my freaky stories

The Journey Begins (story tree)

I was tagged by The Helmet. I carried forward this story (without any expected twist!). And then I tagged three more (lucky bloggers!).

What you read below is a story contributed by count-them-how-many bloggers. The story is interesting enough to excite each tagged blogger; and excite him enought to carry on the legacy of his taggers by contributing to it while following the rules at the same time (the rules are listed at the end of the story).

Have fun as the journey continues…


He thought it would be an ordinary journey. Standing behind the pillar he watched the train snort arrogantly into the station. With each snort he was reminded of his grandfather’s words “You will fail in the city and return penniless”; with every heavenward whistle, he heard his cousin, “Don’t worry. Come here and I will get you a job at the construction site.” Now he had a 34-hour journey to prove one of them wrong, and he expected the excitement at the end of the journey. He looked at his ticket once again: compartment S9 berth 23.


Pushing his luggage under the seat, he sat close to the window. “Papa, when will you be back?” – his four year old daughter Munni asked innocently. He stared into those soft brown eyes of the motherless kid. He held her frail palms in his, through the window. “Munni, Papa will get you a nice gudiya from the city..Say tata,” his sister spoke to the kid, to avoid an emotional outburst. In a minute, the train pulled forward, and Munni’s little fingers parted from between his. “I need to go..”, he thought, “I have to, at least for Munni’s sake..”


The humid summer breeze and the rattling train coaxed him into an uncomfortable state of drowsy consciousness. He dreamt that Munni ran away, the closer he ran to her, the farther she was, like a mirage.

He woke up with a start and squinted at his watch.”What is the time please?”A smallish woman, a meek voice as if she was scared that her existence would annoy someone. Her only noticeable feature was her rather large, expressive eyes.”4.30″Something made him look at the woman again. He had stopped noticing women long back. Ever since Meenakshi passed away…


But this woman was different. She reminded him of someone he knew. In an instant he realized who and the painful memories came flooding back. She looked exactly like his childhood sweetheart Madhu. As teenage lovers in a conservative society, they had often met secretly and had declared undying love for each other.

Then someone had found out and all hell had broken loose. The elders in the village Panchayat had ostracized Madhu’s family as she was from a lower caste. Unable to bear the humiliation, she had committed suicide by drowning. That was twelve years back…


Could it be? Could it really be him? He seems different, weary and downcast. Oh no will he recognise me? No, I am dead to the world. Still she cautiously wrapped her saree end around her head and across her face.

Behind the cotton screen, her mind drifted to happier times, languid strolls in the corn fields, games at the riverbed, his gentle caress, whispered sweet nothings, stolen glances at the temple fair.

Tempted to take one last look, she consoled herself that he wouldn’t notice.

Slowly she lifted her eyes only to find Rupak staring back at her.


She quickly glanced the other way.

No, this girl looks too close to be any other person. She is infact Madhu!! “Hey, Madhu!” he called.

She struggled hard not to respond to that call. And successfully managed it too.

Hey Madhu, you forgot me?” he inquired her and came closer.

The old lady sitting opposite to him was looking at this unapprovingly.

“No, you are mistaken, My name is not Madhu.. I am Supriya”, she lied.

Hey Ram! a young girl cannot travel safely in this country without being stalked!” the old lady muttered angrily.


The girl walked briskly away from him, trying to escape his glances, as though she was hiding something, not wanting to be discovered. He stood confused, she had said her name wasn’t Madhu, and should he run after her? Or should he let it pass, after all he still had a train to catch.

His heart told him it was Madhu, followed her, all thoughts about going to the city vanished; he was on delighted to have met Madhu after such a long time. He was filled with memories of their time together. He finally caught up with her. Looking into her eyes he said, ‘Why Madhu? Why this to me?’


“Please dont lie to me anymore”; sounding more like the Mani he used to be ten years back when he had first met her at the Village temple, rather than the arrogant side that seemed to rule his life now. “I know it is you, nobody else but you Madhu”. Tears roll down her cheecks as she tries to remember why they ended up this way. Was it destiny or fate that they had to meet now?

As she speaks up, the train which for a while had be at a halt, slowly starts to move.


“I was asked by the Panchayat to leave the village. They said they’d manage by saying I’d drowned. Everyone was led into believing I was drowned. I went to the towns, so no one would recognise me. My family disowned me. I struggled to live. Anyway, it’s all made me too immune. Life being a struggle is passé to me! I’ve learnt it the hard, cold and sharp way.”

