Fiction · Little stories · Short stories

Vol 2 Arsee’s short stories 16 The Third Person

Bob was a star. No one had an idea of how big a star he would be one day before his film released. On the day after his film released he was a sensation. In a matter of two days he went from nobody to the heartthrob of the country. Such was the Goddess of glamour; she took you dizzying heights if she fell in love with you. In Bob’s case she was clearly head over heels.

Me? I was just a writer. I had written the film that had catapulted Bob to the top of the heap. The success of the film did not change my destiny like it did his but I was happy for Bob, he had been my friend through our infinite struggles and I knew he deserved his place in the sun.

It wasn’t easy anymore; doing things we did when he was a nobody. Now, everywhere we went he was surrounded by people and inundated with attention. No more quiet beers and long walks with Depeche Mode on the stereo, those days were over. Yet, I was excited for him and his new life.

It was late one afternoon when Bob drove up to my house in his new swanky car and asked me to accompany him to the opening of an art exhibition. He had no desire to go but he was committed. And it wasn’t like I was doing anything much in any case so I hopped into the comfort of the zero to eighty-in-three seconds-kind of sports car.

“I need a cigarette, real bad,” he whispered into my ear in the middle of all the attention the paparazzi and the invitees to the exhibition were showering on him.
“Sure,” I was going to fish out one from my pocket when he stopped me and said it had to be in the room, where no one could see him smoke. I put the cigarette back into my pocket and planned a room smoking opportunity for him.
“Why the secret cigarette rendezvous?” I asked when we were alone in the room. He looked at me like I was his village cousin. “I am star now Amy,” he explained, taking pains to speak slower. “I must have an image. I want people to see me as this role model, as this good guy. I want all mothers to ask their kids to be like me, I want to be a role-model.”
“Why not just be yourself and let the mothers figure out what they want for their children?” I asked him with all earnestness. He laughed and shook his head like I would not understand. Perhaps, I did not.

Years went by, Bob and I lost touch. I did write some more successful films but never really hit anything out of the park. Bob in the meanwhile just grew from strength to strength. He did become Mr. Nice guy like he had planned for himself. I don’t really know if the mothers were talking to their kids to be like him but if they were I wouldn’t be surprised.

And one day a creaky cupboard opened up somewhere and a skeleton came tumbling out. Bob’s female assistant filed a police complaint against him for repeated sexual harassment. The media went berserk. Mr. Nice guy a molester? The news was too good to be true!

Once the creaky cupboard opens there is really no stopping it. Stories of other women came out accusing Bob of similar behavior began to crop up all over the place. Then the reports of some rehabilitation program for drug addiction, drunken driving; it was just like a free for all.

Late one night I got a call from him, “I need to see you Amy. I need a friend.” He surely needed one. I drove up to his place.
I found Bob sprawled drunk on the expensive marble floor of his extravagant house. He smiled at me and asked me to come and sprawl next to him. I did.
“I have figured something about life Amy, I want to share it with you,” he said slurring his way through the words. I nodded, all ears.
“Remember the cigarette in the room? The day I began my Mr. Nice guy journey?” I nodded remembering it only too well. “You know what happened that day? Another me was born.” I nodded again. Then he tried to stand up and failed. Fell back on the marble and with some effort begun to talk again.
“When I gave birth to a new me, I really gave birth to another me. The older me never really went away. He was always around mocking at the new one. I was being this but I really wanted to be that. And you know what happens when you are two people Amy? Somewhere the two people meet and conspire to become a third person. That third person does everything that the first guy always did but the second guy; the nice guy makes the third guy do all this things deviously. When what you always were meets what you are pretending to be a third guy is born Amy, and this third guy takes all your innocent wants and turns them into perverse and devious actions. He is very dangerous, this third guy…. Very very dangerous.”

Half an hour later, Bob was dead. I had no idea that he had stuffed himself on a drug cocktail.

Three days later when they lowered him into his grave I thought back to what he said, “When what you always were meets what you are pretending to be a third guy is born Amy…” He was right. I had to get home. I had to write again. I had to tell the world what Bob had found out about life. About this third guy.

-Arsee.

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Poems

Spotlight

Sleep less
But dream harder
Hate less
But fight harder
You are not owed
It’s not your right
Place for just one
In the spotlight

Not abusive
But scream harder
Not jostling
But dance harder
If not your day
It will be your night
Place for just one
In the spotlight

Not betrayal
But compete harder
Not greedy
But grab harder
Hiding behind goodness
Don’t lose sight
Place for just one
In the spotlight

-Arsee.

