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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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THE PLAY

  THE PLAY     ‘SUCH A TALENTED PLAYWRIGHT,’ said John as he glanced at the long queues outside the newly built Globe theatre. He had witnessed a similar rush of the crowd at The Theatre. ‘He is simply the best this country has ever produced.’   ‘Are you referring to Christopher Marlowe, or Ben Johnson?’ said an old gent with mock puzzlement.   ‘No! I’m talking about the one and only William Shakespeare,’ said John dramatically.   ‘By the way, who’s in charge of the city? The country?’ asked John, feigning innocence.   ‘Why, it’s Queen Elizabeth 1. Are you drunk? Are you in search of work in the city?’   ‘Indeed, indeed, pardon me, ’ said John, as he bid the gent a quick goodbye and hurried along.       He was still taking in the sights and sounds, in what appeared to be late sixteenth-century England. How he was transported back in time, he does not know. The last thing he remembered was volunteering for a new invention by Elon Mus...
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