While he lived, they made fun of his art. After an entire life bemoaning the fact that he sucked at art, he finally bled to a slow painful death. But then, his art became immortal, as did he. Suddenly everyone wanted a stake in his works. Of course, you all must know his name – Drawcula.
until next time, arty stick stake
He stood watching the children play with the car. The car reminded him of himself. Ravaged by fate, time and humans. He still remembered the day he had left it at the crossroad, trying to escape the cops. Five years ago. Time to start afresh. Maybe he would start with finding the car’s original owners.
For those unfamiliar with the genre, that was a 55 word story, something I haven’t done in a while. The story behind writing this is probably more interesting. I met Ideasmith for the first time recently, and the first thing she asked was why I no longer wrote them. I could only smile. The 55s were a phase. So this one is specially for her.
Later the same day, I met a few other friends for dinner. The conversation somehow moved to how, on a cold morning a long time ago, I had abandoned my first vehicle (the ‘famous’ Kiney that fell in love with the mechanic and found excuses to visit him) in front of the workshop because I couldn’t take it along to our new accommodation. By that time, many of its parts had been spared for the newer vehicle. The conversation thus moved on to abandoned cars. You must’ve come across a few parked on the road – without tyres, insides lined with dust, torn seating, the model usually belonging to an earlier era, and now either ignored or the local kids’ play item . I have always been fascinated by them. For me, they are like snapshots in time. The end of some story. A cross road. A decision. To move on, the car not factoring in the rest of the story. The humans involved and the circumstances that made them abandon the car is always a potential story. Just like the 55 above.
until next time, it’s a caaaar story
He was told not to misbehave. He mumbled that he understood the momentous nature of the event. She replied that his behaviour in public was still a matter of concern. He figured this conversation was bound to happen when one was traveling by bus for the first time after six years of life in Bangalore.
until next time, riders
Disclaimer: This is one of those trippy posts written purely for indulging the self.
It all started when we realised that we could never find Nagraj when work had to be done. Some even said he never responded anyway. And that’s when I suggested that we get a been, so that he would be forced to respond. And then I wondered if a been came with a been bag.
I nagged him about why he went missing. He said he was a movie buff and held the job only to pay bills. His favourite actress was Nagma. He slithered out to watch Bollywood snake videos on YouTube. That was his escape from the snake pit we called office. He called it his cobra pause.
Nagraj obviously had a bean bag, which he refused to lend. I challenged him to a game. Whoever got snake eyes first in a game of dice wins it. I was a charmer, but Nagraj was a hood. Punch me he did. He kept the bean bag, and I could never be a has been.
until next time, been there, done that
He felt it was below his dignity to ask his team member for the solution. After all he was the manager.
The team member, who had just gotten the solution, froze as he felt a hand on his shoulder, but relaxed when the manager asked, “Level 7, huh? But how did you cross Level 6?
until next time, bench warm up games..
They hated the archaic process of signing in an attendance register. In spite of several mails to HR for a swipe card mechanism, nothing was done. They protested by refusing to sign. HR sent a mail warning them of dire consequences, including loss of pay. No one was surprised when the attendance register disappeared suddenly.
until next time, attendance deficit disorders
When he entered the place, there was already a crowd. All he wanted was to be able to have some decent conversations. He realized that he’d have to find a handle if he were to make any headway. And then he found her and realized it was possible to have a conversation amidst 140 characters.
until next time, my second anniversary dedication to Twitter. 2 days from now
He was humbled by the wisdom of those visionaries – the town planners of the city he lived in. Every time he rode on Bangalore’s roads, he marveled at how they’d managed to forecast the city’s traffic snarls so precisely, and then ensured that the locations were named appropriately – Koramangala 1st Block, Jayanagar 4th Block…
until next time, block aid!!
He got married on April 24th 2003, to the woman he had loved for six years. He noted that somehow it all seemed to add up to 6. And so, on the sixth day he created ‘manuscrypts‘. From then on he was in seventh heaven. It’s been six years.
It would’ve ended there, but manuscrypts was tempted to finish his sixth year with sixty six words.
until next time, six degrees of separation
PS: Next post, in about 7 days.
The driver ahead, talking on the mobile, was disrupting traffic…irritating him. And then he saw the sticker. At the junction, he knocked on the window and said “Thanks for the warning sticker, ma’am, but your responsibility doesn’t end there. You should also realize that the baby on board is too immature to drive you around”
until next time, hit and run