Once upon a time....No.. No. The time factor is confusing, especially for a fantasy story. Let's put in a different way. During 1945, in the city called Gang Capital of America, there lived a man named Bastin. His father was a rich business man. They used to go fishing for pleasure. Who named this son of a rich as Bastin? Well, it was me. Yes. It WAS me. I didn't know Baaastin's real name. So, I picked that name for him. I was a fighter dreaming to join the American Mafia of Los Angeles crime family. Shattering my dreams into thousand pieces, the son of a gun and his son caught me on net, along the port of Long Beach. Going back in time gives chronobiological problems. Like it is happening to you now, i had the same kind of confusion. One moment, i was free, in a forest lake and next moment, i was battered on my head and prisoned inside transparent glasses.
The word prison itself gives a feeling of captivity in negativity. But, what I saw was the face of positivity in adversity. Before I completely lost my senses, I saw her dredging behind a tree with her hostile little face. When I woke up, it was a moment out of time. My heart felt like floating on water with zero buoyancy and safe as deep as the river. Breaking the breathless silence, she said, 'Hey, how are you?'.
'Never better.. except my head has a surreal feel that we are working for project mayhem. So,Where are we?', I asked.
'This place is called City Of Angels and we are stuck here temporarily', she said reluctantly.
Are the angels writing gospels about IPL 2011 Champions? Are they busy singing carol songs for CSK? Huh..Where are they, belly fish? I sighed.
You are not even trying to be nice. And, I ain't a belly fish. I am a gold fish. You blind pony tail, can't you see my colors, she said with indignation.
"Well sweetie. I don't know your name. How am I supposed to call you? 'Rosemary's Baby','My Dear Lisa'?? Does any of these sound nice to you?"
She "My name is Christiana Rose and you don't have to call me."
Okay, Okay, Rose, for once, hear what I have to say. I love you. I screamed like a radio jockey.
After extensively eavesdropping my staged love scene, a group of angel fish with flecks of gray shades came like a packed crowd. They all looked the same like xerox of a xerox of a xerox. I had heard of angels all the time and believed in them. When I saw them, i just could not stop laughing. They were just tiny and skinny creatures moving like water monkeys dipped in oil coated vaxes with an odour of old woods and books. My Rose, she was as a real Angel. She didn't need to take 500 sit ups everyday to look like an Angel. She was exactly like a cup cake dipped in Vannila milk shake with golden orange tops. I felt warmth in the golden rays of sunlight generated from her lustrous body. She got a mesmerizing pale blue dot below her lower cherry lips. Only that, her monalisa smile was a mystery to me. Mystery is always a mystery. Isn't it? Without a white dress turbocharged with air, without a hanging star shining next to her, she was an Angel sitting on top of a Christmas tree decorated with colorful lights. Her gravitational induction drove everyone crazy including my boss, the bloody Bastin.
It was kind of a Triangle Love. I loved Rose. She liked Bastin. Bastin loved rose and hated me because I loved Rose.Besides, she got other friends Nortan, Pitt, Nicholos and more. I knew I had screwed my chances with my satire. I thought of winning her back by writing a fable for her and that too before Baskar wrecks the real thing, my love. I started with the title 'City of Angels'. With a tiny sonic boom, Rose came and told that she would be leaving with Bastin the next day. She asked to forget whatever I told her and left me in a permanent gloom. Plunged into depression and with an inflamed sense of rejection, I wrote, 'Thank you for, making me, feel like, I am guilty'.
Year 1998, April 10, Today. I woke up in the guest room of Angelina theatre, Los Angeles. But this time, as a man with flesh and blood. My head was taken up by the fragmentary memories of my previous birth. It was not a dream. It was like walking down the lane built with false memory walls. The pain, despair, tiredness all felt real except love that felt close to reality. The brain could not stand the stress, torture and tension. Boom. I fainted. A lemonade plum girl walked in and said, 'Hey, how are you?'
'Never better.. What happened nice lady?', I smiled.
She replied, 'We were conducting a contest for the best quote for the movie 'City Of Angels' which is releasing today. I gave you a form and you fainted. I am Christiana Rose, by the way, if you need to call me'. She left.
Two visions at a time. One in the past and one in the present. Deja Vu. And this girl, I felt like I had already loved her for over a hundred years. If I could write the best quote, I could win her heart, I hoped. I took the form in hand and started to think. I thought of buying her Star Bucks, Microsoft and a few thousand shares of Apple Inc. With a tiny sonic boom, she came into the room with another guy in yellow shirt and long hair. I could not control my mouth.
'Let me guess, this is your friend Nortan'.
She laughed. 'Nope'.
'Then.. He should be Brad Pitt? or Nicholas Cage??', I guessed with a doubt.
'This is my husband Sebastin. He owns this theatre', She broke the ice.
