The Night of Happenings

Credits: Siddhant Rajadhyaksha NOT FOR REPRODUCTION

Credits: Siddhant Rajadhyaksha

The Night of Happenings

There was a sharp sound in the dead of the night. The wind chime sounded melodious. A swift breeze had set it in motion. The chime’s melody bounced around the extremely spacious hall of the house. It was chilly.

I got up and checked outside. It was a starry night. It was a cold night. It was a clear, pure and heavenly night. And we were right in the middle of it.

So I suggested my friends, the Mansion Man, the Train Fanatic and Mr Sherlock X to head up to the terrace to look at the sky. That beautiful, star-spangled and clear sky. Its vastness looming overhead.

The four of us climbed the steps, the excitement palpable. The house, this beautiful house owned by Mansion Man’s parents, was an architectural beauty. It had big, airy rooms (yes, multiple), its location was perfection, it had two terraces and multiple bathrooms too and most of all, it was situated facing a fantastic scenery. We passed the two bedrooms on the next floor (it was a one storeyed house) and we picked up our coverings. I needed two jackets and socks because of the extreme temperatures. My fellow friends were fine with just one hoodie. I still can’t wonder how they can stand that cold.

But we finally ascended the flimsy ladder and climbed onto the best part of the house: the upper terrace.

The terrace was big and had a small rectangular wall which served as a skylight for the house underneath. And over the terrace, it stood vast and beautiful. It was something I had never seen.

A long ago, I had dreamed of this. My friend, the Train Fanatic, had suggested to go to a faraway hill station for a vacation at night and just stare at the skies all night long. He had said how the stars shone more fully without the artificial lights and how the sky looked complete without the polluted clouds. Since then, a dream had been formed inside my head, of this unseen nature’s beauty. And it had been fulfilled, finally.

The sky was truly spectacular. An inky black canvas, sporting tiny white dots in a specific pattern that Mr Sherlock X rambled on about. It turned out that stars fascinated him as much as trains fascinated my Train Fanatic friend. He showed us the Orion Belt and pointed out some other constellations that were clearly visible from this wonderful town of Vadgaon.

The chilly air was no longer a concern. The numbing feet and hands lay forgotten behind my head. I lay down on the cold, tiled floor, with my eyes fixated on the stars and the moon. How shiny.

It was an experience of a lifetime. A perfect way to spend the nights in a hill-station in winter.

The house we were living in was also near to the town of Talegaon and had a train station in the distance. So of course, we could see and hear the trains pass by. The happiness of Mr Train Fanatic knew no bounds. Different types of engines and routes were explained enthusiastically by him to us. Meanwhile, Mr Mansion Man and Sherlock X took copious amounts of pictures using DSLR cameras of the vastness above. They tried and tried but did not come remotely close to artificially replicating the nature’s beauty. But that is how Nature is. Irreplaceable and untouched.

The night continued, paired with a cup of hot and spicy noodles. It was a perfect combination which went hand in hand with the borderline unbearable, but otherwise cosy cold atmosphere. We slurped those ramen noodles in one go (okay, that is exaggeration, but still!) and the warmth they provided was amazing. It was one of those moments where everything fits.

We proceeded to take pics of each other with something called Light Painting. We posed in a funny way, made patterns and signs using a torch light and did all kinds of crazy stuff on that cold terrace that added to the effect of the night. And it only helped that Mr Sherlock X was a great guitar player. His strumming in the background provided a different, sort of warm melody to our hearts.

Credits: Siddhant Rajadhyaksha NOT FOR REPRODUCTION

Credits: Siddhant Rajadhyaksha

We further climbed down, after lots of pictures and talks, some exciting, other time passing ones, and finally decided to have some dinner. Mr Sherlock X, being Sherlock X, declared that he wanted to make the dinner. And what better dinner in a cold temperature than Maggi noodles.

But of course life isn’t a straight path. It is a winded road. And the Maggi Noodles failed. Miserably. From a bowl of wonder, it turned into a bowl of porridge. It was tasteless, un-eatable and smelt horrible. Mr Sherlock X joked that the thing he had created was perhaps even radioactive.

We made some more, this time I made it correctly, and ate it and Mr Sherlock X and I headed into the chilling night to dispose of the mess.

The night was colder outside than it was on the terrace. Chilling to the bone, the wind swept my hair back. I shivered, but my thin friend Sherlock X was somehow immune to the cold. We dumped the “radioactive waste” in the wastebasket a few metres away from the house and ran back inside, before I turned blue from the cold.

But the initially planned normal night was turning into more of an adventure. And it continued.

Apparently, Mr Mansion Man had forgotten to notice the frigging ARMY of ANTS that was covering the door to the house. And without that knowledge, I had merrily stepped inside the house, scraping my sides on the door.

