The Free Rider- A Short Story

Tanya sat at the bar alone. Gushes of men came, flirted and left but none of them caught her fancy. They weren’t rich enough, she thought. All these bastards looking for an easy lay. She loathed them. She bided her time patiently, looking stunning enough to catch every man’s attention in that room.

It was already 9 p.m. and she’d lost all hope to get her man. It was then, when Samar entered. He was merely five seven but his facial features could give any Hollywood actor a run for his money. Dressed casually in a Ralph Lauren T-shirt he strode quickly, as if in a hurry,

He passed by without even looking at Tanya. That’s strange, Tanya thought. An aberration not only for the night, but also for what Tanya had seen throughout her life. Not giving a second look to Tanya was being rude to her; she was so used to it. Even a third was normal, constant stares was also what she was completely accustomed to. But not this. Never.

Samar sat at the bar and ordered his drink. He checked something on his gleaming iPhone while the barman prepared the exotic cocktail he’d ordered. It was already late and Samar seemed the best bet for the night, thought Tanya.

How did the bastard not look at me. Damn you!!

This is not an ego play. It’s a job. She reminded herself, as she got up to a multitude of eyeballs literally assaulting her body.

She went and sat next to him and ordered a scotch. The barman quickly moved his gaze away from under her face to her face. Both were worth to die for he thought, mildly turned on.

“Hey”, she said not wanting to waste any more time.

Startled he looked to his left to find her. He had been too busy with something on his gadget.

“Hey there”, he smiled, unleashing a wave of charm that completely swept over Tanya.

“What is it you’re drinking? Looks a bit funny” she asked, trying to make conversation.

“It’s a long island tea. With only ice in it, it sure does look funny. What are you having?” he asked, ignorant to her loud mouthed declaration of a scotch order to the barman only a couple of minutes back.

“Good ole black label”, she winked as she told him.

“That’s nice.”

“ So what are you doing here in this male infested bar. Waiting for someone?” He asked with the same charming half smile beaming across his face

“Oh! I think he’s here” She winked again, more playfully this time. She turned to the barman exposing Samar to here long flowing tresses and a side view of her perfect figure.

“I’m so drunk” she mumbled loud enough for Samar to hear

It didn’t take long or any sort of intellectual discussion for Samar and Tanya to find them in Samar’s huge Pajero.

“Your place or mine” he asked with a confidence Tanya admired.

“Let’s go to a nearby hotel, houses I not like” she said as she planted a passionate kiss on Samar’s lips.

Without a word Samar put the vehicle in gear and winded to the nearest hotel.

“Taj! Umm I like”, she said again, resting her head on Samar’s broad shoulders letting him inhale all of her own womanly smell mixed generously with her perfume.

He smiled back.

They got out as he handed over the key to an employee there for parking.

Too easy, thought Tanya and her excitement only increased as she saw a lustrous Rolex on his hand.

She waited for him by the main hall, where she envied all the beautiful accessories she wished someday her house would be adorned with. She was admiring the size of the chandelier above when she found Samar standing next to her.

“Let’s go ma’am,” he said

“Yeah let’s go” she smiled and towed him along by putting her arm in his.

The attraction they felt towards each other was extreme, and it was manifested in the lightning quick speed with which they managed to disrobe each other.

Not many words were spoken, as passionate love making ensued. She found Samar to be a good lover. In fact, excellent as she felt waves of ecstasy run through her body every time they made love.

Stick to the job, she reminded herself.

Exhausted, Samar ordered food for both of them. She was the least bit interested in food, as she knew that she wasn’t going to eat it anyways.

iPhone, cash, debit cards, credit cards and if she was quick enough with the valet, may be the Pajero. Summed up to be a fortune, Tanya quickly calculated.

“I need a bath”, she said while they sat cuddling in the bed waiting for food

“And so do you, I think” she winked again

“Ok I’m game” Samar grinned as he got up

“No Mr. Horny, I like my baths alone” she contorted her face to a naughty expression as she purposefully cat walked to the bathroom assuring his gaze was fixed at her

She quickly bathed, admiring her subtlety. It would be the most expensive bath Samar would have ever taken.

