Writer's Blog

Transient Thoughts

Saturday, October 27, 2007

Please note. This story is written in experimentative good humour. All sorts of disclaimers apply.

The earlier scenes can be found by scrolling up and down this page .


Act I Scene III

Scene III

The three witches are discovered in an office cubicle. They have had lunch and are now having coffee/tea, except for the first witch who is having a post-lunch cheese sandwich. The computer screen has a nebulous, galactic kind of pattern floating from one end of the screen to another and back again - screen saver mode.

The witches whisper, lest some one hear them. But they do so with difficulty, bursting as they are with the excitement of their plan.

Third Witch :

Its finally paid off,
Your sharing a cubicle wall with the boss.

Second Witch :
Amidst the details of the plumbing job,
The car installment, the kids' diarrhea,
Hide the occasional, careless tidbits,
tit bits (laughs at some thought),
careless tidbits, for the jobless ear.

Third Witch :
Where's the work-under-progress sign?

First Witch :
(with his mouth full)
Here 'tis,
Flinched from the third floor

Second Witch :
Wonder what's keeping the bugger?
By his routine,
His lunch finished by now,
He should be heading to the bogs.
We need the bogs empty for our plan to work,
And for that we need Macbeth back early.

First witch :
(Swallowing the last of the sandiwich)
There's a sound,
Here he comes...

Enter Macbeth and Banquo. They head for Macbeth's cubicle which is the cube but next...

Macbeth :
Interesting problem,
Never seen it's like before,
Let me think it over...

Banquo :
Do that.
And meanwhile, here's another I am facing...

Macbeth :
One at a time
Besides I need to go (jerks his head indicating the toilets)

Banquo :

Ok. We talk tomorrow then.

Exit Banquo

Exit Macbeth followed shortly by the witches carrying the work-under-progress sign.

Scene III.1

The Men's room, deserted now, it being mid-lunch hour.

Enter Macbeth and disappears into a closet.

Enter Witches minus the work-under progress sign. Second witch quickly checks that the rest of the toilet is unoccupied. Gives the rest a thumbs-up sign.

First Witch :
(speaking louder than required and as if in mid conversation)

...but I am sure,
When Macbeth takes over,
Things will be ok.

First witch and Second witch head for the piss-pots to take a leak each. Third witch starts to wash his coffee mug at the sink.

Third Witch :

Takes over?
Is that possible you think?

First Witch :

Sure. Its but a matter of time.
He's almost running the show himself,
Duncan is bound to soon give him full charge,
And let Banquo do something else.

Second Witch :

Lucky bastard.
Tha'll be quite a promotion.
And to think he joined with us.
Dudes, methinks we shoulda worked harder,
When we had the chance.

First witch :

Ah I smell jealousy.
Remember brother,
Each one to his fortunes is best suited,
The good and the bad alike.
Do you think you would want to trade places
With the miserable bloke.
Promotion and all included?

Second witch :
Miserable bloke?
Come brother,
You speak as if you have'nt seen his wife...
And perhaps you know not,
Our own cute gorgeous hottie,
Has a crush on him,
That's growing stronger by the day.

Third witch :

No! Not Mona!
I thought she was steady with Banquo!

Second witch :

All female love's fickle, man.
And don't I know it?
When next you are at a team meeting,
Look where Mona's eyes are at.
They are but on Macbeth's face,
Lapping up his every word,
Hanging by his very lips!

First witch :

Wow (Sighs)
Well, it's all Karma,
The fellow musta been a saint in his last life,
But I can't get me to grudge him his multiple fortunes,
He's been a great friend...

The last few lines trail off out of the bathroom, as the third witch has conveniently finished washing his mug and the three troop out, malicious grins on their faces. As the door closes, we see the third witch pick up the work-under progress sign which has been sitting outside the while.

Half a minute passes before we hear sounds resume from behind the closed closet.

A minute later, there's a flush, and Macbeth emerges, er, flushed. His eyes are wide in quiet excitement. The blood gone to his face has made it pink. And there's a barely suppressed grin on his face.

Sunday, October 21, 2007

Bizarre Insecurities of a crazed mind

Psychoanalysis of my dreams (if ever conducted, I mean) will throw up some funny secrets. My typing skills are something I am real proud of - I use all the fingers of both my hands and use the correct finger for the correct letter and all that. Yesterday I dreamt that everyone I knew was taking up typing lessons - I was quite distressed by the imminent threat to my competitive advantage :-)

Saturday, October 13, 2007

A Mid Summer's Day Dream

Chapter 9

Chutti stretched slightly, lazily, where he lay on the bed. Doing what he had been doing for the past two hours or so. Nothing.

The ever-present sun streamed into the room. His feet were just in the sun-beam now. The warmth slowly began to make his toes sweat.

His wing-mates sat on the floor, playing cards. Unshaven, unwashed, some shirtless, some in banians, some in old T-shirts. If it was'nt for the harsh sun the room would have been a disease farm.

Chutti read the legend on one of the T-shirts 'Work fascinates me. I can stare at it for hours.' A gut-wrenching longing filled him. Would he ever himself feel the luxury of being able to say that? And with a joyous heart and a free conscience?

Well, at least at present, he could not. He looked at his work desk where the empty pages of the assignment due in less than 20 hours fluttered in the periodic wind of the ceiling fan. Uff.

At that moment he wanted to be a million miles from where he was then. Well maybe not a million, maybe three hundred.

He felt like he felt more and more these days. That life was getting progressively worse. That he could any day trade this his present day for any of the days of his past life.

Nostalgia beckoned him. Like a painful itch invites the scratch. His mind raced to his high school days, those chalk fights, the playing football in the rain and mud and then going back to class, seeing if any of the girls noticed.

And then one itch to the next. The days of boyhood. The wet, red, mud after the rains. The papaya trees. The red and pink sadaphuli flowers. The half covered cat-shit. The jumping compound walls to go from house to house in a never ending game of hide and seek.

And then on to childhood - a relative blur in memory terms. Posing for a photograph for the school i-card. Standing in assemblies. Going in and out of classrooms. Living life in the true spirit of detachment, it seemed to him now, as if you had nothing to do with anything that went on around you.

Outside the sun grew harsher. Everything seemed bleached a glaring white in the heat. Out his window he could see monkeys near their neighbouring hostel.

The cards were being shuffled once more. The pages of the assignment fluttered on. Like they had flutterd untiringly for more than two hours. Flutter on, you stupid pages, you have the advantage over me. You don't have a soul.

Thursday, October 04, 2007

Back to Urdu

Kuch to de ae falak-e-na_insaaf,
Aah-o-fariyaad ki rukhsat hi sahi.

- Ghalib

falak=sky, na_insaaf=injustice, Aah=sigh, fariyaad=appeal, rukhsat=leave, permission

Give me something, you scorching heavens of injustice,
At least leave to protest, to sigh, to complain.