The legions of nature are always merciless and immutable to our senses.
Raindrops fell on the beach and made deep wounds in the sand. The scent of the sand and rain coalesced with the scent of the salty sea and hit my nose with savage force – Thus was defeated my sense of smell.
As I stood barefooted at the place where the sand and water make love, I could feel the coarse, wet sand burying my feet under it; I could feel little crabs in the vicinity making their presence felt by tickling my toes – Thus was defeated my sense of touch.
Exquisite mollusk shells lay scattered on the sand, vulgarly displaying their intricate designs crafted by nature herself; the waves of the ocean competed with one another in a beautiful, unspoken race of who would reach the shore first and lick my feet; the great ball of fire, the sun presided over all, silently mocking my admiration – Thus was defeated my sense of sight.
The soft music of the ocean, the sound of the rising and falling waves filled my ears; the call of a distant bird made me crane my neck and look up, trying to spot the source of the beautiful sound; the rhythmic pounding of the water came crashing down on the rocks and I could almost hear the particles of rock eroding through the centuries, only to be deposited as sand on the shore – Thus was defeated my sense of hearing.
I couldn’t say much about my sense of taste, because it was being defeated by some groundnuts which I picked up from a newspaper cone one by one and popped in my mouth.
I am the owner of my 64 years. I am the owner of riches, a family and everything, but not the owner of my own senses it seems. How can one control the senses? What If I do not want to smell the flowers even if they are being thrust in front of my nose?
Well, if there is something I want to do before I kick the bucket, it is to conquer that bit**, nature and show her I won’t be enchanted by her treats. I want to know what happens. What happens when you don’t sense anything? What will happen when you don’t see, hear, smell, feel or taste?
To know the answer, I decided to become an ascetic. What the hell is the point of being the same person all these years fake-smiling to clients, harassing your subordinates, amassing money by the thousands each day?
The strictest self discipline is what I decided to impose on myself and find out what happens if I conquer my senses. Call it a vulgar display of wealth if you will, I don’t seem to care any longer – I purchased a small piece of land, an island by the beach with absolute privacy; No human beings to disrupt my mission. As to the non-humans, they have never been as much trouble.
Day 1
The coarse sand irritated my bare feet as I walked on in my island. My feet sunk into the sand and got buried. The warm sand felt cozy around my fingers and ankles. How do I get away from all of this? I need solitude. I need a place where I cannot be tantalized by nature’s treats. Some place, where my senses are not assailed by the call of the wild or the persistent call of the sea. Ah, I chose the perfect spot – A rock just near the sea. But nature’s forces keep putting me down…
Day 2
I am trying, trying not to feel anything. I strive to be like the rock beneath me, I want to be a part of that rock, and not feel anything through my senses. I want my senses to go inert. Go away, stupid birds which have no sense of where to shit and stupid crabs which cannot walk straight! Go back to where you came from and leave me alone!
Day 14
I am not able to let go of my senses. Maybe rejection is not the key. Maybe I should just acknowledge the presence of nature instead of trying to push it all away…
Day 23
I stood on the rock, waves licking my feet. I allowed the sensation to wash over me. I was just neutral to my senses. Just felt the water at my legs. I acknowledged how it felt.
A mental image of the whole thing was developing in my head. A mental photograph, if you will. Through closed eyes and an open imagination I could see the crabs moving along, occasionally exercising their pincers; I could see the birds of the sea gliding across the vastness of the ocean, looking for foolish prey that swam very close to the top of the ocean; I saw the clouds in the horizon occasionally trying to block the sun from showing his red face to the world.
Day 31
Each day I stood there and sharpened my mental photograph. Each day I added more details to the mental photograph in my head. It ranged from anything as simple as a crab’s pincer to something as complex as the hue of the sky during a particularly beautiful sunset.
What I subconsciously did was to slowly deviate from the actual experience provided by my senses and delve more into my mental perception, enriching the experience provided by my vivid imagination. Basically I was trying to weaken my senses and sharpen the mental photograph. In my head I could feel the pinching of the crabs and the water, but I couldn’t physically feel it through my senses. I was slowly detaching myself from my senses.