I jumped in horror, shedding my coat faster than light and screamed in awe. I swear the screams were manly! But my heart left my body and leapt out of my mouth. THOUSANDS of ANTS were dancing and running on my coat, now spreading on the floor, covering the whole house. I yelled to my friends and they looked surprised too. That is when we noticed the Army of Ants on the door and quickly closed it.

Mr Mansion Man turned out to be an efficient one too. And Mr Sherlock X, though not a very great cook, was a big bowl of CALM! They both extinguished the army with one blow of Bug Spray and the brave ants died, one by one. We swept them off the floor and into the night. My coat was finally ANT-free.

We sat on the floor a few minutes later, breathing a sigh of relief, whilst laughing over it. We mused on about the twinkling stars, the radioactive Maggi Noodles Porridge, the Army of Ants and of course my “Super Manly” screams (I swear, they were!). We headed upstairs and sat cosily in one of the rooms, playing Scotland Yard and Poker. Why do you think we call Mr Sherlock X just that? Because he is a very good Scotland Yard player and as Mr X is very chalu (clever).

So the night seemingly came to an end and we stowed ourselves between the deep bowels of blankets, finally closing our eyes. The night was at an end, and the new day would bring us new adventures.


A rooster. That fucking rooster. I don’t usually swear in my blog posts, but this one rooster deserves the worst of the worst. It was nearly 4, for god’s sakes! This rooster cawed (or cried or roosted or whatever it is called) so loudly that the whole house shook. It kept crying out loud, telling us to wake up. It had no freaking business cawing at 4 in the morning. And that is how I nearly stayed up all night, for the first time.

The next morning, we woke up groggily, groaning. Because the rooster, that fucking rooster, still was cawing.

It was a night full of things. A Night of Happenings.

Heya, Bleedsters!
Just wanted to wish you all a very Merry Christmas! Have a great one and enjoy…

As always, if any of it made you smile, laugh, frown or giggle like a little baby, comment share and like! To be up-to-date with my other posts, give a like to my Facebook page and follow onTwitter if you use it! Any images used are either taken from Google Images or from my own personal collection or other sources which will be mentioned if and when, unless stated otherwise. Contact me if you want it removed.


I Met Deepika Padukone

Source: Click here

How I Met Deepika Padukone

It’s a normal Indian wintery afternoon. A boring to-be-Engineer spends his vacation days whiling away time, catching up with his favourite TV shows and movies that he could not watch because of his hectic exam schedule. Suddenly, he has a weird craving for ice-cream.

So he picks up his wallet, changes into something much more decent, asks his mum which ice-cream she wants (she gives a long lecture first, about how one should not eat ice-cream in the winter, but finally answers ‘Ice fruit lolly!’) and heads out the door.

Normally, Mr to-be-Engineer would have reached the shop in a matter of minutes, bought the ice-cream he wants (it is almost always a Chocolate Feast Chocobar) and heads back home, to his TV shows and movies. He eats leisurely the milky wonders of Amul, enjoying the jokes of Barney Stinson or the brutality of Tywin Lannister. But this afternoon is no ordinary afternoon.

While heading out the door this afternoon, shooting a courteous nod of acknowledgement to the local watchman, he bumps into someone special. By now, reading the title, one’s obvious conclusion is: Wait, don’t tell me you bumped into Deepika Padukone! NO FREAKING WAY!

But close. Mr to-be-Engineer bump into a photographer.

Initially, the first conclusion he jumps to is it must be someone famous. He notices the photographer’s eagerness, his camera poised to take a snap of someone of importance, urgency dripping into his stance… And then he notices a whole flock of similar photographers.

He runs out the security doors. Yes, the to-be-Engineer’s home is very close to a very famous temple. And that temple has been ‘applauded’ for its security. Not only that, but this temple, this beautiful and enormous shrine to God is a host to a string of famous celebrities: actors and singers alike. Today, the temple hosts a warm welcome to a surprise visitor: Deepika Padukone.

It’s surprising, this visit but not entirely unexpected. Ms Padukone often prays to the God in this temple particularly, so the to-be-Engineer should not be completely taken aback. But he is. And so, he rushes to the side of the onlookers, the bystanders, the innocent civilians who came to pray to a eons-old God, but instead found a living Goddess and are also urgently flashing their trendy cellphones to get a shot of her.

Being a budding engineer, an IT engineer at that, he is swift in taking out his cellphone. In no time, using special functions on the gadget that has ruined his life through Whatsapp/Facebook addiction and Youtube videos, he snaps a picture of the aforementioned Goddess.

