The Arms of a Thief

“The winner and the loser told the fallen priest,

It’s a cold cold world in the Arms of a Thief”

Iron and Wine

He was known as The Captain. Just that. No one knew his real name. No one asked. There were tales told about him in many a tavern along the coast. They said he had fought a shark all alone with just a rusty cutlass. They say he had stolen the King’s crown off his head while he slept. They said he was not human, that he was a ghost, much like the Flying Dutchman was not a ship for It could sail on land.

On this particular morning, The Captain was on deck. He was looking at a map. The Duke’s fleet was nearby, he could feel it in his bones. This would be his last robbery, his final conquest. He had just received word that his wife, back in the town he had left her in had given birth to a boy. He had a son, and he did not want the boy to know of him as a pirate.

The Captain was jolted out of his reverie by the urgent voice of his bo’sun from up on the lookout.

“I see it Cap’n. It’s a Man O’ War. The bastards have sent their bloody best with the cargo!”

“Never ye mind the size of the ship! We can take it!”, he growled back. He could feel the adrenalin course through him. He checked his dual flintlock pistols, his own invention and also his cutlasses. He then strode up to the wheel of the ship and  twisted the wheel a full 270 degrees to port. He intended to have the starboard side cannons free so he could greet the ship with a volley of cannonballs.

They drew first blood.

A giant flaming iron ball landed just near his feet knocking the Captain sideways. He tasted blood as he hit the deck. He was on his feet in an instant, with his flintlock pistol in one hand and his cutlass drawn. They were on him. The Duke’s finest. His most elite.

Their leader was a man called Domingo. Domingo laughed a cruel laugh as he faced the Captain.

“Well ye mangy cur. You’ve fallen right into our trap! Did you think this ship contained treasure? It never did. There’s a large bounty on your head y’see. The Duke wants it. I’m here to collect it. The sad part of it is, I have to take you alive. Don’t mean I can’t hurt yeh though”

“Do your worst then, scum” snarled the Captain.

Their swords flashed and sparked. The Captain was a fine swordsman but this Domingo was not a rustic. He too had had plenty of practice and had honed his skill. It was an even match. And as we all know, such matches last. This one was no different. 

Domingo was left handed and kept thrusting viciously. The Captain parried his thrusts and prayed for an opening. He was given none. Domingo was tiring however. He was becoming sloppy. The power in his thrusts had reduced. The Captain hoped this was not just an act for if he slipped up now, he was a dead man.

Somehow, Lady Luck was on his side, for suddenly, his first mate was behind them and stabbed Domingo through the ribs. The Captain moved in and reflected the stab from the front.

“The Duke’s still gonna get you y’know. You’re just prolonging the inevitable you bastard” spluttered Domingo.

That night, was Christmas Eve. The Captain had sailed all day. He finally saw the town, where his wife was on the horizon. Obviously, he couldn’t risk taking the ship into the harbor and so he anchored her in a cove just off the coast; intending to take the boat into the jetty and from there go to his home.

Home. He had a home. The Captain rolled the thought around his head. He liked it. His crew were all tired and he had given them the night off to revel. They had gone to the tavern in the town.

He made his way to the house. He knocked his secret knock on the door.  His wife opened it. She looked radiant.

“I knew you would come”, she said as he took her in his arms.

“Where is my son?”, he whispered.

“He is asleep”

“Can I see him?” asked the Captain.

Just then, another figure stepped into the light. It was the Duke.

“End of the road vermin. Did you really think I would let you off that easy? I only wanted you to think that I had sent that Man O’ War after you with the intention of burying you at sea. The tavern you sent your men into is filled with my men. They’re all dead by now I expect. As for you, I’ll spare you. If you come along quietly”, said the Duke

The Captain was a man of few words. He merely drew his flintlock and shot in one fluid movement. The Duke fell to the ground dead.

His wife screamed.

The Captain was gone. He went back to the boat he had left in the jetty. He boarded it and rowed away from the town. He could hear the shouts as the guards sounded the alarm. By the time a search party got roused up, The Captain would be gone.

It was Christmas. Christmas was a time for family. It was a time to be happy. But sadly, The Captain realized, a pirate knows no other life than the one at sea. He is but a nomad, cursed to merely wander.

It had started to snow. The Captain had made it to his ship. Luckily, a few of his crew had survived the massacre. They could still sail.

And sail they did, with the Captain at the helm of his ship. As it had always been.  

The Bilge Master

What are the Essential Elements of a Horror Story

“Have you run your fingers down the wall,

And have you felt you neck skin crawl,

When you’re searching for the light?

Sometimes when you’re scared to take a look,

At the corner of the room,

You sense, there’s something watching you”

(Lyrics to “Fear of the Dark” by Iron Maiden)

Let me first try to make the reader understand what horror is according to me. Horror or synonymously; terror is plain, pure undiluted fear. Often this can manifest in the form of a giant 8 legged monster or sometimes it can manifest upon reading something in the local newspaper.

