A Hearty Awakening

This is a story i wrote for Times of India's Write India Short Story Contest. The idea was to expand an established writer's given excerpt as per his/her rules. This particular story is for/by Durjoy Datta. The author's excerpt is in italics.

'Are you sure, Rhea?' asks my mother.

'Of course I'm. Survival of the fittest, mother. I'm not going against Darwin. Also I don't want unnecessary scars on my body.'

It's a known fact that we are all born to die. And frankly, I don't understand why it has to be made into such a big deal. If it were not for my mother I would have said that to the bunch of people outside my house, some of them with young kids, shouting slogans, waving placards, literally wanting me to cut one of my beating hearts out. "Save A Life. Donate!" they shout.

For someone who is one in billions, 7.125 billion to be exact, I expect to be treated better. Scientists are still befuddled regarding my condition that gave me two hearts in my mother's womb. But years of research and sticking needles into me have led them nowhere, and they have labelled me as a freak mutation. It's so rare - literally one in all humankind - that they didn't even name the anomaly (as they call it, I will call it awesomeness). I wanted to name the condition myself, something on the lines of Rhea's Heartsawesome but the doctors aren't thrilled with the suggestion. Instead they want to cut one of them out and save a life. Huh?

An IQ of 180, increased concentration, exceptional athleticism and a phenomenal metabolism rate - are just the few boring benefits of an increased blood circulation. Why would I ever give that up? Who in their right mind would even want me to? Freak Mutation my ass...er...hearts.

I know my mother. She just wants to get rid of the nuisance in front of her home, or the place she used to call home before it became a media jungle, and save her career. She is by no means any stranger to waving placards. But she's had enough trouble because of me to last her a lifetime, she says. First the series of doctors, then this. I don't blame her. Like the rest of the world, there's only so much that her lone heart can handle. If only my genitor had been with her and not just vanished off the face of the earth after that one night of sperm donation. She might have been like me, metaphorically, with her heart intertwined with his. Sadly, she simply hates men now. So much so that she hasn’t had any relationship with any man in the eighteen years since then.

Never having seen my father, in my imagination he is more like a demi-god whose secret mission on this planet was to find a suitable female and impregnate her to create me, an unparalleled being. Needless to say, this thought gives me a super kick! But honestly, it also gives me a sense of responsibility, or a deep meaning to my life, if you will. I feel I have been sent to change the world or something, or to fulfill my unseen father's mission. I tried telling this to my mother, and she seemed to agree with the responsibility part.

In her opinion, right now I was being callous. 'Scars? Darwin? Are you kidding me Rhea? Don't you realize this is the beloved mission you keep blabbering about? Give your heart to someone while you're still alive. How can you have two hearts beating inside you but zero kindness?'

Mothers, by definition, have to be melodramatic I suppose. Similarly, being a teenager, I was technically entitled to throw tantrums. Never the one to follow rules or societal norms, I very calmly said, ‘Ok. I am being unkind. I am only thinking about myself and the loves of my life. Not about you, not about anyone dying of a failing heart. But you know I can’t do this to George, nor Sanjana. Losing one heart means losing one of them.’

‘No man is worth such pain Rhea. They leave you to fend for yourself, one way or the other. George should be with you now helping with your submission and not in that godforsaken place called Haiti. Please listen to me. Sanjana is an amazing woman. Donate one heart so that you first get rid of the flashbulbs surrounding you. Then marry her and start a new life in Canada. They will welcome a genius like you with open arms. You won’t even need my intervention to get a permanent residency there.’

‘I know Sanjana is an amazing woman, I love her for God’s sake! But George is a great guy too…why punish him? You should be proud that he is helping resettle the poor earthquake victims. Just because you have distanced yourself from men doesn’t mean I have to as well for no apparent reason! And since when have you started believing in marriage?’

‘You said it yourself honey. Just because I didn’t tie the knot myself doesn’t mean I don’t wish it for you.’

This was becoming too much of an emotional discussion for me to handle. I excused myself on the pretext of preparing the thesis for my second directorate in data science. In all probability, it was going to be my ticket to getting real recognition in the world. One based on my efforts and not something I was born with. It could be a breakthrough in predictive analytics that could change the way we live. George, a professor of Data Structures and Algorithms at UC Berkeley, is my mentor. Our research has the potential to alter the course of history by predicting with a precision of 1/16th of a person’s last four generations’ average age how long he or she would live.

