Time Travel with Tintin

‘How was it ?’ I had asked my eleven year son as  we walked out out  the multiplex after watching The Adventures Tintin.

  

‘Loved it !’, he had replied with a grin , ‘Can you get me all the comics, please ! you have read them all, haven't you  ?’

It had taken some convincing to get him interested in the blond boyish looking character who had been my favorite comic book hero since I was his age.

The crown jewel of my comics’ collection, Tintin had made his way up on favorite list. Herge’s illustrations would take me to the far away lands – Africa, Tibet, Middle East, America and even to the Moon!

‘How about we read them together?’ I had suggested. 

***

A pile of Tintin comics lay in front of us. I had ordered several of them from Amazon.  There were a few from my childhood collection - these masterpieces were still clad in the newspaper jackets that I had put on them to save them from the rampage of time.

‘Careful’, I  said as my son unwrapped the Jacket  to reveal the colorful front page of Tintin and the Picaros – the hilarious plot that was set amongst imaginary  Banana republic’s of South America.  He settled down into the couch diving into the land of General Alcazar.

The yellowing newspaper jackets lay on the floor. I picked up one which was almost brittle with age.

“Times of India Sunday, June 15, 1986” said the fading letters on the header, just above smiling faces of Kapildev and Ravi Shastri  who were popping a bottle of champagne.  

I carefully unwrapped other  newspaper jackets  - they were all  within a couple of years.

‘Scooch over ‘ I nudged my son from my favorite spot on the couch and settled down with a cup of tea and twenty five year old newspapers.

‘I thought you were going to read Tintin with me …’ , my son complained.

But I had already set out on a time travel that took me back more than twenty five years – when I was almost as old as my son.  

****

I don’t read newspapers. I think that they are the best way to ruin your morning. I believe that if the news is important - it would always find you.  Today, news from a Sunday morning about twenty five years ago had found me.

“End for Ron , Blonde for Mikhail predicted” , the international  news section had a piece covering an astrologers  prediction  that Ronald Regan would resign over Iran arms scandal and Mikhail Gorbochov would fall in love with a 19 year old  air hostess.  ‘Most Astrologers predict that next year would be disastrous ’ the article concluded. ‘Not much of a change there‘, I chuckled. 

'Can you turn off the TV please ?' my son requested, his eyes glued to the comic. The TV was showing a documentary on Tibetans and their struggle to get freedom. I turned it off and placed the remote on the coffee table.

My attention drifted to the small section in the Sunday newspaper that said “Today’s TV”  with the Sunday morning programs that I used to wait an entire week for.  The listing was next to an advertisement for black and white television sets.  Mickey and Donald show was at 10 AM, followed by the kids soap 'Ek do Teen chaar' and then the celebrated Rajani at 12:15 PM.

My eyes would be glued to the black and white television showing programs ranging from Mickey and Donald’s show to the feisty Rajani – the vigilant housewife on a mission to fight against social issues under a semi-comical setting.

The Sunday Feature Film was V Shantaram’s  Jhanak Jhanak Payal Baaje – which I recalled  even after twenty five years. It had been a painful movie to sit through at that time with its unending string of dances. 

“Last ‘Rajani’ today” declared an article just below the listing that said that Mudra Communications would not be making any new episodes of the celebrated TV serial. The last episode of Rajani at 12:15 pm.

I sat up excited. I still remembered that Sunday afternoon very clearly ! My mother had not stopped complaining  about the end of her favorite TV program. "Why do they stop the good programs?' . "They should privatize the TV broadcasting", my dad had quipped in. 

The time travel was getting real . It wasn't an general day from the past that was reading about. It was a day that I could relate to now. A day that I had memories about !

A quick glance at the weather section which was just under the TV listing – it was 43 deg C (110 F)  in Delhi. I cringed recalling the hot June afternoons. Tar roads would burn and almost feel soft under the shoes due to the heat . A blast of dry westerly winds , or Loo blowing from the deserts of Rajasthan could almost vaporize you.

****

The economic section had news about Reliance Industries setting up a new company for a massive petrochemical project in Hazira, Gujrat. 


The company was to be named Reliance Petrochemicals. The company went on to become a household name in India and played a key role in shaping up Reliance Industries into an industrial behemoth. The owner of the company is now the second richest person in Asia and ninth richest in the world.

Scattered around the pages were advertisements -  relics of commercial art with amusing copy writing. "Visit before or after marriage and regain health vigor and vitality", declared the advertisement of the celebrated Sablok Clinic - made famous but the wall graffiti advertisement campaign along the railway tracks of  Delhi.

A huge quarter page advertisement of Siva Computers was filled up with a rate card of PC's  with different configurations. The state of the art AT-386  was priced at Rs 1,40,00 (~$3000). 


'Times have indeed changed', I thought, as I looked at the advertisement with an amused grin. 


'How about some news ?', I opened the newspaper to peek into the inside pages. 


This section was relatively well preserved and I shifted my attention to the headlines sprinkled across the pages.  


I was Amazed by what I found there !


****


I could not believe that these headlines were from a newspaper that was twenty five years old. These headlines could pass as "News" even today.

Israel, Palestine, India. Pakistan, Kashmir .. the dates had changed but the stories were the same.


'Uneasy calm in Lhasa', said another headline - that talked about the unrest in Tibet. 


'Wait a minute .. didn't I see that on the TV just now..' , sat up flicking the TV on. The program was still on - throwing light on Tibetans and their struggle to get freedom.

'Perhaps the times have not changed that much after all ...'  I sighed as I fixed my gaze at the television which was showing interviews related to the 2008 Tibetan unrest which had ended in rioting, looting and killing.

****

‘Hey !  I thought you were going to read Tintin with me …’ , my son complained as he saw me watching the television. I switched the television off and turned my gaze towards the stack of Tintin comics on the coffee table. "Tintin in Tibet" was on top of the pile.