The thing about a horror story is that it’s adaptable. What scares me, might be found laughable by my friends. As an example, I found “Frankenstien” to be a very sad story as opposed to a horror classic. However the way in which the doctor creates his monster was indeed spine chilling. The subsequent events were to an equal measure scary and at the same time sad. I re-read the book some time back, but again I found that I was upset at the tragic ending of the monster and the doctor. I think what I am trying to say is that I tend to look for believable things to be scared of such as say one day an artificial intelligence takes over our lives effortlessly. Or the accounts of crimes I read about in the paper on a daily basis.

On the other hand the movie “Psycho” by Alfred Hitchcock, scared me to no end; much of which I attribute to the brilliant acting on the part of Anthony Quinn. The suspense had my heart beating at twice it’s rate and the climax made my hair stand on end.

So, here are the elements of a horror story according to me:

Suspense- Keep the reader or the audience on the edge of their seats. Don’t allow them to think that there’s nothing more coming. Keep them guessing and if possible lull them into a sense of security, before smashing it to smithereens

Realism- As I mentioned in the introduction, something real terrifies me more as opposed to say a blob emerging from the sea and consuming New Jersey. I guess an element of realism helps to make things scarier; like say something akin to the Pied Piper who kidnaps all the kids from Hamlyn

Uncertainty- I will here refer to the story “Childhood’s End” by Arthur C Clarke, in which aliens come and basically take all the children away from their parents. I could not sleep for days after I finished said book. The thing is, we aren’t 100% sure what is out there in space yet. Exploiting this uncertainty will always scare the crap out of anyone if it’s done right, As it has been said, “Man believes in the improbable, but not the impossible”. And thereby, literally hangs a tale.

The Reader- Different people scare differently. I didn’t find “Dracula” by Bram Stoker scary. I found it funny. My friend said it gave him goosebumps. I think a horror story’s horror element depends a lot on who is reading it. It should appeal to the mind of the reader. It should stimulate that part of his brain that makes him feel afraid. It should make the aforementioned part afraid. Very, very afraid.

I may have given the impression that I don’t like horror stories. I love them. The thing is, I don’t scare easily I suppose. Either way, do let me know-what scares you? Ghosts, ghouls, things that go bump in the night?

The Bilge Master

The Motley Mesa

As a child I had seen,
Dismantled before me, a mesa
Of Green, and Blue, and Red
As a teen, I found I loved to read,
And in early adulthood,
I tried to earn a degree in that field,
But, by a Citric twist,
I have found
My calling, my Ultimate Fling
They say, "Passion Colours Everything";
And I now have a place for my head to rest,
So, you now ask me for an introduction,
Well I am a boy,
Gazing
Fascinated
As if I have been Hypnotized
Across that Mesa
Of Red, Blue and Green,
And This
This is what I Want to Be

The Bilge Master

Life in a Crowded Metro

My daily routine on weekdays and sometimes on weekends or holidays is to head over to the Metro station (Kavi Nazrul or Kav Naz for short) and board a train. It's the easiest way to get from deep South Calcutta to Central or North Calcutta where my college is. On most days the crowds are insanse and yesterday was not an exception. I had a semester exam in the afternoon and it was dusk by the time I'd  wrapped up my paper and was on the train back home. The funny thing is, I wasn't aware that the entire atmosphere of the bogey I was in was going to change in a matter of a few stations. 

The story began when a family got on the train from the Park Street station. It was six in the evening and the office goers were with us on the train, resulting in it being packed to the rafters. This family comprised of a man, a woman who was carrying her infant son on her shoulder. The father had an emergency bag with him. I was standing near the door and I quickly made way and signalled to the nearest row of seats asking someone to get up and allow the mother and child to take a seat. Someone else offered to hold the emergency bag too so that the father could stand properly. Unfortunately, since there was so much noise, what with the PA system announcing the next station and the wind in the tunnel causing a racket that the kid (who was about 2) was scared out of his wits and would not stop crying. He kept wanting to go to his father and then came back to his mother, just as inconsolable as before. 

I have no clue what made me think of it, but I knelt down in front of the kid and managed to get his attention by singing "Ob-La-Di-Di-Bla-Da" by The Beatles very softly. I also clapped my hands a bit, so his attention would stay focused on me. By this time, I had a bit of an audience and some people in the bogey knew the song too. They joined in and I think it worked because the kid stopped crying, and instead looked at me like I was from another planet. I suppose with my unkempt long hair and sweat streaked face, I did look a bit scary. 

Finally, when the train was pulling into Mahanayak Uttam Kumar (the Tollygunge station), the kid had stopped crying, taken a sip of water and gone to sleep on his mother's shoulder. 

I got off the Metro at Kavi Nazrul and climbed down the stairs, just like I did everyday. But yesterday, I kept thinking of my mother singing me "Ob-La-Di-Di-Bla-Da" among other songs to help me sleep when I was little. 

