Carrie found the path leading away from her enclosure and knew that this was her chance. The monkeys’ enclosure had two oval islands distant five meters one from another and ten meters from the bark. One of them was about 7 x 4 m, the other one 5 x 9 m. In the bigger island there was mainly bushy meadow vegetation and a little grass field subject to seasonal flooding. The smaller island had grass fields as a major part of it and some short bushy vegetation. The enclosure housed six other young capuchin monkeys.
Carrie felt a sense of boldness that she had never felt before. Before anyone could react, she slipped out onto the path and stealthily ran outside the Central Northern Argentinia Iga municipal Park Compound which was located in an area of mixed ombrophyla forest and meadow vegetation of a river. The climate was fresh summer and temperature was 27º C.
Carrie was from the genus ‘Cebus’ and was an arboreal primate of middle height and robust body with a semi-prehensile tail. As she moved on she could see Timmy, her friend close by feeding on ants. She was in a crouched posture, head down and was pulling out pieces of soil with both hands. The ants were held between the fingers as they were being eaten. Carrie smiled. She liked eating ants too.
Suddenly Carrie felt that a fly was hovering around her. With a quick jerk, she moved her arms and caught the fly. Happy with that she moved on following the trail which would lead her out of the boundary of the Compound into a deep jungle where she could meet other primates and be free like them.
As she entered the jungle, Carrie suddenly slipped and fell into what seemed like a small pit. As she tried to get up, she felt a searing pain in her left leg. Carrie was frightened. She wondered if she had hurt herself badly. Instinctively, she looked up and suddenly saw another monkey looking at her with amusement. He was sitting on a tree branch quite close to the ground. She immediately recognized him as a spider monkey from the genus ‘Ateles’. She saw that he had slender limbs and body with long narrow hands and was medium brown in color. He too had a prehensile tail and as she looked more closely, she could see that his nostrils were far apart.
He seemed to be eating the soft mature part of a fruit which she did not recognize. He also had some leaves in his hand which he ate alongside the fruit. In between he would stop eating and look at her with a sparkle in his eyes; then he would scratch himself with his hands and one foot.
Carrie screeched out to him pleading for help from her precarious situation. Suddenly, he jumped down and came across to her.
“You don’t seem to be from around here. Else you would not have missed this little hole in the ground,” he said staring at her.
“You are right. I am from the Park where I was captive right from my birth. I envy you. You have been free all your life,” blurted Carrie.
“Envy is not such a good thing. Name’s Buck. And yours?”
“Carrie, and my left leg is really hurting.”
“Here, let me see,” said Buck.
He began blowing air on the wound and after a while started licking it. Once temporarily cleaned, he took some soil and applied it to the wound.
Carrie was beginning to feel much better.
Suddenly another monkey who looked similar to Buck joined them. He started screeching and was on the verge of attacking Carrie when Buck turned around and crouched down also screeching. The monkey turned towards him crouching face to face ready to fight. Buck jumped over him and caught his limbs. As he clasped him tightly, they started rolling together and biting each other. Buck seemed to be gaining the upper hand as the other monkey suddenly withdrew and started running away. Buck tried to grasp his legs to pull him down but he was unsuccessful as the monkey ran away and swung onto a branch.
Carrie was perspiring and was very shaken up.
“Happens all the time,” said Buck.
“Thanks, you saved me,” said Carrie gratefully.
“No sweat, after all one does not get to save a lady as pretty as you every day,” said Buck.
Carrie blushed. Her cheeks took on a crimson shade. Her eyes were downcast.
“So what brings you here,” asked Buck.
“The desire to be free,” answered Carrie promptly.
“That’s interesting,” said Buck.
“You don’t know how lucky you are to be here. You are free to roam wherever you wish!” exclaimed Carrie.
Suddenly the air resounded with the sound of musical trumpets.
“What’s that noise? asked Carrrie.
“Hey, that’s the Annual Forest Carnival, you game to see it?” asked Buck.
“I would love to,” cooed Carrie.
As Carrie and Buck entered the grounds of the Carnival, Carrie could see the flurry of other monkeys moving around. They were screeching and shouting – the environment was filled with laughter and joyous mirth. Everyone seemed to be having a good time.
As they walked past a few stalls, they heard someone shouting – “Come on, all you beautiful couples, come on in and win exciting prizes in this dance competition.
Carrie and Buck instinctively looked at each other.
“Hey, let’s do it,” said Buck happily.
Buck took Carrie’s hand and led her to the dance floor.
“You familiar with the ‘Rumba’,” asked Buck.
“Yes, a friend of mine who was captured from the forest taught it to me in the enclosure,” said Carrie excitedly.
“C’mon then, lets paint the floor red!” exclaimed Buck.
Both Carrie and Buck stepped on the dance floor and stood facing each other holding hands with Carrie’s palms facing upwards. As the music flowed, both started moving their hips side to side, torso erect, carefully executing the pattern of two quick side steps and then a slow forward step. Skillfully executing three steps to a bar, both Carrie and Buck were a delight to watch. With the music, Buck first held Carrie and then let her go, throwing her back with the musical beat. Suddenly mid-way during the dance, as Buck held Carrie and they looked deep into each other’s eyes; and when he threw her back Carrie suddenly felt very strange. As he let her go, she suddenly felt very sad with the realization that Buck and she would be separated very soon once the evening was over and they once again go their own ways. It was in that moment that Carrie realized that she had fallen in love with Buck.
Carrie was filled with a sense of exhilaration and longing at the same time. She felt pangs of fear flowing inside her like uncontrolled waves longing to reach the seaside. She felt afraid that Buck would not understand her feelings. She felt like holding Buck and telling him how much she wanted to be with him. As she looked up, she saw Buck looking at her with concern.
“You o.k.?” asked Buck.
“Yesss,” mumbled Carrie.
As they walked down the steps from the dance floor hand in hand, Carrie was already thinking of how to tell Buck that she wanted to spend the rest of her life with him.
As Carrie glanced to her right, she saw a small dome where ‘Hanuman’ was being worshipped. She immediately nudged Buck, “Let’s go there, I want to tell you something.”
Carrie led Buck to the front of Hanuman’s idol and stood directly in front of him. She held his hands and looked straight into his eyes.
“Buck, remember the movie – “Shall we dance?”
“Yes,” said Buck, in a very serious tone.
“Buck, there was something that was said in that movie. I have always believed in that and hold it very dear to my heart. I was saving it for this moment. I want to convey that now to you…We all need a witness to our lives. There are a trillion creatures on the planet... What does one life really mean? If you and I get together in a union, in togetherness, we promise to care about everything…The good and bad things, the terrible things, the mundane things... all of it, all of the time, every day. It means that we say to each other that your life will not go unnoticed because I will notice it. Your life will not go un-witnessed because I will be your witness."
Buck burst out crying.
“He put Carrie’s hand to his heart. His voice was cloaked in emotion, “Carrie, I am touched. Yes, I want to be with you too.”
Carrie smiled and they embraced tightly.
The next few weeks were filled with moments of love and togetherness. Both Carrie and Buck had never been this happy. It seemed that this golden period would never end.
One day Buck and Carrie were out looking for food.
“Buck, I am tired,” said Carrie.
“O.K. You wait here by this tree while I just move on a bit ahead. There is a place up ahead where we can get food. I’ll grab some and get it here,” said Buck.
Buck went on ahead humming. An hour passed before he returned.
Carrie was lying on the ground screeching and crying in pain. She had multiple wounds on her body. There was blood on her arms and legs. Buck could see a few black tall monkeys attacking her. Buck started screeching loudly and rushed towards Carrie.
Upon seeing him, the monkeys screeched and started running away.
“Carrie! What happened?” shouted Buck in anguish.
He jumped over and before she could say anything plucked something from a plant close by. He immediately began rubbing it over her wounds. After a few minutes, Carrie stopped crying.
Buck came over and started licking her wounds. He held her gently and said softly, “Carrie, why didn’t you defend yourself? These are Alligapara monkeys and they are cowards. They run away whenever someone screeches at them. Didn’t you know that?”
Carrie looked down shamefully.
“You know so much Buck. I know nothing. I didn’t even know which plant you used to apply to my wounds,” Carrie almost started crying again.
Buck was silent and in deep thought.
A few days passed. Carrie’s wounds were almost healed.
Buck took Carrie’s hands in his and kissed them lightly.
“Carrie, I love you very much and I don’t want to lose you. But, I have realized that it is impossible for you to survive here. I won’t be around all the time to save you. So the best thing for both of us is that you go back to the enclosure. You will be safe there,” Buck said in a heavy voice.
Carrie was very sad. She understood what Buck was saying but her heart did not want to agree. But she realized that it was the only solution. With a heavy heart she nodded.
The next day, Buck escorted Carrie back to the outskirts of the enclosure.
“We could have been each other’s witness all our lives but I guess that is not to be. God Hanuman will remain the ultimate witness forever for everyone. I guess that is the ultimate truth,” Buck said softly as he turned back and went away forever.
By Vikas and Me
Showing posts with label Creative Writing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Creative Writing. Show all posts
Monday, August 02, 2010
Saturday, June 19, 2010
4.7 seconds
Rani waves her hand in consent…I jump. The icy wind whisks away my tears like a child snatching a loved toy, the only difference being that a child is innocent…It pounces upon me like a drooling predator knowing that it is only a matter of time before it will have its way…knowing that I am now committed…that there can be only one outcome... tears now come and keep coming…they create a mist around my eyes almost blinding me…but they are not afraid…maybe because they know that it doesn’t matter…not anymore…after all it was my conscious choice…to jump from the thirtieth floor and end it all…
4.7 seconds
Rani’s cold touch frightens me. ‘Mama, I feel like I am dying.’ The voice was feeble and reminded me of the ending echoes of a voice which had proudly matched itself against a gigantic mountain; reverberating again and again till it ran out. The memory is so vivid. Rani, lying in the hospital bed clutching my hand fervently…she looked so fragile in her yellow frock and green top which covered her hands only partly, exposing them; they looked so thin and vulnerable just like that of a new born baby…and her broken slippers…would she ever be able to walk in them again…to dance in them again…just as she had danced the whole night on New Year’s Eve when she was barely five years old…when the vicissitudes of life had not been able to touch her…when her vocabulary did not include pain or sorrow…when she could never imagine that one day she would be battling for her life after a tragic accident; one that might have taken her life away…but the doctors had been hopeful; they had never seen someone with such a strong will to live…she had survived. She had a will to live while I had lost mine.
The wind is unrelenting. It knows…and it knows that I know it knows…It mocks me like a hyena who mocks its prey just before the last breath…I run out of tears…I want to tell the wind that I am not a bad person; just that I could not help doing what I did…that I had no choice…that it was an error of judgment…
“I am innocent, please believe me,” the plea was so earnest…it had haunted me for so many years after I had ordered that death sentence…but the evidence was compelling and I had come to know of his innocence only later…but I could not have helped it then. I have been a judge for twenty years. Was I not allowed one mistake…though in my heart I know how costly that mistake was to the victim…?
Suddenly, I don’t feel cold anymore...Is the wind taking pity on me at last…or is it waiting hungrily just like a crocodile who knows the inevitable…I can feel my blood trying to burst out from my face…seeking release from so many years of slavery…it seems like there is no respite…like it is finally all over…as if time has stopped and now stood standstill…
Just like time had stopped then in the park on the bench when my husband had caressed my face…that one moment had sanctified my entire thirty years of marriage…Oh! It was heavenly…like all the love in the world now belonged to me…I had never been this happy…never felt so wanted…so complete…and so much in love…It was as if time had no passage…as if eternity had kissed my doorstep and all earthly boundaries had been transcended…as if life had held the greatest meaning of all time…
And now it doesn’t matter… I suddenly feel my blood swirling in my brain like a whirlpool, my cheeks flapping in protest, adrenaline searing through me, my heart pumping furiously…The wind now ceases to affect me; and like a child who has outgrown the ogre I feel relaxed…peaceful…and strangely safe…from being trapped in a world which though to me offers no reason to die yet offers no reason to live either…I have lost the will to live…but is that reason enough to die…to give up the way I did…would Rani hate me for leaving her like this…
The green mountain speeds towards her like a lover who has waited for eternity now seeking to embrace his beloved. The waiting and the anticipation has been so sweet…and so certain with the knowledge that she would come one day…The blue meadow caresses her naked feet and acts as a trampoline as she sprints to catch the red deer. She can feel the soft and soothing touch of the grass beneath her feet. Talking to the wind, she falls, gets up and falls again. The deer never seem to get closer. The orange clouds sprinkle her with yellow rain garlanding her like a to-be bride. She has never looked so beautiful before. As she gets up and yet again runs after the deer the grass beneath her lifts her like a flying carpet and whisks her towards the waiting arms of the mountain – she is their chosen one…the wind caresses her cheek like a father loving his only child…Oh it’s such a beautiful world!