But all I can think of now is about G and Sanju. Granted that I was born unique, but both of them too were nothing short of miracles themselves. Knowing that your paramour loves somebody else as well and still accepting her was something that no ordinary person could handle. That I found two such people at such a young age had to be a miracle of sorts by all existing standards. I don’t want to steal the glory I just attributed them, nevertheless part of it could be because I have two hearts. The knowledge that I love each of the two with a full one must obviously help.

The doctors insisting on cutting one of my hearts out are pretty sure it will not affect my intelligence or focus, but are noncommittal about how my body would react to the reduced circulation. There is quite a possibility it could change my sexual orientation. Or not. It could also adversely affect my metabolism and thereby the physical agility I am so proud of. Then there is the big question of half-heartedly loving Sanju and G, or not having the capability to love one of them at all.

There was no way in hell I would give one of them up. Besides being my boy/girlfriends, they were great friends amongst themselves. The three of us were the talk of the town, for obvious reasons - two girl students and a professor hanging out three-gether, too exciting a topic to ignore. But mother was right about one thing, we had to relocate if we had any hope of leading a semblance of a normal life. Canada was more liberal than US when it came to breaking stereotypes. It was, after all, the first country in the Americas to legalize same-sex marriages. That country had to be more accepting of our unique situation while keeping me close to the scientific community in my own country I so want to continue working with.

Suddenly my phone rings and breaks my reverie. It is Sanju.

‘All hell has broken loose Ree. My parents have found out about us and are calling me back to India. I am flying out tomorrow.’

One of my hearts skips a beat. ‘When will you be back?’ I manage to ask.

‘I don’t know man. My folks sounded real furious. They are as traditional as traditional can get. Their worst fear before agreeing to send me here to study was that I would end up marrying an American guy.’

That was my Sanju for you. Her wicked sense of humor never left her; this almost always managed to bring out my wry side. ‘Oh my. They so grossly underestimated your unorthodoxy baby. Is this the right time to say that makes me love you so much more?’

‘Ree, shut up. Bye.’

And that was that. The last thing that my witty clever lovely Sanju said to me a month ago was to Shut Up. Ironically, it is she who has gone quiet. Off Facebook, off WhatsApp, off my radar. Out of my reach. Completely. For the first time ever in eighteen long years, my heart is broken. I do all the cliché stuff that the brokenhearted are likely to do. Listen to mind numbing metallic rock. Sit on the beach and contemplate how drowning would feel. Dress shabbily. Get a new hobby: Paintball. Pour one of my hearts out to the bartender. Eat chocolate. Focus on all that is wrong with the world.

Then, like a breath of fresh air, without warning, George comes back from Haiti.

‘Your mom called me up Rhea, I don’t know how she tracked me out. It is madness out there. Being a senator has its own perks I guess. There is nothing your mother cannot achieve once she sets her mind to it. Anyway, she told me about your, eh, situation.’

This is beyond ludicrous. Unfathomable is perhaps the right word.  ‘Mother called you? To tell you about Sanju? She’s gone G. Just like that. Poof!’

‘I know. But that’s not the only thing I meant by your situation.’

So he means the askers of my heart, do they even know it’s broken I wonder. Out loud I say, ‘Oh, G. People will eventually get bored and find a new story to poke their noses in. These sloganeers hungry for my heart won’t stay here forever!’

‘It’s been more than a month already. Today it took me ten minutes to drive from the university to your house, and another twenty to get from the front gate to your room. Tomorrow it could take an hour. At least think about your mom Rhea. Any chances of her going for the presidential bid will go out the window if this circus continues any longer.’

This is totally below the belt. ‘So that’s why she brought you here? G, she is just using you to save her precious post. She doesn’t even like you. The other day she wanted me to ditch you and marry Sanju. And what about me? Do you even love me anymore? Why are you calling me Rhea?’

George looks befuddled for a moment. Doesn’t take him long to recover though, that sly trickster. I simply adore him for this, even in my anger. ‘Because you’ve grown up Rimpkin. The girl I saw before going to Haiti has now turned into a beautiful woman.’

Leave it to this guy to make me week in my knees. ‘Please continue’, I say.

‘There’s nothing better than a heartbreak to ripen one’s character. Today I see a mature lady in front of me who I am sure is capable of taking the right decisions. Decisions that would make the world a better place.’

I am repulsed and recoil as if horrorstruck. G notices and leaves. Is it my imagination or is it really my mother speaking out of George’s mouth? I don’t think he has any idea he’s been manipulated. How naïve of him. Or he knows and has fallen to mother’s charms. In either case, he has lost the respect he had in my eyes. Both my hearts, the broken and the intact one, together cannot convince my brain that George is the right person for me to be with.  