I guess nursery rhymes and bedtime stories aren't just for infants! 

The Bilge Master

Pens and Swords

White. Empty and untouched. That's what this page looks like,

Till my keystrokes register and a stain begins to spread,

Minute characters appear where just seconds before there was nothing,

Permutations and combinations occur, mathematics of words

A skeleton is dug up, it is given flesh

It's blood vessels are pumped up again,

It is told to jump into a pair of baggy jeans, don a jacket,

And it will do what I want it to,

I can send it to China, I can send it to Rome,

I can captivate you Reader in my yet to be published tome,

I find this funny, for all this manipulation

​Takes place in the comfort of my home,

I am not a writer, I am merely a boy,

With a passable vocabulary, doing something that brings him joy

And so I ask of anyone who might stop by to read this,

Tell me how it is that Writers manage to make us cry?

I guess that is why my mother once said to me,

"Son, the Pen is mightier than the Sword"

The Bilge Master

Have We Met?

I think I can describe the current part of my life as a transitional phase- one in which I realize that I actually CAN do stuff and then go on to do said stuff. Somehow, at first, such a transition seems scary. In time, however difficult the said transition is, it completes and leaves me feeling better. Sort of like a snake when it's shed it's skin.

I'm pretty sure that this is  a common phenomenon in the life of every young adult. The bit where your parents leave you alone to a large extent and you start seeing the world a wee bit more differently. When you've realized that everyone is NOT trying to killl you and there's really no need to go around flailing your arms about like a somewhat deranged lunatic on steroids. 

That being said, where's the fun in not being a lunatic? Studies, binges, the endless adda with your classmates and your seniors. Staying out late and having a blast even when the HOD is being a gigantic pain in your rear. Bring it on I say! 

And no matter what, you will always find that group of people or just that one person who is as bat shit crazy as you are. When you do, you might have this eiree feeling that you are looking into a mirror. The urge to ask "Have we met?" might overwhelm you.

Here's to you college \m/

The Bilge Master

The Whiteboard Song

My friend at JU, Arnab Chakraborty wrote this poem after I haggled at him for a considerable amount of time. He writes his own blog called Musings, which you can check out here.  Many thanks Arnab.

I see the Whiteboard behind you,

And words forming like images
On a canvas for failed limners of old;
Who found no means of entry
Into your heavy books

Of scholars, philosophers and thinkers bold.

The stellar cast of History’s Heroes,

They gather on your Whiteboard.

Then I wake up from the opium dreams

Of Mother Nature, my mistress

And Father God, the towel boy;

Who stood apart feeling shy,

As I played a nasty game of tennis

With the Demon Kings of the world

3-2 they said before the raindrops claimed my distant gaze

And I saw you staring, admiring that shimmering Whiteboard.

Then I noticed you were seeking

 Seeking that custard of spirit,

Seeking that pure imperfection, seeking

What does not lie on that great Whiteboard.

Then I feel old.

Growing older still with each silence

That does not escape your lips.

And your words erudite and strong

Growing younger with each boom.

While I grow older still, because wisdom

Comes with great loathing at men

And yet the greatest forgiveness

For all men are you as you are them;

Thus promoting a state of paradox,

Not unlike the ones you ignore

Forming between the names on that great Whiteboard.

But without a moment’s despair

We become lumps of flesh, You and I

On a rock spinning through endless nothing

Seeking answers from the cold Whiteboard.

And all our glorious theories that pale

In the presence of a thunderous night,

Or in the pains that make us fight;

Pains that you are blind to

And ones to which I only lend an ear

Till the howling makes my ears bleed

And then I am hiding in a corner somewhere

Storing private sobs for what I cannot cure away.

The practical clockwork suffering continues like a mechanized drone

And you still posit those questions,

While great names stare at me

From beyond the glorious Whiteboard.

Then I am arrogant

Then I am raw

Then I am all that eludes your grasp

While the carbon that makes you and I

Smiles in the bitter irony of long forgotten names

Names that you memorise at a moment’s touch

And names that are ornaments on famous gravestones

While the nameless pass by

Recurrent ant-like heroes of the world

In a giant black lump they pass

Greying the corners and the Heroes of your precious Whiteboard.

But alas! Me is the fool

Me is the repeating voice of many

Me is the fool for raindrops and dreams and lies colour my body

While you are the giant building of books

Me is the fool for trying to hold

What my fat fingers can never touch

Me the fool for chiding those more solid

Those more real in the thought-room of archives

You stand atop the mountain of all that has been

While hollow men like me survive on the morsels you leave behind

You, the Giant with raised voices in the crowd,

And I a fool on your Whiteboard.

Coffee House er Shei Adda Ta…

I spent the better part of today listening to Manna Dey’s timeless song “Coffee House er Shei Adda Ta…” and somehow it’s prompted me to write a few lines. As yet, I don’t know what I’m exactly going to be writing about, much like my habit of adda.

