Archive for February, 2011

Dus Kahaniyaan !! – Part 3

Posted: February 7, 2011 in Uncategorized

Yes. The part 3 is here for all n sundry. And, with a new look poster. So without much ado, here they go:

The Mistake
– Mohit Jain

Silently, he heard the footsteps approaching the curtains he hid behind. It was too dark to see anything, but he didn’t care much for that. He knew the routine. A ‘click’ sound followed, signaling the light going out. It was time for Natwar to go to sleep. He could hear the sharp wind crashing the open window panes and the intermittent sound of papers rustling in the corner. But he wasn’t deterred. In few minutes, the loud snores echoed in the room. It was time, he decided. Careful, as he always was, he tiptoed towards the disgusting garlic smell that Natwar wore. He felt the wood in his leg, and followed its seam to the headrest. There, slept Natwar unaware of what was to follow. He picked out the drugged handkerchief from his side pocket and pressed hard against Natwar’s mouth, calmly and convincingly. As the drug played its effect, the shivers died down, muting Natwar’s vain efforts.

“My last victim”, he smiled to himself. The images flashed in his mind.

He was a kid, a motherless 7 years old, coming back from the Monty Photo Studio with a set of 4 photographs. Today, they were to go for his school admission. In the distance, he saw shadows quarreling among each other. Suddenly, a painful shriek pierced the rotten sky. He knew the voice, it was his father’s. He saw the four men around the corpse with blood in their hands. Rajan, Paresh, Kumar and Natwar, he knew them all. As, his dear uncles! Paresh was his favorite. He had got him a bat and ball for his last birthday. He couldn’t cry; his dry eyes shouted in agony to their dismissive mocking. “Catch him!”, shouted Natwar, as they pounced upon him. He grieved in pain as Natwar poured hot coal in his eyes. It was only a matter of few minutes. In those cruel few minutes, he had lost his father, his guiding light in the big, bad world, and he had lost his eyes, his light to the dark world. But, he could not erase the image of those four faces, he had seen last. He would take his revenge, no matter what.

Today, it was all over. His pain had been satiated. He took out the last remaining photograph of his childhood from his wallet and placed it onto the dead heart of Natwar. And, stealthily as he had entered, he left, without leaving another trace.

He made no mistake, never had. He was the perfect assassin. The police had cracked their brains but could not point their guns to any one yet. In the gap of 7 years, they had found 3 dead bodies in similar context. All retired mine workers, all drugged in sleep and all linked by a photo of a child kept meticulously over the chest of the dead. They looked through every corner of the city, but could not find the child. Alas, there was no other piece to the puzzle that lay in front of them. The last murder was 3 years ago. By now, they had given up hope.

He returned home to his doting 10 year old daughter and loving wife. “Daddy, you are home!”, Kittu jumped right in his arms. As he caressed her innocent cheeks, she raised her brows and announced teasingly, “Daddy! Whose photograph was in your wallet? Anyway, I replaced it with mine before you left.”

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The Lust
– Mohit Jain.
– Concept by Rohit Pruthi

There she went again! All it ever took was a SALE board outside any shop to pull her in. This time it was the Shoe Palace, and the SALE board boasted of upto 40% off on all exquisite brands. She tried pulling me in too, but the reluctance showed quite prominently on my face, and alone she went with no hint of insistence. Not that I was averse to buying a new pair, it is just that I had grown up on modest earnings of my retired teacher Dad, and frugality ran in my blood.

Monica! People called her Mon, or Monu, or Moni, or Tinu. I could never figure out how the last one had caught on, but I never asked. We had known each other for quite a while, over 3 years that is. On the first day of college, she had sat next to me. Since then, we had been together, sharing the same desk for every class, except when she felt like taking a longer nap and missed her morning classes. It was more by God’s design than choice, though, as her roll no was next to mine. Anyhow, who cared for the reason as long as I had the prettiest girl of the college for company!

While she was in, all animated and chirpy with the salesman, I looked around. It was a Sunday evening and people often claimed that on Sundays, half the city of Chennai rambled around in Paradise mall, the only mall in the city. As I loitered around a pastry shop, I sensed a strong wave of sandalwood flow past my behind. I turned to find a dusky girl, probably in her young twenties, with looks so mesmerizing, I was stoned for a moment. The dull green of her top caressed the contours of her ample breasts so firmly, it left little to imagine. Her never ending legs desperately poked out of a body hugging black skirt that ended way too soon, for a whiff of fresh air. With every alternate step she took, the bare skin of her navel sneaked like a thin strip of pepper salt dividing the two shades of grape salad. The fake ‘Rebook’ sag she had tossed on to her shoulders, jumped around hurriedly from the front of her thigh to the rear and back. And, every time it played that game, it left me gasping for breath. The curls of her hair raced past her eyebrows a la Sadhna and she wore just the right tone of makeup that looked neither intimidating, nor incomplete. I could sense the restlessness taking wings inside my discontented soul. My arms grew desperate to cling to her tightly, and the sheer thought of planting my lips over hers propelled my heart for a sprint.

As I was getting absorbed in the thought of the stunning exuberance her body radiated, I heard Monica calling me from behind, “I am done. Let’s go find some other shop, Nisha.”

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In case you wish to read Dus Kahaniyaan Part 1, click here!
In case you wish to read Dus Kahaniyaan Part 2, click here!

(I would publish 10 stories, 2 a piece. Your stories are invited, jus’ keep them short, within 500 words, and a mandate is a twist in the tail of the tale, however predictable and clichéd it might be.)

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