Silence. Total darkness. Save for a circle of blinding light in the middle of the room. And at the centre of the circle of illumination a man, chained to a chair with electrodes placed all over his body.
He is naked. Stripped off all clothes.
Except for a baseball cap on his head.
[Okay here is another bit of fiction from the Greatbong. After all of you (well almost all) panned my last post, this is my revenge---another short story. I shall keep on writing such posts till I get positive comments.
This is also my review of the movie "Zinda"]
Sanjay Gupta, director of “Kaante”, “Zinda” and other Bollywood classics, wakes up one morning. His mind is reeling—last memory he had was a drunk evening with Sanjay Dutt, Mahesh Manjrekar groveling in front of Dubai Bhai on the phone and doing screen tests for some actresses.
But where is he now? A small room with one television set, a rack full of DVDs—it is obvious to him he has been kidnapped.
But by whom? He had given the overseas rights to Bhai, sought the “blessings” of the Balasaheb–in all discharged all the duties of a Mumbai director/producer. And yet why is he in this solitary room with just a TV set , DVDs and a plate of pao bhaji inserted through a hole in the door?
[One more losing entry in a creative writing competition. The stipulation here was that the story had to be about 500 words. So without further ado, let me present one more reason why I should stay away from fiction]
He walked up the steps.
He was happy—another job well done. Within moments, he would be with his ten year old son and his lovely wife.
He knew he was not like any other dad or husband. A life of sitting behind a desk was not for him.
Late night. A glass of rum-coke by my side. Surfing the net when all of a sudden my ICQ window pops up. There’s a message:
From BirthdayBoy_at_20: Hi. I know this sounds kind of weird. I am you ,when you were 20. I just wanted to see if you are online….had some questions to ask you.
Yeah right. This has got to be a practical joke. A few of my friends—the very few I have know its my 30th birthday on the 30th of December and this must be their idea of a joke. Very funny.
I type back. Yes BirthdayBoy_at_20 , this is BirthdayBoy_at_30. Nice joke. Now which clown is this?
An extract from Natwarlal ’s blog “Mere paas aao mere doston ek kissa suno” somewhere in the blogosphere.
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I miss the good old days. Siyaram Kasturi used to do the groceries, R Dhanbaan used to cut the onions , Moonekay Gandhi was a model in a towel, and Indura was India. Television was under our control, the PM used to be the RJ-in-chief on Akashvani and I used to sit, legs curled up behind me thinking of 20 points for the latest garibi jamboree program.
There were two superpowers in the world, the people who took money from both of them called themselves the “Non Aligned Movement” and all our conversations consisted of the “North South dialogue”, “the have and the have nots” and ” Get rid of poverty”.
Committees were called Politburos and “Gimme Red” meant another suitcase full of cash had arrived from the Kasturba Gandhi Briddhashram (which the world used to know as the KGB).
You needed a license to scratch your balls and red tape held the country together. And most of all, there was respect.
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