The Lift (A Sci-Fi Story)

The Lift (A Sci-Fi Story)

 

Amidst the symphonic shimmers of the endless evening traffic, a dull set of footsteps, pierced asymmetrically as if on a scout for a particular destination. It was Amar. The dejected soul failed by life all over. Too afraid to think of a future because of a frightening deterring past, Amar had given up. After some thoughtful wandering around the place, he finally gained the so-called ‘courage’ to enter the tall premises of the huge skyscraper. He walked past the reception, hiding his face in nervousness, and stood against the elevator door. A translucent oscillation in his dizzy vision accompanied a strange echo in his ears. Suddenly, all the echoes were halted by the pinging sound of the elevator’s arrival. There was sheer silence now. He waited for the door to open. As soon as it did, everything went back to its normal pace for him. It was the moment of truth, to enter or Not to enter.

The clique around him rushed towards the lift, pushing him ahead. He tried to control his body but was being manhandled with a push here and a shoulder-thrust there. He then gave in to the force and took the voluntary step forward; but while entering, his shoulder banged with some strangely dressed old man exiting the elevator, gazing down his eyes all the while with apparent suspicion. Amar’s nerves had now become more tensed and he stood amongst the crowd perspiring endlessly as the door closed shut. Ignoring it all he tried regaining his breath and also wiped his forehead. The panel showed a cluster of numeric buttons ranging from minus five to sixty-one. Everyone started pressing their pick. Amar resented from making a move due to his anxiety. He restlessly waited for everyone to get down at their respective floors so that he could select his floor number, the last floor, Sixty-One.

Yes, he wanted to reach the end… he wanted to end his pain… he wanted to end his life. As the last person got down on the forty-third floor, he slowly leaned forward to push the button. The lift started climbing again as soon as he did so. This time, to him, it seemed much slower than before. Every time the screen above the panel incremented the floor number, the climb became seemingly slower and slower to him. Amar started becoming more anxious with each floor, with each increment signifying the countdown decrement of his life’s end. When he reached floor fifty, he panicked and de-selected the sixty-first floor followed by pressing the ground-floor-button; but the lift kept climbing. He pressed the zeroth floor again, but, strangely, the sixty-first-floor-button got auto-selected this time. The elevator started speeding up its climb. He started pressing random buttons on the panel in a hurry, yet the lift kept accelerating vertically. Soon, to his horror, the elevator reached floor number sixty-one but didn’t stop. The number on the display kept on increasing further. Amar became afraid. He pressed all the buttons on the panel but the acceleration continued. The speed increasing… seventy-five… ninety… one-twenty… one ninety… three hundred… six hundred… nine hundred… one thousand… fifteen hundred… The elevator lights were fluctuating and the floor was vibrating heavily. The quick climb, getting quicker by the second, was creating immense physical pressure on Amar’s senses. He soon started blacking out. The last thing he could see with his fading vision was the floor number seven two nine two, and the lift door slowly opening.

***

A blinding brightness unveiled a faint shadow. Against it lay Amar, with his evanescent recovering vision. The shadow started coming closer with near-soundless whispers tickling Amar’s ears. A smile broke through the Penumbra with a light giggle. Amar was still lying with an expression of shock. He gained his apparent consciousness and immediately started trying to drag himself towards the shadow, but to no resolve. He wasn’t able to move an inch.

“Madhu… is it you?” he inquired with an elated aura in his expression. The shadow completely uncovered itself to reveal a woman. He observed carefully to find that her little finger was being held by a small girl.

“Saisha… Oh My God… Come here and hug your daddy baby…” Amar said. The girl tried to step forward to reach for Amar, but the hand that she had extended started fading.

“What happened beta?” Amar said. Just after that, an infernal fire engulfed the girl and she started screaming. Amar struggled to go forward to help the girl and called for the woman to do the same. But neither of them could move regardless of their efforts. The ground started shaking as the girl kept screaming in pain. The ground below the girl broke apart as she was submerged inside it. The entire place rubbled and suddenly came to an untoward still. Amar lay with high nerves. He heard a faint whisper again “We are ought to be apart”. The ground turned over and the place fell apart. Amar could barely hear his own voice when his senses shut off. He immediately woke up gasping, this time in a stranger world.