“But Madhu, you could have written to me…”

“It’s all over between us Mani. You are now Rupak. I am now Mita. We couldn’t possibly….”
Train no where in sight.


He was jolted into consciousness.

Somebody had yanked the chain.
Some talked of escape. Some, of someone jumping the train.
Others of how this someone had failed.

Alarms rang in his head. Madhu!

Breathe! He commanded his senses.
She wouldn’t. Perhaps she went to the toilet, he reasoned.

He took out a checkered handkerchief from his breast pocket, delicately took off his glasses, and wiped his forehead.

Down, he saw the book lying on the floor.
He shook his head in disbelief.
He got off his seat, onto his haunches and looked for his pen.


He could not find his pen and neither could he find peace.

A reassuring yes is all he was looking for…..Alas! ‘twas still coming.

Then he turned his attention towards the book and what he read was not immensely satisfying. This made him think of what he had seen….how can this happen? Perhaps I am overreacting or maybe not…

He saw the old lady sleeping in peace and thoughts of Munni comforted him, only for a while though. All the chit chatter made no difference to him and hence he decided that he needed to do something.

He rushed towards the door and saw a crowd which made him fear the worst. Delightfully, the outlook of the gathering was not serious enough to make him feel jittery, but he still needed to find someone, he lit up a cigarette and started gazing at the moon


He paused for a moment. Closed his eyes and blew out a stream of smoke.

He had start smoking when Meenakshi had passed away. Anything to ease the pain he had thought. The melancholic tale of the lonely heart is one which repeats itself much too often. He still wondered how he made it through those days. Those terrible days that had sequestered him, from which no one thought he would ever recover. But he did.

“Papa…” He heard Munni’s voice in his head. That one word was perhaps the only reason he was still alive.


It was a cold night and the cigarette was quite comforting. He kept staring at the moon through the train door. The moon! It brought back old memories.

How could he ever forget those sweet nights spent with his wife? They used to stare at the moon for hours. It was during one such cold night that he had told Meenakshi about a story from his past. He had told her about Madhu. She had cried like a child after knowing about the ill-fated end of their love story and had given him the warmest hug in this world.

He never ever missed Madhu after that night.

“Where are you lost?” a feminine voice interrupted his thoughts.


Everything below the dashed line above should be copied and pasted with every accepted tag

This is a Story Tree and is best nurtured as follows:

1. A blogger can add only 90-100 words (not more or less) at a time
2. All previous snippets of 90-100 words need to be copied before the new set of 90-100 words are appended.
3. Each entire snippet should be linked to the respective author (and not just the first sentence or so)
4. Characters, scenes, etc. can be introduced by an author
5. Bizarre twists, sci-fi, fantasy sequences are best avoided.
6. A tag must be accepted within 7 days else the branch is a dead branch
7. After appending 90-100, the Story Tree can be passed on to at most 3 bloggers.
8. If more than 1 branch leads to a blogger, s/he is free to choose any one of them but cannot mix the snippets of the individual branches.
9. The Story Tree is best left to grow than concluded
10. Please attach the image of the Story Tree below with each accepted tag (the link address can be copied and used).

Here I go now. The three lucky bloggers are :

Pahwa, Shankar & Sandeep


The Big Fight

Lets Discuss


God Bless Atheism!

Atheism! Hold your breath all you religious souls. I am not here to laugh at you. And I am not roaring to support all the hard core atheists either. What am I up to? Let’s discover.

God bless atheism! I read this statement somewhere (on net). And it caught my attention like anything. Does it catch yours? I do not know how those who have been taught atheism, right from their birth (are there any?) perceive things, but I definitely have some idea of those who come from religious backgrounds and later start believing in atheism. Let’s talk about a character called Anuj. In case you know someone by that name, no, it’s not him. The name is fictional. But the story might not be.

Anuj believed in God. It was not just him but so many of them around him did the same; they believed in God. They had been told so many stories. The one that Anuj liked most goes like this.
There was a guru who had four disciples at one point of time. When their learning tenure at the gurukula was over, they had to give one final test. The guru asked each one of them to bring something precious for him from their respective homes, without letting anyone know. Now that’s an easy task, thought the disciples. They had a time of one month to do so. All of them left for their homes.

