Amity in a Strange Package

                                           Amity in a strange package

They weren’t a couple. Oh, no.

He was the captain of the Soccer Club, lithe, athletic and quick. She belonged to the Drama and Literature Club, with a penchant for writing and speaking extensively.

They belonged in parallel universes- he was usually the type that came late to school, had a knack for irritating teachers and at the same time making the other kids laugh. To come to school to study was most definitely not his objective- he liked to think that his world revolved around soccer, burgers, girls, guitar and himself. She was smart- she took studies seriously, was strong in her words and behavior, organized a bunch of activities in school, and although her world didn’t seem to revolve around herself, a lot of people were dependent on her.

He was the Loki of the school, she the Amazon Warrior Queen.

And yet, when they two did meet, they acted as a foil to each other’s natures. He would sober down, and display a surprisingly intellectual nature. Indeed, he had shocked her considerably the first time they’d started talking, with his astounding knowledge of subjects ranging from Shakespeare, History and literature to the workings of the modern machine. She, in turn, seemed to let go of whatever current stress that troubled her, like a deflating balloon, and laughed and romped about easily and naturally. She amazed him with her devious nature while playing pranks, and then getting them out of trouble, in fact it was she who had suggested the idea of a senior year prank.

She helped him get serious with life, he helped her enjoy it.

Yet, only a handful knew that they were friends. To the rest of the world, it seemed like two so very different people, polar opposites of each other, could not even get along with each other, unless they were going out. And even then, it would be a completely platonic relationship, for he was handsome, with shaggy brown hair falling lazily into his eyes, and she was classically beautiful- light boned, slim and smooth, with waves of jet black hair.

It was the little things they did, that kept the glue of their friendship fresh and strong. They went out for a McDonald’s Chocolate-Dip Vanilla cone every weekend and sat in his car, listening to the top-ten FM songs. Or they’d to the beach on a moonlit evening, lie in the sand and look at the twinkling spread of celestial bodies while commenting (or insulting, which was more often the case) on the reel-life stars. Sometimes, she’d pair up with a girlfriend, and he with a bro, and they’d play a little one-one basketball, in which, most humiliatingly, she’d beat him. Their favorite pastime, however, was listening to him play the guitar as she wrote lyrics for his songs, while they argued about everything.

Like Mariede Svign said, true friendship is never serene. They never had a peaceful time together- their evenings would be terminated in her screaming in response to his “funny” jokes and hitting him with whatever was there in her hand, or in some fight or the other. But they always made up, every time.

This seems like a love story, doesn’t it? But it’s not. They’d both deny it, and here’s an anecdote to prove ‘em so.

He was upset. The ray of laughter had gone from his eyes and his lazy smirk was wiped away. He could sit and list his problems for hours. His girlfriend had cheated on him again, his mom and dad fought like coyotes over a mate and his soccer had suffered so badly because of this that Coach had made him warm the bench through three games and threatened to completely withdraw him from the club.

He didn’t notice her, too busy wallowing in his pool of problems till she smacked him so hard around the head that he yelped. ‘Get up.’ Contempt laced every syllable in her tone. He didn’t care and turned away from, not bothering to fight as she dragged him to her car, and started driving.

He didn’t resist, till she pulled up at the field. ‘Oh, come on,’ he asked her, annoyed. ‘You cannot be serious.’ In response, she walked to the goalpost, and kicked the soccer ball to his head. ‘Ow!’ he groaned. But he still didn’t feel the adrenaline rush he experienced near a soccer ball.

‘Come ON, coward!’ she screamed from the other end. ‘Man up! Are you so gutless as to be whining like a little doll-less girl when she dumped you?’ ‘She cheated on me, you freak!’ he yelled back. Memories of the past few weeks crowded on him. Watching in disbelief as his girlfriend kissed his best friend in the school compound, hiding in his room, struggling against the hot, hateful tears as his dad came close to hitting his mom…they swirled around and around in his head, till he couldn’t bear it anymore, no more.

He kicked the ball. She blocked it effortlessly. ‘Useless lump of crap!!’ Coach’s comments heightened his anger, making him kick the ball so hard that it swished into the goal, before she had time to register its movement. This went on till his old fervor in the field returned. He tackled her without difficulty, seamlessly connected with the ball and gave long, graceful kicks. By the time he was done, he was sweating profusely, but he grinned. Hugging her, despite her squeals of disgust, he said ‘You’re a gem of a friend, y’know that?’ ‘Aren’t I always?’ she smirked, obviously learnt from him. They smiled at each other and walked out for a McDonald’s ice-cream cone. ‘By the way,’ she said. ‘My friend, the one in the Chess Club, likes you. A lot.’