(Trying to regain his breath) “What is th… That dream again…” Amar said in a restless tone. He looked around to find that he was lying on a muddy bed-like structure with his legs buried in the hard mud. He wasn’t able to move around at all. He tried getting up, using all of his strength, but he failed miserably. There was no more strength to put in his efforts. Once again, he was giving up. He tried comprehending as to where he could have been, and he could not see much in the dark. He heard a loud clank from outside and laid down in pursuit of pretending to be still unconscious. He heard a pair of two different footsteps enter and stand beside him, chatting away in some unheard tongue. Then, all of a sudden, another pair of footsteps came inside. Amar tried to take a glance through his semi-closed eyes. It was a huge muscular man with a large fire-torch in his hand. The visibility inside the room had increased. The huge man was followed closely by a small woman. She came in and instantly caught hold of one of the two who had entered the place before, who in turn was also a woman. She caught hold of her hair, said something in her language in an aggressive manner, took a knife out of her back and cut the other woman’s hair lock. She then placed the knife against her throat and seemingly threatened her. The other woman burst into tears and fell on her knees. She tried running out but was intercepted by the muscular man. The woman with the knife now walked closer to Amar, conversing with the huge man simultaneously. She then kept her knife over his exposed chest and raised it above her head. Amar was alarmed and he thus spoke up “Nahi No Nooooooo! Please No!”

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Duality

Duality

At the break of dusk, the streets of Chandni Chowk, Delhi were reverberating with the sounds of celebration. Not of an event, season or festival; but the end of the day. There was something unique and special about this street. Each day ended with the inadvertent tribute to the completion of its monotony, so much so that the celebration had itself become a part of the monotony. Nevertheless, it was not something the residents didn’t look forward to. The mundane had to be done with, each day… everyday. Why? So that they could go back home to their families, have loud discussions with their kin, watch cricket matches in groups with their neighbours, loiter around in the street over tea mostly talking ill about the one who couldn’t come that day, and perhaps, for a change, in the midst of this robotic world… be human.

As the Sun lethargically made its way down the horizon, the excitement persistent in the street seemed to amplify. The vibrating noise of an archaic Scooter’s engine began cutting its way through the jolliness. On it rode a lean man wearing rugged formals, covered in sweat all around. His helmet’s colour had faded, his beard had aged silver and he was carrying a blissful smile on his face as he greeted everyone around him. They all knew him and he knew them all. “Assalamualaikum Azhar Bhai…” (Salaam Brother Azhar), “Aur Azhar Bhai…” (What’s up brother Azhar!), “Namaste Azhar Uncle…”, “Arre Professor Saahab” (Oh! It’s you, Professor Sir). There was utter happiness and warmth in the micro-engagement he was having with them all. He soon reached his home, got down from his scooter and removed his helmet to reveal his grey receding hairline. He picked up the polythene bags kept in the front of the scooter and gave a call to his daughter “Sana. Dickey se samaan nikal do mere haanth full hain” (Sana. Please get the stuff from the dickey since my hands are full). His daughter hurriedly took the packets out and rushed inside, pushing him aside. Azhar’s phone started ringing in his pocket, but his hands were full. As he drifted inside with a small bag in his hand and his helmet in the other, he took off his shoes at the shoe-rack kept in the small courtyard and greeted his wife and mother. He handed the bag to his wife, washed his hand and slowly walked inside the darkness looming in the small guest-hall of his house. He took his phone out to check on his phone and then kept it down on the table. He then turned towards his wife.

“Kya Hua? Bohot jaldibaazi mein lagrhi hai Sana” (What happened? Sana looks in a lot of hurry).

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Make A Wish

Make A Wish

The Following poem is dedicated to the brave and beautiful children fighting for their lives against a terminal illness.
 
Wake up, O’ my little one,
A new dawn awaits your presence;
Come out and greet the Sun,
See the light in all its essence.

Yesterday, you won the battle,
Today, there is yet another;
Don’t let your will unsettle,
We shall fight all the odds together.

That dream you saw in your sleep,
I know it is still no different;
In your conscious, you’ve hidden it deep,
Yet it seems to be so recurrent.