The crowd is in a frenzy. The Goddess named Deepika Padukone smiles. It is deadly. People cheer, clap and even yell at her to say something. She does, but not to the civilians. She instead whispers serenely something to the media, the ones with the actual fancy digital cameras. The police, the bodyguards all form a ring around her, battling the oncoming frenzy fiercely. She walks like an angel amidst the devils. She keeps smiling.

But the to-be-Engineer notices something. Hidden beneath the smiles, the waves and the sparkling beauty is something. It is a mystery and the to-be-Engineer, who happens to be a Sherlock fan, tries to deduce what exactly is this Goddess of a woman trying to hide.

Immediately, the deduction fails because one glance away and she is gone. She is inside the temple, hidden deep inside the crowd, trying to pray to God. The cheers and commotion is still there. There is no peace.

Those privileged enough to enter the temple through the VIP gate follow her, still trying to get her attention but Mr Sherlock-pretentious heads on his way to the shop, thinking what he had seen, in that moment. All the while as he goes to buy the ice-cream, and pays the money, he thinks… was it an emotion? Was it a message? Was that pained expression a call for help?

And then he understands.

All these people, these celebrities with too much money and fame, but very little privacy, need some space. They need some peace. Deepika Padukone might have stepped out of her house, with her bodyguards, thinking “Chalo, aaj toh Thursday hain. Mandir meh bheed nahi hogi. No paparazzi.” And instead, she bumped into just that.

She must have gone inside the temple, praying just like her simple parents would tell her as a child to do before a big event (her movie Bajirao Mastani is coming up) and instead must have faced people yelling at her, screaming at her, telling her to look at them, notice them.

But before he feels sorry for her and her kind, he remembers one thing. That fame is what they thrive on. Every public action they take is for publicity. So why would Deepika Padukone come to the temple a few days before her movie releases? Why would she pray to God only before her “exams” show up?

Then he remembers that he is no different. He only goes to the temple before his exam results, and perhaps that is what Deepika Padukone is doing.

He returns, with the ice-cream in his hand and eats it merrily as he smiles to himself. He just saw Deepika Padukone face-to-face, after all. Have you? NO. He has. He is dizzy with happiness, having met a Goddess in human form. He stares at the ugly snap he took of her, ashamed of not being as good at photography as his good friend Sid. He thinks of the next time he will bump into her, and promises to take a better picture, deleting this current one.

And then he writes a blog post.

This post hopes to be comical, perhaps a touch philosophical in terms of understanding celebrities and on top of it, a personal experience. Do not be offended. It is meant to be light.

As always, if any of it made you smile, laugh, frown or giggle like a little baby, comment share and like! To be up-to-date with my other posts, give a like to my Facebook page and follow onTwitter if you use it! Any images used are either taken from Google Images or from my own personal collection or other sources which will be mentioned if and when, unless stated otherwise. Contact me if you want it removed.

The Best Short Story with the best Twist EVER [Quora Answer]

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Heya, Bleedsters!
Exams are ongoing, and not any exams–ENGINEERING EXAMS! You know what that means! Study-time!!! Somehow, I have found time for this little post. And it is a good share…
It has been a long time since I posted another of my favorite Quora answers on my blog. I stumbled upon this great Short Story, that was originally written by Andy Weir, author of “The Martian.” But I found it on Quora, written by Michael Scalera! It is thought provoking and interesting… And of course, it comes with a twist at the end! Enjoy!


by Michael Scalera, Dreamer and Aspiring Doer
“My favorite short story with a twist ending is by Andy Weir, author of “The Martian.”  It’s short enough to paste here, and I do so knowing that Weir himself put the story online for free so he probably wouldn’t mind.  Also, two stories by Jorge Luis Borges fit the bill, so I’ll paste links to those at the end of this answer.