She wore a pair of jeans and shirt as she came out. She knew time would not be her luxury once Samar went in, so she was ready for the final act.

Tanya looked around the room, clueless. Neither the prey nor his expensive target accessories were to be found.

All she could see was his purse. She jumped to get hold of it. As she picked it up, there was a small piece of paper with something scribbled across it.

‘Had been visiting the bar for three months now, to meet you. Oh how proud would my friend be today. Don’t worry you robbed him enough to pay for the food and the hotel rent. As for me I am a man of principle. Please find enclosed Rs 500/- which I feel you actually deserve for I am no free rider. Adios’

Ten floors down, Samar was already seated in his Pajero, revving it up with an inflated ego and a satiated libido, dialing a call to Akash, his friend.

The Free Rider- A Short Story

Tanya sat at the bar alone. Gushes of men came, flirted and left but none of them caught her fancy. They weren’t rich enough, she thought. All these bastards looking for an easy lay. She loathed them. She bided her time patiently, looking stunning enough to catch every man’s attention in that room.

It was already 9 p.m. and she’d lost all hope to get her man. It was then, when Samar entered. He was merely five seven but his facial features could give any Hollywood actor a run for his money. Dressed casually in a Ralph Lauren T-shirt he strode quickly, as if in a hurry,

He passed by without even looking at Tanya. That’s strange, Tanya thought. An aberration not only for the night, but also for what Tanya had seen throughout her life. Not giving a second look to Tanya was being rude to her; she was so used to it. Even a third was normal, constant stares was also what she was completely accustomed to. But not this. Never.

Samar sat at the bar and ordered his drink. He checked something on his gleaming iPhone while the barman prepared the exotic cocktail he’d ordered. It was already late and Samar seemed the best bet for the night, thought Tanya.

How did the bastard not look at me. Damn you!!

This is not an ego play. It’s a job. She reminded herself, as she got up to a multitude of eyeballs literally assaulting her body.

She went and sat next to him and ordered a scotch. The barman quickly moved his gaze away from under her face to her face. Both were worth to die for he thought, mildly turned on.

“Hey”, she said not wanting to waste any more time.

Startled he looked to his left to find her. He had been too busy with something on his gadget.

“Hey there”, he smiled, unleashing a wave of charm that completely swept over Tanya.

“What is it you’re drinking? Looks a bit funny” she asked, trying to make conversation.

“It’s a long island tea. With only ice in it, it sure does look funny. What are you having?” he asked, ignorant to her loud mouthed declaration of a scotch order to the barman only a couple of minutes back.

“Good ole black label”, she winked as she told him.

“That’s nice.”

“ So what are you doing here in this male infested bar. Waiting for someone?” He asked with the same charming half smile beaming across his face

“Oh! I think he’s here” She winked again, more playfully this time. She turned to the barman exposing Samar to here long flowing tresses and a side view of her perfect figure.

“I’m so drunk” she mumbled loud enough for Samar to hear

It didn’t take long or any sort of intellectual discussion for Samar and Tanya to find them in Samar’s huge Pajero.

“Your place or mine” he asked with a confidence Tanya admired.

“Let’s go to a nearby hotel, houses I not like” she said as she planted a passionate kiss on Samar’s lips.

Without a word Samar put the vehicle in gear and winded to the nearest hotel.

“Taj! Umm I like”, she said again, resting her head on Samar’s broad shoulders letting him inhale all of her own womanly smell mixed generously with her perfume.

He smiled back.

They got out as he handed over the key to an employee there for parking.

Too easy, thought Tanya and her excitement only increased as she saw a lustrous Rolex on his hand.

She waited for him by the main hall, where she envied all the beautiful accessories she wished someday her house would be adorned with. She was admiring the size of the chandelier above when she found Samar standing next to her.

“Let’s go ma’am,” he said

“Yeah let’s go” she smiled and towed him along by putting her arm in his.

The attraction they felt towards each other was extreme, and it was manifested in the lightning quick speed with which they managed to disrobe each other.

Not many words were spoken, as passionate love making ensued. She found Samar to be a good lover. In fact, excellent as she felt waves of ecstasy run through her body every time they made love.

Stick to the job, she reminded herself.