I instantly regain consciousness… the wind seems to be whistling loudly…ogres are never really outgrown…the wind is now no more a predator, rather it is an escort; saluting its lady like a setting sun signifying the end of an era…the end of desire, the death of will and the release of conditioned thinking…I try and peer down but my stare is blank; the rays of the sun hit my eyes at an angle preventing vision, creating a panacea for the sudden panic that is growing in me…it will be so painful…I will be hurt so badly…I curl and wrap myself like a fetus…maybe then it will pain less…my body twists in all directions…I feel disoriented…I wonder why I still cannot see the ground…I see my saliva leave my mouth and rush upwards…It flies past my nose nudging it slowly…I flap my hands like a bird…maybe I can fly…I push my dress down as it is sharply raised by the wind and then I realize it doesn’t matter…no one can see me now. I am sweating profusely…very afraid…
As I look down fearfully, I see the distant ground rushing up menacingly…is that a dark gravel road...the parked cars on the side make me hope fervently that I would miss hitting them. I shake my legs vigorously and try to steer away from the cars…but will it really matter…road, car or kerb…I am sure it would hurt…but it will be over in the next few micro seconds…
Seven...
Six...
Five...
Four...
Three...
Two...
One...
***
“Rani I still can’t understand what your mother meant when she said she had lost her will to live. She had everything – money, a loving family, a successful career, you, yet; maybe she hid something; maybe I was the reason.”
Rani peered down from the window as she looked at the road below. Today, it looked so empty, so unlike yesterday when a huge crowd had gathered within moments.
She wiped away a trickle of tear as she continued gazing down…
“You know that you could never have been the reason. She loved you more than anything. But when she lost her will to live…you know Dad, Mom was remarkable. She planned it so methodically over the last seven months. She had even researched that it would take her four point seven seconds to reach the ground. Thirty floors, four point seven seconds; how can somebody plan death so meticulously…?
“You know Rani what saddens me the most is the fact that you agreed with your mother’s decision. If you had not agreed with her, maybe…”
“No, Dad! I never agreed with her; but yes, unlike you I accepted it…”
By:
Vikas & Me
Illustrated By:
Harsh & Santosh
4.7 seconds
Rani’s cold touch frightens me. ‘Mama, I feel like I am dying.’ The voice was feeble and reminded me of the ending echoes of a voice which had proudly matched itself against a gigantic mountain; reverberating again and again till it ran out. The memory is so vivid. Rani, lying in the hospital bed clutching my hand fervently…she looked so fragile in her yellow frock and green top which covered her hands only partly, exposing them; they looked so thin and vulnerable just like that of a new born baby…and her broken slippers…would she ever be able to walk in them again…to dance in them again…just as she had danced the whole night on New Year’s Eve when she was barely five years old…when the vicissitudes of life had not been able to touch her…when her vocabulary did not include pain or sorrow…when she could never imagine that one day she would be battling for her life after a tragic accident; one that might have taken her life away…but the doctors had been hopeful; they had never seen someone with such a strong will to live…she had survived. She had a will to live while I had lost mine.
The wind is unrelenting. It knows…and it knows that I know it knows…It mocks me like a hyena who mocks its prey just before the last breath…I run out of tears…I want to tell the wind that I am not a bad person; just that I could not help doing what I did…that I had no choice…that it was an error of judgment…
“I am innocent, please believe me,” the plea was so earnest…it had haunted me for so many years after I had ordered that death sentence…but the evidence was compelling and I had come to know of his innocence only later…but I could not have helped it then. I have been a judge for twenty years. Was I not allowed one mistake…though in my heart I know how costly that mistake was to the victim…?
Suddenly, I don’t feel cold anymore...Is the wind taking pity on me at last…or is it waiting hungrily just like a crocodile who knows the inevitable…I can feel my blood trying to burst out from my face…seeking release from so many years of slavery…it seems like there is no respite…like it is finally all over…as if time has stopped and now stood standstill…
Just like time had stopped then in the park on the bench when my husband had caressed my face…that one moment had sanctified my entire thirty years of marriage…Oh! It was heavenly…like all the love in the world now belonged to me…I had never been this happy…never felt so wanted…so complete…and so much in love…It was as if time had no passage…as if eternity had kissed my doorstep and all earthly boundaries had been transcended…as if life had held the greatest meaning of all time…
And now it doesn’t matter… I suddenly feel my blood swirling in my brain like a whirlpool, my cheeks flapping in protest, adrenaline searing through me, my heart pumping furiously…The wind now ceases to affect me; and like a child who has outgrown the ogre I feel relaxed…peaceful…and strangely safe…from being trapped in a world which though to me offers no reason to die yet offers no reason to live either…I have lost the will to live…but is that reason enough to die…to give up the way I did…would Rani hate me for leaving her like this…
The green mountain speeds towards her like a lover who has waited for eternity now seeking to embrace his beloved. The waiting and the anticipation has been so sweet…and so certain with the knowledge that she would come one day…The blue meadow caresses her naked feet and acts as a trampoline as she sprints to catch the red deer. She can feel the soft and soothing touch of the grass beneath her feet. Talking to the wind, she falls, gets up and falls again. The deer never seem to get closer. The orange clouds sprinkle her with yellow rain garlanding her like a to-be bride. She has never looked so beautiful before. As she gets up and yet again runs after the deer the grass beneath her lifts her like a flying carpet and whisks her towards the waiting arms of the mountain – she is their chosen one…the wind caresses her cheek like a father loving his only child…Oh it’s such a beautiful world!
I instantly regain consciousness… the wind seems to be whistling loudly…ogres are never really outgrown…the wind is now no more a predator, rather it is an escort; saluting its lady like a setting sun signifying the end of an era…the end of desire, the death of will and the release of conditioned thinking…I try and peer down but my stare is blank; the rays of the sun hit my eyes at an angle preventing vision, creating a panacea for the sudden panic that is growing in me…it will be so painful…I will be hurt so badly…I curl and wrap myself like a fetus…maybe then it will pain less…my body twists in all directions…I feel disoriented…I wonder why I still cannot see the ground…I see my saliva leave my mouth and rush upwards…It flies past my nose nudging it slowly…I flap my hands like a bird…maybe I can fly…I push my dress down as it is sharply raised by the wind and then I realize it doesn’t matter…no one can see me now. I am sweating profusely…very afraid…
As I look down fearfully, I see the distant ground rushing up menacingly…is that a dark gravel road...the parked cars on the side make me hope fervently that I would miss hitting them. I shake my legs vigorously and try to steer away from the cars…but will it really matter…road, car or kerb…I am sure it would hurt…but it will be over in the next few micro seconds…
Seven...
Six...
Five...
Four...
Three...
Two...
One...
***
“Rani I still can’t understand what your mother meant when she said she had lost her will to live. She had everything – money, a loving family, a successful career, you, yet; maybe she hid something; maybe I was the reason.”
Rani peered down from the window as she looked at the road below. Today, it looked so empty, so unlike yesterday when a huge crowd had gathered within moments.
She wiped away a trickle of tear as she continued gazing down…
“You know that you could never have been the reason. She loved you more than anything. But when she lost her will to live…you know Dad, Mom was remarkable. She planned it so methodically over the last seven months. She had even researched that it would take her four point seven seconds to reach the ground. Thirty floors, four point seven seconds; how can somebody plan death so meticulously…?
“You know Rani what saddens me the most is the fact that you agreed with your mother’s decision. If you had not agreed with her, maybe…”
“No, Dad! I never agreed with her; but yes, unlike you I accepted it…”
By:
Vikas & Me
Illustrated By:
Harsh & Santosh
Thursday, July 30, 2009
PERSPECTIVE
“He seemed so sensitive, so perceptive, so brilliant – the perfect choice for an eligible girl; only if he hadn’t been a schizophrenic…” Dipti mused…
Dipti stood staring at the cover of the book lying on her desk – ‘Parallel Universes’ – the subject had long fascinated her but there was something in the author’s tone that disturbed her – was it indifference or was it something else..
As Dipti thought more of Ramesh, the more she felt uneasy. What was it that was preventing her from reaching out to him, to express her liking for him – was she afraid? Apprehensive? Did she feel that she lacked the emotional strength that would be required for a lifelong commitment to Ramesh? Would she be breaching her psychological contract with him? The answers were clearly not going to be easy…
“A parallel universe is a space – a state of mind akin to a possible psychic retreat – when the schizophrenic cuts off from secured anchors in the ‘real world’, he looks for anchors elsewhere – though those anchors may not be recognized as such by society or the ‘sane world’….” Dipti felt that an important point was emerging from the book – The psychic space of the individual was one which would define for him his ‘individual reality’ – ‘his place’ in the enmeshed interlocked interrelationships between subject and object…
Next morning Dipti met Ramesh in the yoga hall. She was also regularly attending the classes. Though she was retained by the mental hospital as a visiting psychologist, she felt that participating in certain events with her patients would help in building a stronger rapport with them. This in turn would lead to greater experience sharing and would be therapeutic for them. Today she would be meeting Ramesh again for a session and she wanted to maximize the experience for both of them.
“Hello Ramesh, How are you feeling today?” Dipti asked in a cheerful voice. “Great! It’s always a pleasure to meet you,” Ramesh said, equally cheerful.
“Excellent – Today we will work together on what is called the Inkblot Game. I will show you some pictures of inkblots and you have to tell me what they represent to you. So, lets begin!”
Ramesh looked excited. He told Dipti that she was an intelligent, caring and sensitive individual who gave him respect in spite of his situation and that he looked forward to the sessions that he had with her. He said that he felt that at a certain level she understood him.
“This picture reminds me of 2 people with a common destiny. The second one represents an empty canvas waiting to be colored with a story…” Dipti was once again reminded of his perceptiveness and it made her wonder – “How could he be here?”
Back in her room, Dipti got back to the book. “Why is it so wrong to be different, to have a different set of anchors, to have a unique sense of reality not shared by the environment – sure, it may lead to maladjustment in that situation but could there be a place, a retreat for such people where they are allowed to have their own space? A place where the different anchors are same for the people who share that space – a parallel world, a new vocabulary…? Who are we to judge people, who are we to decide who is ‘mad’ – Should we not be more sensitive as human beings and be more allowing and accepting…?”
Dipti realized that her assessment of the author’s tone had been premature. She could feel now that the author was actually a very sensitive and evolved individual. She could not help feeling admiration for him.
“Sir, I have something important to discuss with you,” said Dipti to Dr. Dhawan, the resident psychiatrist. “It is concerning Ramesh, the patient in room 202, who has been diagnosed with schizophrenia. Could you show me the records of his clinical picture vis-à-vis his symptoms.”
“Sure, we have noted that he is confused, is delusional, has major adjusting problems with his environment, has incoherent and disintegrated thoughts stemming from illogical beliefs, disturbed goal directed activity and emotional blunting. There is also a retreat to an inner world,” said Dr. Dhawan looking quizzically at Dipti.
Back in her chamber, Dipti was deep in thought. The inkblot test as well as other tests had confirmed that Ramesh thought very differently from the other patients with similar symptoms.
“Maybe, there should be a separate space of a more humane nature than that offered by an asylum or by a half-way home where the ‘patient’ is not cut off from society and yet is in a position to contribute to it. Maybe, there should be a different world within the same world where the ‘sane’ people take active responsibility in integrating people like Ramesh with his obvious endearing qualities into their fold…” Dipti was thinking furiously…
Dipti realized that she had a psychological contract with Ramesh because of her role and that she would have to be careful about that. How could she then address her feelings? She was sure by now that she liked Ramesh enough to make a commitment and she felt confident that she could take on this responsibility. She did not sleep that night. With the outbreak of dawn the answers came as easily as they had eluded her earlier…She knew what she had to do.
“Good morning, Dr. Dhawan.” I have some news for you, grinned Dipti, as she handed him her resignation letter.
15 minutes later, Dipti was walking excitedly towards room 202. “I have to try,” she thought…
By Me
Dipti stood staring at the cover of the book lying on her desk – ‘Parallel Universes’ – the subject had long fascinated her but there was something in the author’s tone that disturbed her – was it indifference or was it something else..
As Dipti thought more of Ramesh, the more she felt uneasy. What was it that was preventing her from reaching out to him, to express her liking for him – was she afraid? Apprehensive? Did she feel that she lacked the emotional strength that would be required for a lifelong commitment to Ramesh? Would she be breaching her psychological contract with him? The answers were clearly not going to be easy…
“A parallel universe is a space – a state of mind akin to a possible psychic retreat – when the schizophrenic cuts off from secured anchors in the ‘real world’, he looks for anchors elsewhere – though those anchors may not be recognized as such by society or the ‘sane world’….” Dipti felt that an important point was emerging from the book – The psychic space of the individual was one which would define for him his ‘individual reality’ – ‘his place’ in the enmeshed interlocked interrelationships between subject and object…
Next morning Dipti met Ramesh in the yoga hall. She was also regularly attending the classes. Though she was retained by the mental hospital as a visiting psychologist, she felt that participating in certain events with her patients would help in building a stronger rapport with them. This in turn would lead to greater experience sharing and would be therapeutic for them. Today she would be meeting Ramesh again for a session and she wanted to maximize the experience for both of them.
“Hello Ramesh, How are you feeling today?” Dipti asked in a cheerful voice. “Great! It’s always a pleasure to meet you,” Ramesh said, equally cheerful.
“Excellent – Today we will work together on what is called the Inkblot Game. I will show you some pictures of inkblots and you have to tell me what they represent to you. So, lets begin!”