Fiction · Little stories · Short stories

Vol 2 Arsee’s short stories 15 The Last Letter

Rob was only twenty-one when everything in the world went instant. Instant gratification was the most marketable commodity and strangely among the first things to go instant was food, they called it fast food. Just a few pounds could buy a meal and you could be out of the establishment way before the pennies in the parking meter ran out. No more waiting and listening to the boring pipe music in restaurants and staring at the cutlery wondering when you would be able to use it.

For a loner like Rob fast food made the whole meal effort more bearable. It was a Saturday night and Clock Work Orange was playing at the Odeon. Clock Work Orange had to be seen, it was a message from heaven for cinema buffs. Rob made the pilgrimage and immersed himself in Kubrick’s classic. It was late in the evening when he stepped out of the magical darkness into the real world. Spring was in the air, the night was making way for more daylight and Rob decided it was going to be the pizza kind of fast food that would fill his stomach while he ruminated on the movie.

Marcy’s Pizzeria played some fabulous Depeche Mode making it a clear choice for the evening. He did not see her clearly at first. She was standing with the menus in her hand looking at a couple of bills. She must have sensed someone standing behind her, which was probably why she turned around with a ready smile on her face. Rob had never seen someone as beautiful as her. She had large light brown eyes made to look prettier with the use of a simple liner. A straight nose and perfect red lips added to the perfectness of what destiny had planned for her face. A creamy complexion on curves to die for, Rob wondered if she was the advertisement for the pizzeria. He stared at her like a teenager who had just discovered the opposite sex; Clock Work Orange had obviously stopped ticking.

She let him finish staring, with a patient smile for him and waited for him to come back from his round trip to that man place in his head. Then she showed him to the table and asked him if he wanted to have anything to drink. She did notice that Rob was looking at her nametag that announced her name to be Anna. It was with great effort that Rob managed to order his pizza, with greater effort he managed to eat it and no amount of effort could make him ask for the cheque. And yet he had to, it was a done thing, people usually left after they ate and when you had waited around for an hour after you had finished eating you had no more excuses to stay.

He was back the next day and asked her if she would like to sit at the table and eat with him. Anna told him politely that she worked at the pizzeria, she was a stewardess and she was not allowed to eat with the patrons. She was touched that he would inquire and that he should be so thoughtful.

It was evening again and Rob was back. Anna was beginning to see that Rob was completely besotted. She would have to tell him the truth. Rob asked her out and she told him that she would see him after the pizzeria shut down close to midnight. From the window of the pizzeria she could see Rob wait for her, it was four hours before she could meet him and for four hours Rob stood under the streetlight, waiting for her.

Then they went to a bar close by. Rob blabbered on like a schoolboy who had found his first friend ever. He had been friendless and he had so much to share. After a polite drink Anna broke the sad news to him. She told him that she was married. It broke her heart to see the tears flow out of Rob’s eyes. He was devastated. Anna had never seen love like that. She was choked with as much pain as Rob. They sat together in silence. Then Rob took a serviette and scribbled his phone number on it and looked at her sadly, “If you should ever be alone, ever need a shoulder, ever need a friend and more than ever if you should ever need someone to take care of you the way you deserve to be taken care of, would you call me?” Anna smiled, “And how do I deserve to be taken care of?” Rob looked deep into her eyes and whispered, “In the way that should a man allow even a hint of sadness cross those eyes he should be cursed to lose you forever.” Anna could not see him anymore. She just took the serviette and left the bar.

Anna never called Rob and Rob grew up to think how stupid he was. How stupid that he expected her to call. He became a writer of great repute, wrote wondrous books, won many an accolade but through all that he never forgot that beatific face that he had seen at Marcy’s Pizzeria.

It was about two weeks past his sixty-second birthday when his assistant announced a young man at his office. The young man had an envelope with him. Rob asked the young man who he was but the young man was not forthcoming. He handed Rob the envelope and said, “My Mother died last Thursday, she left this for you.” Even before Rob could open the envelope the young man had left his office.

On the envelope was written just one word, “Rob”. When he opened the envelope he found the serviette with an old telephone number of his scribbled on it, in his own handwriting. He recognized the serviette immediately and he knew whom it was from. Behind the very same serviette was written a note for him, “Dear Rob, I looked at this serviette every day of my life. This paper napkin told me that there was a Rob out there who loved me like no one else could ever. This paper napkin made it possible for me to live through all these years. If this serviette has reached you then I am dead and I have no commitments anymore. I have finally dialed your number. I love you.”

Rob sat down and closed his eyes, a girl with menus in her hand turned around and looked at him with a smile.

-Arsee.

Fiction · Little stories · Short stories

Vol 2 Arsee’s short stories 14 Another Chance

Reema did not think she was capable of hurting the one person she loved the most in the world but Kartik had just crossed the limit of propriety over the weekend. He had no right to insult Sameer that way. Life had been harsh for her, what with her husband going off with another woman, the divorce battle and the demon of loneliness that hounded a single mother.