I was ecstatic when I achieved this because now there was only one step left – that is, removing the mental photograph and replacing this with emptiness. Ah, to feel how it is to be as impervious as a rock, senseless and empty. You bit** nature, I’m coming to conquer you! Will I achieve Nirvana and feel that I am the universe and everything in it?
I don’t know… Yet. An irritating traveler has been invading my practices lately. He comes paddling along, on his boat. Apparently he has bought the neighboring island and wants to irritate the shit out of me by coming to me every morning and adding unnecessary details to my mental photograph. He keeps yelling!
“Oye! Good morning!” He calls, ignoring my evident frustration. I want to beat him to death with his oar…
Friday, March 19, 2010
Sunday, March 14, 2010
Dummies Guide to Tam-Brahm Weddings
(No offense meant to anyone in particular. If you think any point here refers to you, Don't abuse me but instead get in touch with your inner self and try to accept the fact that you are a dummy and you need to seek professional counsel before attending weddings)
Ah, a tam-brahm wedding. Now this happens to be a lively congregation of the cream of society.
The cream of society unfortunately is for the most part a highly phony gathering of people who run out of conversation fast and run out of genuineness faster. Dealing with a tam-brahm wedding is a totally different experience because you really don’t know how to start dealing with it, or whether you should start dealing with it at all. Let’s get down to the dirty stuff –
1. “Epdi Irukka/irukkel?”
Let’s face it folks, it’s more of a rhetorical question, because even if you are dying of some deadly and dangerous disease which is eating away your brain or sanity, you are going to reply “I’m fine, how are you?” So next time, if someone asks how you are doing, just reply –
“Unfortunately I have contracted a disease known as bored-by-the-same-crappy-question-which-doesn’t-need-an-answer. It is fatal and you are just making it worse. So get out before you become the cause of my death!”
The rather knotty problem is after asking how that person is, you have no idea how to proceed with the conversation, because you either know so little about the person, or they are a generation above you and you might be afraid that they are going to start giving you unwarranted advice on how not to keep a French beard because it makes you look like a hardcore Muslim terrorist. Hell old man/lady, it’s not a fuzzy fungal growth beneath my chin which is going to reach out and eat you, or develop a character of its own and plant a bomb. Maybe I should allow my beard to speak – “My name is VBK’s beard, and I am not a terrorist’s property!” So leave it alone! (Although I do really wish I had a tentacle beard like Davy Jones in Pirates... If only to freak people out with all the tentacle movement)
2. “Eppo vandhel? Journey comfortable ah? Jet-lag irukka?”
These questions are reserved for people falling in these two categories –
a) They are pretty old and you have no idea what to ask this person; and sometimes it becomes embarrassing when you ask journey comfortable ah because it’ll turn out that the person you are asking had moved into the city ages back! And so, the conversation goes like this:
“Journey comfortable ah?”
“Enna journey? Naan inga dhaan 5 years ah irukken!”
Oh dear, here comes the uncomfortable pause. You try to recover.
“Err, illa, veetlendhu mandapam ku journey epdi, traffic jaasthi ah?”
“Enna pa solre, en veedu to mandapam just 5 minutes distance!”
At this point, the best thing would be to draw inspiration from the 100 m sprint athletes and pretty much get the hell out of there as soon as possible.
b) The second category of people is the NRI families flooding the wedding, flocking in from flights. Inevitably, most of the heads of the families are software engineers with bulging bellies and insane software skills; their bellies have been conditioned because their bratty kids ran toy trucks over them, thinking them to be interesting terrain. These are the people with jet lag; they want to make it general knowledge that they spent thousands of dollars to fly here and sleep off during the day; Their biological clocks are all haywire and before they get accustomed to the day/night patterns here, it’s time to leave. Well, don’t just stop by asking if the journey was comfortable, because this will inadvertently trigger the response "It was good". Instead, ask your teenage cousin how hot the air hostess was, or ask your athai if she caught your athimber ogling at the pretty woman next to him. Though this may initially trigger a sense of Huh? What! How dare he! it is sure to get better and people might actually start accepting the fact that you are not the regular epdi irukkel kind of conversationalist.
