The Dream full of Magic

I sit on the edge of my seat, studying the man in front of me as I see him doing the impossible. But I know for a fact that in spite of the hovering man, and in spite of the minute, colorful sparkles that emanate from my fingers, making him hover, it is surely all just a big dream.

Let me explain.

As do most of my stories, why should this one start any different? It was a day like any other. December had come and gone, and half a month had withered away in cold. Mid-january had brought with it a confusing climate. Everyone was confounded with whether they needed a jacket or not. Wearing one would prove to be too hot but it’s absence would make them all shiver. Wintery winds were, at least for now, all but extinguished.

It was a day like any other, as I said before. Except for one tiny detail. I had suddenly started to do magic.

Crazy, I know. My normal routine was disturbed by my new found abilities. All I had to do was wake up, get ready, go to work in a cab that I would probably have to share with 8 other people, reach the office premises, work for 9 more hours and then come back home. But as I realised the magical skills within me, I took a long detour from my usual path.

It began something like this: I woke up with a small tingling sensation in my right arm’s fingers. At first, I thought it was just the excessive self-gratification* (just kidding!), but it turned out that tiny yellow and electric blue sparks were jetting out of them. It was a vaguely funny feeling. I almost KNEW what had to be done.

I slowly glanced at my roommate’s bed. It was empty. I knew for a fact that he had left early. I double checked the house nevertheless. It was empty. And so, I raised my right arm, pointed it at the ugly mirror on the wall opposite to my bed, and whispered “Crack, you piece of sh-!”… the mirror broke up into several pieces.

The floor below it was littered with jagged pieces of silvered glass. I marveled at the scene. Had that really happened? Had I really made that happen? Was it real?

I chuckled. Somewhere at the back of my mind, I knew it was a dream. And so I decided to humour my subconscience.

My smile turned upside down. Damn it. I would have to clear up the broken mirror now. But wait, I thought to myself. I could just clear up the pieces of broken mirror with magic!

The brilliant idea laid the foundation of my first big magic spell. I raised my right arm, pointed it at the floor and said “Clear up!”

As if on command, the pieces of mirror picked themselves up the floor and marched across the room to the dustbin in the next room. It was fascinating to see it unfold in front of my eyes. My subconscience was being really creative this morning.

I got dressed lightning fast, and jumped down the stairs. I reached the cab stand so fast, panting and out of breath. You see, magic does not increase one’s intelligence, or else I would’ve simply used magic again to go to office. But me, being silly old me, decided to not only run to the cab stand, but sit in one.

The cab system where I live is such that 9 or 10 people are squeezed into one small car as they are ferried to a common destination. I was one of them. Discomfort and fear mingled in my brains like a tonic. The discomfort was from me being squeezed by Mr Old Fat Man. The fear was from the silly realization that if I had magic, someone else did too. And what if an evil person had magic? Worse, what if they tried to kill me? And what if that made me wake up?


Stop being silly, it’s only a dream, I consoled myself. A plethora of fantasy TV shows and countless rereadings of Harry Potter had made me paranoid. I swallowed my fear as the cab began rushing through the traffic at top speed.

As the fear subsided, the discomfort did not. It only seemed to grow. And Mr Old Fat guy was being particularly hard to sit next to. So, I did the only thing I could.

No, not politely tell him to adjust in his seat. I gots magic now, bitch. I discreetly pointed my right arm at him and whispered “Comfort me!”

In all fairness, the words were nonsensical. But the magic didn’t need a sensible string of words. At my behest, the cab expanded from a small car into a large bus. I knew for a fact that from the outside the car looked the same. But the inside was a different matter.

Moreover, the other passengers seemed to not notice the new improvement I had made to the car. How strange. I was digging this dream.

The car sped on. As we reached a quarter of the way, the worse thing happened. The car broke down. I groaned in unison with the others. The driver looked apologetic. He tried to calm us down as some shouts erupted from the back seats, and rushed to fix the problem.

I would like to point out once more how stupid I am. The moment the car broke down, I should’ve used my magic to start it back up. But even in my dream, I was being utterly slow and brainless. It took me several moments, and the driver several failed attempts at starting the car, to jump start me into using magic.

