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I wasn't expecting to be nominated for anything, least of all a blogger award. I normally happy to get just one comment and this is just icing on the cake. So thank you BlogAdda this is much appreciated. I don't expect to win, being in the company of fellow bloggers is reward enough. If it translates to more readers and comments, that is even better. In the meantime I'll keep on churning out the 100 word stories till the day the longer stories that are floating in my head germinate. And only two days left so if anyone wants to vote, click on the link below and then like it or tweet it to make it count.

The Blue Sky

A young executive was nervously biting her nails.  She looked around and met the eyes of her ashen faced young colleague.  He gave her a weak grin in a failed attempt to prevent the panic from showing on his face.  Here they were, the chosen nine, all picked for this day's event from which there would be no turning back.  Everything else before this was just words but this was the real deal.  Of course they had all had to sign a waiver of liability because of the risk associated with this task.

She looked at the young man from the account's department who was joining them today.  He looked like someone who was capable of this task.  He was superbly fit and during the training had outperformed everyone by the virtue of being in top physical condition.

"I didn't sign up for this when I joined up", the young woman sitting to her left voiced her opinion.  A few heads nodded in sympathy and a few wan smiles all around.

"No I am serious; I mean look at what they tell us yesterday 'consult your doctor to get his approval if you have any heart problems or medical conditions'.  Hello I am not a Navy Seal.  I've got a Master's degree in Finance instead, so why am I doing this?"

The group was taken aback at her outburst and they looked at each other while some pretended to have not heard her.  The senior executive who was in charge was writing something in his notebook.  He had been one of the prime initiators for the day and was keen to see it go through.  But now he looked up from his task and putting away his book walked towards them.

"It is perfectly natural to have second thoughts you know" he addressed the group.

She stopped biting her nails; maybe it was time to speak up too.  Her heart was pounding as she spoke, "so why are we doing this then?"

He smiled.

"I am glad you asked.  I want you to feel afraid."

"That we are," she replied "but why do you want to scare us?"

"You are the future leaders of our company and have been selected with great deliberation.  Today we just want to take you high up in the sky and throw you out of an airplane at 200 miles per hour.  It teaches you to overcome fears and build confidence.  The feeling you will get of watching the sun while falling through the air can never be duplicated.  The air rushes past you as you fall.  Did you know you can jump off an airplane, fall eleven thousand feet, and still land safely?



When I read a book titled 'The Skydiver's Handbook' by Mike Turoff, there were these lines that have stayed with me since then - 'Jumping is fun! Skydiving is not just falling; it is flying—the closest we have been able to come to free, unencumbered, non-mechanical individual flight'



When you put a lot of effort behind something, you want to believe you'll always succeed and everything will be wonderful.  In you working life you will face many challenges that will impact you.  Now some of them will be tiny and insignificant but others could destroy us and completely turn our lives around.  It's how we face these challenges and our state of mind at the time that determines our ability to continue.  Each time when I jump I look at the sky and visualise what will happen.  I imagine myself freefalling thousands of feet above the ground, falling without a care at the mercy of the elements. Up in the sky there is no stress, no deadlines, and no clients I must answer to. There is only you and the vastness of the sky.  That is all that exists for me then, it's a spiritual moment like no other, and you have nothing else in mind but that moment and your life.  So are there any questions now?"

The young executive stepped forward.

"When do we jump?"

This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Reach out to the largest community of Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda

 

The Sleep Time Story

It was her first night when she was all alone in the room. 
"Not fair! Why do I have to sleep by myself?"

The little girl longed for the familiar touch of her parents, to be the one lying in the middle, as her hand snaked towards where her mother's hair would have been.  Hair which she would twist with her fingers as she gradually fell asleep.

"Daddeeeeee," she called.  It was more of a summon than a request.

"Oui madam, you screamed for zomething?" Daddy was at the door with his french waiter accent.

"I am thirsty.  Can you get me a drink of water?"

"Zertainly, what ze madam wants ze madam gets" and he was off to get her request.

She took her time, sipping the glass of water, each sip buying her more time with her father.

"Anything else ze madam requires before ze madam sleeps alone?"  The Daddy-Garçon was on to her for sure.

"Can you tuck me in?"

And so he did, elaborately, making sure she was snug inside.

"All done sweetheart.  Good night, sleep tight, don't let the bed bugs bite"

And then giving her a kiss he went out of the room, leaving her a  l  o  n  e.