Being a Bengali, there are a few things that I live. One of them is the fish curry my mother makes, when she feels like it. One of them is listening to Bob Dylan on a rainy day. One of them is drinking litres of coffee. One of them is sitting with a group of friends, and just giving adda. Small wonder then that I love this song and will continue to love it for a while now.

I’ve heard this expressed on occasion that adda is kind of futile. Maybe it is. But at the same time it hold a certain undeniable charm. It helps in more ways than one I assure you. And let it be said, that although we are living in a world ruled by instant messaging, the power of a cup of instant coffee will always be exponentially higher.

But surely, you know that already seeing as you’ve come here and are reading this and somehow feel yourself wanting to pick up a cup of coffee and join your  friends for a chin wag or to put it more simply an adda session?


The Bilge Master

There Are Some Things…

These few days are somewhat calm. My city is changing itself. The traffic on the roads is more, as are the crowds on the various forms of public transport; especially the subway. The reason for that is obvious to anyone living in Kolkata- Maa ashchen.

 

The annual festival of Durga Puja is one that brings with it a riot of gaiety, motely bunches of people and of course the signature beats of the dhaaks. The city changes. It becomes a living entity as every nook, every cranny and every microbe falls under the spell of our visitors from far off Kailash. When you think about it, it’s a simple thing really. Five Gods come down from their abode to mingle among us mortals. One of them is the destroyer of the demon Mahisasur, who was a thorn in the Gods’ side for ages.

 

But it isn’t that simple. It’s more than just a festival. It’s a time for…I don’t know- discovery? Anticipation surges up in me, because my college is closing soon. My good friend from Gurgaon will be in town too. I can try that look with a kurta and jeans…

 

Remember that advertisement on TV? The four friends, college buddies who tossed to decide who would pay the bill? It said something very true. There are some things that need to be experienced. Adda sessions over a cup of lukewarm tea, the second it takes for you to remember that age old anecdote and share it. The list is almost endless. Just as this festival, though it celebrates something old, seems to reinvent itself each year. For each year, a boy walks out his front door, meets his friends and is awestruck yet again. Hence my anticipation.

 

Maa Ashchen.

 

The Bilge Master

Madhu

The old man, somewhat groggy woke up. He picked up his bifocals from the table beside him and pottered over to the kitchen to put the water on for morning chai.

“Madhu, it’s time to wake up!” he called out as he passed her room.

He had a specific system for making tea. He would first heat a little water and pour it into two cups, one for himself and one for Madhu. He would then heat up a little more, to brew the tea with.  Once the water had boiled, into it would go a little pinch of ginger, just a pinch mind you. His mother had told him it imparted more taste to the tea and to be honest it helped with his sinuses. The next thing he would do is measure out 3 spoonfuls of tea and put them into the flavoured water. This mixture would simmer for about 3 minutes. Then it would be strained into the cups, ready to drink. Madhu always said his adrak waali chai was the best.

*****

The old man had seen Madhu off at the bus stop and gone for his morning walk. He would spend about 3 hours on his own, while Madhu spent the same time learning. He knew the sound her bus made when it braked, and so would know when to expect her back. Usually she would be back around 12. The old man spent this time immersed in a spy thriller, or doing the crossword puzzles in the paper.

Madhu’s favourite snack was idli-dosa, which the old man went to get around 11.30. There was a little South Indian restaurant just around the corner of the house. In spite of the rising vegetable prices, especially the onions, this restaurant was still affordable and more importantly, knew the old man very well. He would order the food and then while he waited have a tumbler of their special filter coffee. He liked to watch the waiter cool the coffee, by first pouring it into one tumbler then back into the original. It was a precise series of movements, ensuring that the coffee was frothy and also cool enough to drink.

*****

“Your father has made very little progress, Mr. Saxena”, said the doctor. “He is clearly still in shock from what happened”.

“I know doctor. It is truly a tragedy. Is it the same thing? He gets to that point in his story of that afternoon and then just stops?”

“Yes sir. We have tried him on lithium as well as a mind amount of lorezapam. But there is no response. He just doesn’t seem to be able to accept what happened.”

*****

That day was different. It started off as normal. The old man woke Madhu up and they had his adrak waali chai. He then put her on the bus. He spent the next three hours doing the crosswords, and then went to get the idli-dosa for Madhu.

When he got back, he heard the phone ringing.

“Is this the Saxena residence?”, said a voice

“Yes”, replied the old man.

“Sir, I am calling from North Wing Police Station. We need you to come here urgently. There has been an accident and we require someone to identify a body.”

They told the old man that Madhu had fallen from the bus as it picked up speed on the way out of the school. They said that she had a cranial fracture that caused a haemorrhage.

The old man just thought about the packet of idli-dosa on the kitchen table. He hadn’t said bye to Madhu when she got on the bus today.