3. “Payyan 12th standard ah? Nalla padikkanum. Endha engineering college la setha porelu?”
As it turns out, majority of the Tam-Brahm people are total geeks who are rarely into any other profession other than engineering. A few stray leaves on the family tree might actually manage to do something else other than engineering, but most people don’t want to cut out the benefits of going to ‘America’ as it if fondly called. Hence the family is riddled with ‘America maaplais’- cool dudes who spend their lives learning to cook Tam-Brahm food in America and looking into their monitors all the darned time while accumulating alarmingly increasing waistlines; and Iyer girls who learn classical music or dance and pursue that while doing their engineering.. After all, when the time comes to get married, the parents have to say, “She is an engineer and has this many concerts in this many sabhas to her credit!”
What is with the Tam-Brahm obsession with engineering and going to the US? Why can’t people just let their kids do what they want!
4. “Saaptaacha?”
This is, in my opinion, the crowning glory of stupidity. Food is one of the most integral parts of any wedding, and people rarely, almost never miss the chance to go and kottify as soon as possible. Unless you want to exhibit the characteristics of a selfless martyr, in which case you don’t go into the saapadu pandhi. Smarter still, you can go to the pandhi and claim not to have eaten yet – even then people think you are a martyr. Or else, just say no and go for the eat for a second/third round; after all weddings are all about tantalizing the taste buds and tormenting the stomach into doing unimaginable amounts of digesting.
5. Maaplai/Maatuponnu vandaacha?
Oh hell, this one again. Maybe it's just a tradition, but unless you have been giving amazing business to the ophthalmologist, you ought to be able to see that the maaplai or maatuponnu came in the morning itself and has been sitting there like a rock, a permanent arc writ on his/her face (smile)and of course, there are always these pesky kids on stage. Alleged to add to the cuteness quotient of the stage probably. Just note this point in all weddings - there will invariably be some kid who comes on stage and tries to act cute with the maaplai or the ponnu. Why?!
6. Happa, ippo enakku route clear!
This completes the list of cliched lines at weddings. The younger sibling usually says these lines indicating that he can now get married. Someone ought to go tell him that if he is going to go about belting crappy lines of this sort, no one would want to be in his line at all, whether it's clear or otherwise
Please do add your own, after all we are on a mission to eradicate dumbness :-)
Ah, a tam-brahm wedding. Now this happens to be a lively congregation of the cream of society.
The cream of society unfortunately is for the most part a highly phony gathering of people who run out of conversation fast and run out of genuineness faster. Dealing with a tam-brahm wedding is a totally different experience because you really don’t know how to start dealing with it, or whether you should start dealing with it at all. Let’s get down to the dirty stuff –
1. “Epdi Irukka/irukkel?”
Let’s face it folks, it’s more of a rhetorical question, because even if you are dying of some deadly and dangerous disease which is eating away your brain or sanity, you are going to reply “I’m fine, how are you?” So next time, if someone asks how you are doing, just reply –
“Unfortunately I have contracted a disease known as bored-by-the-same-crappy-question-which-doesn’t-need-an-answer. It is fatal and you are just making it worse. So get out before you become the cause of my death!”
The rather knotty problem is after asking how that person is, you have no idea how to proceed with the conversation, because you either know so little about the person, or they are a generation above you and you might be afraid that they are going to start giving you unwarranted advice on how not to keep a French beard because it makes you look like a hardcore Muslim terrorist. Hell old man/lady, it’s not a fuzzy fungal growth beneath my chin which is going to reach out and eat you, or develop a character of its own and plant a bomb. Maybe I should allow my beard to speak – “My name is VBK’s beard, and I am not a terrorist’s property!” So leave it alone! (Although I do really wish I had a tentacle beard like Davy Jones in Pirates... If only to freak people out with all the tentacle movement)
2. “Eppo vandhel? Journey comfortable ah? Jet-lag irukka?”