A smile spread across my face. Colorful images of Tibet and Himalayas that that Herge had conjured in the comic book flashed in my mind - the monasteries, the levitating monks, the colorful kites and  the snow clad landscapes. The images were in stark contrast to the fossilized reality. The fossilized reality that had not changed after twenty five years.

I picked up the Tinitin comic, stretched out next to my son and dived into the land of Tintin. I was happy that things had not changed there as well.

Smart Robots

Authors Note :   


"The strength of your writing is that it has honesty ... but you have to work on the length of your stories",  was my writing Guru's  feedback. "Cut ruthlessly on multiple reads till a point that you feel not a single word can now be removed", she said.


So I thought of a story that needed a lot of honesty. And tried to communicate it in the least possible words ..


Planet Omega-3 was inhabited by smart robots.

These robots ran on a heuristic program - a program that could learn. The robots became more intelligent over time and started performing new and cool stuff. They even evolved their forms to new cool forms to help them perform new and cool stuff.

One day a robot’s program became over optimized and created a virus.

The virus made the robot perform not so cool stuff, while its program continued to believe that it was performing cool stuff. 

The virus spread to other robots and the number of infected robots increased steadily.

***

Then one day a robot downloaded a vaccine program from an unknown source. 

The incidences of vaccine downloads started happening at regular intervals. These robots were known as savior robots.

The savior robots cleared the virus from a large number of infected robots they came in contact with. 

The vaccinated robots could once see the difference between what was cool and what was not.

***

But several of these vaccinated robots caught the virus back again. 

Most of them were the ones who got organized in big groups to set up vaccination camps for other infected robots. These robots relapsed with a resistant strain of virus - vaccine for which had not surfaced yet.

The gap between infected and vaccinated robots continues to grow in the planet Omega-3.

THE END 

Mariposa

‘Can you write a story for me ?’, my six year old daughter asked, ‘An awesome butterfly story ...’

She loved butterflies, ‘ I want to be a butterfly when I grow up’ , she  would say.

‘What do you want in the story ...?’, I smiled.

‘An awesome princess. Lots of awesome Monarch butterflies. Not too many words and a lot of pictures…’


So I tried to find out more about the Monarch butterflies. And I was amazed by what I found out !

Once upon a time, long long ago, there was a beautiful princess, who lived in a beautiful palace that was in a beautiful kingdom nestled around beautiful mountains of central Mexico.  Her name was Mariposa.

The princess loved butterflies. ‘I want to be a butterfly when I grow up’, the princess would say.

‘You will be a queen when you grow up , my dear’, the King would laugh.

‘No I want to become a beautiful butterfly and fly away!’  

***

One day the King got a message from another kingdom that was far far away.

‘Help us ! The mighty tribes of South are going to attack us in the Harvest season ! Please send your army to help ’

‘But your  kingdom is so far far  away …’, The king said ‘ How will my army reach there in time ?’

The King did not send help.

Next year, the King got a message from another kingdom that was far away.

 ‘Help us ! The mighty tribes of South are going to attack us in the Harvest season ! Please send your army to help ’

‘But your kingdom is so far away …’, The king said ‘ How will my army reach there in time ?’

The King did not send help.

Next year, the King got a message from the mighty tribes of South.

‘We are going to attack you in the Harvest season !’

 The King was sad. The mighty tribes of South had a big big army. He would need help.

‘But I have helped nobody so why will other’s help me ?’  

***

‘We can ask help from the mighty tribes of the North’ , the queen suggested .

   

The King and the Queen were sitting under the royal Oak  tree in the royal garden. Princess Mariposa was chasing butterflies that were flying around the garden.

 ‘You are right my Queen. The Harvest season is only four months away. I will go to them personally and ask for help.  ’

‘My princess Mariposa …’, the King  said to his daughter, ‘Take care of your mother while I am away’

 Mariposa nodded as a Monarch butterfly settled gently on her head.

That night, the King and his sixteen strongest soldiers headed north on their fastest horses.

Two months passed but the King did not return.

***

‘The harvest season is so close!’, the queen thought  impatiently, ‘And there is still no word from the King !!'

The Queen and Mariposa were sitting under the royal Oak tree in the royal garden. The oak tree was Marposa’s favorite tree . The tree always had a lot of Monarch butterflies fluttering around  it.

Mariposa  held her mothers hand gently to comfort her.

‘What if the King does not return with help before the harvest season ?’ 

‘The Northen Tribes  are so far far  away …’, The queen  muttered sadly ‘ How will they reach there in time ?’

The queen began to sob. She got up and hurried back into the palace, hiding her tears.

Mariposa sat under the royal Oak tree. She was also very sad. She missed her father.

‘I wish I was a butterfly’, she thought as a tear dropped down her rosy cheek ‘ I would fly to the Northern tribes  … and find my father!‘

‘You will get what you wish, dear ..’ , a gentle voice came from above her.

She looked up. There was no one.

‘W-Who are you ?’, she asked , looking around her.

‘It is me dear …  the Oak tree  !’

***

The magical Oak tree told Mariposa that it could turn her into a butterfly !

‘I will give you a magical word..’, the tree whispered, ‘Hold the hands of someone you love and say the word ...  you will turn into a butterfly !’

Mariposa’s eyes gleamed with delight.

‘What is the magical word ?’

‘It is - IAM'

Mariposa ran inside the palace to her mother’s chamber.

‘Mother I will be back soon ’, she said holding her mother’s hand.

‘IAM!’, she said softly and turned into a beautiful Monarch butterfly

***

Mariposa fluttered out of the window into the royal gardens. She was greeted cheerfully by all her butterfly friends. The Oak tree gave her a smile.

‘Which way should I fly to reach the mighty tribes of the North ?’, she asked excitedly.

‘That way my dear', said the Oak tree pointing with a branch,' But it will take you many many days to reach there ..'

‘My friends will help you find your way ..’, it said,  ‘..the first one is the sun - just listen to what he has to say and you will  stay on course.

‘What if the sun gets hidden by the clouds?’ , Mariposa asked.

‘Then listen to the sky. The sky knows what the sun has to say. It will convey its message’,  the tree smiled.