Ramesh looked excited. He told Dipti that she was an intelligent, caring and sensitive individual who gave him respect in spite of his situation and that he looked forward to the sessions that he had with her. He said that he felt that at a certain level she understood him.
“This picture reminds me of 2 people with a common destiny. The second one represents an empty canvas waiting to be colored with a story…” Dipti was once again reminded of his perceptiveness and it made her wonder – “How could he be here?”
Back in her room, Dipti got back to the book. “Why is it so wrong to be different, to have a different set of anchors, to have a unique sense of reality not shared by the environment – sure, it may lead to maladjustment in that situation but could there be a place, a retreat for such people where they are allowed to have their own space? A place where the different anchors are same for the people who share that space – a parallel world, a new vocabulary…? Who are we to judge people, who are we to decide who is ‘mad’ – Should we not be more sensitive as human beings and be more allowing and accepting…?”
Dipti realized that her assessment of the author’s tone had been premature. She could feel now that the author was actually a very sensitive and evolved individual. She could not help feeling admiration for him.
“Sir, I have something important to discuss with you,” said Dipti to Dr. Dhawan, the resident psychiatrist. “It is concerning Ramesh, the patient in room 202, who has been diagnosed with schizophrenia. Could you show me the records of his clinical picture vis-à-vis his symptoms.”
“Sure, we have noted that he is confused, is delusional, has major adjusting problems with his environment, has incoherent and disintegrated thoughts stemming from illogical beliefs, disturbed goal directed activity and emotional blunting. There is also a retreat to an inner world,” said Dr. Dhawan looking quizzically at Dipti.
Back in her chamber, Dipti was deep in thought. The inkblot test as well as other tests had confirmed that Ramesh thought very differently from the other patients with similar symptoms.
“Maybe, there should be a separate space of a more humane nature than that offered by an asylum or by a half-way home where the ‘patient’ is not cut off from society and yet is in a position to contribute to it. Maybe, there should be a different world within the same world where the ‘sane’ people take active responsibility in integrating people like Ramesh with his obvious endearing qualities into their fold…” Dipti was thinking furiously…
Dipti realized that she had a psychological contract with Ramesh because of her role and that she would have to be careful about that. How could she then address her feelings? She was sure by now that she liked Ramesh enough to make a commitment and she felt confident that she could take on this responsibility. She did not sleep that night. With the outbreak of dawn the answers came as easily as they had eluded her earlier…She knew what she had to do.
“Good morning, Dr. Dhawan.” I have some news for you, grinned Dipti, as she handed him her resignation letter.
15 minutes later, Dipti was walking excitedly towards room 202. “I have to try,” she thought…
By Me
EVICTION
Ramanan was perturbed. His team and he were very disturbed with their boss, Venkat who they perceived was no less than a tyrant. Something very recent had happened that had aggravated the entire team. The boss had taken full credit for an innovative idea that was generated by three members of the team. The team was highly annoyed with this action.
“It’s really difficult to put up with him. Remember what happened last week” said Rohan, a colleague.
“Yes, he really lashed out at Rohit in front of everyone. The poor chap was so demoralized. He almost cried,” said Ramanan.
“He thinks he is very smart but unfortunately he goes way too far,” continued Ramanan.
The rest of the team murmured their dissatisfaction with the boss. Nobody was happy with him.
“This place would be so much so more peaceful without him,” said Ramanan to which the entire team agreed with a loud “We second that,” in unison…
“I guess next time there is a 360 degree feedback, we‘ll take care of him,” said Rohan.
“I don’t know how much that will help. We’ll have to do something else. I have a plan but I can’t reveal it immediately. I need all of you to do exactly as I say. Is that all right?” said Ramanan.
The team shouted out their consent – “Golly, yes!”
Ramanan smiled, “All right, here we come, Mr Venkat…”
Rajiv, who was the boss of Venkat was surprised to receive a call on Saturday morning from one of Venkat’s team members.
“How is it, Ramanan that you chose to call me today, considering Saturdays are holidays?” Rajiv said, surprised.
“Actually, sir, we were just wondering whether Mr Venkat is in a meeting with you. He has not come to office today and we were wondering where he is,” said Ramanan.
“But, why should he come to office on a Saturday,” asked Rajiv, even more surprised.
“Oh, don’t you know Sir, Mr Venkat always comes on Saturdays also to hold special training programs for us,” said Ramanan.
“I did not know that,“ said Rajiv.
“Oh! Sorry to trouble you. Thank you very much,” said Ramanan as he kept down the phone and winked at Rohan who was standing next to him.
“Now Mr Rajiv will know we are overworked,” said Rohan elated. That’s the first nail in his coffin.
“That was your ploy, Ramanan, wasn’t it,” exclaimed Rohan.
Ramanan just smiled mysteriously.
A week later, as Ramanan entered the office hall, he bumped into Rohan who happened to see Ramanan carrying a pass to an exclusive dance ball in town.
“I see you like attending balls,” said Rohan.
“Oh, this pass is not for me,” said Ramanan as he smiled at Rohan.
“This is for Mr. Rajiv,”
“Ah!” exclaimed Rohan.
“You want to get into his good books.”
“Not really,” said Ramanan.
“Just wait and see.”
Venkat was surprised. He had just received a call from his boss Rajiv who thanked him for the lovely time he had along with his wife at the ball. Although at that time, Venkat had not said anything, he was a bit nonplussed. However, he shook it aside and did not assign much weight to his boss’s words.
“Boy, Mr. Venkat must have been in an awkward situation when Mr. Rajiv must have called to thank him for the pass to the ball. You do have a devious mind,” said Rohan to Ramanan as they were having lunch in the office canteen.
“I agree with you. I do have a devious mind,” said Ramanan and smiled at Rohan.
About a month later, Ramanan approached Rohit, his team member who was also incidentally the system administrator for the office.
“Rohit, I needed to speak with you. Remember, the time Mr. Venkat had lashed out at you. This is an opportunity for you to get back at him,” said Ramanan.
“Oh! That sounds good. What do I have to do?” asked Rohit.
“Nothing much, just reset his computer email password after we hack in. I need to send a mail on his behalf. Yesterday, I happened to go over to his room and happened to see him type his password. This is going to be fun,” said Ramanan.
“That’s simple, here goes” said Rohit excited as he fiddled with his system.
15 minutes later, the mail was sent and the password was reset. Rohit sent a mail to Venkat telling him that his password was reset due to technical reasons.
“I did not understand why you sent a mail to Mr. Rajiv from Mr. Venkat’s id congratulating him on acquiring a new car. Are you trying to make Mr. Rajiv feel that Mr. Venkat is buttering him all of which can go against him” said Rohit .
“Maybe,” said Ramanan.
“But then again, maybe not…” smiled Ramanan.
Finally, it was appraisal day. The team sat huddled together discussing how they would rate their boss in this 360 degree feedback.
“Let us give him an ‘F’ in all areas,” said Rohan.
“That will make our dissatisfaction clear to Mr. Rajiv.”
Ramanan was smiling.
“Give me your appraisal forms and let me handle it,” said Ramanan.
A week later the team was discussing the implications of a mail received by all of them from Mr. Rajiv announcing a meeting.
The team was excited.
“I bet he wants to discuss the bad appraisal we gave Mr. Venkat. This is going to be good,” said Rohan, smiling.
As the meeting commenced, the team was all smiles. Rajiv said that he had an announcement to make.
“After observation of the last three months and also your appraisal, I would like to announce that Mr Venkat will no longer be your boss,” began Rajiv.
The team excitedly looked at Ramanan who was smiling broadly.
“Based on everything, I have decided to promote Mr. Venkat as General Manager and shift him to the Delhi office. This is based on several factors including the strong appraisal that you have given him,” announced Rajiv as he patted a beaming Venkat on the back as he left the room.
The team was stunned and happy. Ramanan was all smiles.
As Ramanan, Rohan, Rohit and the rest of the team celebrated over some drinks in the office itself, Rohan punched Ramanan lightly, “You Devil, you set Mr. Venkat up to get promoted and in the process go far away from us.”
Ramanan laughed loudly.
“It was the only way,” he said.
“I guess this is one of those rare moments when a team has managed to get rid of their boss albeit by getting him promoted,” said Rohit happily.
“It is also one of those rare moments when a team can have hard drinks in the office itself,” smiled Ramanan.
By Vikas and Me
“It’s really difficult to put up with him. Remember what happened last week” said Rohan, a colleague.
“Yes, he really lashed out at Rohit in front of everyone. The poor chap was so demoralized. He almost cried,” said Ramanan.
“He thinks he is very smart but unfortunately he goes way too far,” continued Ramanan.
The rest of the team murmured their dissatisfaction with the boss. Nobody was happy with him.
“This place would be so much so more peaceful without him,” said Ramanan to which the entire team agreed with a loud “We second that,” in unison…
“I guess next time there is a 360 degree feedback, we‘ll take care of him,” said Rohan.
“I don’t know how much that will help. We’ll have to do something else. I have a plan but I can’t reveal it immediately. I need all of you to do exactly as I say. Is that all right?” said Ramanan.
The team shouted out their consent – “Golly, yes!”
Ramanan smiled, “All right, here we come, Mr Venkat…”
Rajiv, who was the boss of Venkat was surprised to receive a call on Saturday morning from one of Venkat’s team members.
“How is it, Ramanan that you chose to call me today, considering Saturdays are holidays?” Rajiv said, surprised.
“Actually, sir, we were just wondering whether Mr Venkat is in a meeting with you. He has not come to office today and we were wondering where he is,” said Ramanan.
“But, why should he come to office on a Saturday,” asked Rajiv, even more surprised.
“Oh, don’t you know Sir, Mr Venkat always comes on Saturdays also to hold special training programs for us,” said Ramanan.
“I did not know that,“ said Rajiv.
“Oh! Sorry to trouble you. Thank you very much,” said Ramanan as he kept down the phone and winked at Rohan who was standing next to him.
“Now Mr Rajiv will know we are overworked,” said Rohan elated. That’s the first nail in his coffin.
“That was your ploy, Ramanan, wasn’t it,” exclaimed Rohan.
Ramanan just smiled mysteriously.
A week later, as Ramanan entered the office hall, he bumped into Rohan who happened to see Ramanan carrying a pass to an exclusive dance ball in town.
“I see you like attending balls,” said Rohan.
“Oh, this pass is not for me,” said Ramanan as he smiled at Rohan.
“This is for Mr. Rajiv,”
“Ah!” exclaimed Rohan.
“You want to get into his good books.”
“Not really,” said Ramanan.
“Just wait and see.”
Venkat was surprised. He had just received a call from his boss Rajiv who thanked him for the lovely time he had along with his wife at the ball. Although at that time, Venkat had not said anything, he was a bit nonplussed. However, he shook it aside and did not assign much weight to his boss’s words.
“Boy, Mr. Venkat must have been in an awkward situation when Mr. Rajiv must have called to thank him for the pass to the ball. You do have a devious mind,” said Rohan to Ramanan as they were having lunch in the office canteen.
“I agree with you. I do have a devious mind,” said Ramanan and smiled at Rohan.
About a month later, Ramanan approached Rohit, his team member who was also incidentally the system administrator for the office.
“Rohit, I needed to speak with you. Remember, the time Mr. Venkat had lashed out at you. This is an opportunity for you to get back at him,” said Ramanan.
“Oh! That sounds good. What do I have to do?” asked Rohit.
“Nothing much, just reset his computer email password after we hack in. I need to send a mail on his behalf. Yesterday, I happened to go over to his room and happened to see him type his password. This is going to be fun,” said Ramanan.
“That’s simple, here goes” said Rohit excited as he fiddled with his system.
15 minutes later, the mail was sent and the password was reset. Rohit sent a mail to Venkat telling him that his password was reset due to technical reasons.
“I did not understand why you sent a mail to Mr. Rajiv from Mr. Venkat’s id congratulating him on acquiring a new car. Are you trying to make Mr. Rajiv feel that Mr. Venkat is buttering him all of which can go against him” said Rohit .
“Maybe,” said Ramanan.
“But then again, maybe not…” smiled Ramanan.
Finally, it was appraisal day. The team sat huddled together discussing how they would rate their boss in this 360 degree feedback.
“Let us give him an ‘F’ in all areas,” said Rohan.
“That will make our dissatisfaction clear to Mr. Rajiv.”
Ramanan was smiling.
“Give me your appraisal forms and let me handle it,” said Ramanan.
A week later the team was discussing the implications of a mail received by all of them from Mr. Rajiv announcing a meeting.
The team was excited.
“I bet he wants to discuss the bad appraisal we gave Mr. Venkat. This is going to be good,” said Rohan, smiling.
As the meeting commenced, the team was all smiles. Rajiv said that he had an announcement to make.
“After observation of the last three months and also your appraisal, I would like to announce that Mr Venkat will no longer be your boss,” began Rajiv.
The team excitedly looked at Ramanan who was smiling broadly.
“Based on everything, I have decided to promote Mr. Venkat as General Manager and shift him to the Delhi office. This is based on several factors including the strong appraisal that you have given him,” announced Rajiv as he patted a beaming Venkat on the back as he left the room.
The team was stunned and happy. Ramanan was all smiles.
