Saturday, May 23, 2009

Sunday, 6’o clock

It was a Sunday evening. The central railway station was crowded with people. One cannot guess which state we are in by looking at the face of the people there. People there were of mixed races and skin colors. There were Solankis, Guptas, Raos, jains and many others. Chennai central always looks like a place where Babylonians have gathered to build Babel, chaos of shouting in all languages spoken in India. And if it is the time of arrival of train to Mumbai, then the whole station will look like a pandemonium.

Time: 17.45. I just entered the railway station when the automated voice announced that the Mumbai express is about to start five minutes. I was afraid that my reddish eyes and untidy hair might draw some attention towards me. Luckily it did not. I don’t want to make any scene that might ruin my opportunity. I moved my eyes over the crowd, scanning. This might be the last chance I could have. I have to find him, soon. There is not much time left. Everything must happen the way I planned them.

The bulge in my pocket was clearly visible. I felt the gun in my pocket with my fingers. My heart was pounding as if it was about to burst out of the rib cage. I took my hand out of the pocket to avoid police suspicions. He should not show any outward signs of danger. My fingers were etching towards gun. I wanted to take the gun and empty all the bullets in cartridge in his chest. He has to be attended. But time has to come. I know how many guys have ended up in jail since they acted in wrong time.

I just remembered that he always travels in the I Class A/C compartment. I pushed through the crowd towards the passenger name list chart near the door. I scanned the list, ah…… I found him. His seat was not near the gate. So I moved deep into the train. He was there, fumbling through his bag for something. Time: 17.50

I asked, “Mr.Bose?”


I pointed the gun at him and said “You have asked for it, haven’t you, Mr.Bose?”

He stared at me curiously for few seconds and his face lit up. He asked

pointing me with the eye glasses in his hand, “ Ajay, right?”


He sat up straight and asked “Tell me, what this stuff is?”

I took some breath and started “This is just an ordinary regular revolver, nothing special. 6 rounds, Takes time to reload for unpracticed hands, makes loud noise, easy to use but less accuracy. No silencer can be fitted, definitely not suitable for people like you.”

“This is not for me, just for my boys.”

“So, what do you say?”

“I’ll take it”. He took the gun carefully from my hands and packed it carefully beneath his clothes.

“Thank you, it has been pleasure doing business with you.”

I stood up and hesitated for a second before moving. Finally, I inhaled deeply, and asked “Do you know Mothilal, my father? He was working in sugar factory.”

“I can’t remember well. What does he do now?”

“Nothing. He is dead”

“Oh, I remember now. It is the guy who was found dead in sugar molasses?”


“I feel sorry for you. The investigation is going on, right? Don’t hesitate if you need any help.”

“Thank you, sir.”

He waved his hand in dismissal.

Time: 17.55. I got out of the train. My hands were trembling. I was furious with anger. I was not able to control myself. My whole body was shaking. I know, he is the one who was responsible for my father’s death. But he acts as if he barely knew him. He should be punished. But how could I ever do that? He is a man of power. He has money and power. I could not allow myself to be caught for any murder. I have a family that needs me. My complaints will not be accepted. I have got no other choice. It has to be like this.

Inside the train, Bose packed the bag with gun securely, and kept it beside him. When he looked down his seat to check his other lug gages, he found a white parcel. He weighed it with his hands to guess what is inside.

Time: 18.00.I came out of railway station. I look around for it. I found it and moved towards it. I went directly into the booth and close behind me. “Hello, control room? …… I have information…….yes…… identity is unnecessary……cannot say the source…… there is a bomb in ….”

P.S.- My tamil Blog friends could have read this story already in tamil. It was English I wrote this story at first. I did this in a Creative Writing Workshop, to which I got selected from my college.

Thursday, May 7, 2009

Old men, Rocking chair

Old men, Rocking chair

It rocks
In the cottage
To and fro
Like a boat roped to the abandoned shore
Gentle and silent
A wavering mind
Dithering like pendulum
Over two different ideas

A time warper to an old man
Who becomes reminiscent of his past

Laid near a fire place
He rocks on that chair
With a hot coffee cupped in his hands
Sipping slowly
Nostalgic of callous and fertile past

Laid in a corner
In darkness
Another old man sits,
Numb with cold, with a nippy coffee
Untouched over the table nearby
Reminiscences of a blundered past

As a clever man learns from his past,
An intelligent man learns from others’

- B.பிரபுகுமார்