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IN TWO MINDS

  IN TWO MINDS   I am holed up in my condo, curled up on the sofa, with a pint in my hand. The music system is playing some romantic blues songs. Bottles of beer, packets of tacos, chips, and meatballs lie strewn around a table in the living room. A life-size poster of W. Axl. Rose peers down at me from the wall. The mood is despondent, given that it should have been celebratory instead. It is prom night, and I am all by myself at home, parked in front of the TV, listening to blues, and guzzling some cold beer. How did I end up alone on prom night? Well, let me start from the beginning.   ‘Lucas Carson, please open your book and start reading the poem ‘O Captain! My Captain!’ by Walt Whitman commanded Mrs Braganza, our English teacher at Cottonwood High School, Salt Lake City, Utah. A vigorous jerk on my shoulders by my classmate Benjamin suddenly woke me up from my reverie. I looked up, confused, and fumbled for words. Mrs Braganza repeated her command. I hurriedly opene...
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A TOWN SHAMED

  A TOWN SHAMED   Margaret Thomas, Director of the CIA, stared down at her three colleagues in the conference room. Sam Washington, Richard Stone, and Daniel Oliver, who had gathered to be briefed on the results of their investigations over several years in a shameful case where one of their young operatives, John Simon, had been stigmatised and rendered indisposed.   ‘Washington brief me on the case, right from the beginning, ’ commanded the Director, with an inquisitive tone. Sam Washington gave her a mock salute, looked down at his notes, and began narrating the sequence of events that led to the tragedy.   ‘It so happened that on the orders of the government, our agency’s asset and his family were called to Oklahoma. He was supposed to continue pursuing his education while on our rolls. However, the situation in Oklahoma at the time was very fluid, and the scene was abuzz with student uprisings, politicking, and picketing; in other words, student politics were at...
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FATAL HELP

  FATAL HELP   The cosy little nook in the garden was where Deepak retreated during the day in search of peace of mind. He had been troubled lately by a string of uncalled-for incidents that began when one of his colleagues at work, Mr P, decided to help him out. It so happened that Deepak was looking for some domestic help for his overburdened family. Mr P. was in the business of supplying labour to interested parties. He ran an NGO that specialised in this activity. “Trust me, Deepak, I’ll solve all your problems in a jiffy. I know just whom to send, who will take care of all your worries,” said Mr P to Deepak one fine morning. “Thank you, Mr P., for all your help,” said Deepak.   And so it happened that weekend, Mr P. delivered a somewhat overzealous-looking girl to his doorstep. Although Deepak immediately had misgivings, against his better judgment, he decided to try her out and keep her for a week. He soon discovered that the girl was of no help to him and was ill-m...
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THE STRIKER

  THE STRIKER   Sachin Anthony Raja was a promising athlete in high school. His keen eye, fluid movements, and striking abilities were noticed by his high school coach pretty early on. Mr Arkin Nicholas decided to field him, one last time, for the Seattle Thunderbolts before he moved away to university. The game was fixed against the Tallahassee Swamp Rats in their home ground.   ‘The weather is certainly extreme here in Florida, ’ moaned Sachin, as he and the team arrived in Tallahassee by train. The match was fixed for the coming weekend. As it was a university game, a packed house was expected. The day of the week was Wednesday, which meant they had one whole day to themselves to rest and do what they may. The Tallahassee team management had insisted on the match being played on a Friday, as rumours had it, it was their lucky day. Mr Arkin reluctantly agreed on the match day, but given a choice, he would have picked Sunday. His team were a group of fearless young lads,...
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THE RECLUSIVE MUSICIAN

  THE RECLUSIVE MUSICIAN   ‘DAMN GOOD PERFORMANCE,’ said Saanvi, as she watched her little kid brother strum his guitar and sing an old Kishore Kumar song.  “Come on! I’m just jamming and warming up,” said Ajay, as he tried to hide his embarrassment. He strummed his guitar a few more times,  ‘Neele Neele Ambar Par’ , before he signed off. ‘I didn’t know you could sing and play like that, Ajay!’ Saanvi exclaimed, still unable to mask her astonishment. ‘But it’s the most delightful surprise I’ve had in a long time.’ ‘You should play for the family, you know.’ ‘Drop it, Di, you know I don’t have it in me to play in front of others. It’s just something that I like to do on my own. I’m not ready to be judged by others. And… moreover, I have to be damn good to play for others’ said Ajay as his face turned beet red. ‘I’m tempted to call in my friends and organize a concert for you. You are too good, Ajay. Where have you been hiding your phenomenal talent all these year...
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TERRORIST ATTACK

  TERRORIST ATTACK   ‘ Mr. King, you are required to immediately take up this case. Assemble a team, if you need one. My God! The city is falling apart. For God’s sake… get moving!’ screamed the FBI Director Susan Mathews, from behind the oval long mahogany table, in the conference room, at the FBI headquarters, where she had called an emergency meeting that morning.    ‘Yes, Ma’am, I’m right on it…But for the moment I’d prefer to work alone…if and when I’ll require help, I’ll ask for it,’ said Raymond King, the chief investigator of the FBI, as he swung around to face the Director at the head of the table. Raymond King, though in his forties, looked haggard; his sideburns had turned grey. There were bags under his eyes, and his figure was puffy and bloated, and he must have put on at least five kilos in the last three months. The aftereffects of the medicine he was taking to keep in check his injuries sustained during an earlier operation for the agency.   ‘Jen...
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CANNABIS MOB

  CANNABIS MOB   A mob of cannabis peddlers and advocates is holding a meeting at the city’s Chinese eatery in downtown Chinatown. The air is thick with cannabis smoke as the mob members pass the  chillum  around. The waiter hurries along as he places plates of Manchurian, chilli-chicken, hakka noodles, steamed fish, fried rice, fresh from the chef’s stove, to their table. The mob members are seated huddled around. They have had a long and successful run in several cities in which they operated. Now they were in search of new territory to expand their business. With this purpose in mind, they had assembled today at the Chinese eatery  The Lizard  in the city.   ‘Hasan, I leave it up to you to come up with a plan to invade this community. How you’ll do that, I leave that up to you. But I suggest you start with the cream of society. The young, once we have them in our  pockets, then we can slowly dump our stuff here,’ said Lo Hsing, the mob boss, sp...
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