The Storm: Part Four

Previous: Part One Part Two Part Three

John drove his police cruiser slowly around the block; his eyes transfixed on the road, but his mind floating away in a familiar reverie.

His life hadn’t turned out the way he had hoped for it to. Since school he had been an exceptional student; brilliant in studies, amazing at sports and equally active in extra-curricular. His teachers believed that he might one day even run for the President. He never did.

His dad was a police officer, and he loved his son. “Someday you are going to make your mother and me very proud, son,” his dad used to say, with a grin. His mother had passed away while giving birth to him. He had no siblings. His dad was only family he had, and he was his dad’s only family. He loved his dad, but he knew his dad loved him more. “Two against the world” was his dad’s favorite quote.

His dad was the one who had encouraged him to play rugby. And it had become his second love since. His tackle was well known among his teammates and feared among his opposition players as the “Iron Hammer”. Soon he had become the captain of his school rugby team and even led his team to many a victory, including the State Championship. On passing out from school, he was awarded the Student of the Batch honor.

But things were about to change.

It hadn’t been long after he finished school when his father met with an accident. An armed drunken driver shot his father when he tried to arrest him for drunken driving, unaware about the hidden firearm. He could never forget the night.

The city was being blown away by an oncoming storm when he reached the hospital. All his father’s friends and fellow police officers were waiting in the hall. He had rushed to Uncle George, his father’s childhood friend and partner, “Where is my father? What happened? Please tell me.” Uncle George had given him a sad look, his eyes full of tears. “He wants to speak with you.”

“Please let me see my dad,” he had pleaded the attending nurse. “Ok, but make it fast, he is very unstable,” the nurse had said.

He had kneeled beside his father’s bed, his father looking down at him. His eyes seemed to have lost its life but still full of love for his son. He had smiled weakly and had opened his mouth to say something, but words hadn’t emerged. John had brought his ears closer to his father’s lips to hear his last words.

“Son.”

The monitor screen had gone dead; nurses had started to run around; a monotonous beep had rung across the room; people had escorted John out of the room; Uncle George had driven him home through the raging storm; the rain had battered at the car window through which he had stared blankly outside; Aunt June had hugged him tight on arrival at Uncle George’s house; he had laid silently sleepless on his uncle’s bed the howl of the gale outside echoing through the night.

But nothing registered in his mind. He had lost everything.

***

Next: Part Five

A Lucid Dream

The dreams I see, you may never fulfill,
But that doesn't mean, I should stop dreaming.
The stars stay awake, as I look amazed
At the longing of, my yearning heart.
What do I want, is not certain,
And my heart doesn't, tread the normal way.
To me its unknown, to you its dark,
But I have to walk, alone this time.
Can you forget, and forgive me too,
For being there, always for you?
I never meant, to harm your aim,
But I cannot, wake up from my dream.

Its a starry night, and the moon above,
Shines down on an, untrodden road.
And I do see, faraway lights,
It is a city, but its faraway.
I am surrounded, by an empty crowd,
And the lights around, welcome me in.
I meet you again, and you are more,
Beautiful than I, last remember you.
I'm happy now, you are by my side,
And I lie down, on a grassy field.
I hold your hand, you look at me,
With a smile in your, ever longing eyes.
I won't let go, your lovely hand,
I'm happy now, you are by my side...

The Storm: Part Three

Previous: Part One Part Two

The moon above was shadowed by the dark clouds, as the city slumbered in the lap of the cold night. A lone figure walked through the windy highway. He was wrapped in a black jacket, zipped right up to his chin, the jacket's hood covering most of his face, leaving just enough space for him to fill his lungs with the freezing night breeze. His hands were tucked deep inside his cargo pockets, which he wore above a pair of large heeled boots. He looked like a defeated youngster who had lost hope. And so he was.

The cruel wind howled into his sheathed ears as he approached a bridge. When he reached the middle of the bridge, he paused and looked over the railing. The river beneath was as distant and dark as the sky above. He stood there, waiting, contemplating.

He was not sure what he wanted to do. Or maybe he was, but wither way something inside him was hesitating.

Fighting over his hesitation, he climbed onto the railing. He stood straight, determined.

This is it.

He could feel adrenaline rage through his veins in tandem with the night gust. A storm was coming.

Now!

***

Next: Part Four

Lost

Have you ever been lost?

Lost in the rain alone

Have you ever been lost?

Lost on your way home

Lost in the night breeze

Lost in the December freeze

Lost in the murky skies

And the mountain sighs

Lost in forgotten ties

Lost in forgiven lies

Lost in the dead crowd

Lost in the open road

Lost in the depth blue

Lost in a feeling new

Lost in the sunshine

Lost in Nature divine

Have you ever been lost?

Lost in old debris

Have you ever been lost?

Lost in a reverie.

The Storm: Part Two

Previous: Part One

Chris was still feeling a little sleepy as he trudged into the living room with a beer can in one hand and the universal remote in the other. He switched on the AC and slumped in the sofa. He took a sip and shuffled the newspapers on the coffee table. The room was dark. So he pressed another button and the drapes parted and the mid-day sun burst into the room through the glass wall.

Chris sipped on his beer can as he leaned forward and turned to the sports page. Wimbledon was on. There was a match tonight. Nadal vs. Federer. The most important match of the season probably.