A month was over. The disciples were back. The first one showed his guru a gold chain that he had managed to get hold of during a night, from his father’s (who happened to be a King) drawer. Similarly two more of his disciples presented him precious gifts swearing that no one had seen them picking the gifts. The guru turned towards the last disciple who appeared to be empty handed. He was empty handed.

“Couldn’t you get anything for me?”

“I tried but I failed oh guru. I could never find myself alone. At all time someone watched me. Hey Guru, weren’t you the one who taught me that God watches us all the time? So then how could I get anything for you when no one was watching?”

The guru embraced this guy and told the others that he was the only one who learnt all he taught. (I wonder if the fourth kid was telling the truth or whether he was simply smart enough to show his guru a middle finger by putting a smart statement. Imagine if the only intention of the guru, for taking the final test had been to get a little richer by fooling his students, how he would have felt while embracing this smart ass who got away without letting his guru touch a penny of his)

Well the story dragged somewhat but it was important for me to tell it for those who did not know about it. This was a story Anuj liked the most. There were many more that hinted towards the existence of an almighty who controlled our lives. And so did Anuj believe in all this. At times he had also concluded that those who did not believe in God were bad people. Why? Because they could do all bad things since they thought there was no God watching them or to punish them.

Anuj was a kid then; a kid with a religious background. Everyone in his home believed in God. None had ever discussed about the need for it (except for may be moral policing) and none could obviously discuss the proof it. As he grew up, and started giving an ear to what others talked about, he suddenly asked himself one fine day (or it may have been one fine night as well). Why do I need to believe in God? Hey, wait a sec, who is God? He couldn’t get an answer and he turned atheist. God became god. He became a non-believer.

At times he was pained by this particular logic put by the believers.

So, you do not believe in God? Heh! Why? You do not know who is He and so you doubt his existence? But just because you do not know if he exists, how can you conclude he doesn’t exist at all and hence how can you start non-believing in Him?

Anuj used to ask himself. What are these guys talking about? Are they only trying to prove they are smart enough to believe in something which they kind of confess they themselves can’t prove? He thought about their logic some times. It was challenging. And then he concluded that when something just can’t be proved, it hardly mattered whether one believed in that thing or not. But if it really didn’t matter, why were so many of them keen on making him shed his ways? Anuj could never find the answers to all his questions.

Years later he turned old and he died. The day he died, he did say “God Bless Atheism”!

my freaky stories

The rain and the request

It started raining. There was no place to hide. Did he even want to hide? He had always loved the rain, the flow of drops from up above. He wanted to get wet. Well, sure enough, he did get wet.

The road was empty. The rain went heavy. He was enjoying. And then he saw someone out there on that empty road. She was a girl. She seemed to be the same age as his. She was enjoying the downpour as well. And why had he not noticed her until then? He left the question in the air and kept looking at her.

She looked tall and fair. She was there at a distance, sometimes looking back at him. He couldn’t see her face. She was far enough for that. And the rains; they had reduced the visibility furthur. Shall I try to get closer? He asked himself. And even before he could get an answer from his inner self, he was walking in her direction.

She had stopped noticing him. She was too busy with the water falling all over her. Her blue colored jacket and the denim trousers gave her the look of a college girl. He stopped walking once he was close enough to have a look at her face. Was she smiling at him? No, obviously that was his fantacy. Wait a sec, she was indeed smiling. Smiling at a stranger! He had to be sure. He had forgotten about the rain. Now it was only her. He had to be sure how she was taking him and then he asked himself. Shall I go to her and ask? And even before he could get an answer from his inner self, he was walking towards her.

She was indeed smiling. Smiling at him in the rain. Who was she? The rain had slowed down to some extent, but it was still thick. Now her face was clearer. He looked at her but didn’t speak (or rather he couldn’t speak?). He did not know what to speak. She did know. And she spoke

“Hi, this rain is lovely. I am P”

“P? hi, nice to meet you. This is Q”

“Am i beautiful?”

“What? Oh yes, sure you are. Of course, you are. In fact you are awesome. “

“Can you do anything for me?”

He was confused. This girl who called herself P appeared to be crazy. Or may be she was acting like one. What did she mean by ‘anything’?

“What is it that you want me to do?” He replied with the tone of a confused man.

“Do you see that bird there, besides the bush?” She asked him as she pointed towards a small bush on the other side of the road. He could see the bird.

“Thats a duck. Do you want me to catch it for you? I will surely do that.” And even before he could get an answer from her, he had started walking towards the bush.