Exhausted, Samar ordered food for both of them. She was the least bit interested in food, as she knew that she wasn’t going to eat it anyways.

iPhone, cash, debit cards, credit cards and if she was quick enough with the valet, may be the Pajero. Summed up to be a fortune, Tanya quickly calculated.

“I need a bath”, she said while they sat cuddling in the bed waiting for food

“And so do you, I think” she winked again

“Ok I’m game” Samar grinned as he got up

“No Mr. Horny, I like my baths alone” she contorted her face to a naughty expression as she purposefully cat walked to the bathroom assuring his gaze was fixed at her

She quickly bathed, admiring her subtlety. It would be the most expensive bath Samar would have ever taken.

She wore a pair of jeans and shirt as she came out. She knew time would not be her luxury once Samar went in, so she was ready for the final act.

Tanya looked around the room, clueless. Neither the prey nor his expensive target accessories were to be found.

All she could see was his purse. She jumped to get hold of the purse. As she picked up the purse, there was a small piece of paper with something scribbled across it.

‘Had been visiting the bar for three months now, to meet you. Oh how proud would my friend be today. Don’t worry you robbed him enough to pay for the food and the hotel rent. As for me I am a man of principle. Please find enclosed Rs 500/- which I feel you actually deserve for I am no free rider. Adios’

Ten floors down, Samar was already seated in his Pajero, revving it up with an inflated ego and a satiated libido, dialing a call to Akash, his friend.

Excerpts from the book- Cricket till I die

The Inception Of The Dream-

“Happy are those who dream dreams and are ready

to pay the price to make them come true.”

– Leon Joseph Cardinal Suenens

A sudden impulse enveloped me as I saw myself taking a

U turn, driving on the wrong side of the lane and entering

the confines of a massive gate. The top of the entrance

supported a semicircular board which read ‘Mohan Meakins

Cricket Club’ in a worn out shade of black, from which layers

of chipped paint hung loosely; ready to drop any moment

and the board at its creakiest best just waiting to give way to

a strong gush of a Delhi thunderstorm.

As I parked my bike on one corner, an old man exemplifying

the age old Indian phrase of ‘one foot in the grave’ confronted

me. He was the guard, as his attire suggested, a timeworn man

in his late sixties it seemed, who could ward off, let alone a

crook or a thief, not even a small puppy dog. In a season that

would fall definitely under the type ‘summers’, he somehow

still managed to sport a flimsy sweater, bespeaking once

again of his age.

“Can’t you read ‘No Parking’,” he grumbled as I saw the

back of his throat through the massive cavities in his mouth

attributed to the last few teeth left dangling by his gums,

which were as fragile as the board at the gate.

I looked around as I saw a parking sign, hung upside down,

lifelessly on a single hinge and I parked my bike in that area.

The quietness of the ground felt really comforting when

57

contrasted with the hustle filled traffic I was a part of just

moments back.

A small concrete, two room excuse for an office blocked the

parking locale from the main ground. I entered the ground,

crossing the corridor which had a stench as if it hadn’t had

the opportunity to be cleaned for months now. The lush

green ground wasn’t as lush green now as I observed a group

of young boys practicing in the nets as a man, considerably

older than the lot, seemed to be shouting after every small

period of play, seemingly with a lot of suggestions mixed

generously with profanities.

After observing for some good fifteen minutes from a distance

close enough to get a good hang of all the abuses the old

man used, the man, whom I figured would be the coach,

sighted me.

“What are you looking at?? Why are you late?” He asked

shouting at the top of his voice.

Taken aback, after a moment of being at a complete loss as

to what to do, I walked towards him to help him clarify any

misgivings he might have fostered as he squinted hard to

identify any recognisable features on my face.

“Oh!! My damned eyes!! I am sorry”, he said once I was

close enough to him, as he seemed to suffer from some long

distance face recognition issues.

“But anyways, who the hell are you?” He asked.

“Nothing, Sir!! I mean no one! I was just watching,” I said.

“You don’t frikking play??” He asked

“I do sir.” I found myself saying.

“Oye Rakesh asshole. Give him the pads and the helmet, you

dumbfuck, let’s see if he has the balls; you seem to have left

back home today”, he said as he looked seemingly frustrated

by something Rakesh had done.