These questions are reserved for people falling in these two categories –
a) They are pretty old and you have no idea what to ask this person; and sometimes it becomes embarrassing when you ask journey comfortable ah because it’ll turn out that the person you are asking had moved into the city ages back! And so, the conversation goes like this:
“Journey comfortable ah?”
“Enna journey? Naan inga dhaan 5 years ah irukken!”
Oh dear, here comes the uncomfortable pause. You try to recover.
“Err, illa, veetlendhu mandapam ku journey epdi, traffic jaasthi ah?”
“Enna pa solre, en veedu to mandapam just 5 minutes distance!”
At this point, the best thing would be to draw inspiration from the 100 m sprint athletes and pretty much get the hell out of there as soon as possible.
b) The second category of people is the NRI families flooding the wedding, flocking in from flights. Inevitably, most of the heads of the families are software engineers with bulging bellies and insane software skills; their bellies have been conditioned because their bratty kids ran toy trucks over them, thinking them to be interesting terrain. These are the people with jet lag; they want to make it general knowledge that they spent thousands of dollars to fly here and sleep off during the day; Their biological clocks are all haywire and before they get accustomed to the day/night patterns here, it’s time to leave. Well, don’t just stop by asking if the journey was comfortable, because this will inadvertently trigger the response "It was good". Instead, ask your teenage cousin how hot the air hostess was, or ask your athai if she caught your athimber ogling at the pretty woman next to him. Though this may initially trigger a sense of Huh? What! How dare he! it is sure to get better and people might actually start accepting the fact that you are not the regular epdi irukkel kind of conversationalist.
3. “Payyan 12th standard ah? Nalla padikkanum. Endha engineering college la setha porelu?”
As it turns out, majority of the Tam-Brahm people are total geeks who are rarely into any other profession other than engineering. A few stray leaves on the family tree might actually manage to do something else other than engineering, but most people don’t want to cut out the benefits of going to ‘America’ as it if fondly called. Hence the family is riddled with ‘America maaplais’- cool dudes who spend their lives learning to cook Tam-Brahm food in America and looking into their monitors all the darned time while accumulating alarmingly increasing waistlines; and Iyer girls who learn classical music or dance and pursue that while doing their engineering.. After all, when the time comes to get married, the parents have to say, “She is an engineer and has this many concerts in this many sabhas to her credit!”
What is with the Tam-Brahm obsession with engineering and going to the US? Why can’t people just let their kids do what they want!
4. “Saaptaacha?”
This is, in my opinion, the crowning glory of stupidity. Food is one of the most integral parts of any wedding, and people rarely, almost never miss the chance to go and kottify as soon as possible. Unless you want to exhibit the characteristics of a selfless martyr, in which case you don’t go into the saapadu pandhi. Smarter still, you can go to the pandhi and claim not to have eaten yet – even then people think you are a martyr. Or else, just say no and go for the eat for a second/third round; after all weddings are all about tantalizing the taste buds and tormenting the stomach into doing unimaginable amounts of digesting.
5. Maaplai/Maatuponnu vandaacha?
Oh hell, this one again. Maybe it's just a tradition, but unless you have been giving amazing business to the ophthalmologist, you ought to be able to see that the maaplai or maatuponnu came in the morning itself and has been sitting there like a rock, a permanent arc writ on his/her face (smile)and of course, there are always these pesky kids on stage. Alleged to add to the cuteness quotient of the stage probably. Just note this point in all weddings - there will invariably be some kid who comes on stage and tries to act cute with the maaplai or the ponnu. Why?!