I pack my bags and hunt for my passport. From the back door of the house, I quickly sneak out and head to the airport. To hell with the thesis and the UCB scientists. To hell with mother. To hell with George. To hell with the world.

Sanju, my one true love, I will come and get you, wherever you are. I will love you forever, with both my hearts. I only hope that you will love me back enough to fight whoever comes in our way.

P.S. I did not end up even in the top ten!

Toastmaster's Advanced Speech 9 - "Ahilya Bai Holkar"

This is speech #5 from "Storytelling" manual, called "Bringing history to Life". The objectives are to understand the purpose of stories about historical events or people and to tell such a story using skills developed in the preceding projects. Time allotted is 7 to 9 minutes.

In the simmering heat of the month of April in the eighteenth century, hundreds of people had gathered in and around Rajwada in Indore.  All the surrounding roads laced with dust and dung had been barricaded with ropes. With sweat trickling down their bodies and faces it was difficult to see, even breathe in the dusty loo that was blowing, but everyone stood beyond the fencing, awaiting the royal elephant to emerge out of the gates. After all, it’s not every day that one gets the opportunity to witness an execution.

Good Afternoon fellow Toastmasters.

This was the year 1767. The era of Ahilya Bai Holkar. An iron lady, known for her wisdom and sense of justice.  Ahilya Bai was born in a middle class family in 1725 in a small village in the Aurangabad district. The great Holkar warrior, Malhar Rao, was on his way to Pune when he stopped at this very village for a while and saw this eight year old girl at a temple. He at once recognized her to be levelheaded and intelligent and decided to have her as a bride for his only son Khande Rao. In 1737 she was married to Khandoji and thus came to Indore. Years passed in marital bliss and they were also blessed with a baby boy, Maloji. But suddenly, like a bolt of lightening, disaster struck and Khande Rao died during the siege of Kumbher in 1754. Ahilya Bai was inconsolable, this young female even considered going Sati but her father-in-law convinced her of the futility of such an act and she gave up the idea. To quote her biographer, Malhar Rao thus "gave to the world what otherwise would have remained a Sealed Book – a splendid example of Aryan Rule under an Aryan Lady."

Till his own death twelve years later, Malhar Rao Holkar trained Ahilya Bai in matters of State and governance. He kept her informed about the political developments, such as his dealings with Najib–ud–daula and how Awadh was seeking his help, and about his own movements. In the battle of Panipat, Ahilya Bai also participated as a warrior, under her father–in–law's paternal but strict training. She captured a fort in Gwalior and then stayed there for a while to oversee the manufacturing of armaments. After Malhar Rao’s death, Ahilya Bai became the de facto ruler.

Among Ahilyabai's accomplishments was the development of Indore from a small village to a prosperous and beautiful city; her own capital, however, was in nearby Maheshwar, a town on the banks of the Narmada river. She also built forts and roads in Malwa, sponsored festivals and gave donations for regular worship in many Hindu temples. Outside Malwa, she built dozens of temples, ghats, wells, tanks and rest-houses across an area stretching from the Himalayas to pilgrimage centres in South India. There are many stories of her care for her people. She helped widows retain their husbands’ wealth. She made sure that a widow was allowed to adopt a son; in fact, in one instance, when her minister refused to allow the adoption unless he was suitably bribed, she is said to have sponsored the child herself, and given him clothes and jewels as part of the ritual.

She launched a campaign to rid her kingdom of Thugs who sought to plunder the kingdom, personally leading her army into battle. Her war time exploits became legendary. Ahilyadevi earned a reputation for administering justice fairly during her rule without partiality.

Her only concern was her only son Maloji, who had no interest in the matters of state, and was in fact showing signs of insanity. He spent his days just roaming around and playing pranks. She often warned him and employed various ways to bring him to see the right side – brought in tutors, sought medicinal help, even divine intervention, but all to no avail. She ignored many of his misbehaviors and mischief, but one day, he did something that the just ruler within her could not stand. Maloji had put poisonous scorpions in a few of her courtiers’ shoes which resulted into deaths – and murder was a capital offense.

The royal gates opened, and out came the disgraced prince screaming and shouting for mercy. The elephant followed and brutally squashed Maloji under its feet. Ahilya Bai, in her prayer room was informed that her only son had been brought to justice, just as she had instructed.

Now there is another version of how Maloji actually died…that one says he died of natural reasons owing to his health..but then, that version would not have made such a good story, would it?