As Ramanan, Rohan, Rohit and the rest of the team celebrated over some drinks in the office itself, Rohan punched Ramanan lightly, “You Devil, you set Mr. Venkat up to get promoted and in the process go far away from us.”
Ramanan laughed loudly.
“It was the only way,” he said.
“I guess this is one of those rare moments when a team has managed to get rid of their boss albeit by getting him promoted,” said Rohit happily.
“It is also one of those rare moments when a team can have hard drinks in the office itself,” smiled Ramanan.
By Vikas and Me
PREDATOR
It was 7 pm. End of a hard day’s work at the office. As Rohan got up from his seat, he could see his other colleagues busily wrapping up their papers for the day. Some people were strolling in the hall all set to go. 10 minutes later, as the lights were getting turned off, Rohan along with some of his colleagues left the hall to move to the parking lot. As he revved up his bike, Rohan waved heartily to his colleagues and in a flurry, rode off quickly.
“It seems that Rohan is in a hurry to get home,” commented Mohan, a good colleague of Rohan – “He probably wants to go home and meet his wife.”
“Yes,” commented Rohan, another colleague – “They are such a loving couple.”
30 minutes later, a lone bike strolled in silently into the darkness. Rohan had returned. He had a lewd expression on his face and sported a look of anticipation. He silently came up to the office and without switching on the lights sat down expectantly at his computer.
“Time to have fun,” he thought…
Rohan hastily opened yahoo messenger and started logging in. He logged in using a female id - Aarti and immediately went to the ‘singles’ room. As he scouted around, a window popped open. A male id ‘Jonathan’ identified himself as 24/m/California and asked for identification. Aarti identified herself as 22/f/india and started talking to this unsuspecting stranger.
“Hey, Aarti, how are you?”
“Not too bad, Jonathan - how about you?”
“I am good. What do you do for a living?”
“Oh! Nothing much – I am a struggling model.”
“Ah, a model!”
Rohan could visualize Jonathan drooling. His eyes were alert as he smiled lewdly and thought,” HeHe – this is gonna be easy prey.”
“Aarti, what products do you model for?”
“Oh! For bathing soap.”
“Ah! That must be very interesting. Does that require you to…ahem…you know…kind of…be undressed?”
Rohan was high. As he read the chat, he was extremely excited.
“He’s falling for it,” he thought…
“Well, yes it requires me to be topless, you know – and I really hate that part. All the crew on the set stare at me as if…and you know what happened last time…the producer made a pass at me. I was so scared…”
“Why were you scared?”
“Well, I thought he would, you know, do bad things with me.”
“What bad things?”
“Well, you know, like …”
Rohan was on cloud nine. He was having major fun. He knew that Jonathan wanted to talk dirty with Aarti and this whole thing was giving him a major kick.
“Aarti, why do you think this is bad?”
“I don’t know – it kind of sounds so wrong.”
Suddenly, Rohan’s eyes fell on his watch.
“Oops, its 9:30 pm, Ranjana must be waiting for dinner,” thought Rohan as he hastily logged out and turned the computer off.
The next day at office, Rohan was his cool self. No one knew of his hidden world where he had so much ‘fun.’ As he went about doing his work efficiently, he was humming…
Once, while Rohan was in a chat room with Aarti’s id, he suddenly saw an id enter the room. The name seemed familiar. As Rohan inspected the name carefully and clicked on his profile to know more about him, he suddenly realized who the person was. He was none other than his colleague Mahesh who sat in the same hall with him.
Rohan was excited. He realized that he could have major fun with Mahesh without him finding out about his real identity. He immediately contacted Mahesh online under Aarti’s id with a flamboyant greeting saying that he wanted to be friends with him.
Initially, Rohan got no response, but he persisted. Finally Mahesh gave in and returned the greeting. Rohan immediately began his act of being a struggling female model and how his producer was trying to exploit him and was always trying to flirt with him.
He kept on his tirade for fifteen minutes till finally Mahesh consented to be ‘friends.’
Mahesh responded sympathetically and told him not to worry as now he was Aarti’s friend and would take care of her. He would personally visit the producer and talk to him.
Rohan was smiling lewdly knowing that Mahesh had taken the bait and fallen hook, line and sinker for this story. He knew that now he had Mahesh in his hand and could have major fun with him.
Rohan then started asking Mahesh if he had a girlfriend to which Mahesh responded negative. He then asked him whether he never felt the need to have one to which Mahesh responded that he had a strong need for a companion with whom he could share everything.
Rohan then asked him what kind of a girl he was looking for to which Mahesh responded that he was looking for a beautiful, truthful and sensitive person with whom he could spend time and share everything. Rohan was on cloud nine. He immediately beckoned Rohit who was his good friend to his computer and whispered the whole setup to him. He then winked at Rohit saying that they would take Mahesh for a nice ride to which Rohit smiled back wickedly and agreed that this was great fun.
This went on for a few days. Mostly Rohan and Rohit would have a good laugh at the end of the many sessions that had taken place.
Then something happened in office which changed things. Rohan’s boss assigned Mahesh to work with Rohan on a certain assignment. Rohan was taken aback initially but then realized that he could find out more about Mahesh’s real life through the association with him in office and could then use that information to have more fun with him.
As Rohan and Mahesh were sitting together on one occasion discussing work, Rohan casually asked Mahesh whether he ever had a girlfriend to which Mahesh replied that he had one sometime in the past. Rohan probed further and discovered that she had ditched him for someone else leaving Mahesh scarred. As a result of this, Mahesh now hated women and was very careful in dealing with them.
Rohan felt sorry for Mahesh and even felt a tinge of guilt about playing with him in the internet chat room. He resolved to use the chat room to now build back Mahesh’s trust in women through Aarti and then finally disappear after healing his wounds to some extent.
When Aarti greeted Mahesh in the chat room the next time, he noticed that she was very subdued. As Mahesh commented on this, Aarti responded by saying that she really liked Mahesh and was gradually falling in love with him. Mahesh must have immediately stiffened as his woman-hating instincts took over and he told Aarti politely that he was not interested at that point in time.
Aarti responded by saying that it was all right and that she would wait for Mahesh to give his consent. She spoke nice love words and made Mahesh feel that he was very important to her and that she would never ever hurt him. She spoke about the time when she herself was very hurt because her boyfriend ditched her and now she was looking for someone to heal her wounds.
As this continued session after session, Rohan realized that Mahesh was beginning to like Aarti. He now realized that this itself was a healing process and this itself indicated that Mahesh’s wounds were now closing and that he was now beginning to trust women again.
Rohan realized that now he had to back off in some way and bring this to a closure. He realized that the best way of doing that was to confess to Mahesh that he was actually Aarti and seek his forgiveness. Through interacting with Mahesh, he had realized that Mahesh was a very sensitive and nice person and would surely overlook this issue if confessed to properly.
Rohan had mixed feelings as he approached Mahesh. As he sat down next to Mahesh, Rohan patted him on the back and told him that he wanted to tell him something. As he was midway in the confession with downcast eyes, he suddenly looked up and saw Mahesh giving him a very keen look.
Before he could finish, Mahesh slowly rubbed Rohan’s cheeks and told Rohan not to worry. He took Rohan’s hand and told him that it was ok and that he would not tell anyone and that Rohan had succeeded in his quest of making him fall in love.
Except that since he knew it all along, it was not Aarti but Rohan whom he was in love with. Mahesh caressed Rohan’s palm and told Rohan that they would have a great life together saying that his hatred of women had made him a homosexual.
Rohan’s world shook with a thunder that he had never experienced before. He looked up with shock and stared at the ceiling.
The ceiling stared back at him.
by Vikas and Me
“It seems that Rohan is in a hurry to get home,” commented Mohan, a good colleague of Rohan – “He probably wants to go home and meet his wife.”
“Yes,” commented Rohan, another colleague – “They are such a loving couple.”
30 minutes later, a lone bike strolled in silently into the darkness. Rohan had returned. He had a lewd expression on his face and sported a look of anticipation. He silently came up to the office and without switching on the lights sat down expectantly at his computer.
“Time to have fun,” he thought…
Rohan hastily opened yahoo messenger and started logging in. He logged in using a female id - Aarti and immediately went to the ‘singles’ room. As he scouted around, a window popped open. A male id ‘Jonathan’ identified himself as 24/m/California and asked for identification. Aarti identified herself as 22/f/india and started talking to this unsuspecting stranger.
“Hey, Aarti, how are you?”
“Not too bad, Jonathan - how about you?”
“I am good. What do you do for a living?”
“Oh! Nothing much – I am a struggling model.”
“Ah, a model!”
Rohan could visualize Jonathan drooling. His eyes were alert as he smiled lewdly and thought,” HeHe – this is gonna be easy prey.”
“Aarti, what products do you model for?”
“Oh! For bathing soap.”
“Ah! That must be very interesting. Does that require you to…ahem…you know…kind of…be undressed?”
Rohan was high. As he read the chat, he was extremely excited.
“He’s falling for it,” he thought…
“Well, yes it requires me to be topless, you know – and I really hate that part. All the crew on the set stare at me as if…and you know what happened last time…the producer made a pass at me. I was so scared…”
“Why were you scared?”
“Well, I thought he would, you know, do bad things with me.”
“What bad things?”
“Well, you know, like …”
Rohan was on cloud nine. He was having major fun. He knew that Jonathan wanted to talk dirty with Aarti and this whole thing was giving him a major kick.
“Aarti, why do you think this is bad?”
“I don’t know – it kind of sounds so wrong.”
Suddenly, Rohan’s eyes fell on his watch.
“Oops, its 9:30 pm, Ranjana must be waiting for dinner,” thought Rohan as he hastily logged out and turned the computer off.
The next day at office, Rohan was his cool self. No one knew of his hidden world where he had so much ‘fun.’ As he went about doing his work efficiently, he was humming…
Once, while Rohan was in a chat room with Aarti’s id, he suddenly saw an id enter the room. The name seemed familiar. As Rohan inspected the name carefully and clicked on his profile to know more about him, he suddenly realized who the person was. He was none other than his colleague Mahesh who sat in the same hall with him.
Rohan was excited. He realized that he could have major fun with Mahesh without him finding out about his real identity. He immediately contacted Mahesh online under Aarti’s id with a flamboyant greeting saying that he wanted to be friends with him.
Initially, Rohan got no response, but he persisted. Finally Mahesh gave in and returned the greeting. Rohan immediately began his act of being a struggling female model and how his producer was trying to exploit him and was always trying to flirt with him.
He kept on his tirade for fifteen minutes till finally Mahesh consented to be ‘friends.’
Mahesh responded sympathetically and told him not to worry as now he was Aarti’s friend and would take care of her. He would personally visit the producer and talk to him.
Rohan was smiling lewdly knowing that Mahesh had taken the bait and fallen hook, line and sinker for this story. He knew that now he had Mahesh in his hand and could have major fun with him.
Rohan then started asking Mahesh if he had a girlfriend to which Mahesh responded negative. He then asked him whether he never felt the need to have one to which Mahesh responded that he had a strong need for a companion with whom he could share everything.
Rohan then asked him what kind of a girl he was looking for to which Mahesh responded that he was looking for a beautiful, truthful and sensitive person with whom he could spend time and share everything. Rohan was on cloud nine. He immediately beckoned Rohit who was his good friend to his computer and whispered the whole setup to him. He then winked at Rohit saying that they would take Mahesh for a nice ride to which Rohit smiled back wickedly and agreed that this was great fun.
This went on for a few days. Mostly Rohan and Rohit would have a good laugh at the end of the many sessions that had taken place.
Then something happened in office which changed things. Rohan’s boss assigned Mahesh to work with Rohan on a certain assignment. Rohan was taken aback initially but then realized that he could find out more about Mahesh’s real life through the association with him in office and could then use that information to have more fun with him.
As Rohan and Mahesh were sitting together on one occasion discussing work, Rohan casually asked Mahesh whether he ever had a girlfriend to which Mahesh replied that he had one sometime in the past. Rohan probed further and discovered that she had ditched him for someone else leaving Mahesh scarred. As a result of this, Mahesh now hated women and was very careful in dealing with them.
Rohan felt sorry for Mahesh and even felt a tinge of guilt about playing with him in the internet chat room. He resolved to use the chat room to now build back Mahesh’s trust in women through Aarti and then finally disappear after healing his wounds to some extent.
When Aarti greeted Mahesh in the chat room the next time, he noticed that she was very subdued. As Mahesh commented on this, Aarti responded by saying that she really liked Mahesh and was gradually falling in love with him. Mahesh must have immediately stiffened as his woman-hating instincts took over and he told Aarti politely that he was not interested at that point in time.
Aarti responded by saying that it was all right and that she would wait for Mahesh to give his consent. She spoke nice love words and made Mahesh feel that he was very important to her and that she would never ever hurt him. She spoke about the time when she herself was very hurt because her boyfriend ditched her and now she was looking for someone to heal her wounds.
As this continued session after session, Rohan realized that Mahesh was beginning to like Aarti. He now realized that this itself was a healing process and this itself indicated that Mahesh’s wounds were now closing and that he was now beginning to trust women again.
Rohan realized that now he had to back off in some way and bring this to a closure. He realized that the best way of doing that was to confess to Mahesh that he was actually Aarti and seek his forgiveness. Through interacting with Mahesh, he had realized that Mahesh was a very sensitive and nice person and would surely overlook this issue if confessed to properly.