‘And what if the entire sky is covered with clouds ?’

‘Wait. Don’t fly’, the oak tree smiled,’ The clouds will eventually go away. Then you fly again !’

***

Mariposa rose up in the warm air. Up and up and up.

She listened to the sun and kept fluttering her colorful wings towards the direction it asked her to. 

Sometimes It was a bit difficult to hear the sun as it moved across the sky, getting obscured by the clouds. But then the blue sky conveyed sun’s message to Mariposa.

On the days when the entire sky was covered with clouds, she waited patiently for the clouds  to clear – just enough to get a glimpse of the blue sky.

She kept on flying for days and days, resting occasionally to snack on milkweed plants.

‘I have to get back with help before the harvest season!’ , she thought with her eyes trained towards the northern  horizons.

Then one day, the Sun told her in a cheerful voice.

‘You are there ! ’

***

The huge kingdom of the mighty northern tribes lay sprawled under her. As far as her eyes could see.

And then she saw her father! He was standing in front of a big group of warriors.

‘Help us ! The mighty tribes of South are going to attack us in the Harvest season ! Please send your army to help us’, said the King.

‘But your kingdom is so far far away …’, A big northern warrior said with a booming voice ' ..how will our  army reach there in time ?’

‘We can find a way if we want to …’ , the King appealed.

‘There is no way we can reach your kingdom in one month ... even with the fastest horses ..’, the big northern warrior replied ‘ It took you more than two months to reach here with just sixteen soldiers. We have one hundred and sixty thousand  ...’

The king looked down, crestfallen. He recalled the appeal for help he had received from other Kings – the messages he had ignored because he did not try hard enough to help.

‘The Chief is right. How can I get one hundred and sixty thousand soldiers to my kingdom in one month’

Just then he saw a beautiful butterfly descend from the sky. She flapped her wings and settled down on the King’s right ear.

‘Its me father - Mariposa’, she whispered.

***

‘I know a way to get the warriors to our Kingdom before the harvest season’, Mariposa  whispered excitedly.

‘Make them hold the hand of the person they love and say the magical word  …’, She said settling down on his fingers. She then told her father the story of the Oak tree and how she got here.

The mighty northern tribes believed that the butterflies were the spirits of their ancestors. ‘It is a good omen’, the big northern warrior said to the King, ‘We will help you - tell us what to do’

‘Get your best warriors – along with a person he loves’ , The king said with a twinkle in his eyes.

Soon the vast expanse of the northern plains was covered with the mightiest of the warriors, each with a loved member of their family.

‘Repeat after me’, the King said as Mariposa settled down gently on his hand.

‘IAM!’

***

One hundred and sixty thousand and eighteen butterflies rose up in the chilly northern air.  Up and up and up.

‘Listen to the sun’, the King Monarch ‘s voice rang in the air ,’And the blue sky’

The butterflies flew southwards. Sometimes It was a bit difficult to hear the Sun as it moved across the sky , getting obscured by the clouds. But then the sky conveyed sun’s message.

On the days when the entire sky was covered with clouds, they waited patiently for the clouds to clear – just enough to get a glimpse of the blue sky.

They  kept on flying for days and days, resting occasionally to snack on milkweed plants.

Then one day, the Sun told them in a cheerful voice.

‘You are there! ’

The people of the beautiful kingdom nestled around the beautiful mountains of central Mexico were amazed to see thousands of beautiful butterflies descending from the sky just before the harvest season.

THE END

Authors Note:    

Yes, the butterflies did turn back into warriors and defeated the mighty tribes of South  :)

The residents of the kingdom nestled around the mountains of central Mexico still get millions of colorful visitors every year. The migration of millions of Monarch butterflies from Northern US and Southern Canada to central Mexico continues to amaze everyone.

About four hundred million of them travel more than three thousand miles every year to an area less than seventy square miles in central Mexico ! 


How do they do it ? Well it is still a puzzle, and researchers are trying to figure out all aspects of the migration. Of course, Sun , Sky and sensors in the butterflies are involved  (more)

I also discovered some amazing facts like the  people in the region have welcomed the arrival of monarchs since pre-Hispanic times. In the language of the native Purépecha Indians, the monarch butterfly is called the harvester butterfly, because they descend from the skies just before the harvest season (more )

So ... how did it all start ? I wondered.

Pulp Fiction Masala – Part 2

Story so far :  Two friends go missing while on a road trip. The road trip was a result of a wager between classmates. The challenge to race Kashi Vishvanath Express from Varanasi to Lucknow becomes a thrilling  adventure for the two friends Bunty and Sonu. (Please read the complete story at Pulp Fiction Masala )

Authors Note :  This story has been inspired by real incidences that happened several years ago …  before the age of cell phones.  You will be surprised if you knew which parts of the story are real!

‘Wow! That man was one cool character ‘, Sonu said gazing at the tractor that rattled and puffed down the highway , taking a sharp turn into a dusty road cutting through sugarcane fields.

‘There is a shorter route that cuts across the bend on the highway – It is very convenient, I will be taking that  route …’, The good Samaritan tractor driver, Ranjit Singh had said to Sonu during the tractor ride.’ ‘Racing  a train to Lucknow … Sir you can take a nap and still win the race’, he had joked.

It took about an hour to repair the flat tire.’ There are multiple punchers ‘, the mechanic had complained displaying the damaged tube which was cut in multiple places.  Bunty and Sonu had lost more than two hours due to the flat tire.

‘Let’s take the shortcut’, Sonu said pointing to the unpaved road bending sharply towards the west ‘It cuts across the bend in the highway’  

They rode through the dusty road along the sugarcane fields.  It was a pleasant ride as they passed quaint mud and brick houses that were sparsely scattered along the narrow road.

The slim hope of making it to Lucknow before the train was dashed to pieces when the bike wobbled.

