Hey, you there?
Yes, what’s up? Two blue ticks.
This place is kind of creepy.
Wow! Do you have antique furniture and doors that squeak? Two blue ticks.
Dude, be serious. I can hear strange noises from the basement.
I think there’s a ghost. Have you checked? Two blue ticks.
Rofl. Imagine you’ll have a movie script by morning. Two blue ticks.
Go man. I am going down to get something to eat.
Knock knock! Two grey ticks.
Stop being angry now. Two grey ticks
Okay I am sorry. Two grey ticks
Hey, you there? Two grey ticks
Every kid in the colony wanted a raincoat, especially the ones with cartoon characters on them. But she wanted an umbrella – the large, nondescript, black umbrella with a wooden stick for a handle. Her parents tried convincing her but she couldn’t care less. The only thing she was concerned about was that it had to be large. Large enough.
For these adults would never understand but she knew that a raincoat can only protect one person from the rains. An umbrella can protect two. That and Ajay, who stayed in between her school and her home could afford neither.
Ever experienced a walk in the rain when one of your shoulders gets wet in the rain while the other brushes against the person sharing the umbrella with you!
Unless you‘ve read him, you wouldn’t believe that he can write romance. Most days he stayed in his house, coming out only to pass the garbage to the sweeper. In fact, I’d have considered it mundane, had I not noticed that every-day the sweeper also passed him something back.
Curious, one day, I asked him,
“What do you get from the sweeper every-day?”
“Well, I’ve asked him to separate torn pieces of paper from the community garbage and give it to me.”
“And, what do you do with them?”
“I put them back together. In them I find my stories.”
There is more romance in hand-written torn pieces of paper than all the literature in the world put together 🙂
Kunal’s phone beeped.
PrettyGirl: Long time. No see. What’s up?
Kunal confirmed Priya was in the bedroom and then reached for his phone.
CoolHunk86: In the Amazon rain forests. Studying the reptile eco system. You?
PrettyGirl: Paris. Home. In the bath tub. My clothes are far away. I wish someone fetched them for me. *wink*
CoolHunk86: I would never let you wear them. Send me a pic. *wink*
PrettyGirl: Haha. Some other day. Got to go now. Bye.
Priya called for dinner. Kunal quickly typed before throwing the phone away.
CoolHunk86: Me too. Bye.
Priya’s phone in the bedroom beeped.
And you thought virtual is the opposite of real. Well, they co-exist!
I have to write this down because if I don’t then I will not do justice to the absolute brilliance that Sam was. Most, including the best in the business of crime investigation (I know because I am one among them) would have never guessed that it was Sam who had troubled them for the last 10 years, once every year, had he not given it out himself in an innocuous Facebook post, just like that, one Sunday afternoon.
This is what the post read:
Here are my top 10 books of all times:
- The A.B.C Murders
- The Body in the Library
- Murder in Mesopotamia
- Sleeping Murder
- Murder on the Orient Express
- A Murder is Announced
- Death on the Nile
- The Murder at the Vicarage
- Mrs. McGinty’s Death
- The Murder of Roger Ackroyd
Sam was my friend. We had a deal. The day they figured out what’s going on, I had to pull the plug. I owed him his last book.
For starters, read Agatha Christie. If you still did not get it, read The Murder of Roger Ackroyd once again.
As a field reporter, he was there to cover the Independence Day celebrations when he saw her. She stood in a corner near the main stage, with a smirk on her face and a sign-board that read – INDEPENDENCE DAY, REALLY?
He pulled his camera out and took a quick snap of her. Even before he could take another, she was whisked away by a group of policemen. Apparently it was not allowed to protest on that street on the Independence Day. He thought the irony would make a powerful story and submitted the photograph to the newspaper.
To his amazement, it got printed the next day on the cover page. The comma and the question-mark had been carefully removed.
There is no greater expression than the expression of freedom. There is no greater freedom than the freedom of expression.
As he skied down, his whole life flashed in front of his eyes. The early rise to stardom, the thrill of knowing that no one is better than you, the speculations in the media before every race and the convincing wins that silenced them, the fans. All of this for a decade. And then, the sudden realization one day that all of this would be gone and in that order. Given the peaks in his life, it will only be downhill from now.
He threw the ski poles and brought his ski bindings parallel to one another. When you are going downhill, this is how you gather speed. He closed his eyes as he drew close to the boulder that stood in his way.
Half a year later, he opened his eyes in the hospital. The world celebrated how he had fought his way back to life!
Before you think otherwise, I am a big fan of Michael Schumacher myself. However, the story-teller in me could not help noticing a possible alternate interpretation.