Wednesday, October 14, 2009


“Storytelling is not what I do for a living - it is how I do all that I do while I am living.” Donald Davis

I knew last night’s fried rice would do me no good.

My large intestine woke up before me, and spent the next fifteen minutes trying to wake me up. Quietly I made my way to the bathroom, with my intestine honking to make me go faster.

As I sat there, feeling good about going with the flow, my drowsy mind switched to a video of a tumbler with limited water, a hand carrying it, and two feet rushing on a dirt road along a paddy field, desperately trying to find a secluded spot. I felt grateful. A thank you for planned cities.

My work’s almost done and I have almost gone back to sleep. Wish I had something to do than just sit. I would have brought my Fountainhead here to read, if my fried rice dint rush me in. I could have brought my cell but it wouldn’t come. It has heard the rumors. Rumors of the tragic end of my ex-cell.

People saw me and my cell go into the bathroom together. Later they saw me come out fine. The cell never made it. Its death was blamed on me. They said I mercilessly drowned it. Like it was the garbage that it fell into. I pleaded innocence. I reminded them of the day of me and my cell’s auspicious union at the cell store, where I pledged my solemn vows to be with it through thick and thin. For four years, we never were even an hour apart. It was guaranteed that we would stay together forever.

Tear-faced, I explained why it committed suicide. It was dying. Its suffering was huge from some rare spare part dysfunction. It almost died once. Fortunately, the fat bald guy at the cell service managed to resuscitate it somehow. Wiping his sweat off his brow, the guy told me it hasn’t got much time left. An immediate replacement of one of its essential parts is a must now. I ran some small errands here and there, desperately trying to raise the money. I almost pooled in the required sum. Just wasn’t in time. It couldn’t bear the pain anymore.

They felt the loss I went thru and sympathized with me. Searched for another cell and finally found someone compatible. Months passed and people forgot and only I remember that fateful day.

It started as just another time in the bathroom for me as I sat there relaxing. I was engrossed in the Hindu, reading about what’s gonna happen next with the Nuclear deal between us and them. I forgot I had an appointment. My cell sat waiting for me in my jeans, which I hung up on the wall. We usually spend time together whenever we come here. So it waited. I was reading. It waited. I was still busy reading. It was losing its patience waiting. I moved onto another article. It started calling for me. Loudly. My senses panicked. I thought I told it to remain silent till I’m done. It was an awkward position, where I needed to sit still as much as I needed to stand immediately. Finally, with a lot of haste and extreme muscle stretching, I managed to reach out to my cell. But before I could let it know that I was here, somehow my hand slipped. The scene turned slow-mo from there. My cell jumps my fingers with a small vertical leap and lands with a smack on the newspaper folded on my lap, which tilts slightly downwards, letting my cell take a grand nose dive into the murky depths. It was there and gone within the bat of an eyelid.

Maybe, it was my hurry, or my anger that I got disturbed, or just wet fingers. I know not till this day.

There was never a day in between when I dint regret what has happened. We were so close. Day and night, we used to sit and talk to each other for hours together. Even though considerable time has passed, its memories are still fresh within me. It’s sight real. It’s sound clear. As clear as the angry knocks I hear on the door now, followed by a crisp female voice asking me to come out immediately or face the consequences. It’s funny how time flies as time flies. Time. Fragments of space moving forward with us, connected by our lives’ little tales. I’ll make a move now. Brush, bath and get ready. Start the bike and college. That’s one story. There is another one where I skip and go to my friend’s place. There could be another one where I go back to sleep complaining about pseudo fever. All stories and everything in between are as interesting as its next.

Its time for me to clean up and move onto another story. By the way, to cut it all short… I fumbled, it fell, and I flushed.
Have a Nice Day.


Harshath said...
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Anonymous said...

You're gonna Act, Produce and DIRECT this Short Film. Hope you'll get a good BREAK! Good Luck.