Week2 – Post17 – GameOfBlogs by BlogAdda

Blog-o-holics

 

A TIME TO KILL

Read the Previous post by Sumi here.

 

Really! Some people have no civic sense or basic etiquette, thought Tara as she heard the door open with force. She turned back and glared at the girl who walked in, invading the privacy she had needed with the police commissioner. Not that the commissioner was here though. She had been kept waiting without any explanation whatsoever. If this can happen to a high profile reporter like her, God knows what happened to the common people.

 

She saw a sense of recognition pass through the girls’ eyes. So this girl knew who she was. Tara, though, didn’t recognize seeing this girl anywhere before. Maya. That’s what her ID card read. But however much Tara thought about it, she couldn’t recall seeing this Maya covering any news. Maybe she’s a new recruit, Tara thought, and turned back to face the empty leather chair with a white towel on its headrest.

 

“I’m so glad to meet you Tara Ma’m”. Tara turned toward the girl and smiled at her, before turning back again.

“Are you here because of your kidnapping? Have they figured out who the culprit is?”

“I have no idea. I’m yet to meet the commissioner you know. As you can see, he’s not here.”

“You’re so brave, getting yourself free and running away like that! I really admire you, Tara Ma’m”

“Thank you, Maya. Do you also have an appointment with the commissioner?”

“Errr…Umm…”

“Here to get some inside scoop, are you?”

Tara smiled as she saw Maya fidgeting with her ID and glasses. “Are you here for my kidnapping or for the bomb blast?”

“No. No. I mean, of course your kidnapping and the blast in the city is big news, but other reporters are covering these. I’m here about the murder.”

“Murder?”

“Oh! You don’t know about the murder? They found a dead body from the sea, no? Wanted to know if they got his identity yet.”

As Tara turned back to face the commissioner’s empty chair, Jennifer smirked. “You’re not the only one with news, bitch” she thought.

-x-x-x-

This is the last chapter of Week 2. Will update the link to the next chapter as it goes up next week.

 

Me and my team are participating in ‘Game Of Blogs’ at BlogAdda.com. #CelebrateBlogging with us.

 

 

 

Week 2 – Post 15 – #GameOfBlogs in BlogAdda

Team Blog-o-holics’ A TIME TO KILL

Blog-o-holics Read the previous part of this story by Rubina Ramesh here

 

Getting Roohi out of the hospital and in her hired car was an easy feat. She just did what she was best at. Lied. Her appearance helped of course. It always did. The DSLR hanging on her neck was her best mate. It helped her to lie and get away with it too. She had just needed to tell Roohi that she was her mother’s friend and may know where Tara might have gone. Roohi was so enthusiastic to see her mother that she came along happily. Now she must take care to not arouse the kids suspicion. At least not till they reached her hideout. Once inside, she would make sure that Roohi was out of her way. At least till her mission was accomplished. A smile came on Jennifer’s lips as she thought of what she was about to do, without anybody suspecting her. She had the perfect plan ready. She would do all the crimes but the suspicion will fall on somebody else. Ha! That love-sick bastard. And he had the audacity to tell her that she was his subordinate? She would show him who was the boss!

As she reached her rented apartment in the suburbs, she held Roohi’s hand and they walked up the stairs. She didn’t take the upper floors since they made a difficult escape route. Running down ( or simply jumping from the balcony) was so much easier when you lived on the first floor and were in a hurry to run. That situation might or might not come but the smart ones were always prepared for the worst.

Once inside the apartment she made Roohi sit comfortably on the couch and put on the Disney TV channel. As Mickey Mouse filled up the screen, her apartment sounded of Roohi’s giggles. Jen smiled at the child but strangely, this time the smile did not reach her eyes. She went into the kitchen, warmed some milk and then put a sleeping pill in it.
“Roohi, you must be hungry. Here, Have some milk and cookies”, Jen said as she handed the glass of milk to the kid.
“When will mumma come here?”
“She’ll be here in 10 minutes beta. Now, drink the milk and enjoy the show”
Jen took the comfortable bean bag as Roohi settled on the couch with her milk mug. This time Jen was really smiling as she watched Roohi’s eyelids droop as sleep finally overcame her nimble body.

