Imagine

One fine day you wake up in the morning.

Realize that everything is eerily silent.

No you are not deaf, you can hear the clock ticking.

But why aren’t the birds chirping?

You step out from your bedroom.

Where is everyone?

You search the whole house.

Your heart starts to beat faster.

Your family can’t just leave you like that.

The car keys are at home, no they haven’t left.

You call their names.

No reply.

Panic kicks in.

Something’s wrong.

You look out of the window.

Everything is so calm.

Where the hell is everyone?

Why are there no vehicles on the road?

You pick up your phone and dial your family member’s number.

The cell phone rings.

The noise is coming from the other bedroom.

You go see, nobody is there.

You dial everyone’s number at home.

Why has everyone left his or her cell phone at home?

You call your friend.

A human voice might calm your nerves.

Same result. Keeps ringing. No one picks up.

What the hell?

You go out of the house.

Nobody is on the streets.

The streets are supposed to be jam packed at this hour.

Your vision darkens.

Adrenaline kicks in.

Your heart is thumping.

You walk back in.

You switch on the TV.

No signal.

You sit down for a moment.

You think.

You ask yourself whether this is a dream.

But it’s too real to be a dream.

Rational thinking begins.

It’s a prank.

They are trying to scare me.

But again, you panic.

The thought that nobody is on the street scares you.

Today is a working day and there’s not a soul on the road.

Even if it were a holiday, the roads would be busy.

This has never happened in your life before.

The neighbors must be home.

Oh yes!

Should knock on their door.

And you end up banging on their door.

No one answers.

You scream.

You try the next house.

Same result.

You are terribly scared.

A tear runs down.

One more tear.

You are now crying.

You call your mom’s name.

Your dad’s name

Your loved one’s name.

Where is everyone?

You walk back to your house.

Turn on the tap.

Splash cold water on your face.

Pick up the phone.

Hesitate.

You want to call the cops.

But are you over reacting?

Hell no.

You dial the number.

Long beep.

You dial again.

Long beep.

Sulking, you grab the car keys.

You are brave now. It’s the adrenaline.

You wipe those warm tears.

You make a mental note to give a piece of your mind to your family.

You reverse your car out from the parking.

You head out into the streets.

You think of those horror movies.

Your brain is mature enough to differentiate reel life and real life.

Oh God.

No one.

No shops are open.

Not a single human being.

Something is terribly terribly wrong.

A few cars are parked on the main road.

No one does that.

No one is on the inside.

Your mind now confirms that something is wrong.

You head to your friend’s house.

You bang on the door. It’s locked.

You are tired of this shit now.

You dial all the numbers again.

No one picks up.

Some numbers give a long beep.

Your heart feels like it will burst any moment.

You feel dizzy.

You drive back home.

It’s just a bad dream.

You just need a small nap.

And wake up from this dream.

It’s a glitch in the matrix. You say to yourself.

You laugh to yourself.

First laugh ever since all morning.

You reach home.

Someone must be home by now.

You hope.

No.

Headache begins.

Fear erupts.

You drink a glass of water.

Oh. The dizziness.

You lie down. You close your eyes.

You drift off to sleep unknowingly.

Now you are at peace.

After a while, you wake up.

In that waking moment, reality kicks in.

Life begins from where you left it.

Nothing has changed.

Panic. Fear. Hysteria.

What will you do now?

Who was she? - Short Story #9

Let me tell you about the weird story of my life. It might sound absolutely insane and even irrelevant. But I am a little frightened and I need to take it out somewhere. A couple of years ago, I had gone to Blackpool on a holiday for a weekend getaway with friends. Blackpool is a fun place to chill. There's a nice beach, plenty of places to get booze, fun fairs, extravagant shows and plays, all sorts of pubs and clubs etc. It's like a carnival out there and a lot of crowd is present during the festive season.

We arrived on a Friday night, spent the evening in a pub and got ourselves drunk. Woke up late on a Saturday, walked around the place, explored the beach, swam a little and got tanned, spent the evening visiting various shows and got drunk again in the evening. The last day being a Sunday, I woke up early and in spite of a slight hangover, I decided to take a quick stroll and make use of the British summer. We were put up in a cozy hostel and all my friends were sound asleep.

The crowd never seemed to cease and the streets were packed with tourists. There were various street performers entertaining the crowd. Jugglers, magicians, drummers, men in giant bunny costumes, clowns on unicycles and all other fantasy world characters you can think of. Various cafes were open for business with the aroma of fresh coffee and croissants filling the streets, gambling houses, gypsy fortunetellers, candy stores. But one store caught my attention. 'The shop of Illusion'. Obviously, it was a shop that sold magic stuff. I went in to have a look as such things always fired up my enthusiasm.

