Nonchalance

The rooster-styled alarm clock goes off at 6AM and Tony taps the snooze button after a sneak peek to ensure the absence of sharp objects over it; the sole memory of an ex whose prank took him to the ER. After three snoozes, each at an interval of ten minutes, Tony wakes up swiftly to the sudden realization that he’ll be fired if today’s flight is missed. Tony’s company, Wherewithal Technologies develops critical communication technologies for the Department of Defense and importance of today’s demonstration could not be stressed enough. The flight is scheduled at half past eight and he quickly charts the routine required to reach the airport in time and maps it on his brain. All the stars have to align for him to make it in time. But then, most stars are either touchy bastards or snarky bitches that rarely looked each other in the eye.

It is five minutes past seven as he runs down the stairs, wearing a backpack, carrying a suit in one hand and tucking-in the rumpled shirt with another. Reeking of excessive cologne, essential to compensate for the shower that wasn’t, Tony stands before the garage which opens like it was waiting to get back at him. Even as the door is partially open, he bends in to find the garage empty, deliberates for a moment and charges in the direction of the visitor’s parking. After throwing the bag and suit fiercely on the back seat, he starts the car, even before putting on the seat-belt and then it dawns on him that the fuel level is at rock-bottom, the marker pointing much below the empty sign. One could bet on driving to the fuel station; then again, is it worth it? Not so sure after having had to call in AAA twice when the car gave up mid-way to the fuel station. Heck! Tony isn’t even sure if the AAA membership was renewed this year, after the change in credit card. With his job on the line, he decides not to take a chance and rings in for a cab, even as sweat is dripping off his forehead.

The digital clock at the Southwest Airlines’ gate has waited patiently for one whole minute to toggle from 7.52AM to 7.53AM even as a cab approaches it at high speed, screeching to a halt. “Such a prick!” mumbles the cab driver as Tony quickly pays her off and rushes to grab the backpack from trunk. Tony had been badgering her all along to exceed the speed limits, not worried one bit about the possible spike in her insurance rates; proving self to be the type who petitions the mayor to install fire hydrants after building a home at the mouth of an active volcano. After violently shutting the trunk down, he plucks the cart nearby, not caring for the elderly woman who was annoyed at her cart being hijacked, and dashes in to the check-in area, where the queue is not long enough to be a cause of concern. The pleasant person that he is, he finds a way of avoiding even that by stating loudly that his flight is in twenty minutes, as if the folks in queue are to be blamed for his nonchalance.

Hastily finishing the check-in process, he surges towards the security region as the clock reads 8.04AM. Having gotten into trouble in the past trying to sprint through security, Tony remains mindful, trying to keep discipline at the security gates. There are three people in front and in the race between patience and time, patience gets hit by a bus. Pointing at the nearby TSA official, Tony cried, “My granny is dead!” Security check done swiftly, he proceeds to use the time saved in buying chocolates from the shop by the gate, picking pomegranate truffles, even as final calls for the flight were being made.

Tony rushes and sneaks into the flight at the very last minute, completely disregarding the stern look on the pretty air-hostess’ face. After settling in the seat he starts fiddling with his phone even as the flight reaches runway, readying for take-off. The air-hostess visits for final checks and requests him to place the phone on airplane-mode to which he readily complies, holds still until she leaves and starts playing with it again. The clock strikes 8.30 AM and just as the flight is taking off, his phone rings, sending him into a panic attack as everyone in the vicinity turned around. Like a child who dropped the glass jar when caught stealing cookies, instead of just avoiding the call, he tries closing the other application, the all-important one, but messes it up. At that very instant, the airplane starts wobbling. Tony’s mind harked back to previous evening when he used Wherewithal Technologies’ jamming technology equipped phone to impress the waitress. Developed to forestall terrorist attacks, it was put to good use at thwarting Justin Bieber’s songs at the restaurant. The waitress wore an eternal poker face and such an act was necessary to confirm if her face muscles were functional. That bit of magic was a grand success alright, and continues to be one now as he had forgotten to close the application. Even as he scrambled to turn off the jammer, all electronic equipment in the airplane have collapsed. For someone who chased time all this while, this was a role reversal of sorts. Within seconds, the flight resembled a giant see-saw without a pivot, tilting up and down, mid-air.  After 2 minutes of panic, the plane crashes.

As the rooster-styled clock spelt 8.53AM, CNN’s news-scroll flashed: “Air-crash at LAX. 223 people on-board feared dead. One miraculous survivor.”

6 * 6 word stories

1) Enthusiastic about writing, Coffee Machine broke

2) Lots of dreams, still wide awake

3) Fractured my wrist, playing foosball

4) Kill the terrorists, two year olds

5) God save the queen, from hell

6) Loved her to death. She’s guilty

Weathermen

Written as part of “Ekphrastic Writing” exercise on below image, “Flooded room” by Gregory Crewdson.