Why do you resist it so much?
Why does it seem outlandish?
Don’t let it ever forsake your clutch;
The whole Universe rests on your wish.

Unchain your dream from the grief,
No matter how sharp is the rising slope;
Climb up to the beacon of belief,
And unveil the illumination of hope.

Let us know your dream and fantasy,
And we shall not let them ever perish;
Let us all take their responsibility,
And you fearlessly just make a wish.

Make a Wish and see it come true.
Make a Wish that you always dreamt.
On the dullest day, In the darkest blue…
Make a Wish, ‘Cause it’s not the end.

The Voices of Silence (2020)

Silence has always been looked down upon as an indicator of weakness or retreat. The World today is constantly clamouring and reverberating with an endless noise; and in this noisy world, Silence is not a retreat… it is an advance… it is not a weakness… it is a weapon. When we glance the world from the side-lines as mute spectators, we are inadvertently ignored and forgotten; but soon comes a time to remind the world that in those moments of Silence, we are the ones who have actually seen it all, know it all and are now ready to say it all.

‘The Voices of Silence’ is an initiative to give a platform of unhindered expression to the independent writers and poets of India, and eventually the World. Each and every one is equally entitled to this platform so that one can fearlessly and seamlessly say it all.

The Idiosyncrasies of Life (2019)

‘The Idiosyncrasies of Life’, as the name suggests, compiles certain unforgettably strange as well as prominent experiences, imaginations and observations of mine in the form of rhymes, songs, essays and stories. The feelings of dissent, approval, frustration, helplessness, admiration and love are all extremely overwhelming as well as delicate; therefore, they always incite the most honest and raw forms of expressiveness in any given person. In my case, it has erratically switched from poetry to narrations to random scribbles. Travelling thousands of miles and meeting thousands of culturally-diversified people, I realised that no matter how different we are, at the end of the day there is a latent coherence in all our stories. I want to comprehend that coherence and perhaps help you do the same. I hope you appreciate my honesty.

Last but not least, I do not aim to offend any sect, culture, race, community, caste, gender, creed, region, Etcetera. I don’t believe in any man-made disparities and my judgement is completely based on my opinion of what I perceive as right or wrong. Hope you have a nice read.

Shadows

Shadows

Love… a feeling so strange,

Often is vehemently sworn.

It is one that cannot be trained;

It exists in all but inborn.

.

It’s though not the same for all;

It’s stranger for some still.

A dream they can just recall;

A desire they can barely fulfil.

.

But why are they so different?

Isn’t their ‘love’ alike?

Compelled to be indifferent,

Why do they attract dislike?

.

What wrong had he done,

That society had him sacked?

He had just loved someone,

And he had loved him back.

.

Though always surrounded,

He found himself alone.

A suffocation unfounded,

Made them all seem unknown.

.

The revelation turned away friends

With whom he used to always roam.

He couldn’t have told his parents;

Fearing losing his family and home.

.

Trying his best to ignore,

The random giggles of bystanders;

Trust… he had no more;

Startled at the slightest murmurs.

.

Worse than bullies they were,

Whom he could easily recognise.

In the shadows, they created the stir.

In the light, they held a ‘guise.

.

But then came the usual twilight,

And the moments they shared alone;

Somewhat seeming infinite,

In the silence, when the stars shone.

.

Inhibitions became evanescent,

Fear turned its page;

They were amidst no judgement,

Love overshadowed the stage.

.

Ignoring all feelings of sorrow,

Bearing with all his pain;

Believing that each tomorrow,

Will bring all those moments again.

.

He just kept dragging through,

Living a day in a go;

Never did he have a clue,

That one day he wouldn’t show.

.

He sat there with an incessant hope,

As the Moon crossed the sky;

His worn-out will soon couldn’t cope,

Though, he still did not cry.

.

The shadows, now more prominent,

As he walked down the endless path;

The end was always imminent,

They stood against the ‘societal’ wrath.

.

That feeling of eternal bliss,

That he had never felt before;

That laughter, that smile, that kiss,

He wished he had some more.

.

He kept thinking all night,

How different it could’ve been;

What if they didn’t have to fight,

Or worry about being seen?

.