I silently pointed at the steering wheel and whispered, together with the mini Rihanna that was dancing in my head in the morning, “Work work work work work!”

The car began to work. The engine began to hum melodiously. There were even some claps. The driver hopped back in and launched the car into a speeding frenzy. It weaved around the traffic smartly.

Did I say smartly? I meant rashly. And in so doing, the car collided with an oncoming truck.

It was a split second thing. I could see the scene unfold against my eyes. Panic rushed through my head faster than my mind could comprehend. The car swerved to its side, it’s door flying open (thank you old fat man for not locking the doors correctly!) and the driver and the passenger at the old fat man’s side flying off.

There was panic and confusion everywhere. People were screaming. I was groaning. My dream was slipping out of my control. It was turning for the worst. And I needed to stop.

The driver was clearly dead. His rash driving had cost him his life. I could do nothing more than gawk at his mangled body spread across the truck’s bottom. The passenger however was still flying across the road, apparently fast asleep.

I looked around at others. They were still craning their necks around slowly, at an agonisingly slow pace. Why were they so slow? And then it hit me – they weren’t slow… I was fast!

The magic, whatever it was, was making me see moments at lightspeed. I could see that the driver’s life was out of my hands but the passenger’s wasn’t. I immediately pointed my right arm at the flying man and said “Save him!”

Sparks flew out of my fingers enthusiastically. If others could see, they would think a light show was going in broad daylight. The sparks hit the man as he hovered inches from the ground. He was neither injured nor harmed. He was simply FLYING in the air like a balloon. He was still unconscious.

And then time sped up. Everyone was not staring at the deceased driver, or the hovering passenger. They were staring at me. And my still sparkling right arm.

Awestruck, they watched as I desperately tried to end this nightmare. They were staring at me out of fear and mystery. They were fascinated by me.

Wake up, wake up, wake up, I repeated under my breath. I pointed my arm at myself and said the same. Nothing happened. As one of the onlookers approached me slowly, I backed away into the wreckage of the car. The other passengers had either crawled out or were helping others. But their eyes were on me.

I mused at the situation. This dream was becoming weirder and weirder as time passed on. But it was definitely seeming like a memorable one. The onlooker was nearly at my side now. She had a queer look to her. Her eyes were wide, her arms broad and open. And I smiled to myself. Any moment now, I was going to wake up. And I would have to take the actual cab to actual work without anything remotely eventful happening.

And as I contemplated whether to write a blog post on this dream, and if I would remember it when I woke up, the onlooker leaned in. She grabbed one of my arms, smiled with her crooked, red stained teeth and pinched me.

A horrible, fleeting realization struck me harder than a kinky husband consensually** spanking his submissive wife. And before I knew it, I was confronting a horrible truth:

The dream full of magic… was not a dream. Fuck.

*I don’t know why I put this silly joke in, a crass attempt at humour I guess.

**Added the consensually to avoid controversy.

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 on Twitter if you use it! Any images used are either taken from Google Images, from my own personal collection or some other sources (which will be mentioned if and when, unless stated otherwise). Contact me if you want it removed.


The Night on a Steaming Bus

When things go your way, you can never be too sure of why they’re going your way. As suspicious as it is when everything goes in your favour, you accept it, mentally rejoice and move on. And that might very well be your biggest mistake.

It was a normal sunday evening. I was travelling on a bus that would take me back to my new home once more, the home I had moved into recently for work. Everything was going well – the night was young, the moon was bright and the inky black sky was almost clear. Here and there, grey clouds lingered, and the incessant honking of some trucks on the expressway didn’t really improve the experience.

But at the same time, it was all familiar. Over the last few months, I had grown accustomed to the wisps of grey clouds, the shrill sounds of the heavy vehicles zooming on the beautiful roads of Maharashtra and the seeming long journey. I might even add that the absence of this feeling, this slight annoyance mingling with the cold and bleak atmosphere, would have seemed out of place. So, in short, all was going perfectly fantastic.

And then the stupid bus broke down.

It wasn’t all that surprising… In the sense that the day had been good. A little too good. So good that perhaps, something was eventually going to bring the happiness down a few notches back to normal.