“No wait. I Want you to kill it”

He paused. He thought he had heard something wrong. May be because of the rains. But had he heared kill? He turned back. She repeated her desire. His face turned dull. She was indeed crazy, he told to himself. Why the hell in this world she wanted a duck to be killed? He had no clue. And why the hell would he do such a stupid thing? He was standing there, frozen. His mind was throwing so many questions and this time it was impossible to move any more before he could get an answer from his inner self.

Why should I kill a bird? Just becaus a crazy girl wants me to do so? Even before he could get an answer from his inner self, he saw the duck moving away. He followed it with a blank mind. In fact he ran towards it. The bird was soon within his reach. And he grabbed it. He brought the duck to P and asked her finally.

“Why do you want me to kill it? What has it done to you? Are you crazy?”

“I will answer all your questions but only if you do what I have asked you to do. And you don’t have much time to think. I want you to do this before the rain stops. And I can already see its slowing down. Do this fast Q. Please kill this bird”.

He turned back. He was still not sure. He could either leave the bird from where he had picked it and leave the place. Or he could actually kill the bird and then get to know why did she want him to do so. He looked at the bird. It was not making much noise. It appeared to be sick. It was sick. He realized that if someone didn’t take care of this creature, it would anyway die. And then he looked towards the sky. The rain was indeed slowing down; time was running short. And then suddenly he felt the bird go cold. The creature had collapsed in his hands. It had died. He didn’t know how he felt. He hadn’t killed the bird but it was dead.

He turned back. Oh my! What did he see? She was lying on the road. Unconscious. He took his right hand to feel her breath. She was not breathing. She was dead. The blue jacket had turned red at places. That was blood. She had killed herself. He ran away.

He commited suicide the same day next year.


The art of tearing wrappers

Yes, it’s an art. Some people are good at it. From a big pack of waffles to a sachet of the worst packed detergent powder; they can tear open the sealed wrapper in one good go. These guys kind of have it in them. Their hands find the pattern, detect the best spot on the packet, where one slight twist of the plastic in some typical angle will do the job.

I am definitely not one of these talented wrapper tearers. In the small town in which I was preparing for JEE, my bro and myself often used to get candies from shop. I never liked those which were sealed inside the world’s most secure wrappers. My bro has been good at getting things out of the packet pretty fast. It was me who suffered whenever we took halls, chloromints and sealed stuffs like that. What I usually had to do with such candies was to switch to the aid of my strong canines when fingers failed to do the magic. At times even the teeth didn’t work. And finally it used to be my bro who did the favour for me. Annoying wrappers.

This problem persists here in IIT. It happened today. There are times when all you lose is time, putting fight to tear the wrapper. Some times its a little more. Today it was a little more. I took a choco bar. And this ice-cream had been put inside such an annoyingly sealed wrapper that I had almost lost my patience. However hard I tried, it failed to break free. And the poor choco-bar lyed there inside the wrapper; waiting for me; me waiting for it. And here was this wrapper well aware of what was going to happen to it as soon as it was torn. It was like any other wrapper, refusing to obey you. This wrapper looked like the villain in a typical movie, not letting me, the Hero to reach his love, the choco bar. And by the time the villain was finally torn apart and thrown into a dust-bin, my love had melted enough. I had to devour it fast to stop it from leaking in all over my hands.


2:51 AM and its me who’s suddenly worried

I am worried about myself.

I am here in the best college in India which can give anyone a masters degree in civil infrastructral engineering. It was indeed an effort to get in here.

It will take more than two and a half years before I am awarded with the degree. That will be a dual Bachelor’s and Masters degree.

I never feel like an engineer. Will this world respect me as an engineer when I step out of this great institute of technology?

A few moments ago, I googled for a civil infrastructure company and that led me to the webpage of “never heard before” Colorado based civil infrastructure company. There was a link that led to internship program at that place. As I read it, i found out they take about 20 guys each year as interns and involve them in their projects. Can I ever be one of them? Will they ever call ME?
There are obviously more crucial questions to be answered. Why do I want them to take me in? Well the answer is pretty simple. I wanna get hands-on experience in this engineering field because this is the area in which I am going to be called a Pro. But have I ever cared about being a Pro. Have I ever looked at things that way. No.

So you understand now why I am worried. I am worried about myself. I am worried about my attitude towards life. I dont say I dont like my attitude. I love it. But that gives me pains sometimes. Specially when I realize I have been missing on something because of the way I have set myself mentally. And just because I love this attitude so much, its so difficult to change it. Am I confusing you? Oh.. I think I should have better told you about my attitude in the first place.