She turned and twisted around on the bed.  Kicked off the blanket, threw the pillow down, something was still not right.  No matter which way she turned, it wasn't comfortable sleeping alone.  She wasn't really scared of sleeping all by herself, all her friends had been doing that for a while.  It was something that she had avoided telling them about, that little Miss Six still slept with mummy and daddy.

Her dad used to twist the poem she had learned in childcare.  The one that went

When I was one I had just begun
When I was two I was nearly new

Daddy changed it around
When I was one my poo had just begun
When I was two my poo was smelly too

Naughty daddy!  Then he teased her by changing the last lines too.

But now I am six, I'm still sleeping with my parents
So I think I'll be six now for ever and ever even when they are grandparents. ;

Well that part was true, she was six now and still sleeping with her parents.  But last week her parents negotiated an agreement. A historic agreement was what daddy had said.  She would start sleeping in her room five days a week and if she kept it up for three months, she could get the pink bicycle that they saw in the store last week.  So here she was, all by herself, trying to sleep alone.

"Dadddeee"

It was a slightly frowning daddy at the bedroom door this time.

"What is it sweetheart?  You know you have to sleep alone tonight"

"But I need someone next to me.  Can't you lie down here tonight?"

"Hmm that will break our agreement.  I am pretty sure clause 1A of the contract on page eighteen, specifically mentioned that I can't lie down with you for the whole night.  I can't dear, you know what a hassle these legal agreements are."

"But I am alonely.  I need someone by my side"

Daddy's eyes went around the room and then he smiled.

"Well I knew something like this might happen.  It so happens that with my astute thought process and forward planning that I was able to think of something that might please madam," he smiled again, "wait for a minute".

Daddy walked out of the room and was back after a minute with his hands behind his back.

"Ta daaaa"

In his hands was the biggest teddy bear that she had ever seen.

"And it's not a toy", he said.  "It's a sleep assistance device, especially designed to meet the needs of young six year olds.  And the occasional thirty year olds too I may add".

With that he placed the teddy next to her and tucked it in.

"Good night sweetheart"

"Good night daddy"

She cuddled up to the teddy and was asleep before she knew it.

This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Reach out to the largest community of Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda

‘Little Girl, Toy, Scared’

‘Little Girl, Toy, Scared’

‘Little Girl, Toy, Scared’

‘Little Girl, Toy, Scared’

‘Little Girl, Toy, Scared’

‘Little Girl, Toy, Scared’

Desire

You catch a glimpse of her from the corner of your eye.  You know from the moment you see her that it was meant to be.  Your family does not approve, they never have.  Not since the first time you went out with her and came back in the morning.  They looked at you with disapproving eyes as if something dirty had happened.  But you know it was different.  The intoxication of being with her. 
The first feeling of desire, the quickening of your breath, how your hands trembled as you touched her.  How would they know these feelings?

They who would never experience life this way.  Trapped by convention and custom in their staid lives.

How they tried to keep you apart.  Like the time when they locked you up when you wanted to be with her and wouldn't let you out.  Little did they know that you would still smuggle her in for the night.  When they found out they dragged you to a room full of strangers and made you confess your desire for her.  As if that was going to help because you craved her like no other.  You met her at fifteen and now only in your mid-thirties do you realise that you have to end this spiral of self destructiveness.  Only you can help yourself move on from this relationship.

So as you saw the bottle of Scotch your heart was saying 'Yes' but your head was saying 'No'.

This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Reach out to the largest community of Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda

The Writer's Choice

As the moon rose higher into the night sky his hide-out started to get cooler until he was cocooned by a blanket of cold frosty air.  The night shimmered with snow drops that floated through the air and gently fell everywhere.

His teeth started to chatter and despite himself his body was shivering uncontrollably.  The tiny hairs on his body were standing upright and his skin felt cold.  He had to be silent else the noise would give him away and he knew they were looking for him.  To have stayed behind would have meant imprisonment and torture and forced denunciation of his ideals.  This was not something new; his friend had been caught and convicted for writing a poem in his native dialect.  The charges laid were of “inciting secession” and he was deprived of his political rights for five years.  Some considered him lucky as his family at least knew his whereabouts, the Xichuan labour camp, instead of an unknown fate.