'Son of a rich. He got her again'. I muttered and sighed within heart. In a cold voice, I replied, 'Nice to meet you SeBaaasttin',
Losing all hopes of heart, renouncing futile memories of mind, wiping out guilty feelings of soul, make you feel free. I filled in the form and gave it back to her. 'Thank you for, making it, easy to, murder your, sweet memories...'
Moral : If it wasn't yours, it will never be yours.
The word prison itself gives a feeling of captivity in negativity. But, what I saw was the face of positivity in adversity. Before I completely lost my senses, I saw her dredging behind a tree with her hostile little face. When I woke up, it was a moment out of time. My heart felt like floating on water with zero buoyancy and safe as deep as the river. Breaking the breathless silence, she said, 'Hey, how are you?'.
'Never better.. except my head has a surreal feel that we are working for project mayhem. So,Where are we?', I asked.
'This place is called City Of Angels and we are stuck here temporarily', she said reluctantly.
Are the angels writing gospels about IPL 2011 Champions? Are they busy singing carol songs for CSK? Huh..Where are they, belly fish? I sighed.
You are not even trying to be nice. And, I ain't a belly fish. I am a gold fish. You blind pony tail, can't you see my colors, she said with indignation.
"Well sweetie. I don't know your name. How am I supposed to call you? 'Rosemary's Baby','My Dear Lisa'?? Does any of these sound nice to you?"
She "My name is Christiana Rose and you don't have to call me."
Okay, Okay, Rose, for once, hear what I have to say. I love you. I screamed like a radio jockey.
After extensively eavesdropping my staged love scene, a group of angel fish with flecks of gray shades came like a packed crowd. They all looked the same like xerox of a xerox of a xerox. I had heard of angels all the time and believed in them. When I saw them, i just could not stop laughing. They were just tiny and skinny creatures moving like water monkeys dipped in oil coated vaxes with an odour of old woods and books. My Rose, she was as a real Angel. She didn't need to take 500 sit ups everyday to look like an Angel. She was exactly like a cup cake dipped in Vannila milk shake with golden orange tops. I felt warmth in the golden rays of sunlight generated from her lustrous body. She got a mesmerizing pale blue dot below her lower cherry lips. Only that, her monalisa smile was a mystery to me. Mystery is always a mystery. Isn't it? Without a white dress turbocharged with air, without a hanging star shining next to her, she was an Angel sitting on top of a Christmas tree decorated with colorful lights. Her gravitational induction drove everyone crazy including my boss, the bloody Bastin.
It was kind of a Triangle Love. I loved Rose. She liked Bastin. Bastin loved rose and hated me because I loved Rose.Besides, she got other friends Nortan, Pitt, Nicholos and more. I knew I had screwed my chances with my satire. I thought of winning her back by writing a fable for her and that too before Baskar wrecks the real thing, my love. I started with the title 'City of Angels'. With a tiny sonic boom, Rose came and told that she would be leaving with Bastin the next day. She asked to forget whatever I told her and left me in a permanent gloom. Plunged into depression and with an inflamed sense of rejection, I wrote, 'Thank you for, making me, feel like, I am guilty'.
Year 1998, April 10, Today. I woke up in the guest room of Angelina theatre, Los Angeles. But this time, as a man with flesh and blood. My head was taken up by the fragmentary memories of my previous birth. It was not a dream. It was like walking down the lane built with false memory walls. The pain, despair, tiredness all felt real except love that felt close to reality. The brain could not stand the stress, torture and tension. Boom. I fainted. A lemonade plum girl walked in and said, 'Hey, how are you?'
'Never better.. What happened nice lady?', I smiled.
She replied, 'We were conducting a contest for the best quote for the movie 'City Of Angels' which is releasing today. I gave you a form and you fainted. I am Christiana Rose, by the way, if you need to call me'. She left.
Two visions at a time. One in the past and one in the present. Deja Vu. And this girl, I felt like I had already loved her for over a hundred years. If I could write the best quote, I could win her heart, I hoped. I took the form in hand and started to think. I thought of buying her Star Bucks, Microsoft and a few thousand shares of Apple Inc. With a tiny sonic boom, she came into the room with another guy in yellow shirt and long hair. I could not control my mouth.
'Let me guess, this is your friend Nortan'.
She laughed. 'Nope'.
'Then.. He should be Brad Pitt? or Nicholas Cage??', I guessed with a doubt.
'This is my husband Sebastin. He owns this theatre', She broke the ice.
'Son of a rich. He got her again'. I muttered and sighed within heart. In a cold voice, I replied, 'Nice to meet you SeBaaasttin',
Losing all hopes of heart, renouncing futile memories of mind, wiping out guilty feelings of soul, make you feel free. I filled in the form and gave it back to her. 'Thank you for, making it, easy to, murder your, sweet memories...'
Moral : If it wasn't yours, it will never be yours.