Source: http://hssthistory.blogspot.in/2011/05/ahilyabai-holkar-ugc-history.html

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ahilyabai_Holkar

http://www.newworldencyclopedia.org/entry/Ahilyabai_Holkar

This speech took 8:45 minutes to deliver and was appreciated for topic selection. 

Toastmaster's Advanced Speech 8 - "Roshni’s Deliverance"

This is speech #4 from "Storytelling" manual, called "The Touching Story". The objectives are to understand the techniques available to arouse emotion and to become skilled in arousing emotions while telling a story. Time allotted is 6 to 8 minutes.

On a dull, damp morning of July, Roshni woke up to her mother’s frantic shakes, “Roshni! Get up! You don’t want to be late on your first day in your new school, do you?”. But Roshni wanted exactly that. In fact, she did not want to go to this new school at all. She had gone there earlier for the admission interview. It was so big and sophisticated, with everyone talking in English, she hadn't understood quite a lot and had felt like a misfit.

She had spent days haggling with her mother to not send her to this alien place. “I promise I will be a good kid now, I will listen to everything you say. I will sleep in the afternoon and not bother you or ask you to play with me. Please, I don’t want to go to this school”. But Mother was firm in her decision, “It is for your future Roshni. You will thank me later.”

And finally the day had come. Roshni put on her brand new uniform, shiny shoes, bag and water bottle and set out for the dreaded place in the school rickshaw. At the school, everyone was gathered in the assembly hall and she was asked to join the line of students of her class, the third standard. It was a painful experience for the shy and reticent Roshni. She did not even know the prayer they were singing! Or that she was not supposed to carry her bag and bottle into the assembly area! She thought everyone was looking at her as if she had committed some heinous crime.

In the classroom, she quietly went and sat on the last bench alone, out of the line of sight of the teacher. All children around her were bubbling with excitement and were enthusiastically chatting away about their summer holidays, “You know I went on a trip to Shimla! Oh it is sooo beautiful!” , “ I went to a summer camp and learnt skating! It is so  much fun, you should try it!” “My cousins from America visited us! They are so cool!” and so on..

Roshni wished someone would ask her about her holidays. Or how she was. Or maybe just what her name was. No one did. However, the teacher was kind and introduced her to the class. “Students, this is Roshni. It is her first day in our school and she’ll be studying with you all now. Let’s welcome her!” Everyone clapped and that was that. She again went back to her bench and sat alone.

Then came lunch time. It was then that Roshni discovered that there were separate groups of 4-5 students each within the class, who ate in their designated areas. She wanted to be a part of a group of girls who seemed likable.  But how could she go and ask? Wouldn't it be sort of an intrusion? What if they bluntly refused to accommodate her? She was the one eating alone…couldn’t people see that? Was she so unwanted here?

All such thoughts ran through Roshni’s mind and her eyes welled up. She spent the rest of the day counting down to the last period, crying silently, with no one to console her. No one even took notice. For them, it was an exciting beginning of another school year, of getting back with old friends - they did not have time to spare for this unexceptional new comer. 

Roshni went home, barely managing to hold her tears back. At the sight of her mother she could no longer hold her emotions -  she ran to her and clutching her arms started wailing at the top of her lungs. Mother was alarmed, and asked, “Roshni what happened beta? Are you hurt? Did someone say something to you?”. Between sobs, she told her about the day. Mother just smiled and said, “That’s it? And you are taking the roof down for this small thing? Honey they don’t know you yet, do they? Once they get to know and understand you, you will be friends! For that, you will have to take the first step, go and talk to them.”

But Roshni had other ideas. With her sense of extreme self respect - that people often mistook for ego - she decided that she would not be the one approaching people or asking for their attention. After all, action speaks louder than words! So instead, she devoted all her energy and concentration into studies; went to her teachers to get clarity for things she did not understand due to the new language; and of course took her mother’s help, who was always there for her.

Six months passed away in this fashion and the day came when the class teacher walked in with the results of the half yearly exams. Customarily, she announced, the third ranking student is….Abhishek…the second ranker is Dolly..and the first rank this time has been bagged by…Roshni. Roshni stood up and walked to her teacher to collect the report card. With her head still meekly down, she took the card and went back to her seat, ears ringing with her classmates’ applause, and sat there alone.

That was the last day she sat alone.

This speech took 9:15 minutes to deliver and was appreciated for story development, dialogue and the climax. The characters could have been described better.

Toastmaster's Advanced Speech 6 - "Innocence aka Thapa"

This is speech #2 from  "Storytelling" manual, called "Let's Get Personal". The objective is to learn the elements of a good story and to create and tell an original story based on a personal experience. Time allotted is 6 to 8 minutes.