6. Happa, ippo enakku route clear!
This completes the list of cliched lines at weddings. The younger sibling usually says these lines indicating that he can now get married. Someone ought to go tell him that if he is going to go about belting crappy lines of this sort, no one would want to be in his line at all, whether it's clear or otherwise
Please do add your own, after all we are on a mission to eradicate dumbness :-)
Friday, March 12, 2010
Pawn of Paranoia - 1
(Been blogging for 4-5 years now, changing blogs, changing layouts, shamelessly publicizing and so on. Some of my writing was supposed to be published but it never did work out. My dream is to get it published someday. I just need some motivation for that to happen. Please do come back to this space at least once every week. If you guys can give me some motivation, nothing like it! Thanks :)
He stood at the edge of the terrace, five floors above his death. He wanted to plunge into the certainty of death and end all the other uncertainties. He wanted to destroy the web of complexity and senselessness that his mind had woven around him. Just one more step to death…
With that thought he took a step forward and dived head-long into the sea of tar and concrete below. He was unlucky enough to survive the fall. In fact, he was really pissed to open his eyes in the hospital and realize that he was not dead; he was not in heaven or hell; He hadn’t even minded the thought of going straight to hell for eternity, because hell seemed better than what was going on in his life.
1 year ago…
In the confines of his miniscule home in a crowded locality, Raman the inspector was executing a series of knuckle push-ups. He was young, fiery and intelligent. He was rising among the ranks of the police force with amazing agility of mind and body. He had cracked 3 murder cases and 4 burglaries, and had an unblemished record as a detective par excellence. Now, he was working on a case involving a serial killer. This particular killer’s obsession was that he would decapitate the head of the victim and take it with him. No one knew what he was doing with the heads. The heads just went missing. There was no sign of robbery, there was no motive for murder, and the victims seemed to be random. Raman was assigned the case.
It happened for the first time just after he finished the push-ups.
“So, are you going to find the killer?” A deep voice questioned Raman from the shadows.
He was startled for just a millisecond but his reflexes were as sharp as the edge of a Swiss-knife; Raman’s hand bulleted out onto the table and clutched his .32 caliber Webley revolver tight and pointed it towards the voice in the darkness.
“Come out of the dark now. How come I didn’t hear you before?”
A lean, bearded man stepped out of the darkness into the narrow radius of light, the source of which was a single bulb which illuminated just a fraction of the room.
“I am one with the shadows, Raman. My name is Serriver. I have been asked to tell you that you are the one who has to save the world from doom, and to guide you through this.”
“Are you crazy? There is no doomsday. Who are you?"
“Raman, Raman, Raman. Wasn’t I being absolutely clear about who I was and why I’m here? Put the gun down. Here, let’s talk.”
Serriver sat on the ground cross-legged. Raman slowly lowered his revolver and sat down face to face with Serriver.
The light bounced off Serriver in a translucent, ethereal way. His eyes were black as black can get. He started talking.
“This world is going to be doomed. All the evil of the world has been compounded into one single being called Hangi. This Hangi is engineering the biggest nuclear weapon in the world. He plans to cause a nuclear holocaust and wipe out all life on this planet.”
“I know I’m dealing with a crazy idiot who is wasting my time. What do you want?”
“Look, Raman. I have been destined to help you out. You cannot hurt me. Your mind will not allow it.”
Suddenly a shot reverberated in the tiny house, shaking its foundations. Raman couldn’t believe it because it seemed to him that at the exact moment when he pulled the trigger, his hand involuntarily pulled back and made the bullet go elsewhere. Serriver was still sitting there, scratching his beard thoughtfully. He hadn’t even flinched when the shot was fired.
“You’ve got to learn to trust me, Raman. You cannot hurt me. I cannot hurt you. That’s the way it’s going to go. You have got to kill Hangi. Maybe a century ago, no one would’ve thought about nuclear or atomic weapons. And yet, in 1947 the fateful atomic bomb blasts in Japan wiped out two whole cities. Today, nearly six decades later, why is it so difficult to believe that a weapon to destroy the world is being engineered?”
