bideep

[bideep]

The Reader Who Started Writing

Short stories

     Face-off 

 Upon entering the room Roy felt a chill in the air, half-lit by the spamming rays of roadside halogen lights, the room was soundless the air in the room was cold, somebody had left the air conditioner running. But why Roy asked himself, slowly he tried looking for the switchboard to turn on the lights, as soon as he turned the lights on he felt cold like somebody had stabbed him with a knife made of ice. Diptesh was laying on the floor soaked in blood. It didn't take much time for Roy to understand that he has entered into a world that he shouldn't have, with trembling legs he walked up to the blood-soaked body of Diptesh, a cut to the veins. Did he commit suicide? Roy asked himself, no it can’t be Roy reconsidered the fact that Diptesh was not a guy who could commit suicide. Roy looked closely, the body was just laying on the floor, cold and pale the white formal shirt had blood all over it, Diptesh was still wearing the same formal dress that he wore when Roy and Diptesh met the last time 3 days ago in a nearby cafe and it was only then that Diptesh asked Roy to come over to his place on a Saturday evening.

Today was Saturday and the clock showed that it was 6 past 20 Roy sat down on the floor and re-arranged everything that was going on. Roy whispered “ me and Dip we met at the cafe last Wednesday and after that meeting Dip never called me or texted, Dip never came to the office also, so he came back to his apartment, sat down with a knife, and killed himself and since then he was just laying there on the ground, but wait he left the ac on as he knew that his body will start to rot and the smell of a rotten body can attract people outside. Roy shook his head and whispered again “that means he killed himself on Wednesday and was laying dead since then but how can that be? He is having a maid who comes regularly and then there is his girlfriend and also the neighbors visit him often then how can it be?” no answers came to Roy’s mind his conscience became foggy. This is not a story written by Haruki Murakami this is reality a man is laying dead soaked in blood. Roy again whispered “ should I call the police? They may suspect me as the murderer wait a minute where is the blade or the knife that Dip used for cutting the veins?” Roy looked around and made an inspection of the rooms, the dressing room was well organized, the kitchen too, and nothing suspicious about the bathroom also. Then Roy went to the kitchen again and took a close look at the wooden knife holder, yes the chef's knife was missing the knife that was the sharpest of all the other knives. “That means he used the chef’s knife to kill himself” Roy whispered to himself. “But where is the knife now” Roy whispered again. Something ominous had happened and Roy was utterly clueless. He formed everything chronologically first he opened the door,the door was unlocked, the lights were off and Dip was already lying down on the floor. He whispered again “that means Dip or whoever it was never locked the door but intentionally or unintentionally left the ac on, if it was dark then it would have been hard for Dip to cut his veins and if somebody else had done it then that somebody else before leaving turned off the lights hmm that makes sense” Roy stood there at the kitchen thinking about all this and a sudden ring of the doorbell startled him. “Who might it be?” Roy whispered and then slowly closed the kitchen door without making any sound, through a little hole in the door Roy watched. The bell rang 4times then someone opened the door, entered the room, and then closed the door again, nonchalant by the laying corpse the stranger looked around. “He must be wondering who turned the lights on” Roy whispered to himself.

   The stranger was a guy dressed in black, face covered in a mask, a tall guy with broad shoulders, the stranger looked around then sat in front of the Dip’s pale blood-soaked body.

Like the stranger was trying to examine something. Roy’s heart was beating like a steam engine. Silently Roy took out the butcher’s knife from the knife holder and slowly opened the door without making a sound he stood behind the stranger and then said “ hands on the floor where I can see them” the stranger took out his hands from his pocket and put them on the ground and slowly he turned around. “Open your mask but slowly,” Roy said calmly. The stranger’s left hand reached for the mask and slowly pulled the mask down, the face was revealed. Roy stood there in a state of shock, behind the mask it was Roy himself same face same eyes. “But how can it be”? Roy asked the stranger replied “look at your watch”  Roy took a look at his smartwatch, “Wednesday 7.13 pm” Roy recalled that he was wearing black that day and also had a mask on. That means…..