Have you met innocence before? I have. He is 24 years old and divides his time driving people around in Leh and hibernating in Zanskar. His name is Thapa.

Good Afternoon fellow toastmasters.

Even if it has been almost a year now that I have been to Ladakh, the name still brings up a flood of memories. It was in May last year that I went to this eastern valley in the State of Jammu and Kashmir with a group of friends. We spent about a week there, struggling to breathe in sub zero temperatures, where the lowest altitude was 11,000 feet above sea level - the height from which a normal sky dive occurs. The very first day we reached there, our tour organizer allocated different cars and drivers to various groups. It was then that we first saw this 5-feet tall, young Sherpa kind of guy with his rugged jeans, careless sweatshirt and tousled hair, squatting atop the bumper of his car, picking teeth with his nails. Our first thought was, “Seriously? This guy? Cant we get someone else?”

But that was not to be. The five of us were stuck with him for the next five days, and he with us, and thus started the process of discovering this gem. Along with being a driver, Thapa could also function as a tour guide, albeit a poor one, but guide nonetheless. A worshipper of Dalai Lama, he would always turn the car encircling a shrine on the shoulder of the road. Incredulously, we would ask, “Why Thapa, there is this 6 feet wide road in front of you and you are playing such stunts?” and his ready reply would be, “For good luck madam. This is mountain road, but no accident will happen, you will see.”

But of course, an accident does happen. Apparently, encircling a shrine does not guarantee any benefit against refraining from honking on blind turns. I think Thapa did not know that there existed a horn in his car, he never used it! After prodding a bit, he sheepishly accepted that he did not honk because the poor driver coming in from the other side of the turn will get scared with such a loud noise. All we could do at this point is to request him with folded hands to also worry about poor us.

What we did not know then is that Thapa need not be told to worry about us or his fellow drivers or anyone else; he did that on his own. If anyone felt sick due to long drives on the zigzag curvy roads, he would be the first to get down helping, consoling, offering water without saying a word. If you merely mentioned you were bored with the same songs playing again and again, he would get a new USB with the latest songs, God knows from where. If you were singing along and he had to stop the car and get down in between, he would still keep the engine running so that the music doesn’t stop. If you pleaded with him to let you drive for a bit, he would get teary eyed and say, “Please..I will lose my job”, but a while later move away from the group and let you drive when his boss was out of sight.

The younger of two brothers, Thapa lived with his family in a village near Zanskar during winters and came to Leh to work as a driver in summers. As per the military tradition in his village, his older brother was the star of the family with a job in the Army, the most respectable job a man can get, and our protagonist was the ugly duckling who failed to get entry due to his physique. Nonetheless, in his girlfriend’s and his own view, Thapa turned out pretty well earning “six thousand rupees per month” as a driver. His dream was to buy the car he was currently driving and continue the same profession. Ladies and gentlemen, he wanted to be the proud owner of a vehicle, not to employ someone else and reap the benefit.…but just own the car and keep driving tourists around!

After spending five days in the company of this Kurkure-loving, god-fearing, bashful, sensitive person with a twinkle in his eye, we could not help but become his fans. On the last day, on our very last drive, we tell him about the importance of savings, opening a bank account, and how he can take a loan and fulfill his dream of buying a car and marrying his girlfriend.

At the airport, we say our goodbyes and take a last look at this guy with his rugged jeans, careless sweatshirt and tousled hair, squatting atop the bumper of his car, with tears in his eyes, and think Thapa, you are innocence personified.

This speech took 7:20 minutes to deliver and was appreciated for characterization and dialogue  The presentation could have been more dramatic.

Toastmaster's Advanced Speech 3 - "Saat Purya Bhaji"

This is speech #1 from  "Storytelling" manual, called "The Folk Tale". The objective is to tell a folk tale that is entertaining and enjoyable for a specific age group; and to use vivid imagery and voice to enhance the tale. Time allotted is 7 to 9 minutes.

Once upon a time, long long ago, in a faraway land, there lived a king with his young daughter and two little sons. The princess was a rare beauty and the apple of the king’s eye. He wanted to marry her off to a really special person and hence put up the most difficult challenge that he could conceive of for her Swayamwar. There was a huge pond in his kingdom, in the middle of which the king got a long smooth oily pillar erected. Whoever could reach the top without using any tool would be the winner of the contest and consequently, his daughter’s hand.