Rohan had mixed feelings as he approached Mahesh. As he sat down next to Mahesh, Rohan patted him on the back and told him that he wanted to tell him something. As he was midway in the confession with downcast eyes, he suddenly looked up and saw Mahesh giving him a very keen look.
Before he could finish, Mahesh slowly rubbed Rohan’s cheeks and told Rohan not to worry. He took Rohan’s hand and told him that it was ok and that he would not tell anyone and that Rohan had succeeded in his quest of making him fall in love.
Except that since he knew it all along, it was not Aarti but Rohan whom he was in love with. Mahesh caressed Rohan’s palm and told Rohan that they would have a great life together saying that his hatred of women had made him a homosexual.
Rohan’s world shook with a thunder that he had never experienced before. He looked up with shock and stared at the ceiling.
The ceiling stared back at him.
by Vikas and Me
THE ORIENTATION PROGRAM
Ram was excited. Today was the 1st of May, 2009. It was the first day of his orientation program with a leading group with diverse interests with whom he had recently secured a job. He just could not wait to meet the different department people and learn more about the Group. He had recently graduated from a leading business school where he had secured the gold medal. He was now keen to meet his new colleagues.
He shivered as he entered the conference room where people from different departments would come and deliver an introductory talk. “The air conditioning was working overtime, it seemed or was he just plain nervous,” he thought as he took his seat among ten other new recruits.
The first two sessions lasted for 3 hours. Somebody spoke on the need for current business transformation at various levels while someone spoke on future business strategy for the Group. Ram was starting to feel thoroughly bored.
“This is turning out to be worse than an MBA lecture though I guess it cannot be helped. It’s a part and parcel of the orientation program. After all, the Group does want to make a good first impression on the MBA recruits…,“ he thought…
As the talks continued, a fellow recruit asked Ram what were some of the things that he had observed in the last 6 hours. Ram was in a flippant mood.
“Well, we need to align people with business strategy and if they do not agree, then to bring them into these cold gas chambers called conference rooms, said Ram “and bombard them with fancy phrases designed to develop an inferiority complex…I guess that’s what they are trying – the pompous head of departments…,”
Rohan, another new recruit who was sitting next to Ram burst out laughing.
“What the top brass needs is a class on effective communication,” said Rohan and patted Ram on the back.
“Yes, said Ram and I bet they won’t ask for feedback. So much for effective communication…"
“Hey Rohan, did you notice something – all the department heads are male – no ladies at top positions out here.“
“That’s obvious Ram, women belong to the kitchen, don’t they,” Rohan winked.
"It’s an offshoot of the glass ceiling, Rohan and its rather sad."
"You seem to know a lot," said Rohan marveling. "Yes, we are all mostly chauvinist pigs…Well, did you notice that one of the department heads insisted on being called by first name – now that’s confidence…"
"Right," said Ram – "he is a person who has resolved what is called a power distance issue. He is non-Japanese in his approach and very American-like. Talk about cultural anomalies. The other Head who spoke on business alignment was somewhat reserved and boorish. I guess he draws his kicks from his position which he thinks he deserved because of his years of hard work – whew! talk about quantity over quality…His role has taken over his person."
"You mean like human versus robot…person and role…"
"Right!"
"That’s not too bad – but at least he is consistently robot – most people are confused midway."
"Hmmm…you have a point…"
"Hey, Ram remember that guy who spoke on transcendental meditation. What happens in that? Do people rise above their seats and float in the air?"
"Nah! says Ram – Its about overcoming your conditioning – you transcend above your set patterns and develop an observing ego…you don’t really rise above your seat – rather, you realize that you might need to change your seat in life…from that perspective you are not rising but rather sinking because you realize that all your life has been a lie…and you didn’t even know it…"
"Gosh – that’s deep!" said Rohan…
"Deep – yes, its more of sinking below your seat than rising in the air… you know – sinking into hell rather than rising into heaven – considering that in my belief system both don’t exist…"
"You mean – you do not believe in God?"
"Nah! I am an atheist…I have transcended and I did it without meditating…"
"That’s a mean one – you are making fun of believers – that’s not nice…"
"Hmmm…maybe not…OK I apologize….each to his own…"
(To be continued…)
By Me
He shivered as he entered the conference room where people from different departments would come and deliver an introductory talk. “The air conditioning was working overtime, it seemed or was he just plain nervous,” he thought as he took his seat among ten other new recruits.
The first two sessions lasted for 3 hours. Somebody spoke on the need for current business transformation at various levels while someone spoke on future business strategy for the Group. Ram was starting to feel thoroughly bored.
“This is turning out to be worse than an MBA lecture though I guess it cannot be helped. It’s a part and parcel of the orientation program. After all, the Group does want to make a good first impression on the MBA recruits…,“ he thought…
As the talks continued, a fellow recruit asked Ram what were some of the things that he had observed in the last 6 hours. Ram was in a flippant mood.
“Well, we need to align people with business strategy and if they do not agree, then to bring them into these cold gas chambers called conference rooms, said Ram “and bombard them with fancy phrases designed to develop an inferiority complex…I guess that’s what they are trying – the pompous head of departments…,”
Rohan, another new recruit who was sitting next to Ram burst out laughing.
“What the top brass needs is a class on effective communication,” said Rohan and patted Ram on the back.
“Yes, said Ram and I bet they won’t ask for feedback. So much for effective communication…"
“Hey Rohan, did you notice something – all the department heads are male – no ladies at top positions out here.“
“That’s obvious Ram, women belong to the kitchen, don’t they,” Rohan winked.
"It’s an offshoot of the glass ceiling, Rohan and its rather sad."
"You seem to know a lot," said Rohan marveling. "Yes, we are all mostly chauvinist pigs…Well, did you notice that one of the department heads insisted on being called by first name – now that’s confidence…"
"Right," said Ram – "he is a person who has resolved what is called a power distance issue. He is non-Japanese in his approach and very American-like. Talk about cultural anomalies. The other Head who spoke on business alignment was somewhat reserved and boorish. I guess he draws his kicks from his position which he thinks he deserved because of his years of hard work – whew! talk about quantity over quality…His role has taken over his person."
"You mean like human versus robot…person and role…"
"Right!"
"That’s not too bad – but at least he is consistently robot – most people are confused midway."
"Hmmm…you have a point…"
"Hey, Ram remember that guy who spoke on transcendental meditation. What happens in that? Do people rise above their seats and float in the air?"
"Nah! says Ram – Its about overcoming your conditioning – you transcend above your set patterns and develop an observing ego…you don’t really rise above your seat – rather, you realize that you might need to change your seat in life…from that perspective you are not rising but rather sinking because you realize that all your life has been a lie…and you didn’t even know it…"
"Gosh – that’s deep!" said Rohan…
"Deep – yes, its more of sinking below your seat than rising in the air… you know – sinking into hell rather than rising into heaven – considering that in my belief system both don’t exist…"
"You mean – you do not believe in God?"
"Nah! I am an atheist…I have transcended and I did it without meditating…"
"That’s a mean one – you are making fun of believers – that’s not nice…"
"Hmmm…maybe not…OK I apologize….each to his own…"
(To be continued…)
By Me
FACE DESCRIPTION
The beard strikes out predominantly, beautifully highlighting the roundish chin and long side locks. The ears are medium in size with beautifully curved earlobes. The nose is long and proud and reminds me of an elegant aristocrat. The hair is cropped and disciplined and lies flat upon the large forehead, reminding me of self-restraint. The eyebrows arch over the eyes in a twirling fashion. They emanate a protective bonding towards the eyes. The eyes have beautiful black eyeballs and are focused on his work. His lips are thick and his mustache almost covers them. He has high cheekbones flattening down from the eyes and rising towards the cheeks. Overall, the face reminds me of an artist focused on his painting, determined to succeed.
by Me
by Me
LONDON BRIDGE IS FALLING DOWN
Most Urgent
18th March, 1952
British High Command, London
To,
Officer Wren,
Special Force,
London
Officer,
You are urgently required to report to Commander Smith at Ramasha Island regarding the strong revolutionary movement. The movement mastermind had been captured some time back and our intelligence had told us that without him the movement would be paralyzed. However, that does not seem to be the case. In fact, the movement is stronger than ever. Lord Jack Burlington has been assassinated. Please move immediately.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
As I stared at the telegram in my hand having re-read it for the third time, I heard an announcement saying that we were about to land. I could see a small island seemingly broken into two parts surrounded by water on all sides.
Fifteen minutes later, as I stepped out of the jet on Ramasha Island twenty four hours after I had received the telegram, I saw a man in a brown overcoat waving at me in the distance. As I went closer, I could see that it was Commander Smith himself.
“Good to see you again detective Wren…We are in deep trouble. The Governor General Lord Jack Burlington was assassinated last week by the revolutionary movement. We just cannot understand it. We had captured Petros Guodupalla who is now imprisoned along with his five year old daughter Pauline since the last one month. We were confident that without him the movement would be severely impaired. But, the movement seems to be even more charged than ever. We have a feeling that he is still giving instructions to the movement, but we do not know how. The British Monarch is visiting the island tomorrow. We need to get this wrapped up before he arrives.”
“Does Petros have any connection with the outside world while he is in prison; any visitors? I asked.
“No, except his daughter’s governess, Mary Weber, who has brought her up since birth. She visits them once a week for an hour. I make sure that I am present in that meeting,” said the Commander.
“What happens during that time?” I asked?
“There is general talk and singing of nursery rhymes and a bit of games with the child and then the governess goes away.”
As I retired to my room, deep in thought, I felt tired. As I finished the shower, I looked into the mirror. The face that greeted me was fair and squarish, with deep blue eyes. There was a poignant look in them indicating the huge experience of solved and unsolved cases. The hair was black and curly. The mouth was large with thick lips almost sensuously boasting of a series of relationships. The frame was lanky and the slim body epitomized a high degree of fitness.
I felt a bit worried as I thought about the movement. How was Petros communicating to the movement?
I called up the Commander, “Could you give me the dossier on Petros – his background, activities, etc.”
As I browsed through the file, something unusual caught my eye. Petros was a doctorate and had taught political science at a leading University and even had a couple of publications to his credit. I was astonished that an academician could give up his career and join the movement. As I read further, I discovered that he had lost his wife tragically in an accident just a few months after his daughter was born. He was an avid reader and even a gymnast.
I called Commander Smith again.
“What incidents happened in spite of Petros being in jail,” I asked.
“There is a trail in the island surrounded by trees where the army usually marches through every Sunday. It is a connector to the other part of the island. Last fortnight, as they were marching through, within a two hundred meter stretch, huge rocks fell on them from the canopy of trees causing a stampede injuring at least three hundred of them and killing another hundred. The synchronicity with which this happened was astounding.
In another instance, a week ago, a letter bomb killed Lord Jack Burlington while he tried to open the document which contained the details of the taxes imposed on the people. I wonder what will happen next.”
I was amazed by the simplicity of the methods used by the movement.
“Tell me more about the conversation that Petros has in the cell with the governess,” I asked.
“Well, as I said earlier, Petros and the governess who he refers to as ‘doktorandin’ basically spend time with Pauline playing with her and singing nursery rhymes.
Officer Wren, this is leading us nowhere. Please hurry up. The Monarch is coming in tomorrow to address the people. We need to get to the root of this by tomorrow. Twenty hours is all you have,” the commander said.
I was thinking furiously. Something had struck me. I immediately called my friend George in London. He was the best foreign languages translator in the whole of England.
“George, give me the English translation for doktorandin.”
“That’s simple. It means a doctorate student in german,” said George immediately.
“Thanks, George,” I said as I put the receiver down.
My mind was racing. On a hunch, I called up the librarian at the National Library in London.
“Hi, John, Wren here. Is there any publication by Mary Weber in your records,” I asked.
“Hold on, I’ll check and get back to you,” John replied
Twenty minutes later, John called up excitedly, “Wren, I got something. There is a small publication – ‘German guerrilla warfare techniques during world war 1’ by Weber Mary”
“Thanks a ton, John. Please fax me the manuscript,” I said.
As I browsed through the manuscript, my eyes fell upon the acknowledgement page. My hunch was right. There was a fond acknowledgement to Professor Guodupalla for having guided her in this project.
I suddenly came upon a chapter – ‘History and significance of nursery rhymes in communication during wartime’. I startled and almost fell from the chair. The chapter was detailed and very fascinating. It explained the historical meanings of nursery rhymes and how they were codes in communication.
Things suddenly became clear to me. “Oh Lord! So that’s how they are communicating.”
I almost ran to Commander Smith. He had just reached the army headquarters after having received the Monarch who had just arrived.
“Tell me Commander,” I asked hurriedly, “do you remember which nursery rhymes they sang during the governess’ visit?”
“Yes,” said the Commander. “I do recall somewhat. In fact they sing the same rhyme over and over again throughout the hour. The first time they sung -
‘Rock-a-bye-baby
On the treetop
When the wind blows,
The cradle will rock.
When the bough breaks,
The cradle will fall
And down will come baby
Cradle and all”
I grabbed the Commander’s shoulder.
