His beloved audience

He had been an agonistic as long as he could remember, and despite his wife’s cajoling,even a visit to the temple across the road from his double-storeyed bungalow had remained a far-fetched thought. But today he stood dispiritedly with clasped hands tearfully staring at the gold studded statue of Ram. Life had presented its dreadful flipside, and ironically he was standing at the same temple across the road from his bungalow, but he was too perplexed to notice the irony.
Anil Yashwant had always cherished his 4 years at his alma-mater IIM-A, and the people at the new office of IBM in Vila Parle were only too keen to have him on board. People who had known him were not surprised to find him effortlessly climb up the ranks in his office, given the extravagant flair he had exhibited at his job. To vindicate his prodigal-like talent,he started a company of his own, that had scripted a stupendous success story in an outlandish fashion. The Deccan Herald wanted to showcase his imminent arrival at the worldstage and had commissioned Nivedita Gupta, a pretty vibrant journalist for a Page 6 interview. The interview had lasted for more than 7 hours, and a year later Nivedita and Anil had committed to each other 7 lives of holy matrimony in a succinct ceremony comprising of close family and friends. They had 2 beautiful kids together, and his miniature company had skyrocketed to scale new heights, proclaimed by many as the next big thing in the
markets. Life, it seemed, couldn't have been haler and heartier. But catastrophe was to befall Anil, for a storm wistfully always follows a calm. His company hadn't been faring well, and share prices had plummeted following the Internet bubble burst all over the world. On the 19th of Dec 2001, an emergency Board meeting was called for, which had concluded in a callous yet decisive vote to file for bankruptcy. His dear company, built from years of scrupulous pain-staking effort had collapsed right before his own eyes.Anil was distraught, but always managed to take heart in the fact
that atleast he had his health and and a caring family. On the 21st of February, 2 days before his son's 19 birthday, he received a call informing him that the Air Deccan flight from Delhi to Mumbai had killed all 78 on board, of which Nivedita, his wife; Aarushi, his 16 yr old daughter, and Rajdeep, his 19 yr old son were an infelicitous part of. It had left him agonizingly stunned for he now had nothing in life to claim as his own.
Anil was unable to bear this melancholic irrevocable loss, of wealth and life, of mind and soul, of kith and kin. He was inconsolable, drowned in overwhelming grief, aloof of life. He took to alcohol, severely wasting himself, abusing his body with drugs. He tried to find answers, he didn't know where to seek them. He was lost immersed in the nothingness of this universe sucked into it and dumped away. He craved for love, for pity, for affection. Lying remorsefully in his once lavish apartment, he remembered his mother's unconditional love, his wife's undying devotion, his children's affection and his dog's faithfulness. His dogged spirit had turned docile, meek. A once proud man now stood felled self-effacingly submissive.
His well-wishers had suggested him to several renowned psychologists, leading doctors and various ludicrous ways to overcome his resentment to life. All had miserably failed. He remembered his wife dearly, the conversations he had with her. She had trusted God so much. But he had failed her. He had cheated her trust, he thought. He had been an agnostic, almost an atheist all his life, and now he had brimming anger at God, an existence he hadn't believed in.
So he headed for the temple his wife had always visited, and stood dispiritedly with clasped hands tearfully staring at the gold studded statue of Ram. He was once again filled with simmering anger, and inconsolably wept bitterly like a lost warrior. And at once, fell to his knees as if in acceptance of His existence, not because he had realized God was omnipresent, but because he hoped he would be. He made a prayer, not because he wanted it answered, but because he simply wanted to pray,to confide his emotion within. All these years he had always beleived that a prayer was a sign of weakness, when a man demanded something from God because he had'nt been able to achieve himself. He now realised how woefully wrong he was. He realised, that a prayer was very personal, very subjective to each individual. Some confided, some confessed, some questioned, some bargained, and some argued. Each one was right in his own way. Facing the sanctum-sanctorum of the temple, he realised God's existence was immaterial, but he knew there was a higher force operating, a watchful eye that was always omnipresent. He at once felt a burden off his chest, felt consoled, like a crying baby is when its mother embraces it.And for a moment, the physical world did not matter to him, and the maelstrom in his own inner world was sanctified, by a divine feeling.