It was 6.30 AM and the wind outside was icy cold but silent. The sun  sunk behind thick clouds, surprising considering that weatherman predicted a pleasant day. Darn those unpredictable weathermen! I could hear her waking up to the sound of alarm, set to the tune of the famous “Because am happy” song.  I could hear her chime to it’s tune, with intermittent yawning. Her tone scaled higher and higher as she walked towards the stairs. It was still dark, which she did not seem mind as she jumped down the stairs, jauntily. Upon reaching the turn of the stairs, she bent playfully from the stairs to reach for the lights.  When the lights went on, she saw me sitting on the couch, one leg on another, rubbing my eyes still trained to darkness. She raised a shrill shriek for all but a second before recognizing me. One could see her anxiety turn instantly into unbound happiness. She sprinted down the stairs, not caring for the flip-flops which stuck  due to inertia. Arising from the couch which was too comfortable to my liking, I looked her straight in the eyes. She was still panting with surprise, happiness and the general fatigue that occurs when people sprint. I bent down and grabbed her baseball bat slanting on the side of comfortable couch. Perplexed, she stepped back a little – a natural reaction.  As I started rolling the bat, I could see doubt transforming into fear. She stepped back a little more out of reflex. Unfortunately for her, it was the perfect distance for a good old swing. And swing I did! Fall she did, thud! She was writhing in pain, screaming for help. I sat back on the couch. Too uncomfortable for my liking. As she lay there, with a hurt eye, her own blood forming a halo of sorts, she turned towards me. She begged me. She asked me, “why?”. She turned sad. Her soul turned empty. Her one open eye dried away along with her hopes. The alarm went “Because am happy”. She must have hit the snooze button. Bloody annoying.  The wind turned louder by the minute, the lightening struck with a vengeance and it started pouring. It was going to be a gloomy day. Darn those unpredictable weathermen!

 

Credits: However bad this story turns out to be, it’s inspired by watching the brooding intense scenes from Tarantinoesque flicks, but immediate inspiration was Jigarthanda’s theatre restroom shooting scene.

 

Creative Writing Workshop – Take 1

I finally got around my general lack of self-discipline, laziness, depression – all reasons most people say for not doing what they say they want to do and sometimes really want to do. I enrolled into creative writing workshop for beginning writers at UCLA extension. Writing is something I have always wanted to do and felt I could savor life experiences better and enhance creativity doing this. As is the normal case, fears of an introvert kicked in and I was wondering if I should withdraw even before attending it. But fortunately, I decided to hell with it and give it a shot. After a drive of an hour and a half in 405, my limited stock of creative juices dried up when I reached the center, but the greenery around the campus restored some of it. I sneaked into the class late and went and sat down silently. When I decide to break out of introversion, I generally go full-monty, trying to wisecrack my way out of it. But, I have noticed that when I become a wisecrack, I lose focus on the actual work at hand and botch it up. And vice-versa. I intend to treat this class as an experiment for me to find a balance between being focused and having fun.

The workshop in itself felt like a sitcom rehearsal table one sees in youtube videos, a first for me. The instructor of the class, Nancy was a very gentle and thoughtful person who kept the negative criticism to the minimum, as it was the first class. I was not familiar with most of the authors she mentioned as examples but the ideas she imparted were great.  The other students in the class were of varied range. There were the romantics, the pragmatic and the cynics. But the uniform string across was that people had a passion for stories and most of them were super creative when it came to writing. Some of their impromptu writing was very natural and perfect for a first copy that it is yet to sink in completely.  I made small talk to some 3-4 people to know where they came from, what drove them towards stories and it was captivating to listen to them. Then a “narrative gang” was played where one starts telling a story, which the next person must continue. I turned the story on its head by killing 2 key people right in the middle of the story. The person next to me was pissed, but hey, that’s part of the game!. And after that, “the Joys of Ekphrastic riting” exercise started, where the concept is to write a story according to a given Modern Art in less than 10 minutes. This was a first for me and I was dumbstruck for a minute with the given art. It was a very creepy image of a girl on the floor, with one eye closed and the other showing the emptiness in her soul.  It struck me like a lightning and I could hear the echoes of its thunder for the rest of the class, and it is still echoing in a way. Immediately a super dark story crept up in my mind but I felt odd to develop as I did not have the confidence to recite it. I tried developing a different, softer one, but this overpowered me. As others were telling their stories, I was sinking quickly in the quicksand, the eye that was. I dreamed my way out silently through the rest of class. Some lessons from the day:

-> Do not get dreamy eyed in the workshop. Keep moving with the class and stay in the present

-> Develop and tell the story you are confident of with no fear

-> Develop plot points on paper, type out in laptop

Haiku Trial – 1

This rainbow mocked at the sun,

Saying, “I am more fun!”

He sank into a cloud of sadness.

Inflection Point

Human life compares well to a marathon in that one has to keep running. Keep oneself busy doing something worthwhile. Not for nothing do they say that an idle mind is a devil’s workshop.  But many of us take it way too seriously, as if it is some sort of a competition. We run at such a pace that we tire quickly – mentally and physically. Like in marathon where one grabs caffeine in a rush and keeps running, we fill our precious mindspace with formulaic movies and senseless hobbies.  To break this degenerate cycle, one needs a small gap and a clarity of thought. To think through what are we doing and why do we do it. This blog is an attempt to create that space for myself. Along the way, I hope to strengthen the synapse connecting the words in my brain and get better at stringing meaningful sentences using them.

 

PS: As Goundamani puts it succinctly, the future generations shall watch this space, read it and achieve clarity. I am in the same league as that Saint Senthil. (It’s an inside joke for folks who know Tamil)