There are times when you just can’t say no and then there

are times when you don’t want to. This, I do not know, fell

in which category but dressed in a jeans and a shirt I found

myself padding up. With a major disconnect between my

mind and my actions, things seemed to be taking on their

own course, rather than waiting for my mind to give out any

signals for the same.

As I faced the bowler, who was a mild medium pacer, I

defended, drove, pulled and cut with equal poise as the cries

and yells from the coach subsided with each shot I played.

The bowler who had, till now, been tormenting the previous

batsman, now was subjected to the choicest of abuses

The Delhi Daredevils Debacle

It is sad to see a bunch of supremely talented cricketers bow out so meekly to a clearly weaker bunch of contemporaries, the story of yesterdays DD vs DC match. DD being the better lot (my personal opinion explaining which would entail a whole post in itself) here, comprising of Sehwag ,Dilshan,Warner,Gambhir,Collingwood which I believe is evidently the second strongest batting line up in the IPL after royal challengers(KP ,Kallis,Taylor,white,uthappa,dravid) and a bowling attack that is much better than DC, should have clinched the match with a paltry 145 to chase but failed miserably.
What clearly lacked, was the discipline in batting and if we dig deeper the root cause was the flawed team selection. Discipline is a word which one usually does not associate with Mr sehwag,dilshan and warner, which in turn also makes them uncanny match winners but when these three gentlemen make your opening three the risk you are subjecting yourself to is way too high. These three have the same style of play, and on a given day all three can obliterate the opposition, but their style of play also makes them very vulnerable to early dismissals too. What this does is that it increases the probability of both exceptional/disastrous starts thus subjecting the team to the two extremes of the performance spectrum. This season’s DD team failure was a perfect example of the importance of a balanced team. You can have at max one or two Sehwag’s in a team and a gamut of batsmen with different style’s of play to balance the team.
In a nutshell, the Delhi team took a risk too many by playing all three together (even after seeing the potential consequences in the previous two matches) and with them in the worst of forms, what was feared actually happened, thus leading to the downfall of one of the mammoths of the IPL.

Roy oh Roy

It beats me!!It does..How god sent talent is wasted,wasted in the intoxication of the inebriating
spirits. Have a look at the likes of jesse ryder,hershelle
gibbs,the master shane warne,they exude talent.Gibbs is a
national level soccer player and symonds aspired to play rugby for australia and the word is he is pretty good at it too.
Not so much of a natural athlete when it comes to warnie,but boy when u can do wat he does by hopping three steps,i swear by almighty,i want to be that way.
Then you have the diligent,who take years honing their game but still, may be,will never match that flowing drive,that ripping leg break.They have to work with whatever little they have.Have a look at anil kumble[with all due respect i can muster in this lifetime],aptly named jumbo,he cannot turn the ball ,so be it,but his untiring,in your face attitude has made him what he is today.A legend , but not the one who will conjure up magic to make me to see the same delivery over and over again with the same unfazed dumbfounded gaze every single time, which i till date do when i have a look at the warnie to gatting delivery.
Juxtapose him with poor ole roy,if talent were the sole criterion he would make the list to the top five without batting an eyelid.Throws a caution to the winds and candy to our eyes when bats,can give the cherry a rip,can bowl medium pace and few are better when it comes to both fielding inside the 30 yards or at the boundary throwing rockets at the wicketkeeper.
But as they say men were not made equal.If talent oozes out,the discipline might wobble.I can never , nor do i think anyone else can explicate this theory.But ryder will keep chugging his fizzed barley syrup , symonds will keep showing the finger to the axioms that define cricket mannersims and warnie will keep scandalizing us with his sexcapades.These are some things which come in packages.Take it or leave it.Well i take it,with both hands open.After all its the bad boys who make the good boys look good ;)

Sunday ho ya err....