        Next day 

 waking up from the nightmare Roy called Dip, well Dip was well and alive, nonetheless, Roy went out to take a walk by the river, walking by the river he saw an old guy, the old guy looked at him and said "out for a walk?", "well yes" Roy replied "so what do you do," the old man asked, "I'm a writer" Roy replied, " a writer eh, mmm so what do you write?" the old man asked. "I write about my experiences and about my favorite author Murakami" 

"Murakami, who is that?" the old man asked. " well his full name is Murakami Haruki he’s a Japanese writer”. “Japnese I see, why japan? There are plenty of writers here in India,” the old man said then coughed a bit and then continued “ India is a place of culture a place of diversity why chose Japan? What’s so special?” the old man asked. “Well India is slowly but surely loosing it’s heritage and culture,but Japan is very strict about their culture, also I like Japan it’s my personal choice, they eat rice we eat rice, they eat fish we also, their blood is red, ours too so why comparing India to Japan or Japan to India?” Roy replied. “Ah you young people you do not understand a single thing do you even know in which yuga your’e living?” asked the old man. “ yes, the yuga of kali, we are living in kali yuga, kali was the demon who had mistakenly drunk few drops of  the poison that appeared  during the Samudra manthan thus he became poisned and evil, but later he also drank Amrit which made him immortal, now in Kali yuga Kali will appear and to stop his destruction Vagban Vishnu would appear in his 10th avtar which is kalki, kalki along with the Chiranjivis would put a stop to Kali and the yug in which we are now dwelling” Roy replied readily. Taken by a surprise the old man laughed and sat down on the grass. “So youre not an atheist like everybody else of your genration I guess” the old man said laughing. “ having knowledge about mythology and hindu gods doesn’t nececerrily mean that I am beliver or a devottiee, but anyway I do believe that there is a certain someone looking at us from the above” Roy replied. “Hmmm I see so do you believe in karma?” the old man asked. “ well yes I believe in karma and I also believe that whatever happens, happens for good either our good or someone else’s but surely for a greater good” Roy replied and sat down on the grass. The old man kept quite for a moment and then asked “and LIFE? What do you think of life?”. Roy thought for a bit and then replied “ life means a journey where birth being the start and death being the end, a journey which we have been blessed with which a curse in itself”. The old man giggled and said “you like tea? Let’s have some at a near by tea stall.” “oh that would be lovely” Roy replied getting up. 

                After the Rain

 Roy was half asleep and was having a pleasant dream, he was in the valley of flowers, in the distance there were mountains, the sky was clear and nimbus clouds were floating. The beeping of his phone wakes him up. A text from his company an urgent call from the news production company. There was a flood going on in Assam and it was Roy’s duty to visit the area, photographing the scenario and writing articles on the same. Roy washed his face took out his camera and some other essentials and went out, took a cab, the ticket for his journey was already booked. Upon reaching the station he first had himself a nice breakfast, a nice platter of eggs sunny side up, some sausages, buttered toast and a cup of espresso for the extra boost. It was 7.30 in the morning, the train was at 8 am. So after finishing his breakfast he rushed to the station and boarded the train. The train left the station exactly at 8 am and Roy sitting at the window seat started reading Haruki Murakami’s After the quake. By 10 am he was sleepy again and took a quick nap. When he woke up it was past 2 pm. He was actually working through the night for the last couple if days that’s why he was feeling sleepy most of the time. He ordered a regular lunch from the pantry and resumed reading After the quake. The lunch arrived, nothing special about it just some chicken curry and some rice.at around 11 pm he reached Assam. The hotel was already booked and a cab was waiting for him at the station. The hotel was a regular hotel nothing fancy about it, the staffs were nice and the room was well organized and clean. He ordered dinner but there was no food left so he just slept. At 6.30 his phone rang. The cab driver was calling him, he woke up washed his face, brushed and after some 15 minutes, he was ready to go. The cab took him to the village where the flood had caused the most damage. Upon reaching the spot and looking around Roy felt numb. What was he watching? There were no houses to see just debris,. Naked children roaming on the streets crying loudly, men sitting at the roadside head sunk between their knees. Women weeping. The destruction was in a word “massive”. He took some photographs and then put down his camera in utter sadness, “ what can I do, how can I help these people?” he asked himself no answers came to his mind. In his pocket he had 8 thousand cash and in his bank account he had around 60 thousand rupees for him it was enough for surviving on his own for another 2 months “but what about these people” he asked himself, he called his company and asked them “how can we help these helpless people?” someone from another side answered,” forget it finish your job and return to Kolkata”. Hearing this tears rolled down his cheek. He was helpless utterly helpless. He shouted “ oh my lord why have you put me on this earth if I can not even help these people in need” at that moment a white van appeared from nowhere, a van from a nongovernmental organization. They arrived with reliefs like food and clothes and other essentials like medicine and sanitary napkins. He went to the van and asked them if they need any help, they asked him his identity and Roy gave them his card, upon seeing which a man from the van said “just finish your job and get out from this place, you people make money from others misfortune” he took out the checkbook from his bag and signed a cheque of 60 thousand rupees and gave it to one of the men from the NGO, checking the cheque the man asked “60thousend but why? We can not even give you a proper receipt of money which would help you in reducing taxes” Roy replied “ this is the money that I have made by selling stories on people’s misfortune thus it belongs to them” he handed the cheque over and left the place, the next day he returned to the place again on a local auto rickshaw and he came with 6 big bags full of food and staples. Upon seeing him the villagers ran toward him with a smile on their faces. A villager asked “ you are Roy right?” confused by the sudden gesture Roy just said “yes” the villagers took him by the hand and dragged him to the nearby relief center. There were almost 20 bags of staples and several bags full of clothes and other items. One villager shouted “ this man is Roy who gave us all these things” another man called “ please lord bless this man” tears rolled down his cheeks again but not of sadness but of joy the joy of having a purpose full life engulfed him.  