‘Really? The cute redhead?’ They’d reached the outlet, and were now slurping the chocolate in the cool evening air. He laughed. ‘I’d like to take her out sometime.’

And that, my friends, is what I call true friendship.

                                                                 

                                                                   

Desiderate

Desiderate

Dirt clung to his fingernails as he made his way over the moist soil. He was dying, he knew, not of a terrible disease, not of some body-breaking wound, but of one, simple, satiable thing- thirst. He had not had a drink for almost a week.

Of, course, he reflected wryly, that was because he had been kept under silver lock and key, guarded by foul enchantments by his ungrateful master just because he happened to fall in love on the job. That degraded, loathsome brute. Finally he’d managed to break free and kill the hated dictator, only to find himself in a no-man’s land. After desperate days of dragging his rapidly deteriorating, he’d managed to find a town. Yet, even now, he couldn’t find relief. The houses had been deserted, every one of the blasted population had gone for a feast at the mayor’s mansion.

‘Damn you,’ he rasped, then chuckled to himself, a laugh that came out more like a hacking cough. But of course, who could be more damned than he, who had performed such evils that the coldest serial-killer could not hope to surpass him?

There was a rustle in the bushes. Terrified, he climbed up a tree, awaiting the worst. Oh, but it was only a girl, a most beautiful lass of about sixteen, carrying a bucket full of water from the nearby well.

He licked his chapped, dry lips and panted like an overly eager dog. He was so thirsty, so very thirsty! The fire built up in his throat, so close to temptation. He could hear the water slopping over the rim of the bucket, could see it splashing onto the grass in cool silver drops.

He hesitated. The girl was so much like her, his love, his fleur-de-lis, his heart. The same golden hair, stroking  her lower back with shining ringlets, eyes the same shade of lavender-blue  her exquisite, limpid orbs had been. Then his heart hardened. She had died, hadn’t she? His master had seen to that. He didn’t want redemption anymore.

And with that final thought, he leapt at the girl and put an end to her screams by biting into her warm, fleshy milk-white neck and drinking in the one thing that could douse the flames in his throat- rich, red blood.

Bulls on Parade

Bulls on Parade- a Viewpoint from the audience

On the 23^rd of December, 2010, the highly anticipated rock concert called ‘Bulls on Parade’ and created by Muscat-renowned singer Akhilesh Radhakrishnan and Aftershock band mates Swapnil Anto and Abrar Mohammed took place. It was a more advertised version of last year’s event – ‘Scream’, organized by Karnika Ray, Malvika Asher and Binoodha Sasy and was performed at the same venue, Le Grand Hall at the Al Falaj hotel. Unfortunately unlike ‘Scream’, ‘BoP’ failed to enthrall the audience, and made many people, including yours truly, wish that they had not wasted their time and money for such an experience.

Firstly, the number of people who came to watch the bands play was quite limited, contrary to expectation. The whole show had been largely publicized and talked about, at least in our school, Indian School Al Wadi Al Kabir. This could be due to the fact that the tickets were mainly sold in our school, and not in other reigning Indian schools like Indian Schools Muscat or Al Ghubra, because the organizers themselves were fresh out of ISWK. Secondly, the tickets were at a price of RO. 4.00, which was outrageous for a school-going kid. Perhaps it was due to such an exorbitant rate that many young people failed to show up. The mikes were also not working properly, leading to a vocalist’s voice being unheard, or an excellent guitar to be completely switched off. For all one knows, these could have been the factors which contributed to more people sitting outside, bored, than going inside and enjoying the music!

On the plus side, however, the bands were quite good, especially local bands Aftershock and Question Mark. All the bands had a host of guitarists who knew their way about the chords and scales well and that knowledge to make their (although a handful of) fans scream for them. But it was really the DJ Nigel Warren who got the concert-goers to sit up, take note of the songs he played and shake their hips enthusiastically around the hall. Indeed, there were little groups of dancers who cheered on their best for a mini-dance-off with another excellent dancer.

The show ended on a fair note when the results of the online voting for the best band were announced. Question Mark and school band Evolution bagged the first two places, with cash prize of RO. 150 each, and another school band, No Clue, won the second runners-up position.