“No … Not again !’ Exclaimed Bunty.  The dejected duo stared at the flat tire. They un mounted the bike and scanned the road which is surprisingly empty, but for a herd of cattle that was crossing about a hundred yard ahead of them.  Just beyond the dusty silhouette of the cows was a mud and brick structure. Wisps of smoke hung around the small hut like structure, occasionally blowing across the road  and over the sugarcane fields. It was a roadside chai shop.

The deserted Chai shop turned out to be bigger than they expected.  The only person there was an old man stirring a big pot sitting on a clay oven in an open kitchen. There was also a small bicycle repair shop down the road !

‘I can fix it – but it will cost you ten rupees’, the shabby teenager manning the shop said in a delightfully gloomy voice. But even the gloomy voice seemed like Christmas Carol to the weary riders.

‘We will catch something to eat and will be back in ten minutes – make it fast‘, Bunty said handing the teenager a ten rupee note. They left the bike on the shop and walked down to the Dhaba.

‘We lost the wager …’ , Bunty admitted  with a sheepish smile.

‘Koi baat nahi yaar, Lets relax and enjoy’ , Sonu smiled back.

The boys did not know that it was just the beginning of their adventure!

***

The Chai Shop  was totally deserted.

The old man stirring the big pot gave them an ominous glance and focused his attention back to pot sitting on a clay oven.  

As they  settled down on a wooden bench next  to the road , a tall and burly man approached them  from behind the mud and brick structure. He was at least six and half feet tall. He had a thick moustache, turned up at the ends.

‘Abe, he looks like a bandit straight out of the Hindi Movies ‘, Sonu whispered as the man stood towering beside them.

‘What can I get S-S-Sirji?’ He asked.  The boys were surprised by the choices offered and ordered for chai shop snacks – Maggi , bread pakoda and chai.

The man appeared again shortly. He said that the food was ready and he had made a special arrangement for dining table inside the mud and brick structure.

‘S-S-Sirji, It will be good in there, more comfortable’, he said ‘ It is dusty here’

 They followed the man to a room behind the open kitchen. The old man stirring the blackened pot glanced back with a blank expression.

There was a large room with several benches. One bench was covered with a white table cloth with Maggi , bread pakoda and chai laid out neatly on it. The food looked heavenly to the weary , famished travelers and they settled down with their plates , ignoring the burly man who was standing next to them, watching them eat.

A gust of wind blew a bellow of smoke from the open kitchen inside the room.

‘ I will close the d-d-door so that smoke does not come in’, he said , getting out of the room & closing the door.

‘Is it only me ? that guy gives me creeps’, Sonu murmured.

The food was good and famished travelers had polished off their plates.

‘I need  to wash my hands’, Bunty said getting up.

He tried to open the door but it did not open. At first he thought it was stuck. He gave it a shove but it did not budge.

‘The door is stuck’, He said to Sonu.

Sonu walked over and tried to open the door, pushing it with all his strength.

‘The door is locked from outside! ’

They rattled and knocked the door but there was no response. Both of them were sweating. They looked around the room. The large brick room had no windows. They continued rattling on the door for some time when suddenly the door opened.

The old man they had seen sitting on the open kitchen appeared on the door. He had a very serious expression on his face and a metallic object in his outstretched arm. It  was a homemade Katta  pistol !

‘Get back or I will blast your face with this’, he said with a loud croaking voice.

All of this seemed surreal – the words of Ranjit Singh flashed in Bunty’s head. “Sir, please be careful. There is a kidnapping gang active in this area  …. “

‘Give me your wallet’ , the old man croaked. Bunty handed his wallet.

‘I..I don’t have a wallet’, Sonu said turning his pockets out.

‘Bike keys …’ , he croaked again.

The old man with surprising agility, gathered all the items and disappeared behind the closed door.

Bunty  and Sonu stood there staring at each other.

I did not see this coming’, mumbled Bunty.

All their money , motorcycle and contact with civilization was gone.

***

Every passing second felt like an hour to the ill fated travelers.

‘Do you think these guys are part of the Kidnapping Gang?’ , Sonu  asked breaking the silence.

‘We have to get out of here’, Bunty declared standing up.

With a sudden burst of energy, he banged the door with his shoulders throwing his weight at it. Sonu joined in – the duo pounded the door in frenzy. The old man croaked loudly from the other side of the door – threatening to shoot but the boys did not stop.

Suddenly the door broke open from its hinges and fell on the old man, knocking him down on the floor, cold. They ran out of the room and down the road to the repair shop without daring to glance back.

The bicycle shop was closed! As they looked around in panic , Sonu noticed something unusual  in the pile of hay next to the repair shop.  Somebody had tried to hide the bike in the pile of hay . It would have been impossible to locate but for its florescent blue color!

They retrieved the bike from the pile. ‘They must have been unable to start the bike and left it here ..’ , Bunty said twisting the choke.

‘But we don’t have the Keys’, Sonu panted.

‘The bike starts without a key – its ignition system is broken’ , Bunty said hopping on the bike and starting it.

They zoomed out on the dusty road.

*****

Dusk was setting in and the duo were zooming past the countryside on the empty road.

‘We should go to the Police station’, Sonu suggested.

‘We should reach a safe place first, I am not sure about this area anymore’

Bunty had the bike going at full throttle, zooming at more than hundred kilometers an hour.

Suddenly they saw the headlights of an approaching vehicle. In the dim light of the dusk we could make out it was an open Jeep. When they were about hundred yards from the vehicle, to their horror, another jeep pulled over from behind the oncoming vehicle and both vehicles stopped blocking the deserted road.

It was the kidnapping mafia on their hunt !

The florescent blue Yamaha was approaching the two Jeeps, at hundred twenty kilometers an hour. Bunty watched open eyed, almost as if in slow motion, as their motorbike inched towards the two Jeeps. The motorbike was too fast to brake. A collision was imminent.  

Bunty had figured out a few seconds back that braking was not an option. All he could see now was a three feet gap between the two Jeeps parked in the road.

He did not see the two gun wielding men who had got out of the jeeps and standing infront of it on the road. He did not notice a very serious looking (former) good Samaritan Ranjit Singh sitting in the driving seat of one of the jeeps.  