Then some years ago he heard about 'Lhakar'.  It was a strange choice of word for a protest movement.  It didn't mean 'freedom' or 'activism' or any other 'ism'.  It just stood for a day of the week - the ‘White Wednesday’ - a reference to the Dalai Lama’s soul day.  It's a day where special prayers are offered for his Holiness's long life.  They would use this day now to assert their cultural identity.   It would be a day for making a political statement by wearing traditional clothes, speaking in the Tibetan language, eating in Tibetan restaurants, reciting Tibetan prayers and buying from Tibetan-owned businesses.  This was their way of saying that while you may own our lands, you do not own our souls.  Our language will not die, our customs not stale and our will not enslaved.

This was his day of expression and he wrote as if possessed by the spirit of the epic king Gesar who fought against the enemies of dharma.  Gesar who rode his miraculous steed Kyang Go Karkar, and waged military campaigns, together with 30 companions, against the frontier countries that represent evil.  He never took the country's name because it was abundantly clear which evil empire existed in his world.  His readers awaited the little leaflets churned out in his clandestine press.  He printed text from the Bardo Thodol for his readers.  The Tibetan Book of the Dead is not about death as such. Thodol means "liberation through understanding." Bardo means a "between state," an interval or transition between two mental states, whether experienced in life or after death.  Or as he pointed out in his essay, a state between freedom and oppression.

When he found out from his contacts that he had been handed a sixteen year prison sentence for “inciting separatism” and “subversion of state power” he invoked the ancient warrior spirits known as drabla (dgra-lha).  From them he gathered up courage to escape and carry on the fight from exile.

So it was that he found himself on a bus from Lhasa to Shegatse, a total of thirty people travelling together.  From Shegatse the group was joined by four guides who would take them on a trek to freedom.  They started walking at night and the trek would twelve days before they reached the border.  Human greed knows no race or creed and after eight days of walking the guides left them and disappeared.   With no guides to take them further the group was further divided in three groups of ten people each.  Each group was to follow a different path in its quest for freedom.  There was a family of five seeking a better life, four monks fuelled by search for spirituality and him.  The youngest child fell ill and the family decided to turn back.  It was him and the monks.  They encountered a group of nomads who gave them directions.  They had to cross two big lakes before they came to the Snow Mountains. 

It was late in the evening when the snipers ambushed them.  He saw the young monk who was leading them fall to his feet.  He saw the blood red colour seeping from the forehead of the young man and gradually spread on the white snow.  He turned and ran as the gunshots echoed in the mountains.  There was a narrow crack in the mountainside, not a cave but just a little space to seek shelter.  There was a snow covered rock in front of the crack, just big enough to obscure its view.  He huddled behind a rock and waited.

There he was now three hours later.  The bright moon hanging high in the sky over the mountain gave enough light to see around him.  But he knew now what he had to do.  He reached inside his rucksack and bought out a diary and a pen.  He opened it and with trembling hands started to write.

"Writing, to me, is a way of keeping my culture alive.  Growing up the first thing we learn about our culture is that it faces a threat like no other.  Tibetan culture is like a fragile flower: beautiful to look at but incapable of defending itself.  With my words I seek ways to nourish it.  Writing gives me a voice to reach people that I would never meet.  It is the life breath of our people.  It is the 'prajna', the wisdom of the heart that sustains our life."

And the pen slipped out of his fingers as he slid down on the snow covered ground.

This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Reach out to the largest community of Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda

The Bargain

You wake up, go to the bathroom and look at the mirror. You run away screaming in fear from the ugly scarred face and tangled black hair.  While running you are still haunted by what you have just seen.  The bloodshot eyes that gazed upon you with a malevolent look that shook you to your core.  There was blood splattered all over the clothes and droplets of blood were oozing out of every available orifice and pore.  The garments that seem to be on fire with a flickering flame that hisses and burns with a sulphuric smell that permeates the room.  Yet strangely you do not feel the heat, how is this possible?

Slow down, stop running says a part of you, as the feet keep moving of their own accord.  And then you hear it, the weeping sound and gnashing of teeth.  You smell the smoke of a great furnace as it starts to get progressively hot.  Hotter than you ever experienced in your life, actually it does feel like being in a furnace now.  You think that you should have started roasting by now in this giant barbeque as your legs finally start slowing down.  You walk slowly now, absorbing the sounds and the smells in this place.

If there is a hell it must be like this you think.  Then you stop and remember.  That deal you did with the Devil twenty years back.  Yesterday was the time when you had to repay your part of the bargain.

This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Reach out to the largest community of Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda