Papistry

Image by Mozzer502 via Flickr

 

 

She was six, when she first came to a sleepy neighborhood in a small town in Mysore. And it didn’t take her much time to liven up the town. It wasn’t particularly her wish to change anything- but it was due to the playfulness she seemed to awaken in the people around her. Nobody had taken more than five seconds to say, “So Cute!” to her and pinch her large white cheeks.

Though she had to perennially endure burning red cheeks throughout her childhood, the cuteness had its perks. People would bring her chocolates, cookies, cakes, pastries and all the exotic sweets- as if she was their own daughter. She always seemed to bring out the “Let’s Party!” emotion in the adults around her and almost always parties ensued. She would sing, she would dance, and she would clap, and jump, and fall- all, as requested by the many laughing care-free adults around her. She seemed to absorb this carefree attitude- or was it her own, to begin with? Whatever the case was, it didn’t really matter- at least not when she was six. Soon she’d do more than just sing and dance and laugh and clap and jump and fall- she’d start delivering love letters.

Her name was Sharmila and she was the town’s love messenger. A kid of the conservative 90s, she was part of a town where most boys found it tough to talk with the girls they liked. Asking out for a date was a concept straight out of a sci-fi movie for them.

But boys will be boys. They prayed, requested for knowledge transfer from their helpless seniors and tried imaginary love-potions; they did many brain-storming meetings in the last benches during the class- and found the answer to their prayers- Sharmila. After all, isn’t there a saying- Use poison to break poison? Only a girl could break a girl! Sharmila was cute- and if she ever delivered a love letter to you, even if you were a girl, the least you were supposed to do was to read the letter and give a reply, preferably in another letter. Of course, writing your reply using the scented pen and the pink paper was optional- naturally, both the scented pen and blank Pink paper come with the love letter being delivered to you. And giving a blank pink paper with a scented pen to a girl in those days can be compared to giving a mobile phone with unlimited talk-time to any such girl today. And thus, the combination of love letter, plus a blank pink paper, plus a scented pen, plus the charm of Sharmila always ensured a reply.

Sharmila enjoyed all the attention she got from the boys wanting her to deliver their love-letters. Her services were the best in town- and she guaranteed a reply from the girl. And she did all this, for free. Though the boys did give her sweets and ice creams and all other sorts of bribes they could afford, it was also true, that people gave her far better sweets just for clapping and singing. In that sense she was the richest kid in town- she could play with any toy and get any sweet- and she didn’t have to cry for them like most other kids. She was the darling of the town and she was never, what some boys notoriously call, high-maintenance.

By the time she retired from her first job of delivering love letters at the age of 11, she had delivered 399 love letters- and got 399 replies and started a new field in Modern fortune-telling called Papistry. In that town in Mysore, she’s called the Prophet of Papistry who brought 230 positive replies from the Almighty Girls. Her success was probably better than the town’s marriage bureau.

Though Sharmila cannot be credited with the opening up of this new stream in Fortune-telling- she was no doubt, the cause of this Papistry. The term Papistry was coined by her first customer- Sriram. He said, “Just like the random lines on your palm, written by Destiny, can tell your future- in the same way, the pink paper brought by Sharmila, is written by your Destiny. And this pink letter contains glimpses from your future- and I call the Science of reading such Pink Papers as Papistry!”

When Sharmila first heard this from Sriram she said, “It makes sense. But why does it sound so tasty?”

“Ah, it rhymes with Pastry!” said Sriram.

“I see…”

And thus began the legend of Papistry in a sleepy town in Mysore.

The Romantic Horror

The Romantic Horror

(A Romantic Thriller Story)

I am a young struggling actor and I have just one dream- to haunt every silver screen in the world. I want to be the biggest movie star the world has ever been an audience to. For the past 3 years, I’ve lived every day like a high profile audition for my next big break- each day the tickets were sold out and each day it was a stellar performance. Today is one such day…

A rich and successful producer, Kapoor Saahab, wants me to go to the Apollo Hospital and meet his sick daughter, for two hours. If I do this, and if the sick daughter is pleased by my performance, then I will get to play the lead character in the very talented director Bhansaali  Saahab’s next Romantic Sci-fi movie titled “Trisexual Quadrelateral”- where the species of man is trisexual, instead of bisexual. And all I had to do was-to pretend that I was the sick daughter’s boy friend, convincingly! Sure why not! To be the lead actor in Bhansaali  ‘s next movie- I’ll be her God-damned husband for the rest of my life.

How to Decide who to Marry

All my life, I always found myself doing the exact same thing my friends were doing. They went to some random school- I followed them there. They decided that they needed tutoring- so did I. They decided to play cricket- and so did I. They started liking pretty girls- and surprise surprise, I too started liking girls, the prettier ones. I could have liked the so the called ugly ones- but my friends didn’t like them, and hence, I had to dislike them too. I was just another sheep among the herd.

On hearing this particular “funny” comment of mine, my mom talked me into agreeing to marry some pretty girl. Obviously, most of my self-professed sane friends had taken up the herculean task of marrying- and I had to follow suit. I didn’t find this funny at all!

My mom said that, like I never used to be alone, and preferred combined studies for all the Home-Works the teacher used to give me, for all the exams I used to prepare for; in the same way I needed combined effort to do all the Home-Work of washing vessels and for the all the exams I’ll be facing in my Life- I would need somebody… I needed to combine my efforts with a great girl… Just like the rest of my friends.

But I knew in my heart that I was not like my most friends. I never made quick decisions like them. I was never in a hurry. I enjoyed my food slowly. I liked to talk slowly. I enjoyed slow, old movies, not the new racy raunchy thrillers. I liked playing chess slowly- I hated the rapid chess players more than cleaning my room. I was slow in my emotions- and I was slow in understanding my own emotions. I never immediately knew how to feel in the big moments of life- I was emotionless for the first ten minutes, as I witnessed India winning the T20 World Cup. So you can imagine, I did not know how I should feel or say in one very alien situation like this- meeting some random girl, the village match-maker had chosen for me.

I was quietly sitting, confused, trying to keep a smile on my face and understand the environment around me. I felt charged emotions around me- expectations, anxiety, fear, joy and love. I had only seen the girl’s photo so far and now I was looking at her feet. I was too shy to look straight in her eyes.

My mom stroked my hair gently- “Look at her! Silly Boy!”

Everybody around me laughed, including her. I could distinguish her young lively merry laughter from all the many old dry mirth. There was no ridicule in her voice- perhaps just a little bit of curiosity. She wasn’t worried about this whole situation as much as I was. This may not be her first time, like it was mine, I concluded.

I slowly raised my head, capturing in my mind the dazzling Mysore silk and gold ornaments covering her beautiful body. I never thought about this before- looking at a girl, and looking for a soul-mate. I had never done this. But now in this moment of grandeur, I felt that my eyes were looking at a goddess of grace, of charm, of beauty. She was breath-taking, Love personified- and still she humbly smiled at my mortal gaze on her divinity.

I was looking in her eyes- there was nothing else I wanted to see. I had seen her sweet dimpled chin, her rosy shiny lips, the strange curve of her wicked smile, her long thin nose- I had seen them all- they were all charming- but her big brown eyes- they were teasing me, tormenting me- daring me to break the eye-contact & look anywhere else. And I couldn’t dare. She knew that I was at her total mercy. She realized this- her eyes were smiling- no they were dancing. Why were they so happy? How did I suddenly become so… so infatuated, with a mad rush of wanting to marry her? No, I needed to marry her!

“Well?” my mom asked.

I was too busy staring at that honey coloured goddess of beauty.

My mom held my hand, stood up and said, “Looks like he doesn’t like her. It was a waste of time coming this far… Let’s go son…”

“No! Mom! I like her… I really… really like her, really!” I hastily shouted in confusion.

Everybody laughed- including her. How I loved to see her laugh!

My face turned red immediately as I bowed my head low in embarrassment- this emotion came super-fast!

***************************************************************************************************************************************

I soon found myself with her, alone, on a large swing in her garden.

“You realise that I have no say in our wedding?” she told me, frankly and much too quickly.