Sameer had been her friend long before she was married. But now it was turning out to be more than that, she needed a hand to hold, a shoulder to cry and someone to love. Sameer was all of that and more but Kartik did not want any man to take his father’s place. It was an understandable emotion for a ten-year old to feel but that did not give him the right to say what he did at the dinner. Sameer… when Sameer was only trying to help him with some problems at school.

“Just because you are fucking my Mother does not give you the right to become my Father,” was what Kartik had said. Reema did not even remember when she had picked her hand up and slapped him across the face. She had never done that in her life. Kartik had burst into tears, flung his plate away and walked off to his room. Reema had burst into sobs herself, the pain that she had kept back for so many years was just all coming out.

Sameer just sat there holding her and he fought his tears as well, not because he felt any kind of insult but… but because he felt pain of ten-year old and his Mother. It was just sad when happiness became like parachute between two people and someone had to let it go.

And now, this message from school! He had stopped doing his homework, grown his hair and stolen from the stationary supplies. The school was threatening to have him rusticated. Reema knew he was acting the rebel but there was no way that she would get him admission in another school. What was she going to do?

“Let me handle this, please?” Sameer asked her. “Handle what? Kartik hates you and even if we do get a reprieve from school he is not going to change his ways. He is going to be the rebel till you walk away from us.” Reema wiped her tears and sat down on the chair by the kitchen table. “You speak to the school and I speak to Kartik? He and I should both get a chance after all.” Sameer smiled enigmatically. “You are going to talk to Kartik? Good luck with that!” Reema seemed resigned to her fate. “Can you convince the school to give him one more chance?” Sameer asked again. Reema nodded, she could perhaps. “Good, let me handle this then.” Sameer said.

Sameer was waiting for Kartik in the school parking lot. Kartik looked away when he saw him. Sameer could see the resentment in his eyes. No little boy should have to go through what Kartik was going through.

“I have come here to help you in what you are trying to do.” Sameer spoke in a gentle voice to Kartik. “What do you mean? What am I trying to do?” Kartik asked, his little eyes perplexed, his forehead creased. “You hate the world. And you want to burn it down. Don’t you?”
Kartik did not respond. “You and I can sit on the bench under the tree for ten minutes. If you agree with me you could take a ride with me in my car and if you don’t I will leave you alone. What do you think about this deal?” Sameer moved a little closer to Kartik, his smile trying to engage Kartik.

Kartik thought for a moment and then agreed. They walked to the bench and sat on it a little far from each other. Kartik looked at the ground, his feet playing with a stone. “Everything is a club Kartik. You understand clubs?” Sameer asked him. Kartik shook his head. “When I mean club I don’t mean a resto-bar or a gymkhana kind of place. I mean an association of people. When you are little that club of people is handed to you but when you grow older you can decide on the club. You are put into a play school, which is a club and then into a school and later into a college. You may not like to be a part of these clubs but they have knowledge to impart, something that you will need to run this business of your life.” Kartik was beginning to listen to Sameer though he did not understand fully. “As you grow older there will be other clubs. These are very dangerous and they will affect your mental health. Let me tell you how they work. They will start a club by inviting a few people into that club and then restrict the invitation, so that you yearn to be a part of that club. Take for instance an award given every year to people for their excellent work in a field of art for example. They will advertise the award, they will make you yearn for it, they will make the award a recognition that you need to have or else life will be meaningless. Then you will strive to be a part of that club. You see it is simple. Start a club and then restrict the entry. There will be a club of luxury car owners, there will be a club of designer wear owners, there will be a club of diamond jewellery owners, there will be a club of the high society parties, there will be the club of big corporate guest lists. Everywhere you go there will be a club. They will make you yearn for it. Its nonsense! You understand so far?” Kartik nodded and moved closer to Sameer. Sameer smiled and continued, “Don’t get fooled by these clubs and do not let them decide how successful or meaningful your life is, you decide how meaningful the club is for you. If a club like a school is important to you, play the rules of that club. If not, let it go. Remember Kartik no one can insult you without your permission. Sometimes it just smart to give a club that permission, not because it’s great but because you need something from it.”

“So I should play by the rules of the school cause I need something from the school?” Kartik suddenly looked like a lost innocent boy and Sameer just wanted to hold him tight.
“Exactly! You could walk away but you would be the loser.”

Kartik thought for a moment and then he smiled, “Would you drop me home?” he asked Sameer. “It would be my pleasure.” Sameer said. “It is smart to be the part of a club that owns a car,” Kartik said slyly. Sameer laughed out loud, “You got the drift my friend.” he said.

From the school window Reema saw Sameer drive off with Kartik in the car. The principal had agreed to give Kartik one more chance and life had agreed to give her one more chance.

-Arsee.