The shop wasn't too crowded. There was an old lady behind the counter who smiled as I walked in. I could see all sorts of DIY magic kits, prank toys, candies, scented candles, souvenirs of all types, costumes for kids and adults, some books on magic tricks, odd show piece objects, grotesque looking statues and some artworks in really nice antique frames. Now art always happened to interest me. So I took time looking and most of them were actual hand painted artwork rather than printed canvas. Then my eyes fell on it. The painting that changed my life. 

It was a medium sized art piece, an oil painting with skilful brush strokes of the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. Trust me when I say this. That painting was so mesmerising it actually gave me goose bumps as I stood there appreciating the masterpiece.  There she was, standing on the balcony in a side posture with two hands on the railing facing the sea, with a full moon in the background, her face looking at me as if I had just called her name. It seemed as if she turned to see who it was that called, distracting her from the beautiful scenery she was enjoying. She was wearing a white sleeveless nightgown, face illuminated by the moonlight, which was radiantly glowing, the sea far away reflecting the moon and the beach empty but well lit in a night sans darkness.

But it was the face that made me fall in love with the painting. If she were a real woman, which I assume she is because the artist would have used a model, I'd instantly fall in love with that person. In fact, I think the woman in the painting was far more beautiful than the real life model would have been. This painting deserved to be kept in a museum. I was surprised to find it in a small shop that sold cheap magic tricks. I scanned the whole painting to find the name of the artist, there was nothing. I lifted the whole painting and looked behind, nothing again. The women from behind the counter who was watching me all this while walked up to me and told me it cost £30. I was shocked. 

I had expected it to cost no less than a few hundred pounds. Maybe even thousands. Any art lover would have wanted this painting. I wasted no time, I asked her to get it packed for me. It was the deal of a lifetime and I was so happy that I had walked into this shop. The old woman packed the frame with the painting on a large sheet of paper and tied it with some thin strings. I paid her the money. She told me that I was lucky because this was an original artwork by her own grandfather. I was shocked again. I asked her why was she selling off family property. She replied to me very slowly, her grandfather had hid this in his mansion and it was recently discovered as the place was being torn down. She had decided to sell it. I bet she knew nothing about art. I smiled at her and quickly snatched the package that was the painting and made an exit saying a hasty ‘thank you’. I feared she would change her mind and ask for the painting back.

I was extremely pleased with myself on the way to the hostel. My friends asked me what it was that I had purchased, but I let no one touch my newfound treasure and refused to show them what it was. It kind of irked them but they had other interests to attend to. We left Blackpool later in the evening. Off we drove to Cardiff, where the wall in my bedroom waited to be adorned with this beautiful painting.

The next day, I hung it on the wall. It was mine now. I stood there staring at it. Looking at it intently, I realised that the face was now smiling. I hadn't noticed that before. There was something about the beautiful face, it was so life like. I went on with my usual activities for the day. The next morning, I woke up and my eyes fell on the painting first thing because I had placed it right across my bed. She was smiling. I was damn sure now. It was a smile; maybe it was because I was getting familiar with the face. That day, I remember being extremely happy. My mood was elevated and I was strangely content with all the things in my life. I got all-philosophical about life and its greatness. I smiled at people, they smiled back at me. Everything seemed so in place. Every morning I'd wake up and glance at the painting. I never got tired of it. Never. The more I looked at it, I felt rich on the inside. Everything at work was good; my personal life was at its best. What more could I want? 

And it changed one day. I woke up as usual, happened to glance at the painting and got up to head to the bathroom when it struck me. Something was unusual. I looked at the painting. The smile. It was gone. I rubbed my eyes and went to have a closer look. The smile on the face was actually gone. It was now how I remembered it from when I first bought the painting. Expressionless. Emotionless. I shrugged it off as something psychological. I went to work the same day. But could not get the smile off my mind. Was I imagining things? It started to actually make me restless. When I got back home, the first thing I did was to have a look at the painting. Nothing had changed. The smile was gone.

I didn't dare mention about this to anyone in the house fearing I'd be the laughing stock. I woke up the next day to see the same thing. I called in my mother and asked her to have a look at the painting. So she did. I asked her whether the woman was smiling? She gave me a look and turned her head towards the painting. She told me that no one could tell if she was smiling or whining, it seemed perfectly normal, as in a normal expression. That's the thing that bothered me a lot. To me, the woman had ceased to smile and today, she looked cold. She looked sad. Definitely not happy. The other thing that bothered me was my own restlessness. Why was I getting so worked out on a mere painting? That day everything turned upside down. The company I worked for announced major cutbacks and told us that they would be letting 20 to 25 employees off. It was just the beginning. 

Every single day I woke up, the woman in the painting looked even worse. There was severe sadness on her face. Needless to say, things at work were not well at all. I became grumpy. There were rumours that my job contract would be cancelled. It was like the world was toppling down on me. A few people had already lost their jobs. The atmosphere at work reflected on my personality as well. I became angrier, got frustrated quite often and started to lose my temper at certain issues. In two weeks time, I got my bad news. I had lost my job. We all know the fates of those who lost jobs during the recession.

It took me a few days to realise the severity of what had just happened. I found myself applying for new jobs. I found myself unemployed. My family seemed to understand what was going on, but I failed to find solace in them. I started drinking. Soon, it became a regular habit. This affected my relationship as well. I lost my self-confidence. I was losing myself.

The painting. I spent hours in my room just staring at it. She was angry now. I could tell. She looked angry when I was drunk. She looked angrier when I was sober. And I knew for sure my eyes were not playing tricks on me. The painting was a reflection of my mood. One particular night, I got so drunk and on the way back home, I got pulled over by a cop. My alcohol level was obviously too high and I was told that I'd be arrested. I punched the cop in the face. It turned ugly and the next thing I remember was a bolt of electric current passing through my body making me numb. I woke up in jail the next day.

I was let out on bail after a week. When I came home, I realised the person I had become from the person I was. I had changed. I had changed a lot. Friends usually described me as a soft and shy person. Some even refused to believe that I had been arrested. I found the painting in my bedroom. The look on her face. She looked furious. It scared me for a second. I knew for a fact that this was not the face that was when I had purchased it. Definitely not. I had that much of sanity left in me to understand the fact that something was wrong with the painting. I took it down immediately. I packed it neat and nice and left it in the attic. I did not want it hung on my room anymore. But I remember looking at it one last time. And I remember the woman looking back at me. She looked sympathetic. I packed it neat and nice and left it in the attic. In a few months, I had forgotten about the painting. I was told later that it was sold off in a yard sale. Strangely, it didn't bother me anymore. Things were turbulent for a short while, but changes came. In a few weeks time, I found a job. It wasn't the best job, but considering the things that were happening around me, I was told I was lucky to land in a job. I served 100 hours of community service as punishment; at least the case was closed after. Years passed. Life went on.

Now, one week ago, something happened that gave me the shivers. I read about this tragic news in the paper. Some maniac in America, a lone gunman opened fire in a university killing 32 people. The newspaper had printed the photo of the suspected killer, a picture of a lean guy holding a baby in his arms. He was a normal looking guy, photo taken by his wife probably in his own house. What made me restless was not his picture, but the painting hanging on the wall of that living room.

Reality show cruelty?

So I'm just lazing around switching channels watching TV and I come across some reality shows, singing, dancing and display of talents etc. The elimination round was going on. So they call up two teenagers at a time who have gone through several rounds of singing and the judges will select one and eliminate the other. All selected ones will go to the next round or level, whatever they call it. We are talking about 10-15 year olds. 

They stand in front of the judges waiting to hear their results. Nervous and anxious. As they announce the name of the selected and the eliminated. One is extremely happy, the other one obviously sad. This kind of infuriates me and so this rant.

Now how can you be happy and jump with joy when the person standing next to you is going through perhaps a heartbreak? The winner runs out screaming in joy and hugs their kin while the sad loser is walking behind, all in slow-mo.

I don't understand. Am I the only one missing something here? You can't be happy when someone standing next to you is sad. I know this is a competition and shit. Yes, I agree, in a 100 metre, the winner does not feel for the person who came last, Michael Phelps would not have come first if he thought the swimmers in the competition deserved to win too. When India won the world cup, not a single Indian felt sad because Sri Lanka lost. The guy who got 1st rank in class never even knew my name, because I never got a rank as I flunked in a few subjects. Of course there can be only one winner and I am aware of the phrase, 'May the best one win'. We all compete to succeed. We want to be the best and we need to excel. But in this case, I fail to comprehend.

Why on earth do you need to call people in pairs and announce the result. Okay fine, if you do so, can the winner at least hug the person who just lost? Yeah they do that, I've seen it before. But to the majority of those who just jump in joy and run away, calm down. It looks ugly on screen. Yeah, I know I'm the only one complaining here. Call me douche-bag.

It's the same on all shows. I was watching some mom's special dance talent show. Again, they come in pairs, then announce the winner and loser. With age, you mature. But no! It's the same, the loser walks away unnoticed. The winner is screaming in joy as if she won a billion dollars, she does not even look at the other contestant.

I am no mr. nice guy here, but it's just that you go through a lot of effort and training together and after days or months, one of the participant gets eliminated, show some sympathy. Jump in joy later. Both sang well, both danced gracefully, there was only a small tiny gap between deciding who was superior.  But yeah, I'm just saying, I felt sad to see the kid crying. Now let me go and hug my pillow and drench it with my tears.

Watch this video, one of my favourites!