The word spread far and wide and princes from all over the country started pouring in to try their luck at the pillar but no one could climb it - even halfway. Days turned to weeks, weeks to months, months to years but the challenge remained unfulfilled. So much so that the king and the princess became the laughing stock of the country, as far as remote villages and dense forests.

In one such forest, there lived a fiercely huge monster – green colored with bloodshot eyes, stinky teeth, dread-locked hair and sharp pointed nails. When he heard of the challenge, and its reward, he came rushing to the kingdom - and lo and behold – climbed the pillar in no time at all! The honorable king, with a very heavy heart, organized the wedding and sent his precious daughter off in the jungle.

Years passed and there was no news of the princess, now the monster-wife, from the forest. The king’s sons, who were then too little to understand what had happened to their sister, were now young men, restless and eager to meet their sibling. They asked their father where she went and he told them the story. The two brothers, specially the younger one, were aghast by this tale and decided to embark on a journey to bring their sister back.

They packed two lunch boxes with seven poories and cooked vegetables each and started off in the direction on the forest in a bullock cart. They crossed a few miles and the elder one became hungry. The younger said, go ahead and eat your lunch. He ate. Then a few miles later, he became hungry once again. The younger said, go ahead and eat my seven poories too. The elder ate and was finally satiated.

They resumed their journey on the bullock cart and a few miles later, the younger spotted a pot of curd lying in the way. He said to his brother, “Lets take this and keep it in our cart!”. The brother was afraid to do so and said, “We don’t know who this belongs to. That person might come after us and threaten us!”. The younger then said, “Give me my seven poories back or let me take this pot”. The elder had no choice but to relent.

After some time, they came across a rope. Again the younger wanted to keep it, the elder didn’t. So he said, “Give me my seven poories back or let me take this rope.” This way, the bullock cart was stocked with a rope as well. Sometime later, they found a broom lying on the road, the elder said, "It might belong to a sweeper, he will come to us and demand it back.” The younger relied with his standard retort, “Give me my seven poories back or let me take this broom." Then at the edge of the forest, they found a donkey, and with a “Give me my seven poories back or let me take this donkey”, the younger one loaded the cart with a donkey as well.

In this fashion, the two brothers, with their bullock cart and supplies went to see their sister. When they arrived at her home, the monster had gone hunting. The princess was pleased beyond words to see someone from her own clan after so many years..and that too her brothers..now so grown up and gallant! The younger brother immediately said, “We have come to take you away!”.  The poor princess, afraid for her life and now her brothers’ too…asked them to unload their cart on the cellar and put the oxen far away, out of sight of the monster, since he would be back soon. The brothers agreed, took the pot of curd, rope, broom and donkey and the lunch their sister gave them on the cellar.

Soon, the monster came home and said to his wife, “I can smell humans!” She said, “That must be me! There is no one else here!” The monster still surveyed the house but could not find anything and sat down for his own lunch. Exactly at the spot at which the monster was sitting, there was a hole in the cellar at the top, where the brothers were sitting. Suddenly, the younger brother had the urge to relieve himself. The elder said, “Go and take a leak in that hole!”. The younger one obliged for once and urinated directly in the monster’s lunch!

The monster immediately cried out, “Who’s above?”. The young prince, recognizing an opportunity in this encounter replied with all his strength, “Who’s below?”. Monster shouted, “I am a monster”; the brother boomed, “I am a mega monster”. The monster did not believe him and screamed, “Really? Show me your tail!”. The prince took the long rope and started pushing it down the hole, this alarmed the monster a bit and he said, “Show me your puke!”. The younger brother took the pot of curd and poured it down the hole. The monster was seriously scared now, but still managed to ask one more question, “Show me your loudest shout!”, as an answer, the young prince took the broom and started hitting the donkey with it with all his might. The donkey brayed like there was no tomorrow and the terrified monster ran for his life. The brothers then took their sister back with them to the kingdom, her rightful place, and the king welcomed them with open arms. And they lived happily ever after!

The moral of the story is, no matter how ferocious the adversary is, if you decide, you can beat it. Where there is a will, there is a way!

This speech took 10:36 minutes to deliver and was appreciated for vocal variety.

Someone spilled the coffee beans again…

Some coffee beans in a farm grew together and ended up in the same bag. They were very happy in the confines of the bag and it was the world to them, nothing existed beyond it. In their innocence, they did not know what sunshine or rain or wind meant, they did not care where they came from or where they would finally go, and their area of concern started and ended at the bag they were in - until that fateful day.