Hey...again

Hey…again

We had a misunderstanding

Suffocated by doubt

It created a rift between us

We parted ways and took a different route.

And now, we see each other

We make polite small talk

And it’s as if a great burden is falling

Like a key opens a lock.

We catch each other’s eye

We grin and look away

But the bridge is rebuilt, the bond healing

We’re seeing a different angle, a new way.

It’s good to see you again, my friend

It’s good to banter again, to laugh

We thought we’d moved on to another chapter

But some friendships can’t leave the track and go off.

To The Sky

To The Sky

You’re up so high

Yet sometimes I can

Touch you and almost feel you

As irresistible as the call of an ice-cream van.

You change your shades like a mood ring

Cool blue when happy, harsh black when angered

Velvety purple when benign, silvery purple at dawn

Clouds blanket you, creamy as new curd.

Limitless, endless

Enticing, free

Celestial, mysterious

Liberated from anxiety and worry.

You call me, inviting, seductive

But you tease me, I cannot come

I am restrained by Earth’s grounded chains

Intoxicating as wine attained from sweet plum.

The Fun In Between

YEAH!  LIVE LIFE!!!!

There’s something about the time when you finish writing an exam and wait for at least half an hour on the school premises to be with your friends before going home which makes sitting for  the exam really worth it. Some people have gone as far as to say that exam time is much more fun than holidays because during the holidays, you hardly get to see your friends, surprisingly enough. Why is this particular period so enjoyed by us, the teens who always complain that studying is the bane of our lives? It’s because that half an hour of relaxing with your buds, before grudgingly going home and cramming, is precious to us. Not only do we get to spend time with our own group, we also see our juniors and seniors, who are also our friends and probably have exams at the same time. Playing football or shooting hoops helps us relish our short periods of freedom before going home. We can complain passionately about the difficulty of our papers to each other, and even tear the question papers up in defiance together, for who listens to us and supports us so well after a tough exam other than the people who have taken it with us? This is also the time when we sneak our mobiles to school, to exchange and stock up on songs to listen to after our freedom from those evil papers, and to take pictures of each other so as to carry home memories to remind ourselves of the fun we have during exams, which makes all the memorizing of hateful Chemistry equations and harrowing practices of Trigonometric calculations so much more bearable.  No doubt studying for our exams is no entertainment for us, but the thought of being with our gangs, of sharing even the tiniest bit of news, of running around trying to catch a teasing guy friend - yes, all this helps to fill us with positive thoughts of finishing an exam quickly and racing out to be with our friends. It sure does make the exam time fly by much faster!

The Cat

      The Cat

He found her, mewing pathetically, on the dusty side of the road. Chewing his cheek, he stared at her. She was so small and furry and weak that she could hardly lift herself up. He had never seen a more pitiful sight. Yet she was somehow familiar, as though he had seen her elsewhere.

Balaji bent his slim brown legs and lifted the cat. She trembled in his arms and mewed quietly. He took her home and put her in a small basket hidden in the corner of the old store-room, for if Amma or Kodhai Mami found her, they would be furious. They hated animals stepping on their clean floors.

He found some milk that Patti had bought from the old milk-seller who, according to her, was the best milkman in the whole of Tamil Nadu while everyone else knew that he had faithfully watered down the milk for the past 32 years, and fed it to the cat. She drank gratefully. A small smile crept across his face. ‘I’ll call you Radhu,’ he said, stroking her. Then, picking her up, he went to show her to his kind grandparents. Unlike his mother, they adored cats.

Thatha and Patti were sitting on the big swing in the courtyard. Thatha chewed some betel leaf while Patti sang a Carnatic song under her breath. ‘Thatha, Patti!’ he yelled joyfully and ran to show them his find. ‘Isn’t she beautiful?’ Patti smiled, not quite hearing him. ‘Come here, kanna,’ she said, patting the swing’s  seat. He clambered on, holding the cat carefully. Now it was purring faintly. ‘See my Radhu? She is my baby now, like how Rajan has a new baby brother.’ The two elders stared at his arms, puzzled. They could see nothing. Patti blinked her eyes several times, hoping that an image of whatever her dear grandson was showing would materialize, but nothing came. She made a mental note to tell her daughter to ask her son-in-law to take her to Ammu Eye Clinic.