“Don’t you see – the way they communicated. That was an instruction to ambush the army where there is a canopy of trees. They probably placed the rocks in some containers over the entire stretch which sat on the treetop like cradles. When the army passed that way, through some mechanism, they made the rocks fall causing a stampede. That is exactly what happened. It is a guerilla technique.
Quick, tell me the other rhymes,” I almost gasped.
The Commander’s face turned red as he realized how he had been fooled. He tried recalling the second rhyme –
‘Little Jack Horner
Sat in a corner…”
“Eating a Christmas Pie
He put in his thumb
And pulled out a plum
And said
"Oh, what a good boy am I!’
I finished the rhyme and jumped up. “Commander, ‘Jack’ here could refer to Lord Jack Burlington. Tell me, what was the content in the letter?”
“Well, every quarter, heavy taxes are levied on the people of the island. As per the rumor, Lord Jack Burlington used to receive the letter himself and then would go into his chamber and make changes in the figures before sending it to the Monarch,” explained the Commander.
I recalled the chapter in the manuscript and excitedly turned towards the Commander.
“Yes, it refers to him all right. The ‘plum’ refers to the tax on the land and the ‘pulling out’ refers to the letter bomb. The ‘corner’ refers to his chamber and ‘good boy’ to his impression on the Monarch.” It has a political and historical significance. Petros is really smart.
What was the next rhyme?”
“The last rhyme,” said the commander,“ which he said yesterday was -
“Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall
Humpty Dumpty had a great fall
All the ……”
“Oh Lord, I almost shouted. The main cannon! Historically, the biggest gun of the army was brought down by the enemy. The biggest gun here can only mean the Monarch. They are going to try and assassinate him, but when?
Where is he right now?”
“What? He is about to reach the ‘Divison Wall’ – the palace courtyard, where there is a wall, where the army stand on one side and the people of the island on the other. The Monarch stands in the middle to address the people. This is a tradition which signifies the division between the colonized people and the army. This happens every year. It’s a special day for the British army signifying their triumph.
Wait a minute! Oh I see! That’s where they will get him!!! We have to rush,” the Commander exclaimed as he made a quick call and then ran out towards his car. I followed quickly.
We reached the Division Wall in ten minutes. The people of the island had already gathered and were now getting impatient as time flew by for the Monarch’s address. The army had been warned and it had cordoned off the wall area and was physically searching the area and the people for signs of any weapons.
An hour passed. As we continued to wait, nothing happened. The Army Chief came back to us and said that they had found nothing. I was confused. Could I have understood wrongly?
I turned to the Commander, “Was there any other nursery rhyme that you did not recall or did anything else happen yesterday at the prison?”
After a brief thought, Commander Smith replied, “No, there wasn’t any other rhyme but something else did happen. It seems insignificant but Petros showed everyone present a magic trick. In fact, he called out to the guards and said he would make two fingers disappear. Then, after using his spit to mark the fingers, he put his hand behind his head and when he brought it back in front, it seemed that the two marked fingers were actually missing. Pauline and the Governess were clapping continuously.
I stood up and shouted hoarsely, “Why didn’t you tell me earlier? This magic trick indicated the final nursery rhyme. The Humpty Dumpty rhyme was a red herring to fool us. The two fingers indicate two little dickie birds. The rhyme goes like this –
Two little dickie birds,
Sitting on a wall;
One named Peter,
The other named Paul.
Fly away Peter!
Fly away Paul!
Peter refers to Petros and Paul refers to his daughter Pauline. Call the prison. Petros is planning to escape with his daughter. I hope we are not too late.”
The ropes which hung from the ceiling of the empty prison cell gaped at us in arrogance. There was a hatch window at the far top which was half-open. It seemed too high for anyone to climb. Petros had used the ropes smuggled in by the movement to climb up and literally fly away. I remembered now that he was also a gymnast. It was ironical. He had kept the easiest nursery rhyme for himself. The nursery rhyme which had been used as a magic trick for centuries had been used by Petros to make a fool out of me.
As I sunk down on the floor resigned and outwitted, I look up again at the hatch window. As I imagined the next instruction from the monarch relieving me of my services or maybe even my life - the words automatically formed in my mouth completing the nursery rhyme:
‘Come back Peter
Come back Paul!’
by Vikas and Me
18th March, 1952
British High Command, London
To,
Officer Wren,
Special Force,
London
Officer,
You are urgently required to report to Commander Smith at Ramasha Island regarding the strong revolutionary movement. The movement mastermind had been captured some time back and our intelligence had told us that without him the movement would be paralyzed. However, that does not seem to be the case. In fact, the movement is stronger than ever. Lord Jack Burlington has been assassinated. Please move immediately.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
As I stared at the telegram in my hand having re-read it for the third time, I heard an announcement saying that we were about to land. I could see a small island seemingly broken into two parts surrounded by water on all sides.
Fifteen minutes later, as I stepped out of the jet on Ramasha Island twenty four hours after I had received the telegram, I saw a man in a brown overcoat waving at me in the distance. As I went closer, I could see that it was Commander Smith himself.
“Good to see you again detective Wren…We are in deep trouble. The Governor General Lord Jack Burlington was assassinated last week by the revolutionary movement. We just cannot understand it. We had captured Petros Guodupalla who is now imprisoned along with his five year old daughter Pauline since the last one month. We were confident that without him the movement would be severely impaired. But, the movement seems to be even more charged than ever. We have a feeling that he is still giving instructions to the movement, but we do not know how. The British Monarch is visiting the island tomorrow. We need to get this wrapped up before he arrives.”
“Does Petros have any connection with the outside world while he is in prison; any visitors? I asked.
“No, except his daughter’s governess, Mary Weber, who has brought her up since birth. She visits them once a week for an hour. I make sure that I am present in that meeting,” said the Commander.
“What happens during that time?” I asked?
“There is general talk and singing of nursery rhymes and a bit of games with the child and then the governess goes away.”
As I retired to my room, deep in thought, I felt tired. As I finished the shower, I looked into the mirror. The face that greeted me was fair and squarish, with deep blue eyes. There was a poignant look in them indicating the huge experience of solved and unsolved cases. The hair was black and curly. The mouth was large with thick lips almost sensuously boasting of a series of relationships. The frame was lanky and the slim body epitomized a high degree of fitness.
I felt a bit worried as I thought about the movement. How was Petros communicating to the movement?
I called up the Commander, “Could you give me the dossier on Petros – his background, activities, etc.”
As I browsed through the file, something unusual caught my eye. Petros was a doctorate and had taught political science at a leading University and even had a couple of publications to his credit. I was astonished that an academician could give up his career and join the movement. As I read further, I discovered that he had lost his wife tragically in an accident just a few months after his daughter was born. He was an avid reader and even a gymnast.
I called Commander Smith again.
“What incidents happened in spite of Petros being in jail,” I asked.
“There is a trail in the island surrounded by trees where the army usually marches through every Sunday. It is a connector to the other part of the island. Last fortnight, as they were marching through, within a two hundred meter stretch, huge rocks fell on them from the canopy of trees causing a stampede injuring at least three hundred of them and killing another hundred. The synchronicity with which this happened was astounding.
In another instance, a week ago, a letter bomb killed Lord Jack Burlington while he tried to open the document which contained the details of the taxes imposed on the people. I wonder what will happen next.”
I was amazed by the simplicity of the methods used by the movement.
“Tell me more about the conversation that Petros has in the cell with the governess,” I asked.
“Well, as I said earlier, Petros and the governess who he refers to as ‘doktorandin’ basically spend time with Pauline playing with her and singing nursery rhymes.
Officer Wren, this is leading us nowhere. Please hurry up. The Monarch is coming in tomorrow to address the people. We need to get to the root of this by tomorrow. Twenty hours is all you have,” the commander said.
I was thinking furiously. Something had struck me. I immediately called my friend George in London. He was the best foreign languages translator in the whole of England.
“George, give me the English translation for doktorandin.”
“That’s simple. It means a doctorate student in german,” said George immediately.
“Thanks, George,” I said as I put the receiver down.
My mind was racing. On a hunch, I called up the librarian at the National Library in London.
“Hi, John, Wren here. Is there any publication by Mary Weber in your records,” I asked.
“Hold on, I’ll check and get back to you,” John replied
Twenty minutes later, John called up excitedly, “Wren, I got something. There is a small publication – ‘German guerrilla warfare techniques during world war 1’ by Weber Mary”
“Thanks a ton, John. Please fax me the manuscript,” I said.
As I browsed through the manuscript, my eyes fell upon the acknowledgement page. My hunch was right. There was a fond acknowledgement to Professor Guodupalla for having guided her in this project.
I suddenly came upon a chapter – ‘History and significance of nursery rhymes in communication during wartime’. I startled and almost fell from the chair. The chapter was detailed and very fascinating. It explained the historical meanings of nursery rhymes and how they were codes in communication.
Things suddenly became clear to me. “Oh Lord! So that’s how they are communicating.”
I almost ran to Commander Smith. He had just reached the army headquarters after having received the Monarch who had just arrived.
“Tell me Commander,” I asked hurriedly, “do you remember which nursery rhymes they sang during the governess’ visit?”
“Yes,” said the Commander. “I do recall somewhat. In fact they sing the same rhyme over and over again throughout the hour. The first time they sung -
‘Rock-a-bye-baby
On the treetop
When the wind blows,
The cradle will rock.
When the bough breaks,
The cradle will fall
And down will come baby
Cradle and all”
I grabbed the Commander’s shoulder.
“Don’t you see – the way they communicated. That was an instruction to ambush the army where there is a canopy of trees. They probably placed the rocks in some containers over the entire stretch which sat on the treetop like cradles. When the army passed that way, through some mechanism, they made the rocks fall causing a stampede. That is exactly what happened. It is a guerilla technique.
Quick, tell me the other rhymes,” I almost gasped.
The Commander’s face turned red as he realized how he had been fooled. He tried recalling the second rhyme –
‘Little Jack Horner
Sat in a corner…”
“Eating a Christmas Pie
He put in his thumb
And pulled out a plum
And said
"Oh, what a good boy am I!’
I finished the rhyme and jumped up. “Commander, ‘Jack’ here could refer to Lord Jack Burlington. Tell me, what was the content in the letter?”
“Well, every quarter, heavy taxes are levied on the people of the island. As per the rumor, Lord Jack Burlington used to receive the letter himself and then would go into his chamber and make changes in the figures before sending it to the Monarch,” explained the Commander.
I recalled the chapter in the manuscript and excitedly turned towards the Commander.
“Yes, it refers to him all right. The ‘plum’ refers to the tax on the land and the ‘pulling out’ refers to the letter bomb. The ‘corner’ refers to his chamber and ‘good boy’ to his impression on the Monarch.” It has a political and historical significance. Petros is really smart.
What was the next rhyme?”
“The last rhyme,” said the commander,“ which he said yesterday was -
“Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall
Humpty Dumpty had a great fall
All the ……”
“Oh Lord, I almost shouted. The main cannon! Historically, the biggest gun of the army was brought down by the enemy. The biggest gun here can only mean the Monarch. They are going to try and assassinate him, but when?
Where is he right now?”
“What? He is about to reach the ‘Divison Wall’ – the palace courtyard, where there is a wall, where the army stand on one side and the people of the island on the other. The Monarch stands in the middle to address the people. This is a tradition which signifies the division between the colonized people and the army. This happens every year. It’s a special day for the British army signifying their triumph.
Wait a minute! Oh I see! That’s where they will get him!!! We have to rush,” the Commander exclaimed as he made a quick call and then ran out towards his car. I followed quickly.
We reached the Division Wall in ten minutes. The people of the island had already gathered and were now getting impatient as time flew by for the Monarch’s address. The army had been warned and it had cordoned off the wall area and was physically searching the area and the people for signs of any weapons.
An hour passed. As we continued to wait, nothing happened. The Army Chief came back to us and said that they had found nothing. I was confused. Could I have understood wrongly?
I turned to the Commander, “Was there any other nursery rhyme that you did not recall or did anything else happen yesterday at the prison?”
After a brief thought, Commander Smith replied, “No, there wasn’t any other rhyme but something else did happen. It seems insignificant but Petros showed everyone present a magic trick. In fact, he called out to the guards and said he would make two fingers disappear. Then, after using his spit to mark the fingers, he put his hand behind his head and when he brought it back in front, it seemed that the two marked fingers were actually missing. Pauline and the Governess were clapping continuously.
I stood up and shouted hoarsely, “Why didn’t you tell me earlier? This magic trick indicated the final nursery rhyme. The Humpty Dumpty rhyme was a red herring to fool us. The two fingers indicate two little dickie birds. The rhyme goes like this –
Two little dickie birds,
Sitting on a wall;
One named Peter,
The other named Paul.
Fly away Peter!
Fly away Paul!
Peter refers to Petros and Paul refers to his daughter Pauline. Call the prison. Petros is planning to escape with his daughter. I hope we are not too late.”
The ropes which hung from the ceiling of the empty prison cell gaped at us in arrogance. There was a hatch window at the far top which was half-open. It seemed too high for anyone to climb. Petros had used the ropes smuggled in by the movement to climb up and literally fly away. I remembered now that he was also a gymnast. It was ironical. He had kept the easiest nursery rhyme for himself. The nursery rhyme which had been used as a magic trick for centuries had been used by Petros to make a fool out of me.