I will call it “carefree”. It gives a sense of freedom when I get up with this attitude. It gives me pleasure. It lets me feel life whatever way I want to. And so i love this attitude.

But then it sure has a problem. I dont care about the future. The future’s not going to care about me. So this is how this carefree attitude gives me pain. Whenever my mind does the future-probing, the same attitude that makes blood run inside me at other time, hits me with a solid bang.

Bang Bang. I dont need to conclude all the times. Do I?? Dint I tell you I am carefree?


The Ganglion

did you say:
dont know what is it?
a ganglion of course
isn’t famous a bit

it is a disease
that can do no harm
a ganglion is nothing
it got no charm

you see a hill
under your skin
its so small and yet
you lose your grin

as the doctor sees
the mistry he solves
“its a ganglion
on its own it dissolves”

you wait desperately
for the hill to vanish
that happen soon
you always wish

you look at your wrist
where it lies
the hill, the ganglion
not at all nice

one half of a TT ball
put inside your skin
thats the ganglion
a stupid bulge therein

as the days pass
the bulge only grows
you get worried
on your face it shows

you bang at his door.
the docotor says: “hi,
if it doesn’t leave
lets kick it high”

he uses the syringes
does this, does that
and the ganglion is gone
the hill turns flat

the unwanted guests
who keep coming on
you have faced often
aren’t they ganglions?

no doctor can help
all you do is wait
a ganglion is better

you can at least operate


Love at first sight

Love at first sight is not love. But yes, it is indeed a feeling that can grow into love. And if it does so, only then is the phrase “love at first sight” justified.

I told it’s a feeling that can grow into love but not love itself. Is there a name for this feeling? Sure. It’s called infatuation. At first sight all you get is attracted. If you are a believer in love at first site, you would take infatuation for love so unknowingly. If you are a non believer you would know it’s not love. Immaterial of who you are, the fact is that this infatuation can grow into love in some time. In how much time? I cannot answer that. Can anyone?

When I say this infatuation CAN grow into love I mean to say that it doesn’t always grow into love. Following all kinds of path, this feeling which erupts at first sight may either die or transform into something else or the best of all turn into true love. The path this feeling follows is dependent on so many things. To start with, it depends on whether you are a believer in the philosophy of love at first sight or not. How? Read on.

There are two possibilities that exist if you are a believer in the philosophy of love at first sight.

If you are a believer, it will take relatively more time for you to realize that your feeling is not at all love. This happens only when things don’t go fine with your belief. When you happen to interact with the object of your affection and ‘something’ tells you things are not going to work out. You start getting closer to reality. But you do that slowly, at a brisk pace. This ‘something’ is a weak feeling and the well disguised strong attraction still appears to be nothing else but love. Finally there comes a time, it sure comes, when you have no doubt that it’s not love. Love was never there. And the instant this feeling comes, you have transformed into a non believer. It’s good and it’s bad too. It’s good because you realized that love at first sight never existed. It’s bad because your attraction failed to grow into love.

The second possibility is that, if you are a believer it might so happen that you never realize the fact that you are not actually in love. You might always hold this view that it was indeed love at first sight. You might never realize the transformation of the feeling of attraction into that of pure love. But then how does that matter? If at the end of the day you are in true love, whatever you assumed in the beginning will look alright to you.

There is no meter that can confirm whether you are in love or not at any point of time. So if you think that you are in love, it’s impossible for anyone to convince you otherwise. But irrespective of your understanding of your feelings, the fact remains that at first sight it is attraction and nothing else. A believer realizes this only when at some point of time, the attraction goes. The same believer never realizes this if that attraction never goes and indeed it transforms into true love after interacting with the subject and after some time.

Now let me talk about the non believers. They can be talked about in three sets. Let the first set consist of those whose feelings die in some time. They reassure themselves that they were correct in rejecting the idea of love at first sight. For these people they do not get the chance to deviate from truth. This will become clear when you consider the other two sets of non believers.