That day someone opened the bag, took some of the beans out and spilled them around. Some beans ended up in a small household and became a beverage for a day, a few travelled all round the world and were served as coffee in a beautiful cup at a renowned restaurant, some landed in a perfume shop to help people sniff different aromas, and others were taken at a farm and became the seeds to grow more beans like them.

More such beans grew from them; more snuggled up in their cozy bag-cocoons, more bondings were made amongst the beans - unaware, carefree, rosy bindings – only to be broken again, only to be spilled again.

Cinderella’s story

There was an eerie expectant silence at the railway station. About a hundred people had gathered and were waiting for the train to arrive. Granny was also among them, sitting on a bench, head resting on a cane, thinking about that night before little Cinderella had left for boarding school, when she had told her the story of her namesake. The words were still fresh in her mind and now echoed in her ears as if little Cinderella was saying it out loud…..“But I already have nice clothes and good shoes, how will I get the fairy godmother or the charming prince at the end of the story?? I too want a story of my own, and you will have to tell it to other children.” Granny smiled despite herself at the memory and wiped a tear from the corner of her eye.

Cinderella - her charming, chirpy, mischievous brat of a granddaughter was returning home today after ten years. She had called a few days ago to tell granny about her latest adventure. Like every Saturday night, she had sneaked out of her dorm with her friends Alice and Jessica, after their fourth roommate, Betty, who was the school prefect, had fallen asleep. The three were going towards their spot in the woods where they went every week, with no more purpose than the morbid excitement of defying the school rules, when they heard another set of footsteps and a dragging sound nearby. Cinderella and Alice, with their ever present curiosity, started walking towards the sound. Jessica told them not to, but they wouldn’t listen and kept on.

After some time, they saw a man putting a dead body in a freshly dug grave. Both the girls panicked and were bewildered at first and thought of running back to school. But Cinderella felt that the killer should not be spared and it would be too late till they reached the school or the police. Alice thought it was a really stupid idea for two girls to try and confront a man, who was so obviously dangerous, but relented when she saw Cinderella’s resolve; and went up with her to face the killer. He startled on seeing them and was immobilized for a moment, but soon recollected himself and pointed a gun at Cinderella. This was not entirely unexpected, but they hadn’t really thought about weapons till then. She didn’t bat an eyelid, (or that’s what she had told granny anyway) and kept on walking towards him - the man renewed his threats and waved the gun, but still she didn’t stop. Alice thought she had gone insane and just stood there rooted to the ground. At last, when Cinderella got threateningly close, the man could hold no longer and clicked the revolver.

Miraculously, the gun didn’t go off, and at that precise moment, Jessica came up from behind the man and hit him on his head with a log. He went down and the girls rushed back to school to report the incident. Before leaving, Cinderella took the revolver with her as her adventure souvenir and convinced the others to omit the gun details from their narration to the authorities.

Everyone at school praised the girls for their bravery; however the principal also reprimanded them for their escapade. They were awarded at the Sunday mass and even the Reverend preached a sermon on courage that day. Betty was a little upset with her roommates for keeping her out of their secret and taking away all the glory. So the girls decided to give her a live recap of the events of the night. On returning to their dorm, they arranged for the role play and Alice took on the role of the killer. To make it more real, Cinderella handed her the gun they had brought back. They even made a makeshift grave using pillows and covers, and started acting out the confrontation scene. Cinderella kept approaching Alice, who kept mock threatening her and finally pulled the trigger. As fate had it, this time, the gun did fire.

Everyone at the railway station, dressed in mourning black, stood solemnly as the train approached. As the coffin was taken out, granny thought, “Welcome home, my darling, now you have a story too, and I will have to tell it to everyone. Only that, not every Cinderella story has a happy end.”

A Software Engineer’s Worst Nightmare

Forgetting passwords.

One fine sunny day I wake up in the morning at 8 as usual, hurry and scurry to reach office by 10, switch on my computer and it dutifully prompts to enter the bios password. I realize I can't remember it. Thanks to the infinite wisdom of the network department in keeping the bios passwords same for everyone, I ask my neighbor and move on till being stuck at my machine password. Under normal circumstances I keep it pasted on my desk, but today the chit is not there. Looks like the company’s clear desk policy has been extended to cover unnecessary (!) post-it stamps as well. Sigh. All in the game. So I contact the network guy and unlock my pc and try to get settled just like every other day – but today is just not another every other day – I open my lotus notes, and can't remember that password as well. Then I try and remember the name of the text file where I usually store my passwords, but I can’t recall it either. Logic tells me it has to be passwords.txt – so I search for the file and any other possible password file names that my follow-the-sheep-kind-of-mind can make up and think of, but all to no avail. Left with no other option, I again contact the network guy and reset my LN password. Next I can’t login to sametime connect also and again NG comes to my rescue (btw, he is highly frustrated with me by now).