Raman held his head in his hands. This was not making sense to him. Who were Serriver and Hangi? Why did they have such weird names? A headache started creeping slowly into existence. A slow, pounding ache which laughed through the pounding and caused immense pain.
“Hangi is powerful. He is the compounded evil being, and has many resources at his disposal. He will send people to kill you all the time if he knows of your existence. Keep your head down. Stop hunting down stupid idiot serial killers and wasting your time, because if you don’t stop Hangi, the mother and father of all killers, he will annihilate this planet and there won’t be anyone left to kill.”
“Why did it have to be me?” Raman questioned.
“You are the best of the best. You just don’t know it. You are the elite and you wield the power to save the world.”
“No, no, no! Get out, you piece of crap!”
In his frustration, Raman picked up a book and threw it at Serriver, but just like before, his hand seemed to lose control in the last moment and the book landed elsewhere.
Through his bearded and lean countenance, Serriver smiled. It was strange to see this figure, translucent and ghostly, sitting there and talking about doomsday.
Suddenly, the sound of sirens could be heard. They were getting closer.
“There, his agents have found out about us. See how fast he functions.” Serriver shouted through the alarmingly increasing noise of the approaching sirens.
“But who are they?”
“They are cops, corrupted for his cause. They have been mentally poisoned to strike you down.”
“But I am a cop too!”
“Ah, but your mind does not bear the venom which they have!”
“Ok, now what am I to do?”
“Run. Run to the terrace.” Serriver counseled.
Adrenaline pumping through his entire body, Raman grabbed his revolver and sprinted up the stairs to the terrace above the fourth floor. The sirens were getting closer.
“Now what is to be done? I don’t want to gun down other cops, good or bad.”
“Then why the hell did you bring the revolver?”
“That’s like my safety net.”
“Run to the top of the water tank. Quick.”
Further down, Raman could hear agitated voices. Probably the corrupt cops were searching for him. But they would never find him when he was hiding on the water tank, the highest vantage point on the terrace. He climbed the ladder to the water tank, pulled the ladder up so that the cops couldn’t use it to get to him, and sweaty and exhausted, he fell asleep on the water tank, his heart thumping loudly, mind boiling in turmoil.
In the morning he opened his eyes, and saw the unusually black and translucent eyes of Serriver piercing him.
“That was close, but this has just started.”
He stood at the edge of the terrace, five floors above his death. He wanted to plunge into the certainty of death and end all the other uncertainties. He wanted to destroy the web of complexity and senselessness that his mind had woven around him. Just one more step to death…
With that thought he took a step forward and dived head-long into the sea of tar and concrete below. He was unlucky enough to survive the fall. In fact, he was really pissed to open his eyes in the hospital and realize that he was not dead; he was not in heaven or hell; He hadn’t even minded the thought of going straight to hell for eternity, because hell seemed better than what was going on in his life.
1 year ago…
In the confines of his miniscule home in a crowded locality, Raman the inspector was executing a series of knuckle push-ups. He was young, fiery and intelligent. He was rising among the ranks of the police force with amazing agility of mind and body. He had cracked 3 murder cases and 4 burglaries, and had an unblemished record as a detective par excellence. Now, he was working on a case involving a serial killer. This particular killer’s obsession was that he would decapitate the head of the victim and take it with him. No one knew what he was doing with the heads. The heads just went missing. There was no sign of robbery, there was no motive for murder, and the victims seemed to be random. Raman was assigned the case.
It happened for the first time just after he finished the push-ups.
“So, are you going to find the killer?” A deep voice questioned Raman from the shadows.
He was startled for just a millisecond but his reflexes were as sharp as the edge of a Swiss-knife; Raman’s hand bulleted out onto the table and clutched his .32 caliber Webley revolver tight and pointed it towards the voice in the darkness.
“Come out of the dark now. How come I didn’t hear you before?”
A lean, bearded man stepped out of the darkness into the narrow radius of light, the source of which was a single bulb which illuminated just a fraction of the room.