When Gabbar met Basanthi

The red Volvo bus came, even in that pouring rain, on time. I got on it. I could see two empty seats facing each other, at the entrance. I took one of them & hoped that the really hot girl behind me would take the other seat. She didn’t. “An hour of boring travel”, I sighed. That’s when she got on the bus. She looked at me & the empty seat, & took it.

She was wearing black figure hugging wet clothes, a black monkey cap, a red shawl & a stupid smile. She removed her wet monkey cap & repeatedly disturbed her hair till I was able to smell her shampoo’s flowery fragrance. From her wet hair, a drop of water had broken free & was grazing through her dimpled cheek, oh so slowly, to her neck & beyond. As I was enchanted by the hot scenic path of that cool, beautiful dew-like drop, I thought I heard her say, softly, “Kiss me!”

Wait, that couldn’t be right. “Snap out of it!” I thought & broke free from her charm- back to reality.

“Excuse me” she said.

“Oh! So that was what she said!” I thought sighing.

“Excuse me, I think you have dropped your hand kerchief, Miss Priya” she said with a naughty smile. On the hand kerchief was embroidered in red, the name of my idiotic sister, Priya.

“Priya… it’s Priya’s… ” I stammered, with a nervous smile. “She’s my sister” I said hiding the hand kerchief from her view.

I guess it sounded fishy to her. She didn’t believe me.

“Oh? & I am wearing pink jeans & a yellow tank top which says “I’m Gay!”!” she said laughing softly.

“Huh? Oh! That’s a good one!” I laughed. She had told an obvious lie & a funny joke. “I can play that game too!” I thought & said “I too am wearing a pink jeans & a yellow tee which says “But, I’m NOT!”!”

We both laughed heartily. The game was on!

“I’m Basanthi! I’m a talkative jolly girl & I have a short term memory!” she said. She really did look like Basanthi from the movie Sholay, only if you looked at her with a tilted head & closed eyes!

“Ba-sa-nn-thi! I’m Gabbar Singh, the most feared bandit, Huahahahaha!” I said, with a Gabbar-like look on me. I think I was drooling! I did look like Gabbar!

“Really? I love the name Gabbar Singh!” she said with a clap.

“I know! You married me- for my name. Not for love, not for my money, not for my brute strength, not for the fame too” I laughed, “You married me just because you loved my name!”

“Come on!” she exclaimed, “Are you sure you didn’t marry Dhanno, my horse?”

I laughed. “No I’m sure. You have forgotten because of your short term memory,” I explained, “Actually, you have married me six times already!”

She giggled. “Talk about History repeating itself! I must remember not to repeat my past mistakes!” she teased.

“It isn’t that bad being married to me!” I said, “You particularly liked the way we used to handshake.”

“Handshake?” she asked, “Was there a special way we shook our hands?”

“Yes & no.” I said mysteriously, “We used to shake our legs, literally. Instead of hands, we shook legs!”

“Now that’s really… something!” she giggled, “Even an insect with a short term memory can’t forget something that!”

“Not to mention our 7 daughters,” I continued, “You absolutely love them!”

“I have 7 daughters? I gave birth to 7 children? Wow!” she said looking at herself, “For a woman who gave birth to 7 children, I have a well maintained figure! Impressive, don’t you think?”

“Well I can’t complain!” I teased, “You were always worried that you’ll become fat after the next child, but I always knew that you’ll be prettier than any woman there ever was, or ever will be!”

She glowed even more radiantly. “Well, I love kids!” she said, “What are their names?”

“Kaalia”, I said, “All of them are named Kaalia”

She laughed hysterically. “You named all our kids, Kaalia? Why?” she asked trying to maintain her composure.

“I just love that name!” I said, “Nobody can blame me for loving one name, especially you. You even gifted me a mobile phone with a phonebook that had everybody’s name as Kaalia! I still have it…”

“Did I now? That was very sweet of me” she smiled, “Can I see it?”

“Why don’t you dial my number- 9844******, & see for yourself” I said.

“Is it a mental hospital’s help desk number?” she asked with a grin, & dialed that number from her mobile. My mobile phone rang. She looked surprised.

“You lost!” she said in a delighted tone, “You told a truth!”

“Well, I lost technically”, I replied with a mysterious smile.