As I sunk down on the floor resigned and outwitted, I look up again at the hatch window. As I imagined the next instruction from the monarch relieving me of my services or maybe even my life - the words automatically formed in my mouth completing the nursery rhyme:
‘Come back Peter
Come back Paul!’
by Vikas and Me
CATHARSIS
“Come in Radhika, how are you today?” the psychoanalyst asked. He had a sober expression on his face and was gently smiling.
Radhika looked troubled. She winced at his greeting and quietly sat down, hands folded over her lap. She said nothing.
10 silent minutes passed before Radhika spoke, “Last time we discovered that I have a problem with experimenting with new things. I would like to explore that further. I am 40 years old and there is so much to do, but its just that I have this strange fear…I can’t explain it.”
“What happens to you when you think of experimenting with something?” the analyst asked.
Radhika thought for a while. “Well, I experience a strange sense of sadness…a sense of fear that something bad will happen.”
You know, this morning as I thought about all the therapy sessions that I have had with you, I felt a little worried. I experienced that same sense of sadness…that same sense of fear…I don’t know…It’s just that we have spent so much time already; I hope you won’t give up on me.”
“If that were to happen, what would it mean to you? the analyst asked quietly.
“I don’t know…I guess it would be a sense of loss, a sense of losing someone I trust…” Radhika stuttered.
“Can you recollect a time when you lost someone whom you trusted?” the analyst asked.
Radhika was quiet. Suddenly tears welled up in her eyes and she started sobbing. After a couple of minutes she composed herself and said in a broken voice, “Rachita, my close friend, whom I lost when I stole her bike and banged it into a car. She has never spoken to me after that. And I have never ridden since then.”
The analyst did not say anything. After about 10 minutes, he asked, “You love your friend very much?”
Radhika nodded slowly. “Yes, she is very valuable to me.”
The analyst nodded, “Just as this therapy is valuable to you.”
Radhika looked up confused.
“Do you think it is possible that the loss of your friendship has affected you so deeply that you now deeply fear losing anything that is valuable to you? Do you think this is a pattern now with you? the analyst asked softly…
There was a deafening silence…as the session ended.
The next day Radhika mysteriously quit therapy.
It was almost a year since then when Radhika bumped into the analyst in a mall. She was accompanied by a tall lady.
“Hello,” she greeted him warmly.
“Hello Radhika, how are you? the analyst asked.
“I am great. I want to apologize for just leaving therapy like that but I guess I was very threatened with your observation. But in course of time, I realized that you were right and that I had an unconscious pattern. So, I patched up with Rachita. This is her,” she bubbled pointing at the tall lady.
The analyst beamed. “I am happy for you, Radhika. All the best! I have to leave now for a session.”
“Just a moment,” said Radhika as they stepped outside the mall. “Can I give you a ride?” she smiled pointing at her new bike.
by Vikas and Me
Radhika looked troubled. She winced at his greeting and quietly sat down, hands folded over her lap. She said nothing.
10 silent minutes passed before Radhika spoke, “Last time we discovered that I have a problem with experimenting with new things. I would like to explore that further. I am 40 years old and there is so much to do, but its just that I have this strange fear…I can’t explain it.”
“What happens to you when you think of experimenting with something?” the analyst asked.
Radhika thought for a while. “Well, I experience a strange sense of sadness…a sense of fear that something bad will happen.”
You know, this morning as I thought about all the therapy sessions that I have had with you, I felt a little worried. I experienced that same sense of sadness…that same sense of fear…I don’t know…It’s just that we have spent so much time already; I hope you won’t give up on me.”
“If that were to happen, what would it mean to you? the analyst asked quietly.
“I don’t know…I guess it would be a sense of loss, a sense of losing someone I trust…” Radhika stuttered.
“Can you recollect a time when you lost someone whom you trusted?” the analyst asked.
Radhika was quiet. Suddenly tears welled up in her eyes and she started sobbing. After a couple of minutes she composed herself and said in a broken voice, “Rachita, my close friend, whom I lost when I stole her bike and banged it into a car. She has never spoken to me after that. And I have never ridden since then.”
The analyst did not say anything. After about 10 minutes, he asked, “You love your friend very much?”
Radhika nodded slowly. “Yes, she is very valuable to me.”
The analyst nodded, “Just as this therapy is valuable to you.”
Radhika looked up confused.
“Do you think it is possible that the loss of your friendship has affected you so deeply that you now deeply fear losing anything that is valuable to you? Do you think this is a pattern now with you? the analyst asked softly…
There was a deafening silence…as the session ended.
The next day Radhika mysteriously quit therapy.
It was almost a year since then when Radhika bumped into the analyst in a mall. She was accompanied by a tall lady.
“Hello,” she greeted him warmly.
“Hello Radhika, how are you? the analyst asked.
“I am great. I want to apologize for just leaving therapy like that but I guess I was very threatened with your observation. But in course of time, I realized that you were right and that I had an unconscious pattern. So, I patched up with Rachita. This is her,” she bubbled pointing at the tall lady.
The analyst beamed. “I am happy for you, Radhika. All the best! I have to leave now for a session.”
“Just a moment,” said Radhika as they stepped outside the mall. “Can I give you a ride?” she smiled pointing at her new bike.
by Vikas and Me
Saturday, January 10, 2009
Literary Technique
Hey, I picked this up from Wikipedia - Amazing stuff...If you visit the link below you will also find sub-links to the techniques.
Source: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Literary_technique
A literary technique or literary device is an identifiable rule of thumb, convention or structure that is employed in literature and storytelling.
Literary techniques are important aspects of an author's style, which is one of the five elements of fiction, along with character, plot, setting and theme.
Literary devices refer to specific aspects of literature, in the sense of its universal function as an art form which expresses ideas through language, which we can recognize, identify, interpret and/or analyze. Literary devices collectively comprise the art form’s components; the means by which authors create meaning through language, and by which readers gain understanding of and appreciation for their works. They also provide a conceptual framework for comparing individual literary works to others, both within and across genres. Both literary elements and literary techniques can rightly be called literary devices.
Annotated list of literary techniques
Alien space bats
A plot device sometimes used in alternate history to create a point of divergence that would otherwise be implausible.
Anthropomorphism
A form of personification, taking human-like characteristics to both living and non-living objects.
Author surrogate
A character who acts as the author's spokesman. Sometimes the character may intentionally or unintentionally be an idealized version of the author. A well known variation is the Mary Sue or Gary Stu (self-insertion).
Back-story
The story "behind" or "before" the events being portrayed in the story being told; past events or background for a character that can serve to color or add additional meaning to current circumstances. Provides extra depth to the story by anchoring it to external events, real or imagined.
Breaking the fourth wall
When the author or a character addresses the audience directly (also known as direct address). This may acknowledge to the reader or audience that what is being presented is fiction, or may seek to extend the world of the story to provide the illusion that they are included in it.
Chekhov's gun
The insertion of an object of apparent irrelevance early on in a narrative, the purpose of which is only revealed later on in the story. See also foreshadowing and repetitive designation.
Conceit
An extended metaphor associated with metaphysical poetry, designed to push the limits of the imagination in order to portray something indescribable.
Defamiliarization
A technique of forcing the reader to recognize common things in an unfamiliar or strange way, in order to enhance perception of the familiar.
Deleted affair
Telling of a romantic relationship, but not referred to in the current story.
Deus ex machina (a god from the machine)
A plot device dating back to ancient Greek theater, where the primary conflict is resolved through a means that seems unrelated to the story (i.e. a God comes down out of nowhere and solves everything, saving the character from peril). In modern times, the Deus ex machina is often considered a clumsy method, to be avoided in order not to frustrate readers or viewers.
Dramatic visualization
"the representing of an object or character with an abundance of descriptive detail, or the mimetic rendering of gestures and dialogue in such a way as to make a given scene 'visual' or imaginatively present to an audience". This technique dates back to the Arabian Nights.[1]
Epic Theater
A technique popularized by 20th century playwright Bertolt Brecht, in which the audience is "alienated" or "distanced" from the emotion of the play.
Epiphany
A literary work or section of a literary work presenting, usually symbolically, such a moment of revelation and insight.
Epistolary novel
A novel in the form of a series of documents, usually letters exchanged between the characters. Classic examples include Pamela by Samuel Richardson (1740), The Expedition of Humphry Clinker by Tobias Smollett (1771), Les Liaisons dangereuses by Pierre Choderlos de Laclos (1782) and Dracula by Bram Stoker (1897).
False documents
fiction written in the form of, or about, apparently real, but actually fake documents. Examples include Robert Graves's I, Claudius, a fictional autobiography of the Roman emperor, H.P. Lovecraft's Necronomicon, and the Flashman series by George MacDonald Fraser. The short stories of Jorge Luis Borges are often written as summaries or criticisms of books that in actuality do not exist.
Fictional fictional character
A character whose fictional existence is introduced within a larger work of fiction, or a character in a story within a story. Early examples include Panchatantra and Arabian Nights. See also frame story.
Finger Posting
Where casual details are inserted so that a revelation will not seem disconnected from the story.
Flashback (or analeptic reference)
General term for altering time sequences, taking characters back to the beginning of the tale, for instance.
A Flashforward, also called prolepsis
It is an interjected scene that takes the narrative forward in time from the current point of the story. Flashforwards are often used to represent events expected, projected, or imagined to occur in the future. They may also reveal significant parts of the story that has not yet occurred, but soon will in greater detail. This can be seen in the television series Lost.
Foreshadowing
Hinting at events to occur later. Giving an idea to what's going to happen in the upcoming events. See also formal patterning, repetitive designation and Chekhov's gun.
Formal patterning
"the organization of the events, actions and gestures which constitute a narrative and give shape to a story; when done well, formal patterning allows the audience the pleasure of discerning and anticipating the structure of the plot as it unfolds". This technique dates back to the Arabian Nights,[1] and is also used in Romeo and Juliet. See also foreshadowing.
Frame story
A story within a story, where a main story is used to organize a series of shorter stories. Early examples include Panchatantra, Arabian Nights and The Decameron. A more modern example is Brian Jacques The Legend of Luke.
Framing device
The usage of a single action, scene, event, setting, or any element of significance at the beginning and end of a work.
Incluing
Gradually exposing the reader to background information about the world in which a story is set. The idea is to clue the readers into the world the author is building, without them being aware of it such as Brave New World. Opposite of Infodumping.
Infodumping, (Also, plot dump)
Where a concentrated amount of background material is given all at once in the story, often in the form of a conversation between two characters, both of whom should already know the material under discussion. (The so-called "As you know, Bob" conversation.) Opposite of Incluing.
In medias res
When the story begins in the middle of an intense action sequence.
Irony
A discrepancy between expectation and reality. The three forms of irony are: situational irony, where a situation features a discrepancy between what is expected and what is actualized; dramatic irony, where a character is unaware of pivotal knowledge which has already been revealed to the audience (the discrepancy here lies in the two levels of awareness between the character and the audience); and verbal irony, where one states one thing while meaning another. Verbal irony is the lowest form of irony. The difference between verbal irony and sarcasm is exquisitely subtle and oft contested, but exists nonetheless. The concept of irony is too often misunderstood in popular usage. Unfortunate circumstances and coincidences do not constitute irony (nor do they qualify as being tragic). See the Usage controversy section under irony, and the term tragedy.
Juxtaposition
When the author places two themes, characters, phrases, words, or situations together for the purpose of comparison, contrast, or rhetoric.
Lampshade hanging
A technique used in many forms of fiction to deflect attention from implausible or just plain bad writing by having a character point out how strange or unlikely it is. Once acknowledged in-character, the audience accepts it.
Leitwortstil
The 'the purposeful repetition of words' in a given literary piece that "usually expresses a motif or theme important to the given story". This dates back to the Arabian Nights.[1]
Magic realism
A form particularly popular in Latin America but not limited to that region, in which events are described realistically, but in a magical haze of strange local customs and beliefs. Gabriel García Márquez is a notable author in the style.
Narrative hook
Opening of a story that "hooks" the reader's attention so he or she will keep reading
Narrative letter
Overstatement, exaggeration of something, often for the purpose of emphasis (also known as a hyperbole).
Onomatopoeia
A word that sounds the same as, or similar to what the word means.
Oxymoron, when two opposite terms are used together.
Parody
Ridicule by imitation, usually humorous, such as MAD Magazine.
Pastiche
Using forms and styles of another author, generally as an affectionate tribute, such as the many stories featuring Sherlock Holmes not written by Arthur Conan Doyle, or much of the Cthulhu Mythos.
Pathetic fallacy
The reflection of the mood of a character (usually the protagonist) in the atmosphere or inanimate objects. A good example is the storm in William Shakespeare's King Lear, which mirrors Lear's mental deterioration.
Pathos
Emotional appeal, one of the three modes of persuasion in rhetoric used by the author to inspire pity or sorrow in the reader towards a character; pathos typically does not counterbalance the suffering of the target character with a positive outcome, as in Tragedy.
Personification
The use of comparative metaphors and similes to give living characteristics to non-living objects.
Plot twist
A change ("twist") in the direction or expected outcome of the plot of a film or novel.