Fearlessly introducing each other,

As they listened to them talk endlessly;

Of how they met and got together,

As they welcomed them both openly.

.

It was though just a fantasy,

It was all that he could see;

More real than his reality,

Like the stars submerged in the sea.

.

He gazed at them in silence,

Even though they weren’t so bright;

The Sea was devoid of tyrants,

The Shadows couldn’t touch their light.

.

He leapt to reach out for it,

Doing something he thought he’d never;

Going where he felt he could fit,

To be one with the light forever.

.

The dark heavenly skies,

Made the leap seem worthwhile;

As it all engulfed his eyes,

He could only see that smile.

.

The thought succumbing his head,

Was that it all ended too soon;

‘Just a Little More’, his heart said,

As he looked at the fading Moon.

.

When will the world change,

And not have lovers be torn?

Love… A feeling so strange,

Only the Shadows do truly adorn.

The Seven Ages of a Woman

The Seven Ages of a Woman
With Joy amidst the mewling,
The bloodied cloth unfurled.
A sorrow began unspooling,
When she said… ‘It’s a girl’.
.
It was but their worst fear;
Claimed as ‘Curse of a demon’.
The options were ever clear,
‘Either a Boy… or a Burden…’
.
Silently in a noisy gloom,
It was now about acceptance;
They were all back home soon;
And then began their penance.
.
Raised in a so-called ‘palace’;
Material formed the illusion,
No… she wasn’t a princess;
The ‘palace’ became her prison.
.
Then came the adolescence;
And the innocent young soul,
Getting nothing but ignorance
From ‘Society’ as a whole.
.
School began her struggle;
Alone she walked that road.
Be it achievement or trouble,
Barely she got any support.
.
Even the little freedom she had,
Soon was rendered dead.
She hadn’t done anything bad,
But, for the first time, she had bled.
.
Slowly, Gracefully and Poised,
Forced to walk a given route;
Silenced at expressing choice,
She grew up to be a mute.
.
Barely pulling the anchor,
She completed her basic education.
Whether it was love or anger,
She had concealed all emotion.
.
Soon they could no longer tolerate
The weight of the ‘ever-growing’ burden.
So they found a robotic mate,
Whose family demanded a huge ransom.
.
It is a traditional societal construct,
Whenever there is a transfer of burden;
They were just selling a product,
The one they called their son.
.
Marital Life seemed different,
She regained the ability to dream.
But that dream was just apparent,
Short-Lived and not as it seemed.
.
That joy came from maternity,
When she started carrying a life.
She was only serving her destiny,
As the machine he called his wife.
.
Then came the judgement day,
And all her dreams were torn.
Fortune, for her, had lost its way,
Yet again… a girl was born.
.
She could never hope to be forgiven,
After having done that dreadful deed.
Thus, she was left forever forsaken,
For lending her womb to a female seed.
.
Then began the maternal damnation,
Trapped in the hopeless cave;
She still served them with conviction,
Just as that of a slave.
.
With Bones brittle but spirit alive,
She lent her service tirelessly.
Only used as means to thrive,
Otherwise abandoned helplessly.
.
The cycle of abandonment came to an end,
When her service became futile.
To a community home she was sent,
And found rest only in exile.
.
Sans teeth, Sans strength, Sans Sanity,
Dwelling in her long-lost dreams.
Sans friends, Sans love, Sans family,
She dreamt how it could’ve been.
.
Different would be her journey,
Plethora she could’ve obtained.
She could’ve reached beyond infinity,
If her wings were not contained.
.
The Kindle slowly fading within,
Devoid of all observers;
Her spirit once and finally gave in,
As she exclaimed her final words-
.
“I accept the crude reality,
Of what we cannot and what we can;
It’s a perdition enforced naturally,
To be a Woman in the world of Man.”
.