Love Story:2009

The unforgiving water from the newly installed shower thumped against her delicate frame,her silhouette worth a poet's pen. The shower always seemed to drain out her fickle emotions;which would have snowballed through her long day. She stepped out of the shower draped in a terrycloth towel and grabbed her favourite pair of Levi's lying on a chair and a stunning velvety violet top, which she knew her mom wouldn't have approved of. She reached out for the recently acquired Sheldon novel by her bed, which she suspected would remain unfinished, like several of the other books lying in her cupboard, when her phone broke the monotonous silence. She answered the phone not bothering to check the id of the caller when she was greeted by a husky hoarse voice on the other end.
"Hello. Ms.Stevenson?" gushed the voice, feigning concern, yet echoing a cold hollow feeling.
"Yes" she said in a meek voice,disbelief embodied.
"I'm afraid i have some bad news for,Ms.Stevenson. Your boyfriend, David Kennedy, was found dead in his Belmont house in a pool of blood.I suggest you come down here immediately." he said devoid of emotion, as if handing out orders to his subordinates in his office.
He could here her dropping the phone. She groped for the wall, like a child who was having its first fall.But it appeared that she could never manage to fully get up from this fall.
She hurried her way down the well lit stairs, with a look of despondent belligerence on her face, as she made her way through the crowded streets decorated with light and joy,amiable faces awaiting the carnival of Christmas. She frantically waved for a taxi , even as the carnival atmosphere around her only managed to make her spirit within demean further. She sat in the cab and shut her eyes and she could only muse about the time when she had first met David.She was a saleswoman at the local Armani showroom and David had ended up buying 6 suits in less than a week. On the eighth day, he had asked her out, and she had agreed; guilty of a sense of obligation to him. At first she thought he was those snobbish types who prided upon his wealth and flaunted his charming looks and bragged about the number of women he had slept with. She was exulted to discover how wrong she was.He was an instant hit with her and she was enamoured by his outrightly simple approach to life and the absolute absence of guile in his talk. A little more than a week later, he had seduced her right on the doorsteps of the staircase of her house. That night they had made love over and over again. She had later confessed to Suzanne,her best friend, that it was the best sex she'd ever had. It took them a month to realise that they were insanely in love with each other, and she'd confided in him at the turn of midnight on Christmas Eve. As she lay in her cab, she remembered that they were to celebrate their 1st anniversary that day.
The honking of the taxi disrupted her chain of thought and she came crumbling down to the harsh realities,as she got out of the car and rushed straight towards his house unmindful of the cordon that the police had built around his house. The police had instantly recognized her, and made no qualms of letting her in. David had been a wealthy businessman, and the pair was recognised by almost every household in Belmont that read the Page3 of the local newspapers. She made her way through his dimly lit stairs almost gasping for breath. She yanked the door and reached the living room to find David's sister sobbing relentlessly, with an uncontrollable fit of rage, that would have sent a cold shiver down any woman's spine. She made her way through to where David was lying, and just stood there in utter dismay and disbelief, with stifled emotions, looking like an epitome of disarray. She had not wept at all, perhaps such was her terrible shock;conjectured the officers surrounding his body. She stood there as if her soul was bolstered,perennially staring at David's dead body, as if engulfed in a timeless universe. He lay on the floor unmoved in a pool of blood sporting his dinner jacket wearing a pair of Fastrack goggles, that she'd gifted him. Even as she stood gaping at David's dead body, she knew how circumstances had made her celebrate their 1st anniversary and Christmas Eve in this traumatic fashion.She was left gazing at a lifeless David lying on the floor. Even in that state, she was looking stunning as ever, the equanimity on her face giving her an uncanny glow.The officers standing by, expected her to burst into uncontrollable tears. She started to make her way to where David was lying,almost apparently unfazed, with a serene look on her face. She bent down to come nearer to him. To every one's great surprise she took out the shades he was wearing, stood up, wore his Fastrack goggles, turned back, adjusted her hair, and made her way out of the house unscathed, indifferent, and unfazed, and quietly headed back to her house as if nothing had happened. She had moved on.
Fastrack.Move on.