The Night II

On this dark chilly night, the air was unusually still... Branches didn't sway, leaves didn't rustle... The air just hung around, weighed down by some invisible force. A faint mist was descending, and in spite of the mist, it kept getting colder. Not unusually cold, for this time of the year, but, still quite cold.

Most of the people of Haverton Street stayed indoors, cuddled up inside their warm blankets & centrally heated appartments. Only the unlucky strayed on the street at this time of the night. Take Mr. Desmond, for instance, he was returning home, having had a particularly harrowing day. His whole day of begging for a few pences & some morsels of bread had come to nothing. He had given up hope at 9 and ambled along the street to his Soup kitchen, which was as crowded as ever. They served him cold soup, and stale bread, and when he couldn't force anymore down his unwilling throat, he got up & left for his tin-shack, where he presumed, he would spend another cold, sleepless & uncomfortable night.

They said, Mr. Desmond was not always like this. Before the great war, he was the owner of Bull Enterprises, the leading tyre manufacturer in the whole of Britain, one of the richest men in the county, rather many counties. But then came the Nazi blitzkrieg, and the sight of burning rubber and his factory reduced to a heap of burning cinders, drove him insane. He left his home and disappeared. Noone knows where he went. everybody assumed that he'd died of grief. But then, twenty years later, he resurfaced. A babbling, old buffoon, who still believed it was the 40s and that the Nazis were coming. He'd warn passers-by to build bomb-proof shelters. He'd claim to have personally begged Hitler to let go of Haverton Street, but Hitler had refused. When his former neighbours and friends could take no more of him, they left him at a psychiatric clinic, but Mr. Desmond escaped. Since then, every day, he wanders the lanes of Haverton Street, begging for money & food and retires in the night to his tin shack at the end of the street.

But tonight, Mr. Desmond was delayed. He walked slowly, like any other man at his age would. And it was unbearably chilly today. He folded his arms around his waist tightly, but that didn't help either. He continued walking slowly, shivering and hurling curses at God under his breath. Suddenly, the sky lighted up. It was not the kind of light that you'd associate with daylight... It was a weird purple green kind of a light that seemed to emanate from the spot where Bull Enterprises had stood some half a century ago and where presently was a shady garage, where the ruffians (kids who used to throw stones at him and call him names) used to hang around.

Desmond assumed he was 'seeing' things and that his mind was playing games with him. He had gotten used to seeing what others couldn't. Like last week, he saw the angel Gabriel, who had come down from the skies to take him to heaven. He had also seen what Paradise looked like and how it was in hell. But the images would go away as soon as had they had become visible, at the blink of an eye.

Usually, Desmond would shrug off these visions. But this time, curiousity got the better of him. He continued to walk down to that old desolate spot, muttering curses under his breath and swearing he'd skin those ruffians alive. The closer he got to the site, the warmer it seemed to get, so much so, when he was right in front of the garage, he started sweating profusely and had to throw his jacket away.

He stood in front of the Garage door and yelled out as loudly as he could " Timmy... You better not be upto something mischievious, else I will go tell your Mommy"... He repeated twice, but got no reply. He knocked at the door, as all gentlemen in his times used to, but there was no reply again. In the meanwhile, it seemed to be getting warmer by the minute. Desmond felt his throat was going dry, it smelled as though tyres were burning... It seemed to be taking him back in time... back to the good old days... when he was the richest man in town... when he had a retinue of 20 servants to look after him... How the passers by would wish him "good Morning Mr. Desmond", they'd say, and he'd tilt his hat in reply...

But his chain of thoughts was broken... There was a horrible screech that broke the silence of the night... The still air, seemed to have regained its life and started blowing... Dark clouds seemed to be flowing across the sky... Thunder kept punctuating the silence of the night. And then suddenly, there was a huge blast in the middle of the Garage and the door that Desmond had been knocking on, a few minutes ago was blasted off its hinges. Desmond was thrown away by the intensity of the explosion and landed some 10 feet away...

-to be continued-

Munger Diaries Season II: The Pilot

I am a self proclaimed lazy bum... There is nothing more I want from life other than a cosy bed, a fluffy pillow and a nice book to read (I also want money, happiness, and world peace, but that is a different issue altogether)... So, imagine my frustration when I was awakened by a phone call at 9:30 AM on a Sunday morning (It is important to highlight the importance of Sunday, because Saturday is no longer a chutti for me) asking me to come to the cricket pitch, for a cricket match- the second of the season...

Now, I am not the sporty types... I have tried my hand at various sports, and for a fact I know that I SUCK at cricket... I mean... I bowl only wides & no-balls.... I can't see a ball that is aimed at the stumps (explaining the bowlers' high success rates against me)... and I can't differentiate between a ball in the sky and a flying eagle... So, imagine my frustration at being invited for a "CRICKET MATCH" on a sunday morning...

I got up and started getting ready hurriedly, when I got another call saying that I was required to "report" for the football match. "Mini Football tournament" is on in Munger, and the mixed manager-worker teams makes for an interesting play....I had already missed the first match, and I had no intention of being labelled a snoot. Imagine my plight, ladies and gentlemen, as on a Sunday morning, I ran to reach in time for a game that I have never played in my life! People say they have 2 left feet for dancing. Well, I have 2 left feet for dancing and for playing football...

Somehow I survived the agony and prevented myself from getting totally humiliated by following a simple strategy. I ran from one end of the field, shouting & yelling, irrespective of the direction in which the ball was kicked. If the ball was hurled at me, I would look away, and pretend that I was not prepared. All that notwithstanding, the team that I was a part of, won in the "Sudden Death" and hence qualified for the Quarters (inspite of me!)