                    Sautéed Shrimps 

 Bideep turned on the boat Bluetooth speakers and selected “ Dave Brubeck - Take Five” from his favourite playlist called soul, and started dancing to the beats of “take five” after a bit of swaying around he went to the kitchen he had to have something good to eat so he started putting together a nice enough breakfast from whatever was available in the kitchen and in the fridge. There were some shrimp in the fridge so he decided upon making a Chinese stir-fried shrimp dish. First, he peeled off the skins, and then for some time he marinated the shrimps, it was standard marination involving soy sauce for the savoury, a bit of vinegar for the acidic profile, and some salt, sugar, and red chili powder. In the meantime, he chopped some vegetables nothing much just some good old red bell pepper, red chilis, thinly sliced garlic that's all. He took out a mid-sized wok and put it in the oven, when the wok was hot enough he added some sunflower oil and when the oil started smoking slightly, he added the shrimps, when the shrimps were well enough fried, he then reduced the amount of oil and tempered it with the thinly sliced garlic, then he threw in the sliced bell peppers and added the shrimps also he added some sweet chili sauce and some more soy sauce, he tossed everything well so that everything can mix and can create whatever he desired. Lastly, he added some salt and some monosodium glutamate to give the dish a final touch, transferring everything to a white ceramic bowl he came back to his work desk, take five was over and the speaker was playing Louis Armstrong, Bideep came to his work desk and put down the bowl took out Haruki Murakami’s after dark from the bookshelf and started rereading. Oh forgot to mention that he also made himself a cup of cappuccino because the morning can't start without some caffeine in his system.

 Birth of a poet 

 Sitting alone in his workplace, sipping cheap Sidus port wine, Bideep was having a lazy morning. Suddenly his girlfriend called, she was back from her night shift at the hospital, at the end of the call she said "good morning and good night" as she was going to sleep. The words good morning and good night were stuck in Bideep's head. He took out his little handmade notepad and started writing lines which soon took the shape of a poem...

    Sigh

 Good morning Good night lose you I might.

Terrible society glaring at us, speak up I say, they say "hush".

Nobody will come forth, abandoning their comfort.

Pale as a cloud the morning met, I was struggling like a fish in a net.

Each day to lose and gain; in the end, it's all just pain.

Sitting here all alone; waiting for another dawn.

The moon with her first chin drawn down,

I looked up at the sky and I made a frown

The sun came up and I say goodbye as bright lights makes me cry.

 After writing he smiled and took out a gold flake the wine glass still half full he took a puff, and absolute pleasure of peace engulfed him.

       WAY BACK HOME

 Bideep took a rikshaw on his way back home, Ravi Shankar at Monterey Pop (June 1967) was playing on his Motorola Bluetooth neckband. Engulfed in an immense trance of peace he closed his eyes but a loud honking of a car ruined his mood, a middle-aged grumpy looking man was honking from behind the rikshaw continuously, so he asked the Rikshaw puller to slow and give space to the car so that it can pass by, anyway he was almost near his apartment and soon he reached his apartment. Climbing the stairs he saw the apartment cat along with her 3 little kittens. He gave a spa-like ear scratching session to the cat while the cat continued purring in pleasure. He smiled and climbed the last floor and finally reached his rooftop apartment. He opened the lock and let himself in and closed the door then after letting out a deep sigh he undressed and put on his usual clothes. Then he made himself a cup of tea and sat at his workplace confused between work and reading Blind Willow, sleeping woman. Nonetheless, he took out a gold flake indie mint and resumed listening to Ravi Shankar at Monterey Pop (June 1967).

  Dreaming

 Bideep was sitting at his work desk and it was a lazy afternoon, a cup of tea was waiting in front of him but even if he was there his mind was elsewhere, he was thinking about The wind-up bird chronicle by Haruki Murakami, through the open window of his rooftop apartment he was watching the birds flying and nimbus clouds moving at a pace of a 90year old. After gazing at that scene for some moments he closed his eyes, he felt as if he was still living inside the story that he has just finished, a sense of calm took possession of his body, he felt like diving into a beautiful river, an afternoon wind came through the open window and he fell asleep, in his dreams he saw a talking swan, the swan told him "see Bideep even if I'm a water bird, I don't get wet by the water". Bideep opened his eyes, he was awake and thinking about the words of the swan, and he understood that the swan was a symbol, a symbol of freedom, the meaning behind the swan's word was "do whatever you want but don't let it affect you, be free. A smile appeared on Bideep's face.