*****

“Mr. Saxena, I am afraid your father’s response is still poor. His mind is constantly replaying that day. When he gets to the end of the story, he just repeats the same line- I did not say goodbye.”

Inspired from the Poets of the Fall song “Late Goodbye”

The Bilge Master

Thoughts of a Crackpot

My old man he was a preacher,

And on days he couldn't reach her,

He’d seek solace at the bottom of a pitcher,

And go the whole nine yards,

My first crush was my English teacher,

She had a daddy with a Winchester repeater,

Who couldn't stop her meeting her bloke at the theater

My sister hails from North Carolina,

And always wanted to marry this gangster called Tanner,

‘Cept the sheriff shot the guy full o’ lead,

Thereby leaving her love life for dead,

What then is the point of this cock-a-doodle?

Why you ask am I playing this tune on the fiddle?

Truth be told, I have no clue mate,

But then again, who says I have to make sense?

The Bilge Master

Nightsimming

There are some things in this world that just cannot be described to you. You need to put yourself in the situation and drink it all in, much like what Bono (of U2) said in the song “Walk On”.

“You’re packing a suitcase for a place,None of us has been,A place that has to be believed, to be seen”

The thing is I had such an experience yesterday. We had a dinner invitation at one of my father’s friends’ house; Prabir jatha as I call him. His wife Subha Jethima is an awesome cook. Calling this person a friend would be an understatement, because him and dad are very close, having attended college together. They’ve basically seen me grow up and are like family to me.  We were also joined by a couple from the upstairs flat who brought with them jokes, an iPhone and biriyani.

We have moved by the way, quite a distance from our house in Salt Lake, to Sherwood Estate, which as it happens is close to where the aforementioned friend of Dad’s stays. This has worked out for me. Take yesterday for example- muffin platter the moment I sat down!

A word about Subha Jehima’s cooking would be an insult, so I will throw in an entire paragraph. Moong dal  of just the right consistency, dhokar dalna, as good as meat, and mutton. That mutton in itself deserves a Mahabharat-esque epic written about it. Permit me again to quote- “soft and warm, continuing” would describe it. The meat was soft, it was warm on the tongue and the helpings were continuing!

But here’s the crazy part. Prabir jatha suddenly announced he wanted ice cream. It was pushing midnight. We were yet to sample Jethima’s desserts. All of us at the table immediately sat up and began to plan what to do. We decided to take a drive and find ice cream, by hook or by crook. My parents went off home, so it was me Jethu, Jethima and the people from upstairs who trooped off in a car on our noble and delicious quest.

This was perhaps the second time I had been out for a drive this late. We crossed into Tollygunge, which resembled a ghost town. All we saw were some flashing signals and a cop here and there. From there, we headed to Jadavpur. Let me tell you that crossing Jadavpur University at 1.15 AM, staring out for open ice cream shops through a window conveniently misted over by AC fog is an experience. I lack the word power to describe exactly how that drive was, apart from unforgettable. It was sort of hard to believe that in just a few hours these intersections would be crawling with people and drivers in a perennial hurry would be honking or speaking in a colourful fashion. It seemed as though the city was recuperating.

Somehow, I get this feeling now in retrospect that there are some things that even non living things have to say to us. Or that could be the budding engineer in me speaking. Either way, chalk one up on the surreal experience index I will. We didn’t find the ice cream by the way, but we will one day!

The Bilge Master

Reasons to Marry a Bong Guy

In response to this article that one of my friends made me read this afternoon, here’s why marrying a Bong Guy is a good idea!

The reasons to marry a Bong Guy are numerous. Here are a few

1) He will probably show up at the wedding looking like this, so you can laugh at him and forget that you are being starved.



2) He may not be a Literature graduate, but he loves reading nonetheless and digs Tolstoy and Dostoevsky
3) He knows that Led Zeppelin and The Beatles or Bob Marley are musicians and Justin Beiber or Nicki Minaj are well…
4) He gets along with kids, so your nonod er chotto chele ceases to be a problem
5) Vivekananda Park er phuckhkawallah ore chena, kaji discounted phuckhka guaranteed!
6) In reference to 5, he will have Gelusil handy for just such a binge
7) He knows how to play the sitar and possibly owns a harmonium
8) His thakuma’s recipe file, with short cuts to most major recipes
9) Bargaining is second skin to him. Aatsho taka-r illish maach uni 300 taka te kine phirben
10) He rocks the pajama panjabi look and so will his kid, under his tutelage



11) Poilabaisakh er din e bari te ranna banna ebong khawa
12) He knows housework. Gone are the days when washing dishes was a task you had to do alone!
13) His elder brother is a globetrotter who sends him booze from Turkey
14) His uncle is ex-military and has a few stories to make your blood boil
15) His sister knows his deepest and darkest secrets. Cue insane afternoons filled with laughter!
16) He knows that this guy is the true James Bond, no matter how sexy Daniel Craig may be



17) He knows how to cook and is a master of a) kosha mangsho and b) chingri mach-er malai kari
18) He knows that the best mishti doi to be had is from Jadob Das on Rashbehari. This alone wins him brownie points
19) His friends will treat their boudi like the salt of the earth and will help with any problems any which way they can
20) A Bong means free sweets everytime something momentous happens. Complimentary ones on bijaya dashami

Now who could ask for more?