And now I kind of get the picture, my worst fear has come true and I am not going to recall a single password today. Today all passwords have resolved to demonstrate their importance and conspired to vanish off my virtual/physical/temporary/permanent memory. I can even listen to them hissing this is just the beginning baby. Ha. Ha. Ha.

So.....that’s that. My gmail password is gone. I can’t login to gtalk. I can’t write blogs. I can’t view my pay slip. I can’t get my bills reimbursed. I can’t transfer funds. I can’t buy anything online. I can’t trade in shares. I can’t book tickets. I can’t read music reviews from my favorite site. I can't access my company website – means I can't do another universe of things like checking my work hours, leave balances, trainings, filling timesheets, etc etc. No orkut. No facebook. No shelfari. No twitter. No life. My day is as screwed as screwed can get. Lord save me and give me the strength and perseverance to reset all passwords.

This goes to all my passwords, I am sorry if I didn’t give you your much deserved attention and care, but now I have realized how important you all are. I will even count you in the basic necessities of life – air, water, food, shelter, clothes, ipod, laptop, books, television, internet, cellphone, PASSWORDS. I humbly request you not to repeat this tomorrow or day after or next year or ever again. Or least have mercy and go one at a time. Puh-leeeeeee-sss. Deal???

The Promise (Short Story)

Its the last day of school. Sanya is sitting in her classroom sharing memories with her friends when suddenly her maths teacher Ms. Beck approaches her with a puzzled look.
"Ms. Thomas left for Delhi a few days back. She gave me this packet before leaving and asked to give it to you on your last day of school. Said she had promised this to you years back.....if you dont mind...whats the story? I mean I know Ms. Thomas is pretty attached to her students, but never before have I seen her do something like this.."

<Sanya's flashback>

Its the last day of primary school. Sanya goes to her headmistress' office to collect her report card. She's got third rank in her class this time - improvement from last year's fifth. Ms. Thomas is pleased with her progress but worried about her future.

<Ms. Thomas' flashback>

Annual day celebration preparations are going on. Sanya is standing in a corner of her classroom watching people silently. The dance teacher is very worried. The lead singer of her dance's playback is sick...who will she substitute with only 5 days to go? Enter Ms. Thomas.

"Ms. Rose, looks like you have'nt got a substitute singer yet...Sanya, come here..what are you doing just standing there? Cant you tell Ms. Rose you can sing? How will she get to know without you telling her for heaven's sake? Here...Ms. Rose, your problem's solved."

2 days later. Ms. Rose is worried again, its one of her dancers this time. This one's a real trouble - she could have managed without a singer...but what would she do without a dancer? She decides to ask Ms. Thomas, if she could help with a singer, she might as well know about a dancer.

"Ms. Thomas, problem again, one of our dancers has backed off. Do you know if anyone can replace her?"

"Well...lets try with your group of singers, they've been watching the practice sessions closely, maybe one of them can pick up the dance steps."

"You are right Ms. Thomas, I think its the best we can do with only 3 days in hand. Lets ask all of them to show whatever steps they've picked up so far."

Each singer from the band tries one by one. As always, Sanya is last one to come forward. And when she does, Ms. Rose is dumbfound. How could Sanya copy all steps without ever actually doing them before?

</Ms. Thomas' flashback>

"Sanya, my child. Here's your report card. So, now you'll be moving to high school...all set?"

"Yes ma'am."

"Sanya, before you go, there is something I need to tell you. Promise me you will try to live up to it."

"Yes ma'am. Promise."

"So, listen carefully. If you know something, you've got to tell it to the world yourself. Nobody is going to discover it by themselves. If you dont speak up for yourself, nobody else would. First you have to show the world what you have got, earn people's respect, their praise and then they will start recognising you. I know you are good, but thats not enough - you yourself should know it first, then show the world what you're worth. Thats called confidence, and thats what you need to build up. Got my point?"

"Yes ma'am."

"Good. So if you keep up your promise Sanya, there will be gift waiting for you when you leave school to achieve greater heights. And, mind you, you are third this time, you've got to be at the top that day."

</Sanya's flashback>

Sanya is all tears. Ms. Beck gives her the packet. Sanya opens the gift wrap with trembling fingers. And inside is a set of Parker pens.

All Sanya can manage to say is "Ms. Beck, I kept my promise, and Ms. Thomas kept hers."