Concealing Images[ Short Fiction]

He sat in isolation looking at people around him. The sounds seemed to resonate in the air. He felt a tingling sensation on his back when music flooded through the speakers. His thoughts seemed interrupted as he touched the bridge of his nose in a futile attempt soften the pinch of unfamiliar glasses.  Sipping the drink with caution he regained his focus. Every person who entered the bar was caught in his gaze. He looked at them with stark observation and shifted his eyes back to the next person who walked through the door. An unconscious disappointment emerged between slightly pressed lips every time he looked back at the entrance. As if, he tallied each person against a mental description of someone he seemed too eager to meet.

While he observed these people he seemed to know more about them than he wanted to know. Good people trying to be bad. People caught in the company of the bad. Peer pressure, social obligations all became visible to his eyes. He saw women, trading off their dignity to appear little fashionable and broadminded while their inner souls cringed with disgust. Men gulping down more drinks than they can handle to reinforce their gender as if someone questioned them about it. Little scum bags killing time till they found someone who wouldn’t be able to figure out a few missing notes from their heavy wallets. Bartenders entertaining guests they didn’t care about. Everyone masked by concealing identities.

The tiny chips of mirrors on few of the walls transported him back to his school days when he was made to hold two mirrors in front of each other. He remembered the reflections, his astonishment when he looked in to the mirrors -Infinite images. His life seemed to be trapped in the illusion of these infinite images. A sadness wrapped around his heart when he recollected his ten year old self. He couldn’t identify with himself anymore and yet he could connect to everybody around him. He had been through everything these people were facing and, a lot more. He felt his hands against his face as if to register how his visage looked like. He caught his image of in one of the reflections- a harmless young man dressed like it was his first visit to the place. The image disturbed him. He shut his eyes and rubbed the back of his neck in an attempt to let go of the emotions that seem to suffocate him.  The metallic object tucked at his waist touched his skin and his lips pressed again- disappointment. But this time his eyes didn’t have a shade of regret as if this disappointment was embedded to him and had become a part of his life.

He shifted the gaze to the entrance again and saw a group of girls walk in.  Clam and composed he finished the drink observing each face. He followed the group as they walked and chatted with inexplicable joy and delight. Women- He sighed!

He focussed his attention on one girl in particular. He battled the pity he felt for her.  He saw her move to the dance floor. He didn’t look at her directly. He caught her reflection behind his mirror image; a woman dressed in a colourful shirt and unusual green cotton trousers. Little stars hanging from delicate strings that were tied into a fashionable knot at her wrist. Beautiful flow of the curls, her hair swung around her as she danced to an incomprehensible beat.  He gave an unconscious nod as if reassuring himself of something. In the next few minutes the reflection of the women fell on the floor with blood splattered across her face. The mirrors held reflections of people horrified by what had happened.

He? He disappeared into one of the infinite concealing images. The gun felt hot tucked at his waist. Lips pressed with disappointment but his eyes- no regret. His way of dealing with guilt was putting the blame on the people who hired him. As long as there was someone wanting someone else dead- it could be anyone who could become the killer. This day, this time, this life- it was him.

P.S: Written as a part of Captured Writings

Beautiful broidery [Poem]

As the sunlight cascades down

And, day drowns in the golden mellow

Bring with you, some words of yours

While I bring with me, some prose of mine

Let us befriend the soul each one holds

Push open, the doors, of our concealed worlds

Charming, wouldn’t it be? What awaits a discovery?

Conversations, spinning a beautiful broidery.

~Sam

Lift Man [Short Fiction]

“Here you go” he handed the badge with a stinging stare literally thrusting it into my palm. If I made any noise it wasn’t heard. He was too tired of doing this for me and he made no effort to conceal the obvious irritation. “You know how hard it is to get you a job?” his eyes flamed, more out of concern than anger. I just nodded in response. He kicked his dhoti in a swift movement and grabbed it by his right hand. With a despairing expression he disappeared into the crowd. I wondered how much he loved his sister and my mother that he puts up with this trouble of finding me a job again and again. 

I waited for the door to open and stepped into a 3x3 space marked by a transparent cabin overlooking the interiors of a fancy building. That defined the boundaries of my work area. A panel of nine push buttons greeted me. The building had six floors. There was a button for each floor. Two buttons to control the closing and opening of the door and one emergency stop. I had a brief training session in the morning. A huge man in security uniform instructed with stern voice pointing a stick at an LED board, “This will glow when the number of people in the lift is more than what it can handle. Ten people, and not fat ones like me” he tapped on his bloated belly.  This followed with few other emergency precautions and protocols, attendance register entry instructions, salary deposits and building rules for support staff.

Given my condition, moving up and down in a lift full off people day in and day out, was not what I had dreamt of. Anyhow, I was worried about keeping my job. Ramu mamu had given his word to the owner. I couldn’t let him down.  I sat on the stool placed near the right corner. I lifted my hand and tried to touch the farthest button. I could sit and still access it. Phew!  As the clock struck 10:00am people started flowing in and out of the building. It was a shopping complex- books, music, apparel and what not. I panicked worrying should there be an awkward moment where I could get stuck. But the day passed by pushing buttons - 1^st floor, 2^nd…. 4^th again and again. While some mentioned the floor some just took names of the shops and I had to refer the small chart given by the security guy to figure out which floor they had to get to. 

It was very strange how minimum people spoke. May be that was how they became in the crowd- mute.  There was this pregnant lady wondering about getting into a crowded lift and her husband grabbed her shoulder in an assuring manner while signalling me they will wait for the next round. No words spoken. Similar conversation occurred when an over energetic little kid pestered his dad to take the lift. I smiled as the wide eyed kid repeated “Wow” innumerable number of times, fascinated with the movement of the lift.  He made me feel like I had the coolest job in the world. His dad made a futile attempt to cover his embarrassment with a smile. On countless occasions, I held the door open and waited a bit longer when I saw people rushing towards the lift door. I helped people when they struggled with handful of bags. They spoke to me with their expressions and emotions that rang out loud even when they restrained their voices.  And, I, just felt normal. There was no chance they would know. And, no reason for it to be explicitly told, the job was getting done and communication was effective. 

That evening when Ramu mamu came to pick to me up my lips moved to thank the man for my new job. A job- that made a voiceless man, feel normal and vocal.