                The beauty of the strangers 

(inspired by Charles Bukowski)

 In this world of strangers, we don't know where our paths will cross. The world is small enough it's just a matter of time before we bump into each other. That guy who sits at the tea stall every morning and smiles at me when I pass by is a stranger. The lady who offered me water on the bus the other day was a stranger. When I was looking for my wallet and a girl came running and said that I had dropped it, was a stranger. That day when I was returning home and wasn't feeling like walking, a man on a motorcycle gave me a ride. He was a stranger. There's a kindness in the strangers; they don't speak much but they show that humanity is still alive, there's beauty in all this–we don't need tragedies or hate, nor conspiracies; what we need is good coffee and a pack of smokes with an unconditional smile from some kind stranger like you who gave me one piece of advice: "Life's too short to be anything but great."

              Neon lights

 While returning from the office, Bideep noticed that his hand was half blue and half red in color. The neon signboard of an energy drink company lit him up, and he felt soaked up in neon lights. After spending some time in that trance, he called a cab and sat in the window, telling the driver to turn off the air conditioner and to open the automatic windows. A wind-chapped face touched his face just then—just like one of his lover’s little arms. It was hard for him to meet his girlfriend often but he never once grew tired of the distance between them. After returning home, he changed into ordinary clothes,took out the bottle of Ballantine's from the kitchen cabinet, poured some in the whiskey glass, and sat down on his favorite sofa, after a gentle sip of the fine whiskey he resumed reading Haruki Murakami’s

Colorless Tskuru Tazaki and his years of pilgrimage.

                (inspired by Haruki Murakami) 

 Just a Gigolo” describes his life: “The world goes on without me.” you're here, others are here, we all are here, expectations keep us alive, people say we need poems and songs and books. I say we don't! we need kindness, compassion, and humanity, and in the search of all these we usually end up in a wild sheep chase. "one needs to be happy to live some doesn't", and then there are those who want to "make something disappear which doesn't even exist", different people and their different wild sheep chases, careless whispers and "carpe diem but not today" and more meds, more alcohol, more smokes which lead to nowhere but into a mental wild sheep chase, a cup of hot tea a smoke, a mobile for pressing the letter keys to vent out whatever is there in the mind, this is my very own wild sheep chase as I'm typing all this nonsensical gibberish.

        The start of July 2022

 Wake up in the dark to an empty living room, a dull ache in his head, sore eyes, and bones. After some moments of struggle, he told himself "give it another hour or else go back to bed if it isn't yet 5 am". Nonetheless, he woke up and opened the curtains and there was a light out there somewhere so lit up that he couldn't tell where it came from- anyhow it wasn't morning yet. He looked out of the window, yes there was a glass pane with some condensation on it but no one outside. The wind blew through the bare trees blowing away leaves and petals. A lone bird cried in the distance, this place is definitely deserted. He was starting to feel a bit scared by now not by ghosts or God, but by himself, himself which was completely absent all these years and now returned again for bad.

The light from outside suddenly was so bright that it almost blurred the vision along with the light a gust of wind came and came an unapologetic void of loneliness, and engulfed in that void Bideep stood there for some moments eyes barely open, a sense of existential crisis was eating him up from the inside, tears rolled down his cheeks. After standing in front of the window for a couple of moments he let out a deep sigh and went to the sink, he washed his face with fresh cold water and brushed. After feeling a bit fresh he went to the kitchen and made himself a cup of coffee. A packet of "gold flakes Indie mint" was laying on top of the tiny table beside his usual sitting spot his favorite black-colored leather sofa, he sat down, coffee cup in his hand starring at the pack of smokes, his left hand stretched out in the direction of the table but didn't pick up the pack of smokes rather it picked up 1q84 the novel by Haruki Murakami, he sighed and resumed reading where he left off. For the next week he never went outside, he just sat at his workstation reading Murakami, After almost finishing all the books by Murakami he started going through the poems of Charles Bukowski. It took him 2 days to complete the book named “the pleasure of the Damned, selected poems 1951-1993” and that was the moment when many poems came to his mind. Bideep researched poets like Paul Laurence Dunbar, Sara Teasdale, Georgia Douglas Johnson, etc to have a better grasp on the poetic use of words thus locking himself in his room he sat down with a pen and his notebook and wrote almost 20 poems in a single day. When he finished it was another 5 am in the morning but he was calm, slightly happy, a feeling of accomplishing something was there.

[bideep]

some of my clicks by my canon 1100D hope u all wiilllll like them

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