Roars of the Immortal (Dedicated to the martyrs of Pulwama)

Roars of the Immortal (Dedicated to the martyrs of Pulwama)

A nation that sleeps serene,
Unburdened by persisting turmoil;
For the burden lies unseen,
On the knights that guard our soil.
.
Serving the country selflessly,
Miles away from their own;
It is seldom that they get to see,
In only dreams they recall their homes.
.
But that dream couldn’t be true,
For the forty-four bravehearts;
Their reunion was yet due,
When their voyage was broken apart.
.
Unarmed, en route their nativity,
Mercilessly drenched in fire;
Their deaths don’t seek your pity,
Don’t need your whims and satire.
.
What they need is our hands united,
Disregarding faith, caste and region;
It is time to stay undivided,
For terror has no religion.
.
It is time to subside our fear,
And turn the defensive page;
To make the global corners hear,
Trebbles of the Indian rage.
.
Let’s face the faces of terror,
With the advocates and the pawns;
It isn’t time to show them a mirror,
It is the advent of a new dawn.
.
Those tyrants full of cowardice,
Let’s grab them by their heads;
And Look straight into their eyes,
And narrate a truth undead-
.
“If you think you can stand tall,
By daring to hurt even one;
Let us make you recall,
Behind him stand a billion.”

Welcome to the place called ‘India’

Welcome to the place called ‘India’

Welcome to the place called ‘India’;
A Nation so simple yet witty.
Beneath the yogic and cultural trivia,
Lies the land of an endless reverie.

The Bay, the Sea, The Ocean,
The Rivers, The Deserts and The Mountains;
Enclose the majestic nation,
Like a fort without an entrance.

So what’s there amidst the fort,
Beyond the Mantras and Snake-Charmers?
Many a muddy and barbaric sport?
Just a land of poor farmers?

A nation young and tender,
For the Global Scavengers Squealing.
Even with resources so slender,
It broke the Titanium Ceiling.

Innovating, Improvising and Creating,
Wonders for the world to see;
Across each and every domain and wing,
Of Business, Science and Technology.

The Great Granary of the World,
With a history of renowned philanthropists;
Where the military knights doth whirled,
And the Scientists bordering on Alchemists.

We Run and Lead the entire globe,
But we just don’t like to brag.
Look up and you would easily know,
Even the Universe dons our flag.

Our train to future has joined the race,
Even though we could start much after.
So what if it has a slow pace?
The acceleration is much faster.

Yet we give a shout to abyss,
Predominant humility in every iota;
With palms joint and a joyful bliss-
“Welcome to the place called India.”

The Road To Atlantis

The Road To Atlantis

Behold! The World of Imagination,
A Universe larger and much bolder.
It’s all true, not mere fiction,
Even though it never gets older.

Magic and Technology sit in the rule,
Bravery and Sentiment engulf all hearts;
Music redefines moments so cool,
Everyone perfectly plays their parts.

From Gondor to Gotham, Narnia to Westeros,
The immortal Manhattan and the mighty Thanos;
Lit the Light Saber and hurled the Elder Wand,
Came a subtle voice, ‘It’s Bond, James Bond’.

Flash and Quicksilver have a speeding bout,
Goku raises two fingers and Thor laughs out loud;
Katniss and Hawkeye form a tag team,
While Harley is busy applying her face cream.

Vibranium, Adamantium and Valyrian Steel,
Kal-El and Banner with an incessant zeal;
Descending with a Gauntlet to conduct the test,
It was indeed ‘The War of The Best’.

300 bold face the Dorthraki in battle,
Seeing all this, Jar Jar begins to babble;
“Yousa know what’s more funny than a war?
A conversation between Groot and Hodor.”

When Jack Sparrow encounters Spiderman,
He realises he was looking for Peter Pan;
Electro on his side, he thought he’d won,
There came the wrath of God Poseidon.

Amidst all these heroes so well-famed,
Came he who must not be named.
Accompanying him, an Omnipotent Invader,
Within a cloud of smoke, stood Lord Vader.

Whenever asked about his identity,
He only replied with the letter ‘V’;
Like the bald Assassin encoded with a number,
It was indeed the ‘Fifth of November’.

War almost over in the world of Fiction,
With tribes of Heroes having almost won;
Darkness stoops to the realm of desperation,
And Death Star fires its demonic cannon.

The razing infernos of Drogon and Smaug,
Fumed the evil and the notorious;
Decided after the fading of the smog,
The heroes surprisingly emerged victorious.

Gandalf and Dumbledore stood undamaged,
And Bilbo uttered- “Mischief Managed”.
Folding back its turns and bends,
The Road to Atlantis never ends.