Man, it’s awfully quiet here!

He switched on the TV and kept on reading about the details of the match.

The news was on.

"The Met department says that the sudden depression created near the coast is quite unexpected. It would mean that monsoon would arrive early this year. The depression is not yet so strong as to suggest any upcoming storm. But the department does say some light drizzle might be on the cards for the next 48 hours."

Chris put down the paper and stood up. The can was empty. He crushed it, turned and threw it at the dustbin at one corner of the room. The can hit the dustbin and fell on the floor with a clank.

Shucks! Whatever. The maid will clean it up.

"The formation is quite sudden," the Met department official was saying. "We cannot actually predict its intensity as yet but we are certain that it won't build up very fast. It might as well take a few more weeks for it to strengthen into a cyclone or anything of that force."

Yawning, Chris traipsed towards the huge glass wall. The sun rays hit his face as he neared. He stood there and looked down. Twenty-five stories down, the Sunday traffic was busy as usual and hot fumes seemed to rise up from the chaos. The city seemed to pant. He wished for the monsoon to come quick.

He made his way back to the sofa and jumped on it. He reached for the universal remote, turned off the television and switched on the music player. And the room boomed with loud rock music. He closed his eyes and sighed. He felt relaxed.

Chris was the son of the renowned Daryl Stein, one of the richest businessmen of the city, the CEO of Stein Construction. As a result he had gained popularity in the college as the "spoilt rich kid".

And he did live up to the expectations. Parties, girls, adventure sports; that was his life. Apart from this, Chris also was passionate about electronic gadgets. Thanks to his dad, he made sure that he had all the latest gadgets in his hand as soon as they were launched.

But, even though he would never admit, he had a soft side. And only his close friends knew about it. Chris was especially very careful whom he picked as friends. He socialized a lot but they were just acquaintances and hence his approach was superficial. But to his close friends he was just another sensitive guy.

Chris’ cell phone suddenly rang. Chris let out a groan and turned down the volume of the music. He picked up the cell and saw the number. It was his girlfriend.

“Hey babe.”

“Are you still at home?” Katy sounded pissed.

“Yes?” Chris answered warily, uncertain.

“YES? GOD! Chris, I’m gonna kill you if you don’t get your ass here right now!”

Chris fell silent. Here? Where the hell is she?

“What happened? Have you gone dumb? COME HERE IMMEDIATELY!”

Goddammit! Think think! Where was I supposed to be? Coffee house? Mall?

“You’ve forgotten, haven’t you?” Katy’s voice dropped dangerously.

“No, no. I remember. I’m coming there right now. You wait there, okay babe? I’ll be right over.”

“You better be.” And the line went dead.

Man, I’m so dead!

Next: Part Three

The Storm: Part One

The coffee had gone cold. Again. Sam put down his pen beside his notebook. He rubbed his eyes and ran his fingers through his hair. This was harder than he had had expected.

He had been sitting in the coffee house for the past three hours racking his brain but not one brilliant brainwave had hit him. In the meantime, he had ordered three cups of coffee, all of which had gone cold. His neck now ached. He needed a walk.

He packed his bag, paid the bill and left the coffee house.

Outside the night was cold. He buttoned up his jacket and started strolling towards the park. Very few people were out tonight. The reason was quite obvious. Earlier in the evening, a cyclone warning had been issued. The newsreader had said that this would be the worst that the city had ever experienced since the last decade.

The wind was already chilly but hadn't quite gained the predicted speed. Sam had calculated that it wouldn't be until midnight that the cyclone would actually arrive. Actually, it was rather hope than calculation. And it was still nine o'clock. So he still had three hours all to himself.

Sam worked as a freelance writer for one of the city newspapers as a part time job alongwith being a student in the City College. He was majoring in Arts. Hence writing came naturally to him. But he didn't like to write in his apartment. He found it more like a prison he had to sleep in every night. He always tried his best to stay as much time as possible away from his apartment.

The college library was open till five o'clock in the evening. So he spent most of his after college hours studying or writing in the college library. After the library closed he would hang out in the coffeehouse opposite his apartment building till ten o'clock when he returned.

Everyday it was the same routine.

He was still in his first year and, coming from a middle class family, the moment he landed, he knew he had to find a job. The college administration was a great help. They arranged for him a freelance writing job for a small newspaper. The pay wasn't so good but it was enough for him to rent a small apartment in the rundown portion of the city.

At first, the job wasn't quite demanding and he found it easy to come up with good stories. The main reason was that he had come from a small town and the new city was quite intriguing to him, finding something new to tell everyday. The editor was also quite impressed by his style and his choice of topics. "You're meant for bigger things, my lad," the editor had said. "Someday you will be quite a good reporter. And I hope that you would be working for our newspaper then."

His dream run had gone on for quite a while till he got stuck in a rut. The city didn't impress him anymore. Everything seemed so morbid now. So lame. The city had gone colorless for him now. He tried his best but hadn't been able to come up with anything impressive for the last few weeks. The editor had asked him to take a week off. "Son, you've been working too hard. Take some rest. You'll find your touch again soon I'm sure." Sam knew the editor was just trying to be nice. He had to come up with something marvelous within two weeks. Only two days were left and nothing good still seemed to be on its way.

Except for the storm.

Next: Part Two