The Egg
By: Andy Weir

You were on your way home when you died.
It was a car accident. Nothing particularly remarkable, but fatal nonetheless. You left behind a wife and two children. It was a painless death. The EMTs tried their best to save you, but to no avail. Your body was so utterly shattered you were better off, trust me.
And that’s when you met me.
“What… what happened?” You asked. “Where am I?”
“You died,” I said, matter-of-factly. No point in mincing words.
“There was a… a truck and it was skidding…”
“Yup,” I said.
“I… I died?”
“Yup. But don’t feel bad about it. Everyone dies,” I said.
You looked around. There was nothingness. Just you and me. “What is this place?” You asked. “Is this the afterlife?”
“More or less,” I said.
“Are you god?” You asked.
“Yup,” I replied. “I’m God.”
“My kids… my wife,” you said.
“What about them?”
“Will they be all right?”
“That’s what I like to see,” I said. “You just died and your main concern is for your family. That’s good stuff right there.”
You looked at me with fascination. To you, I didn’t look like God. I just looked like some man. Or possibly a woman. Some vague authority figure, maybe. More of a grammar school teacher than the almighty.
“Don’t worry,” I said. “They’ll be fine. Your kids will remember you as perfect in every way. They didn’t have time to grow contempt for you. Your wife will cry on the outside, but will be secretly relieved. To be fair, your marriage was falling apart. If it’s any consolation, she’ll feel very guilty for feeling relieved.”
“Oh,” you said. “So what happens now? Do I go to heaven or hell or something?”
“Neither,” I said. “You’ll be reincarnated.”
“Ah,” you said. “So the Hindus were right,”
“All religions are right in their own way,” I said. “Walk with me.”
You followed along as we strode through the void. “Where are we going?”
“Nowhere in particular,” I said. “It’s just nice to walk while we talk.”
“So what’s the point, then?” You asked. “When I get reborn, I’ll just be a blank slate, right? A baby. So all my experiences and everything I did in this life won’t matter.”
“Not so!” I said. “You have within you all the knowledge and experiences of all your past lives. You just don’t remember them right now.”
I stopped walking and took you by the shoulders. “Your soul is more magnificent, beautiful, and gigantic than you can possibly imagine. A human mind can only contain a tiny fraction of what you are. It’s like sticking your finger in a glass of water to see if it’s hot or cold. You put a tiny part of yourself into the vessel, and when you bring it back out, you’ve gained all the experiences it had.
“You’ve been in a human for the last 48 years, so you haven’t stretched out yet and felt the rest of your immense consciousness. If we hung out here for long enough, you’d start remembering everything. But there’s no point to doing that between each life.”
“How many times have I been reincarnated, then?”
“Oh lots. Lots and lots. And in to lots of different lives.” I said. “This time around, you’ll be a Chinese peasant girl in 540 AD.”
“Wait, what?” You stammered. “You’re sending me back in time?”
“Well, I guess technically. Time, as you know it, only exists in your universe. Things are different where I come from.”
“Where you come from?” You said.
“Oh sure,” I explained “I come from somewhere. Somewhere else. And there are others like me. I know you’ll want to know what it’s like there, but honestly you wouldn’t understand.”
“Oh,” you said, a little let down. “But wait. If I get reincarnated to other places in time, I could have interacted with myself at some point.”
“Sure. Happens all the time. And with both lives only aware of their own lifespan you don’t even know it’s happening.”
“So what’s the point of it all?”
“Seriously?” I asked. “Seriously? You’re asking me for the meaning of life? Isn’t that a little stereotypical?”
“Well it’s a reasonable question,” you persisted.
I looked you in the eye. “The meaning of life, the reason I made this whole universe, is for you to mature.”
“You mean mankind? You want us to mature?”
“No, just you. I made this whole universe for you. With each new life you grow and mature and become a larger and greater intellect.”
“Just me? What about everyone else?”
“There is no one else,” I said. “In this universe, there’s just you and me.”
You stared blankly at me. “But all the people on earth…”
“All you. Different incarnations of you.”
“Wait. I’m everyone!?”
“Now you’re getting it,” I said, with a congratulatory slap on the back.
“I’m every human being who ever lived?”
“Or who will ever live, yes.”
“I’m Abraham Lincoln?”
“And you’re John Wilkes Booth, too,” I added.
“I’m Hitler?” You said, appalled.
“And you’re the millions he killed.”
“I’m Jesus?”
“And you’re everyone who followed him.”
You fell silent.
“Every time you victimized someone,” I said, “you were victimizing yourself. Every act of kindness you’ve done, you’ve done to yourself. Every happy and sad moment ever experienced by any human was, or will be, experienced by you.”
You thought for a long time.
“Why?” You asked me. “Why do all this?”
“Because someday, you will become like me. Because that’s what you are. You’re one of my kind. You’re my child.”
“Whoa,” you said, incredulous. “You mean I’m a god?”
“No. Not yet. You’re a fetus. You’re still growing. Once you’ve lived every human life throughout all time, you will have grown enough to be born.”
“So the whole universe,” you said, “it’s just…”
“An egg.” I answered. “Now it’s time for you to move on to your next life.”
And I sent you on your way.

Also check out:  The Two Kings and the Two Labyrinths, by Jorge Luis Borges
The Circular Ruins, by Jorge Luis Borges

Source: Click Here

I have provided all the links and credits accordingly! Tell me what you think about this short story in the comments below…

As always, if any of it made you smile, laugh, frown or giggle like a little baby, comment share and like! To be up-to-date with my other posts, give a like to my Facebook page and follow onTwitter if you use it! Any images used are either taken from Google Images or from my own personal collection or other sources which will be mentioned if and when, unless stated otherwise. Contact me if you want it removed.