The bike, zooming at one hundred kilometers an hour, threaded through the narrow gap between the two Jeeps. The mafia guys stood astonished as the bike went past them like a bullet.

It was after several seconds that Sonu opened his eyes and realized that he was still alive. He was shaking uncontrollably. So was Bunty.

But they kept on driving until they hit the highway.

***

The duo had managed to outrun their pursuers. They were about sixty kilometers from Lucknow when suddenly the bike spluttered and stopped again.

‘We are out of Gas!’, Bunty exclaimed, ‘And we don’t have any money ! ’ His dejected voice was partially drowned by the blaring horn of trucks plying on the highway.

Sonu reached under his belt and pulled out a neatly folded fifty rupee note. ‘ I told you I had fifty rupees when we started ..’ , he laughed out loud as Bunty joined him.

The night sky rang with the laugh of two friends as they took turn to push the bike on the busy road to the nearest gas station.

THE END

Author’s Note:  Shortcuts can indeed be dangerous!

The duo did make it to the destination. They were greeted by Aashu & Anita who showered them with choicest gaalis, ignoring the pleas of ‘hear us out’, from the weary but adrenaline laden travelers.

 

‘Shut up ! You guys will make up some weird story to save your skins’, Aashu had said.

The story is finally out!

Pulp Fiction Masala !

Authors Note :  This pulp fiction masala story has been inspired by real incidences  that happened several years ago. I can assure you that you will be surprised if you knew which parts are real!  

The story is dedicated to all the *fictional* characters that inspired the story.

‘We have called all the police stations … ‘, the police officer wearing crisp Khaki uniform said with a straight face. 

'Each and every station that falls along National Highway 56 between Varanasi and Lucknow, but no one has heard anything about your two friends.'

The two teenagers he was addressing looked at him blankly. The big eyed girl sat down on steps of the police station and started sobbing. The chubby boy wearing a bright red shirt sat down next to the girl, visibly shaken.

'Don’t worry. They are alright ...', The boy  said unconvincingly, looking longingly at the lit up entrance of Lucknow’s Chaarbagh railway station .

It had been more than ten hours since their missing friends were supposed to meet them there.

*****

It had all started with a wager.

'The trains in India are so unpredictable ! ', Bunty had declared as they waited on the platform number one of Varanasi Junction. 

The college had just closed for Holi and he was in the railway station with his roommate Sonu to  see  off  their classmates Ashu and Anita who were going back to their hometown Lucknow for  the four day vacation. He and Sonu had decided to stay back in the hostel and experience the Banarasi Holi. The colors, the Bhaang and infamous Kavi Sammelan  that was held at the ghaats where “no bars held” lewd, humorous poems were recited to a cheering male audience  laughing ecstatically  at the expletives laden punch lines.

'So  damn unpredictable' , Sonu had chipped in rolling his eyes, feigning an English accent, as Ashu and Anita laughed. Kashi Vishwanath Express that covered the journey between Varanasi and Lucknow in six hours, was running three hours late.

'It is more predictable than your ...  bike', Anita had said casually. It was only last week when Bunty and Anita had skid on the road. Anita was riding pillion on the famous florescent blue bike , on their way to Sarnath for a college picnic.  'There was oil on the road', Bunty had tried to explain nursing his bruises as he had helped the disoriented girl get back on her feet.

The bait had been cast. Bunty took a drag at the wills navy cut cigarette that he casually held between his fingers. 'How about we race you to Lucknow?', he had said without blinking his eye. 'We will be there at the Charbaagh Railway station to receive you - much before your train reaches there'

“We?”, Sonu shifted uncomfortably on is feet, not too happy to be volunteered into the wager.

“Lucknow is 400 kilometers away – its not a joke, yaar”, Ashu  sounded a bit concerned as he tucked his bright red shirt into his denim  jeans.  

Ab Bol diya to dheek lenge!”, Bunty looked at Sonu and smiled. “, he then looked at Anita . “And if we reach there before you, we are going to stay at your place”

Anita had a reasonably liberal family, but having male college classmates stay with the family was a totally different ballgame. But she smiled and extended her hand.

The wager was on!

****

Bunty was driving the Florescent Blue Yamaha wearing his weathered black hemet. Sonu was sitting pillion, crouching behind, trying to keep the wind out of his eyes.

‘You have some cash?’, Bunty asked over the rush of the wind, opening the helmet visor slightly.

“Fifty rupees “ , Sonu replied – reassured by the fact that the amount would be enough to buy enough gas to cover at almost half of their journey, “You do have more, right?” Bunty nodded - he had a rich dad.

It was late March, but the weather had already warmed up and it felt like summer as they breezed past wheat and sugarcane fields. They passed Jaunpur, next town in about an hour.

‘Man, we are doing good’, Bunty  heaved, taking off his helmet.They had stopped at one of the roadside dhabas just outside the town. The dhaba served food and snacks, primarily to the truck drivers plowing on the highway.

‘We are quarter of the way there ‘, said Sonu stretching out on a jute cot. They ordered for tea and sat on  the jute cot sipping the milky, syrupy liquid out of a greasy glass.

Just across from the quadrangle was the highway.  An old man riding a bicycle, tried to cut across the road. He had almost made it, when a speeding motor bike, with an apparently distracted driver, grazed the real wheel of the bicycle throwing the elderly man off . The motor bike wobbled and fell down a few yards down the road.

Bunty and Sonu rushed to the accident site. They picked up the old man, who could walk with their support. The man had managed to survive the accident with a few minor scratches. His bicycle was not as lucky, it lay twisted and out of shape beside the road.  

A small crowd was bashing up the motorcycle driver. Even as they started walking up to help him, they saw a few more passerbies, stopping beside the crowd, joining in the bashing.

‘These rich bastards think the road is their father’s property!’

‘Hitting an old man, what does he think he is?’,There were slaps and kicks flying around.  

A skinny man passing by in his bicycle stopped, put his bicycle on it’s stand and got inside the crowd. He slapped the driver on his face twice before getting out of the crowd, back to his bicycle and rode off as if nothing had happened !