The Bilge Master

A Lexicon Left Unsaid

His life was gentle, and the elements

So mixed in him that Nature might stand up

And say to all the world, “This was a man.”

Julius Ceaser, by William Shakespeare

 

This poem is written is memory of someone I knew. He was the gentlest creature I knew. He was my brother and my friend. In a few days, I will go to a new house, where he has never been. I guess in a way this is what I would say to him…and he would say to me with his liquid eyes…

 

Hello there, my old friend,

Good to see you once again,

Of course it’s not really you, just me,

Obstinately holding on once again,

It’s just that despite all being said and done,

There are some words we haven’t exchanged,

And they will now remain…a lexicon left unsaid,

I know not of any other way to express,

A feeling I have tried in vain to supress,

Ever since you left, things have been strange,

I think you’re there, I call out your name,

And moan in frustration at the echoing of my own voice in vain,

I think, you and I, we were like the rain,

Soft and warm, continuing,

I see your face in the clouds now and then,

I just wish we could meet more often,

And you see friend, tomorrow I will be leaving,

Moving on when the dawn breaks,

And as for you, well I just hope you are happy,

And I’ll see you in the Octopus’ Garden someday

Flat No. 8B

I was feeling pretty excited today. We had just moved to this new flat in a totally new neighbourhood. I wanted to explore every nook and cranny of it ASAP. Since the unpacking was done, there was nothing to stop me from spending the entire day outdoors if I wished. So, after a hasty breakfast, off I went decked up in a pair of jeans and a tee.

My first stop was of course the local store to buy some chocolate. There was an old man there. He had gray eyes and white hair. He reminded me of Gandalf somehow.

“New here eh?”, he asked, with a slight wheeze.

“Yes. Just moved in. Flat number 5D.”

“Oh I see. I’m in flat number 8B. We’re practically neighbours! Say why don’t you come up for a quick cup of coffee?”

“I guess!”

So there I was 15 minutes later in some total stranger’s house, drinking some lovely coffee. He even cooled  it in South Indian style, using two tumblers and pouring the milky beverage first into one then the other.

“So, when did you move in?”, asked my companion.

“Just last week. Thursday I think.”

“Good. Oh by the way my name is Dan and I’m retired. I used to work in accounts.”

“Cool! My father’s a financier. Can’t say I like his brand of work though. I want to be an engineer.”

“That’s good. We need intelligent people like you out there. Keep us senile old people from committing too many blunders.”

Just as he finished speaking I got a text from Ma. She wanted me to come home and help set up the TV.

“Well sir, I guess that calls it a day”, I said to my new friend.

“Sir? Don’t “Sir” me laddie. Call me Dan! What are titles between friends?”

“OK Dan. See you around.”

Call me paranoid, but I felt a tiny chill as he grasped my hand. His eyes were still creepy. They were sort of blank. But when he smiled and asked me to come again, he seemed to genuinely mean it.

The funny thing is Dan and I really hit it off and most afternoons after school, I would drop by his house for a chat. Dan loved to talk. He went on about his family. His daughter had eloped, against his wishes when she was 16. He hadn’t heard from her in some time.  Dan was widowed. His wife had died of pneumonia in ’86.

Dan also lent an ear to my troubles. He asked about classes, crushes and bullies alike. Suffice to say, we became friends very quickly. He just never wanted to come meet my parents or allow me to return his hospitality.

“I’m too old laddie. My social radar’s off balance. I don’t think meeting your folks is a good idea. Now pass me that book there and I’ll tell you a tale that’ll astound you!” he said.

Now, I mentioned school. My least favourite subject there was maths. I didn’t get why I always flunked in it. I understood the stuff well enough. The teacher who taught at school wasn’t any help. He didn’t like me much. The dislike was mutual.

I brought this up one day, on one of my visits to Dan. There was a maths test next week on differential calculus. Needless to say I was not looking forward to it.

“Well laddie, maths is fun. Did anyone ever tell you that? In fact numbers are everywhere. Look around you. There’s a lot of maths going on here in this room. For example, the number of blades on the ceiling fan.The number of creaks my old joints make when I get up or sit down. Come now, what seems to trouble you about it?”

“Well Dan, I understand it well enough, but I somehow can’t seem to crack the sums. I make a mistake early on that jeapordizes the entire sum. Just the other day, I wrote 15 instead of 5.”, I said meekly.

“Well laddie, that’s common enough. You just need to look out for yourself. Now take this test. You said it’s differentiation. What part?”