Thatha was somehow wiser than his (seemingly) short-sighted wife. He ruffled Balaji’s hair and pretended to admire Radhu. ‘The boy and his imagination,’ he muttered to his wife, who nodded, glad to know that she didn’t need glasses.

Balaji heard. ‘I am not imagining her!!!! If you can’t see her, then you are blind. I hate you!’ he burst out savagely and ran toward the doorway, where he met Amma. His anger gave way to fear. He stood, head hanging, tears running down his cheeks. Amma would surely kick poor Radhu out of the house, and might even lock him up without giving him poli, his favorite sweet.

Amma stared at her son. ‘Kanna, what happened, are you hurt? Do you need something?’ Balaji was perplexed. He ran to the store-room and put the cat in her basket. ‘I’ll take care of you,’ he whispered. ‘Don’t worry, I’m surprised Amma didn’t do anything, but it’s all for the better. She’ll likely tell Kodhai Mami to leave you.’ And with this promise, he set Radhu down, lay down on the rug and fell asleep. The cat looked at him for a moment and then curled up contently by his side.

This went on for a week. Balaji grew much attached to Radhu. He would play with her, fetch milk for her and even tell her stories he’d heard from Patti. The rest of the household felt sorry for him and humored him, for the boy had no other friends at all, and plainly, his ‘imaginary’ friend was a good companion.

Then one day, Balaji heard something that shattered his world. His Amma, grinding rice, told him that his father was coming back from Madras, from visiting his brother. Balaji trembled. His Appa could be kind when he wanted to be, but he hated animals as much as his wife and would not hesitate to lay his belt on Balaji’s back if he saw or heard of the cat.

So, that night, he decided to run away with Radhu. He loved her too much to let her go. When he felt Patti fall asleep and breathe regularly, he wrapped Radhu up in a thin blanket and crept stealthily away from the house.

It was dark and terribly cold. The stars twinkled away in the sky, spreading their light over a lithe little boy who ran swiftly, a tiny feline friend clutched in his arms. Balaji ran and ran. He turned into this quiet lane and that pitch-black alley. He constantly looked over his shoulder, as if expecting to see his father racing after him, belt in his hand. The boy’s breath came out in gasps and he held Radhu tightly to his thin chest.

Suddenly, he trod on something long and soft and fell down. His heart stopped when he heard the angry growl. The dog’s eyes gleamed in the darkness, white teeth glinting evilly. It took in its prey and gave a loud bark before leaping into the air. Balaji gave a blood- curdling scream and tried to run. His legs didn’t move. Heart in his throat, he waited for the end.

 It didn’t come. All he felt was sudden warmth leaving his arms, and a loud, long yowl. Balaji opened his eyes and saw Radhu snarling, her back arched. She was suddenly the size of a giant and filled the sky, beautiful yet terrifying. Balaji couldn’t move. The dog whimpered and ran for its life, receiving three enormous scratch marks on its back as keepsake.

Balaji turned to the giant cat. She slowly began to shrink, holding his gaze with glittering green eyes. She mewed, rubbed against his legs and purred, looking into his eyes all the time. Then gradually, she began fading, evaporating into the air. Balaji sobbed. He did not understand what was going on, but he did know that his beloved friend was leaving him. ‘Goodbye Radhu,’ he whispered, patting her warm head. She purred for the last time and then disappeared. As he continued to watch the spot where she had vanished, he suddenly remembered why Radhu was so familiar. ‘Of course,’ he whispered. ‘I saw you die last month…’

Flashback

Balaji skipped along the road. It was pouring with rain, but he didn’t care. He adored the rain. Then, he heard a pathetic mewling, and saw a small cat rubbing against him. ‘Oh!’ he cried, delighted. He loved little creatures. ‘I’ll bring some food, wait here.’ He ran and crossed the road. Suddenly, there was a sharp screech of tires. He froze with horror. Turning around slowly, he saw that the cat had attempted to follow him and had gotten hit by the car. A small crowd of people stood, with the driver in the middle, cursing the poor thing fluently. He pushed past them and ran to the motionless cat, taking it tenderly in his arms.’Please don’t go,’ he sobbed. The cat opened its vivid green eyes and looked at him. Then the pupils froze in their position for eternity. The boy who was reflected in those emerald eyes stroked the dead cat sorrowfully.

                                       

Hey, y'all, Kai here. I just wrote this like an experiment, based on a seriously weird dream I once had. Any suggestions are welcome
- Kai Goldstein