The second and third set deals with those whose feelings grow into love. One set of persons would conclude that they were fools when they didn’t believe in the philosophy of love at first sight. They would think they were wrong earlier when the truth is that they think the wrong way now. The third set would realize that though it was not love at first sight, it grew into love with time and interaction. These men/women are capable of seeing the transformation. They saw their attraction grow into love. Earlier I had stated that the first set never got a chance to deviate from truth. I guess that’s clear now. This last set has the option to believe like the second set, but they do not deviate from truth like them. They have the option to think like the second set; think things which are not actually true. These people are the ones who understand the world the best way. They see the truth. They can never be blinded to think that love at first sight exists.


A part of a process

A part of a process,
don’t know much about.
But I’m only a part,
I have no doubt.

And then I ask:
what is this process?
Why does it exist;
has it any causes?

I keep on thinking…
without any clue.
They keep coming
like bolts out of blue.

They are the questions
that catch me offguard
and force me to think;
they hit so hard!

Visions get blurred;
answers never found.
Ideas and speculations
fill up the background.

The reason of my life,
I try hard to see.
But the space’s so hazy,
so dirty, soily and greasy.

Will I ever play a part?
Small or big, isn’t trivial.
What is it- matters.
Need an answer, that’s real.

I need to know, who I am.
And what am I doing..
Why am I living?
Where am I going…

So many things..
They are spread around.
What’s meant for me-
can that be found?

Or shall I believe,
this world is mine?
There’s a process and a part;
where lies the line?

I’ll die one day….
This life I shall leave.
I’ll quit this process.
Some men might grieve.

The process wont stop.
My part’ll sure end..
Why’s this process needed?
As its part why are we sent?

Who did program?
Programmed me and the rest;
who know to survive,
who run and who rest.

Who breathe unaware
and never realize,
they are just slaves.
They live with lies!

These slaves of the world
shall some day be packed.
Their part will be over,
& then, they’ll be sacked.

They are needed for
the process, and so am I.
What if I refuse?
What if I wanna die?

That will be a flaw;
a flaw in the code
that makes me live
and follow all, on the road.

Such flaws we have seen
and named them suicide.
The process still works,
life exists with pride.

And I lie down here,
still unaware….
What am I doing?
Why am I here…..


an unfinished story…

And that night he couldn’t sleep well.

It was raining heavily in the hot afternoon when Rohit was having his cup of black coffee. He was sitting in front his Dad’s computer and keenly watching a movie of a kind which he couldn’t have watched even if a single person was around. Yes, he was alone. His dad had gone out to work, and mom was in the market. Rohit was the only child to his parents. The rainfall had made the mercury go down by a few degrees. The cool breeze was adding glamour to the climate. It was about 2.00 Pm, but it seemed as if evening had already arrived.

As thunderstorms became very frequent, Rohit decided to switch off the system. He was well aware of the poor condition of electricity infrastructure of his rented house. During one such thunderstorm, the previous renters had to sacrifice their television. Rohit had no intentions of letting something similar happening to his dad’s latest machine. But he had no real work to do. The coffee was almost over. Before he could think of anything the telephone rang. He was indeed waiting for it. He thought it must be his mother, asking him to come to her by car and pick her up. Rohit’s mother liked him driving their car; so much that on his 18th birth day, she gifted him a driving license.

Rohit picked up the phone, but it was Sourav there on the other side. Sourav was an old friend of Rohit. They had known each other since, std. III. After their plus two, they had to separate. Rohit had gone for engineering, and Sourav had joined NIFT, to study fashion designing. They were still best pals, and remained in regular touch.

Sourav could only say “hello”, and the connection broke. Rohit put the receiver back and waited. But another call did not come. He then decided to call back. But the line was engaged and he could not contact Sourav. After a few attempts he gave up, and left the room. The rainfall had almost halted. The sun was again preparing to roar. The weather was still fine, and Rohit decided to go out for a walk. He asked Vicky, if he would accompany him. Vicky nodded and both of them stepped out of the house. Vicky was his dog.

He crossed the first corner, and then the second. There were the same old shops. The same old men, at least they looked same; the usual ones. But this one was not the usual one. He was taller than everyone else present there nearby. It wasn’t only the height that made him look different in the crowd. There was something else. May be in his eyes. Or the way he was staring around was too peculiar, too noticable. It appeared to Rohit as if he was the only one able to spot him with a difference in that place. The reason must have been his joblessness, at least that is what he thought. He looked at Vicky. He could see the same curiosity in the dog’s eyes, as were in his. Doggy dear had noticed that tall guy too.

There was nothing more to do after all that observation, thought Rohit, and so he moved on. It had become hot again. The sun was smiling at everyone for no reason. No one smiled back.

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