Hmm… Let me see how it began, shall we? So the morning went perfectly fine. I woke up late, happy and content. After having slept like a baby, things were sure to start off nice the next morning, just as they did. I had breakfast and lunch with my family, had a wonderful, home-cooked meal and had a nice hot bath with many comforts in my life that I had been missing, like a shower, shampoo and ample supply of perfect-to-the-touch hot water.

Only to add to the euphoria of a fantastic, albeit perfectly normal, morning was the even more perfectly normal afternoon that included me reaching the inter-city bus stop perfectly on time, as a direct result of which, I did not have to wait in a long line for the ticket.

I think in hindsight, this is where I should’ve know that something would eventually go wrong. No God in their right mind would let me have this peace of mind where for ONCE I didn’t have to stand in line for a ticket. All the other times, I had to wait in that damned line for more than an hour just to get a seat on the bus. But this particular day? No. I reached the bus stop, and boarded my bus as soon as I did.

Not only that, but I, for the first time in history of intercity travelling, got a window seat… That too right in the front! It was like magic.

I guess you can see how ugly it felt when the bus started steaming at its mouth.

It started with a small screech. A seemingly unnoticeable sound. I was wearing my earphones, listening to Can’t Stop The Feeling by Justin Timberlake, when this highly intrusive noise pierced through the melody of J.T. And as expected, it grabbed a lot of attention (so I guess I cannot call it an unnoticeable sound). Babies were crying, woken up from their slumber; old ladies were clutching each others’ hands, wondering where the noise was coming from; men and women alike were sitting a little but straighter in their seats now.

And the driver drove on, without any signs of distress. The noise went as quickly as it came. Everything went back to normal… Almost.

The bus was slowing down! My fellow co-passengers, most of them groggy from their sleep, were indifferent to the speed. They didn’t notice it. But I did. And the engine was humming a little differently too.

I tried to ignore it. I couldn’t. It resulted in me pausing my music every few seconds to see if the humming had gone back to normal.

It did not.

And finally, after crossing the halfway mark, the front of the bus started smoking. Thick, fog-like smoke was emanating from the front, engulfing the whole of the driver’s cabin in it. At first, it was like steam: white and translucent. But as the driver tried to rev the engine harder, the smoke started turning black and opaque.

The engine died sudden as a stroke, panic rushed through the bus like a flood and people started yelling in surprise and fear.

In my mind, as I watched the scene unfold, we were going to be fine. Although a little barbecue-y, the smoke was not going to blow the bus up! Only stop it from running. Of course, little did I pay attention to the fact that I WAS NOT A FUCKING MECHANIC TO BE SURE ABOUT THAT.

The driver was smart though. You see, we were only a couple of metres away from a pit stop. A food plaza loomed in the distance, but with a broken down engine on a high speed expressway, there was no chance we would reach there.

While the cars zoomed past us, rather mockingly, the driver put the gear in neutral and took his foot off the brakes. You see, it’s a simple rule of physics: if you’re on top of a hill, and you take your foot off the brakes, you will roll down it!

I smiled at the sheer brilliance of it as the bus slowly gained speed. It rolled down the express way, snaking its way past some tree branches. And finally, with our hearts in our mouths, we felt the bus screech to a halt.

If you thought breaking down in a bus next to a food plaza, as opposed to somewhere in the Ghats, would improve things, it so did not.

Chaos reigned. People started shouting, yelling and fighting with the driver. The driver pleaded with the passengers to remain calm. He instructed them to not panic (apparently he was a genius only with a vehicle, cuz that was some BAD advice) and informed them that they would be accommodated into the next bus.

Of course, accommodating 30 something passengers into the next bus is no fruit cake. Not only that, but also the fact that our bus was one of the last buses to run, and imagining myself stand in a bus for the next one hour before it reached my destination, the picture I had painted in my mind was painful. So while I tried to think of alternate ways, people fought with the driver.

The driver tried to reason with the passengers. It was night time, there was no way to assign 30 something seats in only two packed buses. I felt sorry for him as I watched him being verbally abused.

It was not his fault that the engine broke down. Or that it broke down without a warning, in the middle of the night. And thankfully, he was tactful enough not to shout back the abuses.