“I am one with the shadows, Raman. My name is Serriver. I have been asked to tell you that you are the one who has to save the world from doom, and to guide you through this.”
“Are you crazy? There is no doomsday. Who are you?"
“Raman, Raman, Raman. Wasn’t I being absolutely clear about who I was and why I’m here? Put the gun down. Here, let’s talk.”
Serriver sat on the ground cross-legged. Raman slowly lowered his revolver and sat down face to face with Serriver.
The light bounced off Serriver in a translucent, ethereal way. His eyes were black as black can get. He started talking.
“This world is going to be doomed. All the evil of the world has been compounded into one single being called Hangi. This Hangi is engineering the biggest nuclear weapon in the world. He plans to cause a nuclear holocaust and wipe out all life on this planet.”
“I know I’m dealing with a crazy idiot who is wasting my time. What do you want?”
“Look, Raman. I have been destined to help you out. You cannot hurt me. Your mind will not allow it.”
Suddenly a shot reverberated in the tiny house, shaking its foundations. Raman couldn’t believe it because it seemed to him that at the exact moment when he pulled the trigger, his hand involuntarily pulled back and made the bullet go elsewhere. Serriver was still sitting there, scratching his beard thoughtfully. He hadn’t even flinched when the shot was fired.
“You’ve got to learn to trust me, Raman. You cannot hurt me. I cannot hurt you. That’s the way it’s going to go. You have got to kill Hangi. Maybe a century ago, no one would’ve thought about nuclear or atomic weapons. And yet, in 1947 the fateful atomic bomb blasts in Japan wiped out two whole cities. Today, nearly six decades later, why is it so difficult to believe that a weapon to destroy the world is being engineered?”
Raman held his head in his hands. This was not making sense to him. Who were Serriver and Hangi? Why did they have such weird names? A headache started creeping slowly into existence. A slow, pounding ache which laughed through the pounding and caused immense pain.
“Hangi is powerful. He is the compounded evil being, and has many resources at his disposal. He will send people to kill you all the time if he knows of your existence. Keep your head down. Stop hunting down stupid idiot serial killers and wasting your time, because if you don’t stop Hangi, the mother and father of all killers, he will annihilate this planet and there won’t be anyone left to kill.”
“Why did it have to be me?” Raman questioned.
“You are the best of the best. You just don’t know it. You are the elite and you wield the power to save the world.”
“No, no, no! Get out, you piece of crap!”
In his frustration, Raman picked up a book and threw it at Serriver, but just like before, his hand seemed to lose control in the last moment and the book landed elsewhere.
Through his bearded and lean countenance, Serriver smiled. It was strange to see this figure, translucent and ghostly, sitting there and talking about doomsday.
Suddenly, the sound of sirens could be heard. They were getting closer.
“There, his agents have found out about us. See how fast he functions.” Serriver shouted through the alarmingly increasing noise of the approaching sirens.
“But who are they?”
“They are cops, corrupted for his cause. They have been mentally poisoned to strike you down.”
“But I am a cop too!”
“Ah, but your mind does not bear the venom which they have!”
“Ok, now what am I to do?”
“Run. Run to the terrace.” Serriver counseled.
Adrenaline pumping through his entire body, Raman grabbed his revolver and sprinted up the stairs to the terrace above the fourth floor. The sirens were getting closer.
“Now what is to be done? I don’t want to gun down other cops, good or bad.”
“Then why the hell did you bring the revolver?”
“That’s like my safety net.”
“Run to the top of the water tank. Quick.”
Further down, Raman could hear agitated voices. Probably the corrupt cops were searching for him. But they would never find him when he was hiding on the water tank, the highest vantage point on the terrace. He climbed the ladder to the water tank, pulled the ladder up so that the cops couldn’t use it to get to him, and sweaty and exhausted, he fell asleep on the water tank, his heart thumping loudly, mind boiling in turmoil.
In the morning he opened his eyes, and saw the unusually black and translucent eyes of Serriver piercing him.
“That was close, but this has just started.”
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