“Now, some more work left to do.” Jen picked Roohi up and took her to the bedroom. She laid down the child on a single bed. “I have to keep the kid drugged at all times.” She took out some syringes ad vials and laid them by the bedside table. “A shot a day will keep Roohi out of the way”. Then she opened her laptop and put in the password to login. She had a feeling that she was missing something in this whole deal, some important detail that had skipped her mind. She opened Cyrus’s blog again. She wished she had paid more attention to the cyber tracking classes back at the training camp. There was something wrong about Cyrus. Something amiss. He behaved too surely for a law student. Jen had never seen a student so comfortable in his own shoes. Blogs were the best way to track someone nowadays. People are too careful about their facebook profiles but not too careful about their blogs. As Jen clicked one link after another, she stumbled upon an article. Where has she read the same article? Was Cyrus guilty of plagiarism? Suddenly all was clear in an instant! That article was from Aryan Ahuja, Dutta family’s neighbor. And no, Cyrus wasn’t a plagiarist! He wasn’t a law student either. It was just a disguise. He was Aryan, the super cop from ATS! No wonder Mr. Ahuja kept such a low profile. Now, that’s a secret she would be well-paid for!

Jen thumped the table in victory and rose up in a hurry. She paced the bedroom floor taking swift steps, planning out her next move. Thinking done, she went in front of the mirror and started taking off her own disguise. Well, it wasn’t really a disguise if you think about it, but usually men didn’t think! She took off her numerous bead necklaces and bracelets hugging her wrists. The shorts and the tank top followed. Jen let her hair down and braided it in a single plait. Then she took out a full sleeved cotton salwar kamiz and wore it. Her tattoo and body covered and accessories removed, she didn’t look like Jen anymore. She was just a commonplace girl nobody noticed. Good. Now she must be out on her mission. She must gather information on the Mishra murder case, how far the police has reached. Giving a shot to Roohi as a precaution, Jen took the dupatta and left her apartment, locking it behind her.

 

——

Read the next part of the story by Sumi Thomas Here.

“Me and my team are participating in ‘Game Of Blogs’ at BlogAdda.com. #CelebrateBlogging with us.”

Week1 – FirstPost – #GameOfBlogs by BlogAdda

Team Blog-o-holics’ first entry.

 

Walking on high heels can be a pain, thought Tara, as she stopped to adjust the straps of her wedges. She placed a hand on little Roohi’s shoulders for support as she struggled with them. Everything in place, they started walking, Tara almost dragging her 9 year old daughter. “Hurry up, Roohi, or we’ll be late for school.” Roohi, however, tried to walk at her slowest, hoping against hope that they’ll be so late that she could ultimately skip school. Who wants to go to school when you haven’t done the homework and were asked to get a note on your diary signed by your parents but didn’t, right? She hoped her class teacher would somehow ignore what she did on her friend’s back with colors yesterday. Her hopes were soon in vain as she saw the Convent building looming nearby.

Tara heaved a huge sigh of relief as she tightened the ribbons on Roohi’s two ponytails and packed her off at the school’s entrance. “Try not to be naughty today, Roohi!” she called after her daughter. She adjusted her large designer tote while watching Roohi disappear inside the building and then decided to walk the remaining distance to her office, which was nearby. She worked at Headlines Today and loved her job, especially since it offered her flexible hours and a fat cheque at the end of the month. It’d have been so easier if Shekhar also worked full time at some job, she thought. But 10 years ago she had taken the plunge knowing full well that Shekhar would be writing full-time. It meant irregular pay but she was glad he could stay at home and look after their daughter. You can’t trust the nannies these days. Look at all the news reports coming in where children were abused by their tutors & nannies.