Poetic justice
When virtue is ultimately rewarded or vice punished, often in modern literature by an ironic twist of fate intimately related to the character's own conduct.
Predestination paradox
A paradox of time travel when a time traveler is caught in a loop of events that "predestines" him or her to travel back in time.
Quibble
One of many plot devices, is an argument that the intended meaning of an agreement holds no legal value, as only the exact verbally specified conditions are those which were agreed upon.
Repetitive designation
"repeated references to some character or object which appears insignificant when first mentioned but which reappears later to intrude suddenly in the narrative", a technique which dates back to the Arabian Nights.[2] See also foreshadowing and Chekhov's gun.
Self-fulfilling prophecy
A prediction that, in being made, actually causes itself to become true. Early examples include the legend of Oedipus, and the story of Krishna in the Mahabharata. There is also an example of this in Harry Potter.
Sensory detail or Imagery, sight, sound, taste, touch, smell.
Side story
A form of narrative that occurs alongside established stories set within a fictional universe. Examples include Mahabharata, Ramayana, Gundam, Doctor Who and The Matrix.
Story within a story, where a story is told within another story. An early famous example of this is the Arabian Nights. See also frame story.
Stream of consciousness
A special form of interior monologue characterized by leaps in syntax and punctuation that traces a character's fragmentary thoughts and sensory feelings.
Symbolism, the applied use of symbols: iconic representations that carry particular conventional meanings.
Thematic patterning
"the distribution of recurrent thematic concepts and moralistic motifs among the various incidents and frames of a story. In a skillfully crafted tale, thematic patterning may be arranged so as to emphasize the unifying argument or salient idea which disparate events and disparate frames have in common". This technique dates back to the Arabian Nights.[1]
Ticking Clock
The threat of impending disaster. Often used in thrillers where salvation and escape are essential elements.
Tone
The overall attitude that an author appears to hold toward the work—a novel such as Candide makes fun of the sufferings of its characters, while The Sorrows of Young Werther takes its protagonist's suffering very seriously.
Unreliable narrator
A technique in which the narrator of the story is not sincere or introduces a bias in the way he tells it and possibly misleads the reader, hiding or minimizing some events, characters or motivations.
Word play
When the nature of the words used becomes an aspect of the work.
Writer's voice
A combination of the various structural aspects of an author's writing style.
Note: In the context of a play literary devices are referred to as dramatic devices which are used to add interest and tension.
Source: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Literary_technique
Some useful links:
http://greek-myth.com/Novel_Writing/novel_writing.htm
http://www.jobprofiles.org/library/students/50_awesome_open_source_resources_for_online_writers.htm
http://openlearn.open.ac.uk/course/view.php?id=2748
http://www.freeonlinereading.com/links.htm
http://en.wikibooks.org/wiki/Creative_Writing/Fiction_technique
Source: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Literary_technique
A literary technique or literary device is an identifiable rule of thumb, convention or structure that is employed in literature and storytelling.
Literary techniques are important aspects of an author's style, which is one of the five elements of fiction, along with character, plot, setting and theme.
Literary devices refer to specific aspects of literature, in the sense of its universal function as an art form which expresses ideas through language, which we can recognize, identify, interpret and/or analyze. Literary devices collectively comprise the art form’s components; the means by which authors create meaning through language, and by which readers gain understanding of and appreciation for their works. They also provide a conceptual framework for comparing individual literary works to others, both within and across genres. Both literary elements and literary techniques can rightly be called literary devices.
Annotated list of literary techniques
Alien space bats
A plot device sometimes used in alternate history to create a point of divergence that would otherwise be implausible.
Anthropomorphism
A form of personification, taking human-like characteristics to both living and non-living objects.
Author surrogate
A character who acts as the author's spokesman. Sometimes the character may intentionally or unintentionally be an idealized version of the author. A well known variation is the Mary Sue or Gary Stu (self-insertion).
Back-story
The story "behind" or "before" the events being portrayed in the story being told; past events or background for a character that can serve to color or add additional meaning to current circumstances. Provides extra depth to the story by anchoring it to external events, real or imagined.
Breaking the fourth wall
When the author or a character addresses the audience directly (also known as direct address). This may acknowledge to the reader or audience that what is being presented is fiction, or may seek to extend the world of the story to provide the illusion that they are included in it.
Chekhov's gun
The insertion of an object of apparent irrelevance early on in a narrative, the purpose of which is only revealed later on in the story. See also foreshadowing and repetitive designation.
Conceit
An extended metaphor associated with metaphysical poetry, designed to push the limits of the imagination in order to portray something indescribable.
Defamiliarization
A technique of forcing the reader to recognize common things in an unfamiliar or strange way, in order to enhance perception of the familiar.
Deleted affair
Telling of a romantic relationship, but not referred to in the current story.
Deus ex machina (a god from the machine)
A plot device dating back to ancient Greek theater, where the primary conflict is resolved through a means that seems unrelated to the story (i.e. a God comes down out of nowhere and solves everything, saving the character from peril). In modern times, the Deus ex machina is often considered a clumsy method, to be avoided in order not to frustrate readers or viewers.
Dramatic visualization
"the representing of an object or character with an abundance of descriptive detail, or the mimetic rendering of gestures and dialogue in such a way as to make a given scene 'visual' or imaginatively present to an audience". This technique dates back to the Arabian Nights.[1]
Epic Theater
A technique popularized by 20th century playwright Bertolt Brecht, in which the audience is "alienated" or "distanced" from the emotion of the play.
Epiphany
A literary work or section of a literary work presenting, usually symbolically, such a moment of revelation and insight.
Epistolary novel
A novel in the form of a series of documents, usually letters exchanged between the characters. Classic examples include Pamela by Samuel Richardson (1740), The Expedition of Humphry Clinker by Tobias Smollett (1771), Les Liaisons dangereuses by Pierre Choderlos de Laclos (1782) and Dracula by Bram Stoker (1897).
False documents
fiction written in the form of, or about, apparently real, but actually fake documents. Examples include Robert Graves's I, Claudius, a fictional autobiography of the Roman emperor, H.P. Lovecraft's Necronomicon, and the Flashman series by George MacDonald Fraser. The short stories of Jorge Luis Borges are often written as summaries or criticisms of books that in actuality do not exist.
Fictional fictional character
A character whose fictional existence is introduced within a larger work of fiction, or a character in a story within a story. Early examples include Panchatantra and Arabian Nights. See also frame story.
Finger Posting
Where casual details are inserted so that a revelation will not seem disconnected from the story.
Flashback (or analeptic reference)
General term for altering time sequences, taking characters back to the beginning of the tale, for instance.
A Flashforward, also called prolepsis
It is an interjected scene that takes the narrative forward in time from the current point of the story. Flashforwards are often used to represent events expected, projected, or imagined to occur in the future. They may also reveal significant parts of the story that has not yet occurred, but soon will in greater detail. This can be seen in the television series Lost.
Foreshadowing
Hinting at events to occur later. Giving an idea to what's going to happen in the upcoming events. See also formal patterning, repetitive designation and Chekhov's gun.
Formal patterning
"the organization of the events, actions and gestures which constitute a narrative and give shape to a story; when done well, formal patterning allows the audience the pleasure of discerning and anticipating the structure of the plot as it unfolds". This technique dates back to the Arabian Nights,[1] and is also used in Romeo and Juliet. See also foreshadowing.
Frame story
A story within a story, where a main story is used to organize a series of shorter stories. Early examples include Panchatantra, Arabian Nights and The Decameron. A more modern example is Brian Jacques The Legend of Luke.
Framing device
The usage of a single action, scene, event, setting, or any element of significance at the beginning and end of a work.
Incluing
Gradually exposing the reader to background information about the world in which a story is set. The idea is to clue the readers into the world the author is building, without them being aware of it such as Brave New World. Opposite of Infodumping.
Infodumping, (Also, plot dump)
Where a concentrated amount of background material is given all at once in the story, often in the form of a conversation between two characters, both of whom should already know the material under discussion. (The so-called "As you know, Bob" conversation.) Opposite of Incluing.
In medias res
When the story begins in the middle of an intense action sequence.
Irony
A discrepancy between expectation and reality. The three forms of irony are: situational irony, where a situation features a discrepancy between what is expected and what is actualized; dramatic irony, where a character is unaware of pivotal knowledge which has already been revealed to the audience (the discrepancy here lies in the two levels of awareness between the character and the audience); and verbal irony, where one states one thing while meaning another. Verbal irony is the lowest form of irony. The difference between verbal irony and sarcasm is exquisitely subtle and oft contested, but exists nonetheless. The concept of irony is too often misunderstood in popular usage. Unfortunate circumstances and coincidences do not constitute irony (nor do they qualify as being tragic). See the Usage controversy section under irony, and the term tragedy.
Juxtaposition
When the author places two themes, characters, phrases, words, or situations together for the purpose of comparison, contrast, or rhetoric.
Lampshade hanging
A technique used in many forms of fiction to deflect attention from implausible or just plain bad writing by having a character point out how strange or unlikely it is. Once acknowledged in-character, the audience accepts it.
Leitwortstil
The 'the purposeful repetition of words' in a given literary piece that "usually expresses a motif or theme important to the given story". This dates back to the Arabian Nights.[1]
Magic realism
A form particularly popular in Latin America but not limited to that region, in which events are described realistically, but in a magical haze of strange local customs and beliefs. Gabriel García Márquez is a notable author in the style.
Narrative hook
Opening of a story that "hooks" the reader's attention so he or she will keep reading
Narrative letter
Overstatement, exaggeration of something, often for the purpose of emphasis (also known as a hyperbole).
Onomatopoeia
A word that sounds the same as, or similar to what the word means.
Oxymoron, when two opposite terms are used together.
Parody
Ridicule by imitation, usually humorous, such as MAD Magazine.
Pastiche
Using forms and styles of another author, generally as an affectionate tribute, such as the many stories featuring Sherlock Holmes not written by Arthur Conan Doyle, or much of the Cthulhu Mythos.
Pathetic fallacy
The reflection of the mood of a character (usually the protagonist) in the atmosphere or inanimate objects. A good example is the storm in William Shakespeare's King Lear, which mirrors Lear's mental deterioration.
Pathos
Emotional appeal, one of the three modes of persuasion in rhetoric used by the author to inspire pity or sorrow in the reader towards a character; pathos typically does not counterbalance the suffering of the target character with a positive outcome, as in Tragedy.
Personification
The use of comparative metaphors and similes to give living characteristics to non-living objects.
Plot twist
A change ("twist") in the direction or expected outcome of the plot of a film or novel.
Poetic justice
When virtue is ultimately rewarded or vice punished, often in modern literature by an ironic twist of fate intimately related to the character's own conduct.
Predestination paradox
A paradox of time travel when a time traveler is caught in a loop of events that "predestines" him or her to travel back in time.
Quibble
One of many plot devices, is an argument that the intended meaning of an agreement holds no legal value, as only the exact verbally specified conditions are those which were agreed upon.
Repetitive designation
"repeated references to some character or object which appears insignificant when first mentioned but which reappears later to intrude suddenly in the narrative", a technique which dates back to the Arabian Nights.[2] See also foreshadowing and Chekhov's gun.
Self-fulfilling prophecy
A prediction that, in being made, actually causes itself to become true. Early examples include the legend of Oedipus, and the story of Krishna in the Mahabharata. There is also an example of this in Harry Potter.
Sensory detail or Imagery, sight, sound, taste, touch, smell.
Side story
A form of narrative that occurs alongside established stories set within a fictional universe. Examples include Mahabharata, Ramayana, Gundam, Doctor Who and The Matrix.
Story within a story, where a story is told within another story. An early famous example of this is the Arabian Nights. See also frame story.
Stream of consciousness
A special form of interior monologue characterized by leaps in syntax and punctuation that traces a character's fragmentary thoughts and sensory feelings.
Symbolism, the applied use of symbols: iconic representations that carry particular conventional meanings.
Thematic patterning
"the distribution of recurrent thematic concepts and moralistic motifs among the various incidents and frames of a story. In a skillfully crafted tale, thematic patterning may be arranged so as to emphasize the unifying argument or salient idea which disparate events and disparate frames have in common". This technique dates back to the Arabian Nights.[1]
Ticking Clock
The threat of impending disaster. Often used in thrillers where salvation and escape are essential elements.
Tone
The overall attitude that an author appears to hold toward the work—a novel such as Candide makes fun of the sufferings of its characters, while The Sorrows of Young Werther takes its protagonist's suffering very seriously.
Unreliable narrator
A technique in which the narrator of the story is not sincere or introduces a bias in the way he tells it and possibly misleads the reader, hiding or minimizing some events, characters or motivations.
Word play
When the nature of the words used becomes an aspect of the work.
Writer's voice
A combination of the various structural aspects of an author's writing style.
Note: In the context of a play literary devices are referred to as dramatic devices which are used to add interest and tension.
Source: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Literary_technique
Some useful links:
http://greek-myth.com/Novel_Writing/novel_writing.htm
http://www.jobprofiles.org/library/students/50_awesome_open_source_resources_for_online_writers.htm
http://openlearn.open.ac.uk/course/view.php?id=2748
http://www.freeonlinereading.com/links.htm
http://en.wikibooks.org/wiki/Creative_Writing/Fiction_technique
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