasant nights of Jungadh. I place a few more wooden sticks in the fireplace. The fire swallows them up and comes back to life. I can’t help but smile at how the sticks burn out one by one, only to keep the fire alive. On repeat.

Just then, I hear a knock on the shop window. “Come tomorrow. I am sleeping,” I shout only to realise the silliness of what I have just said. There is no response. Whoever it is, opens the window, places a watch, and walks away. Of course, I can just visualize all of this happening. The window opens to my collection centre – a small box where the customers drop their watches while I work at the dispensary. These days nobody can sustain only on clockmaking, especially in a village. Being an attendant of the doctor makes life easier.

I go to the collection box and a watch with a worn-out leather strap greets me. Is it the same watch? I can’t be sure. A note accompanies. I walk back to the fireplace to read what it says. Just two words. “Savitri lives.”

In an impulse, I throw the note in the fireplace and step back - as if Savitri was about to appear out of the note. The fire dutifully gobbles up the paper and I rush to the door to see if the messenger is still around. Nobody.

My mind goes back to the past. Savitri. The one who taught me how to work with clocks. Oh what fun it was to play with all the clocks in her father’s workshop. From giant grandfather clocks to tiny timepieces – he had them all. And the best part? He never asked us to stop exploring.

My smile turns into an angry frown. “He should have asked us to stop; asked me to stop.” I remember that fateful game of hide and seek – stepping into her room and pocketing her watch. For three nights, I kept studying its insides. Half asleep, half awake. As if Savitri’s watch had stolen my sense of time. I still remember the dream, if it was one. The voice in the dream still rumbled in my head, “The trick to live forever is to keep stealing time from people’s clocks.” Once I was back in my senses, I realized how stupid this whole idea was. I was not a clockmaker. What business did I have to study a watch’s mechanism? But then again, I had to test the dream. Steal Savitri’s time from her watch. In utter confusion, I threw the stupid watch on the floor and broke it.

When her father opened the door the next day, I had returned the mangled watch to him. “Uncle, isn’t this Savitri’s? I found it near the school.” Without a word, he went inside. I followed him in, only to hear him say, “Throw it away. Savitri is no more.”

It has been more than three hundred years since. And I have been living on time stolen from people’s clocks. Keeping the flame of my life alive by hanging on to other wood sticks. I stare at the fireplace, traces of the note long turned to ashes. 

The Lost Touch

 “Upload to CAIN,” I said in my raspy voice.

“Say ‘yes’ to confirm, ‘no’ to continue editing,” came the response.

“Yes,” I replied.

 “Error in uploading article to CAI-,” and the voice broke off.

I had never encountered an error while uploading an article to CAIN. “Upload to CAIN?” I asked pleadingly. Nothing happened. No response whatsoever. “Upload to CAIN,” I tried again even as I received the same silence in response.

As if on an impulse, I checked for the green light at the lower right corner of my laptop screen. It was red. It had been five years since the Central Artificial Intelligence Network had been implemented in our village – making it among the last ones to go under the cozy cushion of the world governing AI authority. Never had I seen the CAIN status light go red.

“Now what do I do with this garbage?” I looked at the article on “How CAIN taps into the human psyche only to make it better” I had just written – almost expecting it to tell me what is it that I am supposed to do in this scenario.

With no answer forthcoming, I did something I had not done in a long time – looked out of my window. To my utter surprise, Minti was looking back at me from his window.

I motioned with my finger in a circle and asked him if it was a thumbs-down at his end too.

Indeed, Minti responded with a thumbs-down and a dejected face. With CAIN down, Minti was clearly missing either his school lessons or his chess practice. So, I was not the only one suffering.

And then Minti did something unexpected. He motioned a thumb towards his door. “What is Minti hinting at? Is he going out? But that would be a clear violation of CAIN rules. To just go out like that.”

Then Minti did the unthinkable – he pointed at me, and again pointed at his door. “Ah! He is asking me to go out with him!”

I hesitated and laughed at the absurdity of the idea. “What does a school child know about the repercussions of heading out without CAIN looking?”

I looked back at Minti and saw that he was still looking at me in anticipation. Then, Minti produced a chess piece – a Queen and dangled it in front of the window – almost teasing me.

Even though I knew the rules of the game, I was not a designated chess player. Yet, the thrill of joining Minti for a game seemed thrilling – it was either the idea of playing with a human or just violating the CAIN rules – I could not be sure.

I quickly glanced at my laptop screen. CAIN was still red. As if that was the only confirmation that my indecisiveness needed, I dashed out of my house and waited. There was no warning alarm. Minti did not make me wait for long. Soon, we were lost in a series of games until the sirens on our houses blared.