Musing Reminisce

What lay beneath the surface of these grounds were secrets that he had long ago locked in his mind and thrown away the keys. Rameez Chacha went about his work as the wind whistled and rustled the dried leaves from the Noor Baug cemetery grounds whipping them into a euphoric dance. The moon was shyly peeping from the clouds, emanating a very eerie glow on the land of the dead. The loudspeakers attached to the minarets of the surrounding mosque blared out the muezzinn’s adhan. The seventy-year-old kept on the digging producing a rhythmic whack sound every time the spade hit the soft soil in the ground. He was a gravedigger in this cemetery and had been doing this job for years and years. He was not sure if he was living, was dead or was a living dead. His small kholi on the border of the small cemetery was what is called his dwelling but for him, the whole graveyard was his home. Looking at tonight's scenario his mind travelled back about a few years ago to a similar night. He recal...

’’Seth -- Bhai bol raha hoon Dubai se!! H***mkoor kaan khol kar sun lo. Apna beta ka zindagi chahate ho tho Pachas peti Chotta Miya ko pahucha dena’’ (It was an extortion call from the kingpin for 50 lakh rupees. This money was to spare his son’s life and the money was to be handed on to the local goon Shakoor Khan aka Chotta Miya) The line went dead. Seth Govindram was in panic mode. Shivering and in a desperate situation he slowly disconnected his phone. Govindram was a businessman who had built up his diamond polishing empire over a few decades. Born into a rich brahamin caste family his grand father and father had passed on the baton of responsibility to him before leaving for their heavenly abodes. Brain washed from childhood about the superiority of his caste he looked down upon other people from lower castes and treated them as muck. They were beneath his level. It was the 20th century but caste discrimination still existed in patches and parts all over India and even government...

Ring Ring Ring Ring The havaldar picks up and initiates the conversation — ’’Hello. Byculla Police Station’’ A gruff muffled voice is heard — ’’Hello!!’’ Havaldar — ’’Hello Boliye!!’’ Anonymous gruff muffled voice — ’’Hello Main Inspector Rajesh se baat karna chahta hoon’’ Havaldar — ’’Hello woh nahi hai. Kaun Bol raha hai’’ Reply from the anonymous voice - ’’Ek bomb phatne wali ki khabar hai. Inspector saheb Kab ayenge’’ Havaldar — ’’Char bajee. Aap kaun bol rahe hai’’ CLICK -- The phone goes dead with just a burrrrr sound in havaldar's earpiece. It was just 10 am this Tuesday as Havaldar Naik banged back the receiver on the cradle of the dialling base of the black crafted rotary telephone at the police station. It was a lazy summer of 1970 when the Bombay heat would soon start getting all its inhabitants in a sweltering sweat. At this police station, it was a quiet morning and there was not much activity as yet. The only activity of significance was this call. However, the way it...

Bombay — Late 1980’s  The blip of light came on the grey Konark brand TV screen as Gaitonde pressed and switched on the buttons on the bulky black and white ’idiot box’ It was time for the start of the Doordarshan programmes. The logo which resembled some as an Eye or to others, influenced by cosmic theory, yin and yang with a Sanskrit scripted Doordarshan in the moon in the centre sprung up on the screen. Satyam Shivam Sundaram, again Sanskrit scripted, ran across the bottom completing the design. The DD signature tune composed by Pandit Ravi Shankar and Ustad Ali Ahmed Hussain Khan played out followed by the start of the programmes. Gaitonde watched as the programme started and a Physics professor was blabbering the information on ’Light’ He lectured -- ’’When we mention light it usually refers to visible light which is electromagnetic radiation within the electromagnetic spectrum that can be perceived by the human eye. Visible light is usually defined as having wavelengths in th...

Loosely based upon the Famous sonnet Not Marble, Nor the Guilded Monuments by William Shakespeare and The Life of Ancient Greek king Ozymandias the lyrics floated in the air till the hissing and click started. The whole song and side played out with a final Hiss Hiss Click !! Hiss Hiss Click !! Hiss Hiss Click !! Hiss Hiss Click !! It reached and ended at the centre of the vinyl tripping back on the empty grooves. There was no life left to lift it and stop the rotations. Whether this is the beginning of the story or the last paragraph is — readers perception. Whether it was the end of the vinyl or the beginning of a new life is — man’s perception. The room was silent apart from the hiss and clicks. There was not a single breath to be heard in the room. Lord Yama had already noosed his prize. Is this the beginning or was it the end? For the vinyl record playing on the His Masters Voice gramophone, it had reached the blank grooves. It was THE END !! ONCE UPON A TIME — would be the nor...