Vicious fires had enveloped me ,I felt suffocated,panting for air, I tried to run but apparently i was no good.what sins had i commited to deserve hell ? Just when i was about to be incinerated to human debris, suddenly a flurry the cacophonic beeps jolted me.After a frantic search operation i saw it was my motorola screaming its batteries out.I opened my eyes trying to embrace the world ,but the poor ones struggled to adjust to the gleaming sunlight and consequently fluttered trying in vain to figure out what exactly was going on.I realised that the makeshift curtain was dangling for its life on the pelmet admitting the most blinding sunlight straight on to my face.The fan hung lifelessly on the cieling as the daily ritual of the 7 a.m power cut 7 had commenced.
I flung my t shirt to one corner and laid bare,trying to teleport my self back to the world of fairies (deepika padukone in my case) again.Just as my eyes shut my brain cells launched an enquiry,why,why did the alarm beep? it signified something,something very morbid.It was the day after sunday.No its got to be a lie ,the heart retaliated , by pounding viciously at my chest from the insides.It was just yesterday,the friday night when i was gyrating in an intoxicated state to "smack that all on the floor ".Duh , Only if saturday and sunday were 48 hours each.Truth had befallen me , my stomach churned, i started feeling sick.The countdown i begin every week had to be reset to 5,the monday morning blues had turned me pale.Resigning to my fate i somehow managed to get the clothes on my zombie like structure with each step demanding a zillion times more enery it demands on friday mornings . To complete the enslavement i put on the leash, a tie which we address as a 'fanda'.
The bike trudged along and i made it a point not to let the speedometer beat the 30 mark.I frequent this activity enroute office,it lets me savour 10 mins of my life but not the embarassement of being late. Not ready to see the piece of celluloid that assigns me work,i decided to dump my self with everything edible available in the food court and at the same time conforming to the chew-your-food-32 times rule.20 minutes and a bloated tummy later i discovered that my misery only got aggravated.Ultimately i convinced myself that there is no more running away and i dragged myself to the hellhole i call my cubicle.
Nerdy rotund masses of flesh were already there smirking , giving me dirty glances reminding me of the sacrilege id commited coming late to their temple.These no-lifes have a pack of cookies and a coffee mug filled up to the brim , eveready on their desk,because may be if they decide to go to the food court , the manager might get hints of their incompetence.They strictly believe doubling the mandatory hours to be clocked is the only way to climb the ladder which is the entry to the managers coveted arse hole.Very smugly yet frivolously one of them mentioned how he had to come both the weekends to finish the work assignedand patiently waited for me to arch both my eyebrows as high as humanely possible symbolizing appreciation coupled with generous scoops of unbelievability satiating him of the superhuman act he had commited.I obliged ,and with a sparkle in his eye,oozing of contentment he got back to beating the dayslights out of the hapless keyborad.
I hesitantly opened the mailbox,fogetting the atheism i preach most of the time and chanting gods name at a rapid rate praying that no work should yet be assigned to me ,after all, like me the rest of the world has also come out from a sunday full of gaiety and are not yet ready to work. Shattering all my self convincing inane beliefs mails demanding the culmination of certain tasks before eod(end of the day)had flooded my mailbox.Umpteen fowarded mails claiming that females wearing the skimpiest of clothings had been captured in them and their degree of beauty till date was unsurpassed .They were begging to be opened , but i persevered,keeping them as a reward once i finished the work assigned.

Update:Its 7 p.m.Lunch was a sad 20 min affair.The pretty females in the mails must be fully clad in nightware ,brutually tired ,waiting for their owner to give them his nod of appreciation, they must be surely asleep by now .The gang of no-lifes are having their 16th coffee break of the day and are in no hurry watsoever to leave,as the last bus leaves at 11 handing them another four hours to complete the work which incidentally, they should have finished the number of times they have had coffee today.I have another couple of hours to freedom and precisly another 12 till my cellphone decides to play the spine tingling beeps again cataplulting me to this world of gruesome reality.

