Abhishek's Musings

  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...

  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...

  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...

  GHOSTS   Mr. Gupta hesitated before he revealed his hand. The imposing walls of the prison, which of late had become the breeding ground of ghosts of all hues. He could feel the anger and fear coming out of this dreary place.  An inmate had experienced  unnecessary pain and suffering. His spirit had come back to hunt his tormentors. Mr. Gupta, using his considerable experience in dealing with such matters, managed to liberate the ghost before it wreaked havoc. The prison was free from the menace of ghosts once and for all. Mr. Gupta decided to retire from ghost fighting and live a quiet, peaceful life doing everyday, mundane things, like managing his business.       Mr. Gupta looked up and smiled at his friend Mr. Pathak, who was his childhood chum since their school days. Both of them had attended the same school and university. They were thick buddies who had done the same things in life. Their marriage anniversaries were also just a week apar...

On a quiet corner behind the shaded building, Stands a large and sturdy middle-aged oak tree, It has weathered many seasons without tilting, Exuding a sense of timeless strength and is carefree. Its presence brings calm and stability, It is the solid anchor in a fickle world, Silent guardian filled with resilience and civility, Providing a connection to the wisdom of the old world. The gentle rustling of its leaves in the breeze, Or the creaking of its archaic branches blowing in the wind, It has a mildly bitter taste, unlike cheese, A proud war veteran who has gone through the grind. Its weathered, scarred body speaks of battles fought, It still stands tall, a symbol of endurance, Each scar tells of seasons of fire and frost, Amidst chaos and confusion, the only reliable reference. It is the timeless ballad no:64, Providing weary nomads shade, comfort, refuge, Its melody speaks of quiet strength and inspiration to its very core, The steadfast veteran of valour and sacrifice, the centr...