Sonu  ran towards the crowd and wrestled his way in.‘Stop it – He will die!’ he shouted. The crowd dispersed as quickly as it had converged - leaving a dazed and disoriented driver sitting beside the road.

Sonu and Bunty helped the man to the jute cot where the old man was sitting. 

The man, had also survived the accident with minor scratches. His face however, was bruised from the slaps and punches of several unknown passersby. He thanked the two friends and offered money to the old man – enough to buy a replacement bicycle.  

‘It is time to go !’, Sonu said getting up.

‘Lucknow, here we come ..’ , Bunty reflected upon his mental road map as the motor bike breezed through the road. They had hardly driven for half an hour when there was a loud hissing sound and the bike wobbled.

‘Looks like a flat tire’, Bunty exclaimed.

‘What will we do?,  Sonu  murmured, as they stood on the empty road that twisted and turned right into the horizon. 

***

Bunty and Sonu took turns to push the bike along the road for what seemed like eternity under the hot sun, when finally a fram tractor passed them. The Tractor which had a hay filled trailer attached to it, stopped a few meters ahead of them.

‘Can you help us fix the flat tire’, Bunty asked the driver expectantly.

The cheerful guy on the wheels smiled. ‘No Saab , but I can drop you to the repair shop.’

Their  eyes beamed with surprise as the driver and his helper, both six feet tall, effortlessly picked up the heavy bike and put it on the trailer – on top of the hay !

‘One of you sit in the back and make sure that the bike does not slip and fall on the road’, he suggested politely. Bunty volunteered. Sitting on the pile of hay, he anchored himself on the side of the trailer, holding the bike with the other hand.

The Tractor made its way, painfully slowly, to the next town. After about an hour, the tractor pulled into a road side repair shop. The driver and his helper unloaded the bike with equal ease.

‘Please take this’, Bunty pulled out ten rupees from his wallet which was stuffed with crisp hundred rupee notes. His dad was a rich man and he was never short of cash.

‘No Saab .. my pleasure’, the driver said in English.

‘Saab , please be careful in this area. There is a kidnapping gang active in this area  ….  don’t show that much cash in public’, he said pointing at the wallet.

‘If you have problem, please call me - myself Ranjit Singh’, he said smiling as he slipped a business card into Bunty's hand. 

To be continued ...

The Amazing Case

Story So Far: Pheluda and Thopshe quite accidently (the writer insists!) stumble into Blah Blah Land, which holds a vital clue to the mystery they were investigating.  ‘Find me the person who has answers to all my questions’, the case briefing by their client Lord Henry Williams III had been literally, brief.  Lot of surprises lay hidden in Bhah Blah land– including an unexpected meeting with a legendary sleuth.  Read  The Amazing Mystery   for more details.

And now the remaining part of the story …

‘Welcome Mr. Mitter! I was waiting for you …’, Sherlock Holmes addressed Pheluda  in a deep baritone voice.

‘I am honored to meet you … Sir’, Pheluda responded in a surprisingly reassured voice. Topshe was still staring at the legendary sleuth, with his jaws dropped.

‘And you must be Pheluda’s Watson …’, Holmes’ thin lips curled into a smile ‘ Master Topshe’

‘Follow me!’, Holmes said, turning around and marching briskly down the long corridor. Pheluda gave the attractive receptionist a polite nod and followed the man wearing the ever so familiar chequered overcoat and a matching cap. Topshe followed, trying to keep up with the brisk pace of the two tall men.

The empty, brightly lit hallway extended unendingly in front of them. They walked silently amidst the rhythmic din of their footsteps on the white mosaic floor. The white walls of the corridor were occasionally interrupted by huge silver doors that had big golden signs with embossed letters.

“Conversation in the Park Department” said the door they were currently walking past. It had a closed latch with a huge lock hanging from it.

‘What is that ‘, Pheluda asked Holmes pointing to the locked door.

‘Oh, they have closed that department ‘, he replied with a straight voice,’ There are no conversations in parks anymore’

They walked for what seemed to be at least half a mile, of mostly locked doors – “Chit Chat with Neighbors’ Department”, “Blah Blah with the Green Grocer Department”... closed doors with locks hanging from them – a reminder of a bygone era of blah blah.

‘They have been setting up new departments also’, Holmes said pointing to a row of flashy silver doors. There was a big sign on the door - “Digital Meta-Life Department”.

 ‘What is Meta Life ?’ , Thopshe asked Holmes with a curious look in his face.

‘Data about Life’, Holmes responded ‘Texting, Tweets, Facebook …’, Holmes said opening a door and walking briskly into it.

*****

They entered a small room that was illuminated by warm, yellow light. There was a lit fireplace on the left, a merrily flickering fire and soft smell of burning wood adding to the warm comfort of the room. There were four chairs arranged neatly around the fireplace.

 ‘Have a seat !’, he pointed to the chair next to fireplace as he straightened his overcoat and settled down,’ I know you have a lot of questions, but  why don’t I start telling you why I am here first ..’ , he said digging into his pocket and pulling out his pipe.  Pheluda walked over to Holmes and offered his lighter.

‘Nifty contraption – but does not go well with pipes’ , Holmes said producing a box of matchsticks. He lit up his pipe and blew a big cloud of smoke that spiraled across the room before getting sucked into the fireplace.

‘I was engaged by Lord Henry Williams, perhaps the great grandfather of the person who might have engaged your services’

‘Find me the person who has answers to all my questions’, he had said. He had also said that he will have all his future generations dedicated to this quest until the question was answered.' Sherlock Holmes face became grim as he looked distantly at the flickering fireplace.

‘For the first time in my life, I have not been able to find the answer to a puzzle ... and I have been here for so long …’, he said slowly ‘But time does not exist in this world in the conventional sense – as it does in the world that you come from. Years there are merely minutes here…’

’ So I patiently waited for the next generation of master sleuths who would be hired by the next generation of answer seekers … waited here … right in this world….