The Butterfly effect

"The idea that one stroke of butterfly flapping could eventually have a far-reaching ripple effect such as a tornado"
The butterfly effect
I had never known the power of this statement till I realized that it precisely sums up my entire life.It was roughly 8 years back when i had scored handsomely in my tenth board but little did i know thatthe butterfly had flapped.I belonged to the elitists who would go on to study amongst many other things, how current flows through a wire, butalas would never know the current flowing through my spine and the rush of blood to the headfrom a soft feminine touch.I would know the answers to the most flumoxxing puzzles that for ages, haunt,but sadly would never know 'what women want'.
The undertaker had answered,the coffin was ready.Whatever little interaction (read:ogling) i had with pretty damsels , came to the most abrupt end,an anticlimax.In the new science class the only distiction between the two sexes to the naked eye was the donning of a trouser versus a skirt.Majority of the female species were monstrously chested (in the x axis notthe z axis) and the amount of hair on their face and legs could put most boys in our class to shame.
Across the corridor ,in the arts/commerce sections awaited life(not for us :( ).'Sexy' used ten times in succesion defined each one of them indivdually.And it was not justtheir flawless eyebrows, glowing skin and the hypnotizing whiffs of perfume when they passed by ,It was their junior school skirts which not only made the 'one inch above the knees' rule look insanely idiotic but also made some of the einstiens in our class actually believe they were from not very well to do families.To top it all was the legend that made rounds about their very malleablemorals and that they are very obidient, obliging to 'whatever' they were told to do.True Story?? I would neverknow.
Believing every syllable mummy said to the tune of 'work hard beta!! youll get what you want',i did!!only if mummy knew all her son wanted was a peek at the ever elusive female anatomy below the necklineand above the knees.After realising that i was a perennial no-hoper i found solace in the desibabas and the tb6 mokbas and an ocaasional late night sun tvs on mute(comprehending the plot of these moviesnever required sound) where voluptious over weight aunties gave intotheir carnal desires and consequently gave 'it' to tom's dick and then harry.I had no such aunty.I put in a lot of hardwork and "single handedly" catapulted myslef to another scolastic achievement,an admit in an engineering college a la the inception of the storm.The college suffered the fate of all other of its contemporaries with the most dismal beauty beast ratio.(who is the beauty and who the beast is very debatable in an engg college)we wudnt have been aysphyxiayted to death had the beauties ever heard of a pantheons called beauty parlourswhich removed the beacons of manliness from them .Salwaar kammezes teamed with floaters,luminous hair due to bucket loads ofcoconut oil,stern beliefs such as washing hair catalyses baldness and facial hair look best when black were some notions carried and subsequently physically flaunted by the "fairer sex".
The few who indeed had some feminine qualities apart from their anatomy were taken up in a jiffyby the ones who owned a bike and rode it and the girl on it with equal ferocity,the studs who scored notonly in the basketball games but also in the after dark games and the coochikoos who could pull the guitar and the g strings with equal panache.What remained was a highly desperate lot of mes and the only string we could pull was the 'nada' of our pyjamas .(Do not ask me for what!!!)
Occasional trips to the city revived our faith in the almighty.The same sinous 'art girl' eyes,the same pendulum like oscillationg posterior , the covert glances which notice every smile,murmur,sigh and that has been contrived keeping them in mind.They are players indeed, but not on a level playing field.Because the poor ones like us have never played with anything apart from our computers.These eyes ,what they whisper,leave not even a clue in our otherwise high I.Q brains.That eye blink,that suggestive head tilt , that intentionalstrand of hair that has to be put aside time and again, those slowrythmic euphonic sylables numb our mind to the extent that we understand nothing.Nada.Zilch.May be something has been conveyed by sign language,but programming languages are the only kinds we understand.The storm has picked up velocity.
We had heard (sources never came to light) that after college and once your wallet is a little heavy, everyone gets a girl and life is worth living again.So after 4 tiring years of 'nada' pulling , we stepped out of the gates that bound our testosterone for what seemed like eternity.But wise men have reiterated 'once a loser always a loser'.Hopes were only a few light years from reality.Just add a few hundred years,and plenty more pounds to the science girl back in school,bam you get a caricature of my female peers.The eye candy we got from across the corridor and later away from our college in the city has now totally vanished.Any visual contact with the arts/commerce girl has evanesced into thin air for good.There is no going back now,i can only pick the remnants from my reminisces and daydream about it while i bang the keys on my keyborad sitting in my cubicle.The flutter of wings has finally become a tornado and i I am amongst the thousands who have become casualties.
May we all R.I.P.
Amen

P.S:The 'I' here is not me.He is a stereotypical engineering student.
A fictional character :D