The one lesson I learnt from this was the fact that sometimes, It is not about the "I". The team didn't mind the fact that I couldn't play... they didn't mind if I couldn't pass correctly...(At least they didn't openly!) and most importantly they seemed happy that I showed interest... Probably, it was worth getting up early for that!

From the field, to the pitch. By now the match was underway, and I was not required to partcipate by playing... In any case, I hung around, enjoying the play and wishing even I could play well!

A couple of rounds of the campus in the evening and an hour of tennis later, my body gave up on me... And so, as I type my Sunday-Exploits, every bone in my body, every muscle,artery & vein aches and hurts & agonizes...

But it was worth it...A Sunday well spent in Monghyr! :D

Itihasnaama I: The fall of Kabul

In 1978, as the world watched with dismay, Soviet tanks rolled into Afghanistan, effectively shattering the uneasy peace that had prevailed between the the 2 superpowers since the Cuban Missile Crisis of '62. As President Carter raved and ranted, The Soviets and their Aghan proteges quietly set up a commusit government in one of the most fervently religious nation of the world. The Opposition to the So-called Soviet "Invasion" was initailly muted, at least in Afghanistan, where the masses longed for a durable government that could resolve their problems. The West in the meanwhile had raised its hackles. The quiet and amiable Carter was replaced byu a hwakish, almost dogmatic Reagan, who pledged to stop at nothing, but the destruction of this Evil Empire. The 1980 Moscow Olympics were reduced to a Non-NATO Olympics, with most of US allies choosing to boycott the games. In the meanwhile, the Soviet forces continued to entrench themselves in Afghanistan.

The Soviets had understood the Afghan Occupation as a brief event that would not exceed a couple of years at the most. However, the Communist regime in Kabul failed to win the hearts and minds of the people, most of whom lived in the interior and were too religious to concur with the blasphemous mutterings of the Kabul government. This meant that the government at Kabul was reduced to being a Kabul government only, its writ ran nowhere outside Kabul and a few other important cities. Its land re-distribution scheme (the cornerstone of any Communist regime) ran into stiff resistance. Its liberal attitude towards women was deemed Un-Islamic by the mullahs, and its over-dependence on Moscow meant that it could never give an appearnce of a sovereign administration.

Thousands and Thousands of Afghans poured into Pakistan to flee the Communists. Overnight, Pakistan was transformed from "A state on India's western border" to a "Frontline State in the War against the Soviets". The feverishly religious President Zia helped finance an assortment of Masjids and rabid Mullahs who spewed Venom against the Godless Soviets. American money and strategy only helped the cause. By the beginning of the 80s, a small contingent of Soviet-hating Afghans, empowered by their faith in Allah and American Weaponry were ready to the take the Infidel in Afghanistan itself.

The Mujhaheddin strategy of Guerrila Warfare against a more numerous and a more militarily endowed enemy worked wonders. It bled the Soviets, hampered the Soldiers' morale and introduced the fear of death in the otherwise invincible Soviet forces. Armed with Bazookas and Rocket Launchers, Soviet military Convoys snaking through the desolate Afghan landscape became an easy taget for the so-called "Afghan Resistance". The Soviets hit back whenever they could, with dazzling accuracy, but these successes were far too few and too rare to be of of any help. Gradually, the Soviets abandoned the countryside, prefering instead to hold on to the fortified Towns & Provincial Capitals, thereby spawning a series of Warlords who ruled the countryside like dictators. The Warlords fought the Soviets in the day and each other in the night, but with the American Dollar tap running un-hindered, they could manage just fine..

By the mid-80s, The Soviets had come to realize that Afganistan was their Vietnam, and began deivising plans to extricate themselves from the mess they were in... however, Afghanistan had by now become a QUicksand, with multiple personalities, multiple parties and multiple interests.The more the Soviets tried to withdraw, the more they found themselves sinking in. The Mujhaheddin continued to expand and the Soviets continued to retreat. By 1987, with Gorabchev at the helm in Moscow and the suave, more pragmatic Najibullah clinging on to power in kabul, a deal was reached. The Soviets would withdraw from Afghanistan and the Afghan people would be free to decide their destiny. That destiny was in fact being scripted with American Dollars in Pakistan. The Pak-Sponsored Mujhaheddin , loyal to Islamabad's cause would form the next government in kabul. Shady characters such as Gulbuddin Hekamtiyar, Col. Abdul Rasheed Dostum etc etc. came to form the centre of the New-Afghan Politics. This, combined with the general disinterest in Afghanistan with the fall of the Soviet Union, meant that the general condition of the Afghan people became dire.

The daily in-fighting in Mujhaheddin government, street fights and the general chaos and lawlessness gave birth to a disciplined army of Islamists, calling themselves the Taliban. They were completely devoted to the cause of Islam and despised the anrachy and lawlessness that the Mujhaheddin had wrought upon the Afghan state. Like the Mujhaheddin, they had fought the Soviets with American arms and weaponry, but unlike them, they had not yet been polluted by power. In 1996, the citizens of Kabul came out dancing in the streets to welcome the Taliban. Soon, they set out to right the wrongs of the past. Najibullah was hanged, Soviet-loyalists were either killed or put behind bars. Kabul's liberalism didn't go down too well with the Taliban. Off went the women inside their homes and on came the beards. The Taliban ruled with an iron-fist for almost 5 years, till the time they decided to take on their creators-The US.

Afghanistan is probably the only country in the world that has fought both the superpowers. They succeeded in humbling the Soviets, and if the current situation is anything to go by, Americans may very well be the next.