As she walked immersed in her thoughts she started feeling a little uneasy. You know the feeling you get when someone watches you intently? She turned to look but nobody was around at this early hour. Except a morning walker wearing grey track pants and a black hoodie who was sitting on a stone bench, texting. Tara shrugged and dismissed the feeling. It must be the fight she had with Shekhar today. Or maybe the one she had had with the Autowallah. She must give credit to Shekhar though. Whenever they fought, he was always the first one to hug her and say sorry, his graphite eyes ever smiling through his thin golden specs. But the Autowallah! She felt her blood boil as she recalled their argument earlier. First of all he had the audacity to ask for 300 Rs. just to go a few km. And then when she had bargained, he had spit his paan right next to where she stood, as if the whole world was a giant spittoon! Poor chap will always remember the lecture he got this morning on manners, she thought. All this could’ve been avoided if only Shekhar had remembered to take the car to the mechanic for repairs. All these years and she still wasn’t used to living with a writer!

She felt the sensation again as if she was being watched. She increased her pace a little, her heels making a clack-clack sound on the cemented pavement. Her office was on the next block after the traffic signal. She could see the tall building with the hoardings but it would take 6-7 minutes to cover the distance on foot. Suddenly, she became aware of another sound matching her pace, not very distinct but certainly there. She stole a glance backwards and caught a glimpse of a tall, slim figure wearing a black hoodie. Was it the same man she saw earlier? Her heart leapt to her mouth and she could hear her blood pounding as sinister images formed in her head. She increased her pace as she noticed a chai-wallah opening his shop at a distance. Relief flooded her as she saw another person and decided to stop at the stall and ask for help if needed.

As she got near the shop, she felt the person behind her come closer every second, taking long strides. She felt as though she’d have a heart attack as the person overtook her, slightly grazing her shoulders, when she reached the shop. She stopped abruptly and heaved a sigh of relief. Really, wearing a hoodie isn’t a crime you know, she chastised herself on her childishness. The hoodie man must have been in a hurry.

She walked at a leisurely pace to her office and headed straight to the washroom to straighten her formal shirt and fix her lipstick. It wouldn’t do to appeared flushed in front of her colleagues. After she applied some gloss on her lips, she moved over to the window and opened it a little to get some fresh air in her system and calm her frazzled nerves.

Was that a flash of a black hoodie she saw around the corner?

 

Read the next installment to this story here.

 

***

Me and my team are participating in ‘Game Of Blogs’ at BlogAdda.com. #CelebrateBlogging with us.

My Black Wishlist

Since I teach at a high school I am up early mornings and now that the summer vacation is over, I’m back to the grinding routine. Even though I get up early everyday (yes, even Sundays!) you couldn’t call me a morning person. So what is it that helps me shake off my precious (sleep) in the wee hours of morning? Coffee, of course! And what if the delicious coffee came in a hilarious package? That would be a certain wake-me-up, is it not? Here’s Coffee with Grumpy Cat (pun intended!)

Grumpy-Cat-Mornings-black-Coffee-Mug

I fell in love with this mug as soon as I saw it. Think this will make a wonderful addition to my ever-growing collection of coffee mugs, especially since it’s Black and has Grumpy cat, two of my favourite things in this world!

Once I’ve made my coffee I head towards the study for an early morning stint with my writing. Yes, #amwriting. Nothing like sipping aromatic coffee while writing down my first thoughts of the morning. I’m a pen-and-paper person and need the feel of solid metal scratching against white rough handmade paper to get my writing juices flowing instead of clacking keys on the notebook. Though I do that too, especially during NaNoWriMo when the word count pressure is too much to allow me to write on my journal and then type it up. But there’s nothing more soothing than to see the black ink making delicious curls on the paper. So the next three things on my wishlist are these:

Black_Handmade_Journal

pierre-cardin-real-magic-real-magic-400x400-imad762jgqdxu7bt

Stand-still-Square-Pen-Stand-Black-Pottery-LKA061131-31

The journal is a bunch of unruled handmade paper stiched together in a black leather binding. Perfect for writing as well as for the times when I get the urge to doodle. The set of pens is my favourite brand, Pierre Cardin, and have black ink, my preferred color for writing. One is a Roller Ball where as the other one is a Ball Pen. The pen holder is also handmade black pottery with clever leather stitches, perfect for keeping my black beauties safe.