The next bus came, people immediately ran to huddle near its door as it came to a halt. There were only 6 empty seats on it. Fuck.

The remaining 20 something people, excluding me, went back to fight with the driver. As the night wore on, the driver was himself steaming and reddening. I did the only thing I could: I took the other bus.

Yes, it didn’t have a place to sit. Yes, it would be horrible for me to stand the rest of the journey. In fact, a few others joined me. They saw fit to take this bus, and face the situation head on rather than waste their time and energy at something that was out of their control. And of course it would be terrible to see the rest sit and sleep comfortably on their seats. But it was my only option.

And as I saw myself comfortably stand (and later even share a seat with someone else), I glanced on at those who refused to climb on as they continued to hurl abuses at the driver, oblivious to the reality of the situation, completely disregarding the fact that if not for their ego, they would be home soon. The other bus left soon after I climbed aboard. I reached home in one piece.

The next day, I heard from a localite that the rest of the remaining passengers that we had left behind had to actually camp out in the food plaza and go back the following morning. I couldn’t even imagine sleeping on the steps of the plaza.

And that, my friends, is how my journey through the night on a steaming bus came to an end.

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 on Twitter if you use it! Any images used are either taken from Google Images, from my own personal collection or some other sources (which will be mentioned if and when, unless stated otherwise). Contact me if you want it removed.

Stretching My Literary Legs

It’s been a long time since I have written something. A really, really long time.

So long that, if my inner author were a person, their legs would have a catch in them; a strange, but expected, sort of spasm…

It happens when your surroundings are cold, and you haven’t used them in a while. Your legs exist for walking, for running, for supporting your weight. And when you don’t use them, their purpose remains unfulfilled. They spasm, they hurt, they need to be stretched… And that is how my inner author feels right now – paralysed, convulsing and unmoving out of laziness.

Life has been busy, sure. Expected from an Indian IT engineer, who has just joined the largest industry in the most competitive country. But has it really been so busy that I cannot churn out even one or two small articles? Or perhaps my mind has been so boggled by work, and tension that I have no fresh thoughts to dole out on paper?

Even before I type it, I know the answer’s a big fat NO.

Because even now, my mind is filled with a hundred thoughts. Even now, as I lay on this bed, I know I can spare at least a few minutes for writing. And yet, I don’t.

Laziness can be one of the reasons. But, I think a more fitting reason is fear.

You see, before when I used to write, it was a hobby. A secondary outlet for my primary thoughts. I always had someone to talk to, but writing always gave me the creative freedom to see my thoughts once more, experience my interactions and express my views for a second time in a more relaxed fashion. I could re-read my own thoughts & views and ponder their meanings.

Sadly, since I have joined the supposedly depressing I.T. Industry and its accompanying independent bachelorhood, writing has become my primary outlet. And that has baggage.

The kind of baggage which includes me having to confront my inner fears. Clearing out my conflicting thoughts and inner dilemmas. Analysing my thoughts. ALL ON MY OWN.

And that is overwhelming. What if I write something down and I hate it? Or myself? Or my thoughts? Or it shows me a truth or outcome that I don’t want to see?

What if my inner fears get realised? What if my future choices get weighed down by random pangs of jealousy? What if I start to hate people I don’t want to hate, or admit love for people I never thought I had the capacity to love?

This… Post. This mini post – – Its me attempting to break out of my own mental prison. I have to improve. I want to grow. And I don’t want any stupid nonsense ever affecting my judgment or actions (although it’s perfectly normal and hence, not nonsense or stupid).

So here it is – my first try at opening myself up again to the idea of writing. My first push, my first leap, my first dash into a better future… At least my first in a while. I hope to continue writing something regularly.

All my problems, some of them including jealousy, loneliness, uncertainty, anger and love, will surely be sorted out. And doling them out here will only help. I mean it has to, right?

Besides, my mind is like a pressure cooker right now.

And I need a whistle to let out some steam. What better way to do so than by stretching my literary legs?

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 on Twitter if you use it! Any images used are either taken from Google Images, from my own personal collection or some other sources (which will be mentioned if and when, unless stated otherwise). Contact me if you want it removed.