…But no one turned up. Apparently they were looking for answers in the wrong places. Several of the master sleuths who were hired for the task -  like Killmaster Nick Carter or James Bond, who I believe had an official license to kill , got so fixated in killing that they forgot about the question they has set to answer…’

‘BB But ... how do you know about all this … I mean what is going on in the world?’, Phedua asked , his eyes locked into the intense eyes of Sherlock Holmes.

‘Blah Blah land manages all the communication in the world’, I have access to all patterns of interactions across the world … across the ages. .. from the first phone call ever made, to the latest tweet by Lady Gaga’ , Holmes winked.

‘Talking about the first phone call, in the world ‘, Homes gave a quiet chuckle, ‘ It had confused me when the inventor of telephone had made the first ever phone call  - “ Mr Watson , I need you here”’

‘It was Graham Bell’s assistant Watson , not your friend Dr Watson’ Topshe chipped in beaming, apparently happy with his general knowledge. Pheluda's omnivore taste of facts and figures had rubbed off on his assistant apprentice.

‘Good Observation. Yes, Dr Watson must have lived a full life in the other world, happily married to his love … while I continue to pursue my quest in this land – trying to find out the person who has answers to Lord Henry Williams’ questions’

*****

‘ I have listened to millions of phone calls, conversations, books, gossips, news since then ..’, Homes  continued his narration as Peluda and Thopshe listened with apt attention.

‘I have scrutinized each and every person that Lord Henry Williams and his following generations could possibly get all their answers from. ALL of the possibilities. But none of options could qualify’

‘When I started this case, It looked like a Mystery  to me. But after all these years – I am convinced that it is not a Mystery. It is a Puzzle. A puzzle that I am unable to solve’, Holmes got up and stood near the fireplace.

‘What is the difference?  I mean between a Mystery and a Puzzle’ , Topshe asked with a puzzled expression.

‘A mystery has missing pieces of the big picture. These pieces need to be found out. A puzzle has all the pieces in front of you – the pieces just need to be arranged’, Holmes replied empting his pipe in a crystal glass ashtray sitting on the mantel.

Pheluda walked up to the fireplace and lit up a cigarette. He offered Holmes one and the legendary sleuth pulled a stick from Pheluda's packet of Charminar. Pheluda lit up Sherlock Holmes’cigarette with his lighter.

 The two detectives stood smoking in silence looking intently at the flickering flame in the fire place.

Mystery – Puzzle … person who has answers to all questions … thoughts ran through Pheluda’s mind at an amazing pace as an imaginary sitar played with an increasing tempo.

‘I think I know the answer !’ , Pheluda  exclaimed suddenly, his face lit up with a wide smile.

*****

‘My first lead was the fact that there are no missing pieces of information. ALL the information is right here and now - as you had found out Mr Holmes’, Pheluda said with a twinkle in his eyes.

‘“Once you rule out the impossible, whatever is remaining, however improbable, is the truth”, these are your words Mr. Holmes. Words that have helped me solve so many cases – including this one!’

‘So, if there are no missing parts of this puzzle and if you have concluded that no one that Lord Henry Williams knew, knows or could possibly know would be able to provide the answer to his questions….

That leaves just one person … however improbable … that person is the answer to the puzzle…’ , Pheluda said beaming.

‘Amazing Case! ... Could not have solved this without your help, Mr. Holmes! ‘, Pheluda said excitedly as Holmes looked at him with a blank expression, the cigarette butt hanging from the corner of his lips.

‘Brilliant !! ‘ Sherlock Holmes exclaimed suddenly, as his face lit up.

The cigarette slipped from his mouth and dropped on the wooden floor creating a splinter of small sparks. He stamped out the butt hurriedly and grasped Phelu’s shoulders,’Brilliant!’, he exclaimed again.

‘But ... WW-Who has the answer of Lord Henry Williams’s questions?’, Thopshe asked with a sheepish grin, trying to keep up with the jubilant air in the room.

‘Lord Henry Williams himself! ’, Sherlock said with a smile as Pheluda beamed, ‘Nobody else ... but he himself has all the answers ... however improbable it may sound, that is the answer to this amazing puzzle'

‘Elementary!’, Pleluda added with a wink as three smiling faces looked at each other in the warm light of  merrily flickering fire.

THE END

Authors Note:

I have been intrigued by mankind's quest to find out the answers of all our questions. People have generally followed several different approaches to get to the truth. 

“Know Thyself” features as one of the less popular and puzzling approaches right above "Find out what is this number 42 after all", approach. Killing people who did not agree to your approach, apparently is one of the most popular approaches. 

But I continued to wonder - am I really the person who has answers to all my questions? And then I met Pheluda in storyland !

The Amazing Mystery

Authors Note: This story is a tribute to the great detectives that lit up my imagination when I was a kid, and to a great extent, still do. And also to Malcolm Gladwell for pointing out the difference between a mystery and a puzzle. And also to … well… why don’t we get to that after we have read the story…

‘How do you know my name?’, Pheluda’s calm voice could not hide that fact that he was surprised.  

The charming lady sitting across the counter smiled as the golden panel behind her slid open to show a guilded silver door. 

Thopshe’s  jaws dropped in amazement as he stared at Pheluda, the lady and the door in quick succession, over and over again.

An imaginary sitar played in the background, with percussions increasing in volume.

******

Pheluda and Thopshe were in England on their latest case.

The pair does not need an introduction in India – the finest private investigators the country had ever seen. The detective scene in India had seen a giant leap, quite a bit of progress from amateur teenage detective duo Rajan & Iqbal and sensationalist macho Colonel Ranjeet.

Thanks to their discovery by Mr. Satyajit Ray, the country could now claim detectives that could give Sherlock Homes and Dr. Watson a run for their money, only if the two duos were not separated in time by a whole generation that is.

But Sherlock Holmes remained an inspiration for Pheluda, who besides picking up Sherlock’s idiosyncratic analytical skills, also picked up his encyclyclopedic knowledge of diverse scientific & anthropological subjects, unarmed combat skills, and of course - affinity to smoking.