“Maxima and Minima”

“OK imagine a pole vaulter. He takes part in the Olympic Games, wins the gold. Next year he wins it again. The third time it’s the silver. So his performance curve has started to dip. He was at his peak having won the gold twice in succession. Now he’s in the silver. The next time it’s bronze. Then suddenly, he gets disqualified. So he’s at the lowest point with reference to his performance curve- the minimum point. Now he comes back next year to take the bronze. Things are looking up. In the next 2 Olympics, he’s back at the top. Back at maximum. You see laddie? Whenever a curve hits maximum, it goes down. Then it hits minimum and starts back up again. The ol’ rock bottom play.  Make sense now?”

“Sort of. So I have to find the points where the curve is lowest and where it’s highest.”

“Yeah. Now based on the question, you need to use either the lowest or the highest value of the curve. That’s upto you laddie. Go with the question.”

“OK then. Let’s give it a whirl.”

And sure enough, somehow what he had said made some sense. I managed to do quite well on the test. My finals were coming up too. I spent my afternoons with Dan brushing up on my Maths. We would talk about vectors- he would point to a bird on the window; ask me to imagine an eagle in flight. When we did integrals, he talked of a surgeon putting a body back together. Permutations and combinations were a girl’s wardrobe to him. I loved the way he taught. It really did seem easy. My fears washed away. I became good at solving sums.

The finals were a breeze. I did fairly well. I goofed up a few sums but got a fair percentage. The first place I went to after the results were out was Dan’s. I was in for a surprise. The door was locked.

The building’s janitor was in the hallway, having a smoke. I asked him about flat 8B.

“Flat 8B? It’s been empty for years kid. An old man called Dan lived there. He was teaching his grandson maths and went to refill his cup of coffee. He fell in the kitchen and hurt his head. Died on the spot actually. People say it’s haunted or something. Either way, it’s never been lived in since.”

I was somewhat shocked. I had seen Dan just last week! How is it that Dan had been dead? Had he never existed?

Or could it be, that somehow he had been waiting for someone? Someone who like his grandson needed help with maths? Someone like me?

I wondered if I had seen a ghost on my way down to my floor. Ghost or not, one thing was clear. I would never be afraid of maths ever again.

The Bilge Master

If Supernatural Met Skyrim

DISCLAIMER- This is purely fan made. I do not own any of this. All property of their respective studios. Enjoy the epicness that is Skyrim, with a neat little twist in the form of Sam and Dean Winchester!

The Scene

Sam and Dean just iced this irritating Wendigo which happened to be living outside a video game store haunted by a poltergeist.  This is in December 2011 and it's Christmas. Being too tired to do anything else, they picked up a copy of Skyrim from the aforementioned video game store.

SAM- OK Dean she's good to go. Managed to get the DLC too.

DEAN- What the hell is DLC?

SAM- It's Downloadable Content. Nevermind. Just let's play!

DEAN- Sure thing, Britney. 

Unbeknownst to S+D, the poltergeist who shall henceforth be called Freddie has gotten himself into the game through the update 45 and has set a trap. A door that will suck the players into Skyrim during the character creation scene.

SAM- So Dean, I'm thinking Wood Elf. Always wanted to ape Legolas.

DEAN- Yeah go for it. As for me, I'm gonna be a Nord.

SAM- You mean NERD?

DEAN- Shut up and proceed, Legolas

Just then a power cut happens. When the power comes back, Sam and Dean find that they are no longer on the couch in the hotel room ,but in a cart being driven along a mountain road. beside them a man with his eyes blindfolded is sitting in a cramped position.

SAM- OK, what just happened? I mean how are we on a mountain, in a cart? 

DEAN- Must be your freaky DLC.

SAM- Are you saying we somehow got downloaded into SKYRIM? Dean this is bad!

DEAN- It's your idea. Duh. Course it's bad. Question is how did we get here?

SAM- Could be a poltergeist. OK let's try to figure out what happened here. (to man in the cart)- "Sir, who are you?"

DOHVAHKIN-I just got captured., on my way down from High Hrothgar. They say a dragon's been spotted nearby. They think I control it, since I'm Dragonborn. Foolish of me to be so reckless with my Thu'umm

DEAN- Whoa. There's Dragons here? And you are Dragonborn? Alright buster, your ass is mine! Sam where is my shotgun loaded with phoenix ash?

SAM- Wait. Is that even gonna work? 

DEAN- It worked on that bitch Eve. It'll work on this douche.

DOVAHKIN- Have care how you speak. FUS. RO. DA!

The cart overturns under the barrage of a fully powered Thu'umm. Dovahkin is first to his feet. He electocutes the guard and steals his bow and arrows, clothing himself in the tunic the guard wore. S+D, somewhat winded get to their feet.

SAM- OK what was that? You shouted and the cart...

DEAN- Got it's ass kicked. Freaky! Ok mister, watch what you say to me.  I mean sticks and stones may break my bones, but it seems here that words will nuke me! What does FUS YODA mean anyway? Yoda is a short dude with whiskers for hair!