Maybe in another life

Remember that time when you were in school and your teacher asked you to write an essay on what you want to become when you grow up? I didn't know what to write back then, now I do. Too late though.

1. Policeman (for the sake of driving a car with flashing lights and loud siren)

2. Soldier (so that I can die proud)

3. Pilot (I still have a chance, when I become rich, I'll join private flying classes)

4. Film Actor (villain role, nothing else)

5. Astronaut (we all know why)

6. Sailor (probably a ship's captain during medieval times)

7. Singer (my current voice sucks)

8. Baker (also the owner of my own world famous pastry shop. Yum!)

9. Akita (I'd like to be somebody's pet)

10. God (so that I can nuke people I don't like and keep the good ones happy)

Atlantis

From the 124th Floor

Grand Mosque, Abu Dhabi

Sweet Tooth

Behind the Scenes and a Video

One sunny day in Coventry

when people stepped out to bask in the sun and eat ice cream

and when the day looked warm and beautiful,

we decided to make a small video

by renting equipments from the media loan shop,

found a place to set it up

and got ready to film

by choosing the perfect spot.

We decided to make a Vox Pop,

a small 'feel good' video

by asking random people a simple question

to get some heart warming answers.

Here you go, watch the video!

The Hindu Sheik

Whaaaaaat? A Hindu Sheik?

Yup. The first time I heard about the Hindu Sheik, I was surprised, because even after living for 20+ years in the Gulf, I've never come across this fact. *Embarrassed*

So I was in Muscat, Oman for a few days. In the past recent months I've been travelling to certain Gulf Council Countries and I must tell you, everything is so similar in terms of geography, culture, architecture and lifestyle. Only the Government is different. At least in Muscat, they have more rocky mountains instead of deserts.

Coming back to the Hindu Sheik. Kanaksi Khimji, the head of Khimji Ramdas Group of Companies was given the title of Sheik by the Sultan of Oman himself. With companies across the globe, Khimji has his roots in Gujarat. A staunch devotee of Lord Shrinathji and a strict vegetarian makes him the only Vaishnav Hindu Sheik of the Arab world.

It was more than 140 years ago, Khimji's Great Grandfather Ramdas Thackersey set sail for Oman from his homeland Kutch. Being a dhow merchant, he set sail to Muscat to relocate his expanding business to gain access to then strategic ports. Today, the company has an annual turnover of more than $1 Billion.

Oman is a nice place, didn't get to explore much. I was surprised again when I learnt that only Omani nationals can drive taxis and other Government vehicles. This is not the case in UAE or Saudi Arabia etc.

There is a diving centre in Muscat, parks, resorts, an old souq where you can buy traditional stuff and the Grand Mosque, Shiva temple and Krishna Temple (Thanks to Khimji). But there are others places to visit in Oman like Salalah which is the perfume capital of Arabia. You will find green mountains hills in Salalah and wonder if you are actually in the Middle East.

Corniche

Towards the Beach

Rocky Mountains on both sides

Near the Dive Center

Qantab Town

Qantab Beach

All of these and now look at Salalah!

Suddenly, Green (Not my Pic)

Snaps from Oman

Grand Mosque Minaret, Muscat

Abandoned Chariot

Sunset at Ruwi

Thank You Apple

So it has been almost 4 years since I got my Mac Book Pro. Purchased in the UK, delivered into the hands of a friend and opened in a classroom,  I just want to take a moment, lean back and think of all the things that I have achieved with this laptop.

Those large RAW format photographs I saved and processed, shot on various occasions, made beautiful with photoshop...

Carrying it in my backpack and saving files in the midst of serious protests and riots... and uploading files on sites overnight..

Editing heavy duty video files for University assignments and making those birthday videos in the nick of time...Those priceless smiles..

Exporting numerous videos into news reports for TV, documentaries and short films and delivering them minutes before deadlines...

Countless movies watched alone and with friends...

This laptop holds the record for watching most number of youtube videos and zero porn... *cough cough*

Not to forget how I learnt to play the guitar, the music sheet was my laptop screen...

How it became a public computer to play songs, messing with facebook statuses on unattended accounts...

And all those extra attachment of 1 TB and 2 TB hard disks now and then....

All of these and this awesome piece of machine handled everything so smooth. Never has it let me down, never have I complained. Cherished every single moment of owning a Mac. Not once has my Mac stuck nor have I formatted it or taken it for service.

I salute the people who have dedicated themselves and produced such hardware and technology that a PC can never achieve.

Yesterday, again, when all the PC's in the conference room failed to play a file and crashed due to heavy file size, this hero streamed it like a boss and saved my arse.

Time and time again, this machine has proved its worthiness and still works like a charm.

Thank You Macintosh Apple. Thank You.

On the clouds high up above are some angels playing the harp and Steve Jobs is relaxing munching on an apple he just took a bite from. He says, "You're Welcome".