It was only last week when Phelu and Thopse got their first international mystery project.  A rich heir in England had hired Pheluda for a case.

The case briefing by Lord Henry Williams III was literally, brief.

 ‘Find me the the person who has answers to all my questions’ , the man with a nasal twang had said slowly, ‘ I am willing to spend as much money as you want to get the work done’ , came the voice after a brief pause.

‘As -much –money- as- you- want’, he had repeated pausing between the words for emphasis.

*******

The duo had headed over to the Dover Cliffs, which Pheluda wanted to visit in his pursuit of a vital clue.

It was a bit windy but they had dressed up appropriately in warm jackets. Pheluda guided Thopshe to one of the cliff trails. Spring had just started and they walked amidst the flora and fauna of the chalk grasslands, enjoying the view of the vast expanse of the channel and continental Europe far in the horizon.

 ‘How do you know that the clue for this case lies here?’, Thopshe asked Pheluda as they walk along the cliff trail.

‘I don’t, Pheluda said raising his chiseled nose in the air to smell the breeze laden with the salty scent of the sea, ‘ But I am sure the author of this story does…’, he concluded with a laugh as he lit up a Charminar cigarette and trotted briskly down the trail. Thopshe followed him with a puzzled expression on his face.

Just around the bend of the trail, there was a wooden sign pointing inland – “Phones”

‘See ! Didn’t I tell you …” , Pheluda said hopping onto the path leading to Phones , ‘That the author will figure out something !’ Thopse had a grin on his face.

The bumpy path led to a parking lot. There was a large four storied building in the middle of the vacant parking lot. It had a big blue neon sign with Phones written on it boldly. They walked into the building.

It was a bit dark inside. There were a row of phones arranged neatly on a table along the wall. None of them were connected– their chords lay folded neatly next to shiny golden phones .

'Hmm, the plot gets interesting' , Pheluda said with a smile.

He picked up a handset and suddenly out of nowhere, a door appeared in the wall!  The white door had a black doorknob. Right in the center of the back door knob was a telephone socket !

Pheluda tried to open the door but the doorknob did not budge.

‘How do we open this door?’ asked Thopshe.

‘Wait, I think I know’ said Pheluda.

Pheluda picked up the cord that was lying neatly folded next to the shiny golden phone . He plugged one end of the cord to the telephone. He took the other end and plugged it into the socket in the center of the black doorknob.

Nothing happened.

He picked up the receiver. ‘Hello?’, he said softly into the mouthpiece.

The door on the wall opened !

********

Pheluda  and Thopshe walked into a huge windowless room filled with white florescent light. It was a bit chilly in the room.

There was a charming lady sitting behind a gilded counter at the other end of room. It was a very long walk to her table and they were a bit winded when they reached there.

‘Welcome to the Blah Blah land!’ she said with a pleasant tone.

 ‘Blah Blah land ?’, Topshe asked with a puzzled look on his face.

‘Oooh … I am sorry, I should have explained – please don’t go on the words – words can be misleading”, she said with a smile, ‘Just rely on your intuition and use the words as a stepping stone. Get off the words as soon as you get the concept!'

'We manage all types of Blah Blah that takes place all over the world’, she continued ,‘All conversations, phone calls, newspapers, magazines, texting, emails  ...all Blah Blah’s’

‘How about conversations with people who have answers to all our questions? ’ Pheluda asked after a pause.

‘Yes even that’, the lady replied without batting her eylids. ‘But that is a very small department, you know. And pretty unused.  Those folks don’t converse that much nowadays’

 ‘C-C-Can I make a call, Pheluda said, staring the lady. He could not believe his luck! A stroll along the Dover cliff had led him right to the answer of his amazing mystery! 

‘The author of this story is surely motivated to come the point pretty quickly!’ he thought as an amused grin spread on his face.

‘I-I need make a quick phone call - to a person who wants to talk to the folks who have answers to all questions – the small department you just mentioned …  can I make a call from here?’, Pheluda asked the lady.

‘Sure, here you go’, She produced a sparkling golden phone out of nowhere and put it on the counter.

Pheluda  picked up the handset and was relieved to hear the soothing dial tone. As he put his fingers on the dial pad, to his surprise, he realized that I did not remember the number to dial!

‘The phone number of Lord Henry Williams III was in the phone book which I left in the hotel”, he said as droplets of sweat formed on his forehead. ‘Topshe, do you remember his number?’ he asked Topshe with urgency in his voice. Topshe shook his head feebly.

The dial tone in the phone ended playing a message.

‘If you want to dial a number, please hang up and try again’, said a lady from the other end. The distant message coming from the receiver filled up that quiet cold room.

‘Oh, did you get the Hang up and dial again department Mr. Phelu?’ the receptionist asked with a smile, “The Poor folks are pretty overworked – for some reason, a lot of people are not dialing the correct number nowadays …” , she said with a sigh.  Pheluda nodded feebly, not knowing what to do.

“How do you know my name?”, Pheluda’s calm voice could not hide that fact that he was surprised.  

The charming lady sitting across the counter smiled as the golden panel behind her slid open to show a gilded silver door.“Follow me”, the lady said opening the gilded silver door. The door opened into a Inside there was a very long gallery with doors on either side. There was a very familiar figure standing in the corridor.

“Mr. Holmes, Pheluda is here”, the lady chirped in a cheerful voice.

’He asked the same questions that you did when you came here – maybe he is looking for the same thing as you are and you two can work on it together”

Phelu and Topshe stared in amazement at the tall figure with sharp nose, black hair, intense eyes and unmistakable features who was smoking a pipe. Sherlock Holmes was standing in the corridor with a cynical smile on his face.

“Welcome Mr Mitter ! I was waiting for you …”, Holmes said in a deep baritone voice.

Thopshe’s  jaws dropped in amazement as he stared at Pheluda and Sherlock Holmes quick succession, over and over again.

An imaginary sitar played in the background, with percussions increasing in volume.

Continued  in The Amazing Case ….