DOVAHKIN- Well it's a Thu'umm. A Shout in the ancient Dragon tongue. I use these Thu'umms since I am Dragonborn.

DEAN- You mean, you hatched out of a dragon egg? GROSS! So what only Excalibur can kill you now? Coz in that case we are screwed. I blew Excal up!

SAM- Dean, I think if he wanted to kill us, we'd already be dead.

DEAN- Have I taught you nothing Sammy? Never trust weirdos, especially those who have a penchant for throwing temper tantrums.

DOVAHKIN- I have no time for this. Either you help me bring down Alduin or we part ways. Choose. Also what is that you are wearing. That raiment is unusual. Are you from elsewhere? I have not seen your kind in Skyrim.

SAM- Who is Alduin?

DOVAHKIN- A Dragon. I am sworn to kill him you see. It is my destiny. I have learned the necessary Thu'umm. I head now to Sovengard to confront this tyrant and end his rule.

DEAN- So we have to kill a dragon. Great. Well, at least we can take the Impala.

SAM- I doubt the Impala made it here Dean. This is a video game!

DEAN- Just get it using one of those DLC things.

SAM- Yeah you mean a mod Dean. It doesn't work that way. Not here at least.

DEAN- Sam. All our weapons are in the Impala.

DOVAHKIN- Wait. If it's weapons you need, come with me to Whiterun. I have a stash at my house. Also, my wife Serana would like to meet you. Perhaps she could help you with your quest, being over 8 centuries old.

DEAN- Wait. 8 centuries. Is she a vampire?

DOVAHKIN- Why yes. My son, Ardyuul would also be of assistance.

DEAN- So, you a Dragonborn, your wife a vampire. So what does that make your son? Dra-vamp? Vam-a-kin? Nosfera-doo? 

SAM- Dean. Calm down. I mean who cares?

DEAN- Sam. This is weird. I'm in a VIDEO GAME, meant to make me forget the shit I do for a living. Instead I'm neck deep in the shit I do for a living. IN A VIDEO GAME! Do NOT tell me to calm down!

By this time, our ragtag band of companions have reached Whiterun. Just outside the gates of the city, they are confronted by Alduin.

DEAN- That is one BIG ass ugly dragon Sam.

SAM- Shut up Dean. It'll hear you.

ALDUIN- I see you have stooped to the level of mere mortals in desperation. Give up now. You cannot defeat me.

DOVAHKIN- We shall see, Betrayer. 

ALDUIN- Meet me at Sovengard, if you dare. I'm waiting. Bring your friends. A tasty morsel they will be.

DOVAHKIN- Challenge accepted!

Having robed himself in Obsidian armor and further perfected his Thu'umm, the Dovahkin prepares to face Alduin at Sovengard. Just then, Sam realizes that the Thu'umm is actually opening the portal back to the real world. 

SAM- Hey! That's our ticket out of here!

DEAN- What? Mr. Dragonborn's saliva?

SAM- Yes Dean, it's opening some kind of portal back to the real world

DEAN- So now I have to walk through this guy's breath? Ugh. I hope you brush dude. 

DOVAHKIN- Well, if that is the case, then perhaps the actual place to open the portal would be at Sovengard. I have heard tales of another world lying there hidden from us.

SAM- Yes, that makes sense. Remember the Hellgate Dean? All doorways have a specific location in the real world.

DEAN- I hear you Sammy. But you no making sense. Still I kicked your ass at football, so I guess you can kick mine at this stuff. Nerd.

SAM- Let's just get outta here bro.

The trio travel to Sovengard, where the Dovahkin and Alduin meet on the battlefield. Sam and Dean take cover behind a ruined cathedral.

SAM- Now remember, there has to be two triggers. One when the Dragonborn shouts. Two when the dragon replies.

DEAN- WHAT? I have to run into a dragon's maw? That's like that scene in Dragonheart! No way man.

SAM- Dean. Don't be a wimp.

DEAN- Sam. Dragons breathe fire. What part of that did they not teach you at law school?

SAM- They don't teach this shit in law school. God Dean. Grow up.

DEAN- OK. Just this one time, I'm gonna charge at a dragon full tilt.

Just then the battle begins. Dovahkin lets loose his shout. Our heroes, S+D begin their sprint. Alduin opens his maw. A jet of flame comes cascading out. 

DEAN- AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHAAAHHHHAAAHAHHHAAAHHAHAHAH

A blinding flash of light, and Sam and Dean find themselves back in their hotel room.

DEAN- I am NEVER playing video games again.

SAM- I think we should stick to this stuff in the real world. We would be better at it.

DEAN- YES

SAM- Shall we hit the road then?

DEAN- Yes. I'm driving. I need some time with the Impala to soothe my nerves.

And if you wanna know what they did next, check out the new season of Supernatural. Skyrim and it's DLC's are also available at a store near you. 

The Bilge Master