Now to my daily dose of reading. The next thing on my wishlist is the All New Kindle Fire 8.9″ HD Tablet. Isn’t it a beauty?

KJ-slate-01-lg-noVid._V382221546_

Though I do LOVE my current Kindle PaperWhite and have enjoyed it immensely ever since I got it last December, I miss the colors of the book covers. The new Kindle Fire will make sure I can enjoy the colorful book covers as if I was holding the real book in my hands at the same time keeping me in touch with the Internet. The browser in my Kindle PW is an experimental one and doesn’t let me do a lot of things! This one will keep me well-read as well as connected! Not a deal to let go is it?

What are some of the things in your wishlist, black or not?

This post is a part of #WhatTheBlack activity at BlogAdda.com

 

Politician’s Daughter

I gritted my teeth and slowly chew my words, mincing them into shrapnel.
“If you weren’t a friend I would’ve killed you.”
“Pretty sure you would have gotten away with it too.”
Her words acted as a catalyst to my already seething temper and I settled for the second best thing to murder. I slapped her knowing that I will lose my best friend who also happened to be the only friend. The argument had left a rancid taste in my mouth, unsettling me. I hurried towards the college exit not caring about the car in the parking, preferring the quiet afternoon walk to cool down my nerves.

As I made my way down the pavement I picked up another noise behind me. Footsteps matching my own, which would have otherwise been drowned in the noise of the city, especially to unaccustomed or untrained ears. I turned around to see the bodyguard silently following me at a distance. I shook my head in disbelief; of course I will never be able to dodge them however much I try. I shouted at him to leave me alone but he just stood there, eyes downcast, refusing to budge. “It’s my duty madam”, he pointed out. Knowing that it would ultimately have to be me who gave up first, I did just that. The sooner the better.

As I neared my house I saw a convoy of official looking white ambassadors, their drivers gathered below the shade of the Banyan, exchanging bits of juicy gossip. I took in the sight knowing fully well that my dad must be busy in one of his meetings, but my heart nourished the childlike desire to talk to him right now about my problems. Ignoring the well-meaning pleas of the household servant, I barged into his study.

I joined my hands in the traditional Namaste and bowed to several people I knew, my eyes finally settling over my dad.
“Papa, I have to talk to you. It’s important”, I squeaked.
“I’m sure it’s not more important than this meeting. I’ll talk to you when we finish”, he gestured, his hands sweeping in all the people in the room.
I hesitated and then finally moved out of the room. It’s a wonder that I was still sad when this happened. After all this was nothing new. I should have been accustomed to my father’s lack of time for me and my issues by now.

I went up to my room and lay there sobbing into the covers. Life had never been a bed of roses for me. I had lost my mother at a very young age to a terrorist attack that was planned for my father. I didn’t have any siblings and preferred to remain friend-less rather than gathering around me a bunch of idiots who only pretended to like me in exchange of the benefits. After the attack I was never allowed to remain alone and was always accompanied by a private bodyguard. My father cared little that my classmates made fun of me due to this. Of course I never mentioned the other things that they said to make fun of me and him. I never told him how they teased me that I was born with a silver spoon in my mouth and that I never had to work hard for anything. They also teased me that I could get away with anything I tried, however illegal. They made fun of my father comparing him to the many corrupt politicians and regularly asked me what scam he was into. It was not too difficult to ignore them. But what pained me most was my father’s lack of time for me who he claimed to be “his precious darling”.

I feigned sleep when I heard his footsteps outside my bedroom door. “I know you are angry my child but the meeting was very important. It was regarding the security of our fellow countrymen”, he told me, caressing my head. I got up from the bed and hugged him, feeling proud of the patriotism I witnessed in his eyes.
“Of course. But I must tell you about my fight with Ritu”, I blabbered, as I silently thanked God for blessing me with a Politician Dad.

This post is written for the Weekend Contest in association with Shoes of The Dead at BlogAdda.com

An update: I just got an email from the BlogAdda team that I was one of the winners of this contest.

Check out the winning posts here.

Great or What? WooHoo!