“Technically?” she asked sounding puzzled.

“I lost this game” I said, “But I won your phone number!” I smiled like a lunatic. I felt like I was the smartest man in the world. & I knew- I might as well become the happiest man in the universe, soon!

“And I have to get down here!” I said, standing up. The bus had reached Town Hall.

She blushed for a few seconds. She was all smiles as she shook her head. She offered her hand to shake. I felt more like kissing it. But I took what I was offered.

“This time we are shaking hands,” I said shaking her hand, “but next time, hopefully we’ll be shaking legs. And if you are shy, we can do that under the dinner table!” I laughed naughtily. I was too happy to think about what I was saying.

“Thanks for the warning!” she said in a professional manner, “I will be wearing iron sandals for both defense & offense!” Once again, she burst into her soft merry laughter. As I got down, she decorated her face with her sweet soothing dimpled smile, which remains etched in my heart, for forever…

How to Kill Science

Book: The Time Tourists (aka Earth’s Rebirth)

Chapter 1: How to Kill Science

Vibhuti: Burning "Man's Sins" into Ashes, to save Earth...

Timeline 1

As he looked at his Mother Earth, at the peak of her glory, a vision flew by Vibhuti. The planet earth was rolling down from the peak of the Majestic Pyramids- at lightning speed,  in the grandeur of Pyramids, he could almost hear the excitement in Mother Earth’s voice- he tries harder to hear her voice- her words. His pupils dilate- it was her deafening scream for help- the earth was rolling down towards the vast lifeless desert.

He could see his Mother Earth pale- the blues and greens on her face were fading and gathering the dust from the pyramids. She soon turned brown & her face was cracking- falling towards an abyss of sand…

And then he saw himself- running down the slope of that Pyramid, desperately in pursuit of his goal- Mother Earth. “I won’t let her get away!” he says and his heart beats so loudly- as if to answer her cries. He hears himself shout, “Mom! You’ve put on weight, you can’t outrun me! I’ll catch you with these small arms! And carry you around like an infant!” And he sees in his hands two paint brushes- one green, the other blue, trying to paint his Earth back to her real glory- the earth was not rolling towards her death- he was guiding her- helping her to go through rebirth…

The vision was exhilarating- he couldn’t wait anymore. He couldn’t waste time here anymore. He looked at his tour-mates. They read his expression and nodded back with happy smiles.

He changed the time co-ordinates, from 2781 AD to 10,000 BC.

“Mother, here we come, to save you.”

The Time Tourists

Hi All!

It’s a pleasure to announce my latest ambitious project, titled “The Time Tourists”

The story is about a man’s struggle to save planet Earth from impending doom in 2785 AD- and his extreme solution- and implementations, of ideas like, “Killing Science” to ensure that man has no tool which could, in principle, destroy Earth.

The genre is basically Sci-fi with my usual Humor, Romance and thriller.

Each week (or fortnight) i’ll update a new chapter/bonus extras.  This Main Post will contain ALL Links to latest Chapters/Extras in this crazy fun saga 🙂

Chapter 1:

How to Kill Science

Appendix 1:

The Fundamentals of Time Travel

Happy Reading!

Love,

Sury

Credits:

Awesome Photo by Srikanth

The Fundamentals of Time Travel

Appendix 1: The Fundamentals of Time Travel in the “The Time Tourists” saga created by me!

After women, if there was one thing that puzzled man witless, it’s time. For thousands of years, man could feel time. Its effects and profound limitations. Measure it. Define the behavior in relativity. And yet, time truly eluded him. All of that changed in the 24^th century, when Time was compared to an ocean in a very cold weather.

An excerpt from the Class 5 (in 2700 AD, in UCSA) Science Book on time travel: “Time is much more like Ice on ocean. Picture an unfortunate, handicapped Penguin, unfortunately stuck between the thick sheets of ice in the Arctic ocean after an unfortunate accident, as shown in the unfortunate 3D picture. No Penguin can swim in this thick Ice. But the Penguin can dig a tunnel, so to speak, to travel. To the dig the tunnel the Penguin can only use its beak.  From the figure, a tunnel in Path A is the worst choice for freedom and Path B is the best Choice.