Vampires and Sunburns

Did you know that not a single vampire has been to the Sunburn festival in Goa?

The Sunburn is a big party held every year in Goa towards the year end, and it continues for three days. It is an occasion where people who love the sun, music and general merriment are happy and contented.

And not a single vampire has been to this party.

It is not that vampires are a boring lot and do not appreciate festivities, but as most of you may know, they cannot go into the sun because tradition says, the sun literally burns Vampires.

So a vampire going to a party called Sunburn, is like a human going to a party called Funeral & Last Rites.

I agree that life for a Vampire has changed immeasurably in the last few decades with the inventions of products like the sunscreen lotion and the Twilight saga, but there remained much to be done if we, as a species, had to evolve.

The first step was that we must learn to step outside in the sun.

Although there has never been any reports of Vampires burning up into flames when he/she went out to get the morning newspaper, but none of them have actually dared to test this theory.

I personally felt that it is not true, and I was determined to put this superstition to test.

My name is Bhaskar, and I am an Indian Vampire, which is ironical, because Bhaskar, in Sanskrit means the Sun. They say it was my mother who named me Bhaskar, because she was one who absolutely loved the sun before she turned into a vampire. Later she confessed to her friend, that it was a price she knowingly paid for love, when my father, a Vampire, got drunk and bit my mother in an uncontrolled moment of desire at a dinner party. A few days after the bite she started showing a preference towards blood, which increased gradually, until by the end of the month she was an absolute blood-thirsty savage. This propelled her career in the corporate world and she became the CEO of her company in the next five years.

A year later, she resigned and joined an NGO to work with the blood bank. She felt the rewards were much greater. After a few years in the blood bank, my parents decided to start family and they adopted me.

I grew up normally and mostly had bats for friends. But being in India, life was easier, as the people were more accepting to my special condition. I had done my studies and like most of India, finished my engineering studies to join the computer and Information Technology industry. I did well in my career until I felt there was something missing in my life. I was not doing what I was meant to do.

It was at this point in time when I learnt about the Sunburn festival which happens in Goa every year in December.

I was intrigued.

In fact, it was the spark I was missing. I needed to get out in the sun. I just had to find a way to do it.

So, I did what anyone would normally do.

I asked a friend.

“Bro…I will go to the Sun Burn this December.” I said, and immediately turned my head away, as he sprayed the drink he was having on my face in a cough of shock.

“achmm…what?” he said after having recovered from the cough.

“The Sun Burn festival in Goa this December. This is June so I have about five months to get ready and I think I can do it.” I replied.

“Either you are drunk, or you have lost your mind. You want to spend three days in the sun, among thousands of people, drunk, dazed and what not, and would kill you the moment they find you are a Vampire….?” He said.

He was right. It had tremendous risks, possibly to my life. But it was also something that I felt I must do if my life had to mean anything.

“I know this sounds like a totally ridiculous idea, but I must challenge this superstition that we cannot step out in the sun. Just imagine, we just live half the life normal people do. They can stay out in the sun, and they even have the night to enjoy. While, we just need to do whatever we have to do in the twelve hours of darkness and the lock ourselves up in our coffins during the day. Can you imagine how much freedom we will get if we could break this sunlight barrier? How much more we can do, and how much progress will be made in our lives? If only I could challenge this theory and come outside of it alive, I would usher a whole new era of Vampire progress… and if it means that I have to put my life on the line by attending three days in Goa at the Sun Burn, then so be it.” I stomped down my glass of beer to emphasize.

I looked straight into the eyes of my friend and then to his girlfriend. Her jugular vein was throbbing. She was aroused, either by the alcohol, or my speech, or probably both. I looked away.

I had to prepare for Sunburn.

The Preparation

I did all the research I could do, by going through books and tales, and found that the heat from the sun had a lot to do with the superstition. So I decided to start interacting with fire, but I had to do it carefully, sensibly and… responsibly.

I bought a cigarette lighter and started playing with it. The first spark was the scariest and I had to do it all alone as none of my vampire friends were willing to be in the same room as me when I would light up the lighter.

I could not ask a human friend to help me with this, as I had kept my Vampire-ness a close secret from them since college.

So it was up to me and a cigarette lighter, alone in my room, trying to overcome the fear to strike it.

The month of June went and all I could do was hold the lighter in my hand and stare at it for hours, with a trembling thumb unsure whether it should strike the flint and let a flame out.

It could not. The fear was too high, until one night, in the middle of July, I let out a scream and did it. I slid my thumb across the flint and saw the sparks come out and there flickered a majestic flame. I could see it for a second before I threw the lighter away and crawled back into my coffin, scared, crying and wishing I did not have to go through it.

But I stuck to it and by the end of July I was lighting cigarettes for people at the bars. I already felt that I had experienced more than any Vampire and was very proud of myself.

It was time for me to begin the second phase.

The Second Phase

Even from a distance of 93 million miles, the sun was much stronger than a cigarette lighter flame. I had to increase the intensity. I needed to burn bon fires. From my cigarette lighter experience, I could tell that I was not any more vulnerable than other people from flames. My skin did not brittle away, or sizzled at its proximity. It was just fear I had to overcome. And I was still not very confident if I could handle big fires.

What if I did it wrong and it would spread?

And what If I actually could not withstand the bon-fire, then who would douse it?

Questions started pouring into my head until a book caught my eye - The Edge of Trust.

Something in the title caught my attention and I picked it up.

In the middle of the flight, Kiara woke up to go to the washroom. When she returned, she was too lazy to push her way into the middle seat. And with Rishaan readily offering to shift seats, the seating arrangement changed. With 20 minutes still remaining for the flight to land, a sleep starved Kiara took another power nap, this time holding Rishaan’s right hand more firmly. Rishaan’s other hand, though nervously moved to touch Diya’s. Her heart skipped a beat. Diya pulled her hand away. But a defiant Rishaan held her wrist again, this time firmly and more reassuringly. The changing behavioural dynamics between the three perhaps gave out a foreboding of what was to come in Goa.

Goa!

I felt it was sign of some sorts. I immediately felt that I should go ahead without further deliberation and tore up a page from the book. This was in ceremony as I wanted the first page I burnt, to be special. I lit up my lighter, and brought the flame close to the lower corner of the page. It started to catch fire and curled up. As the flame devoured the page I felt a faint wave of panic rise up in me. I breathed deep and it passed away. Encouraged, I decided to build a bonfire immediately in my room.

My “room” is the terrace of an abandoned building. I liked the place as it is far from the city and closer to nature. The nights were amazing here and in the day, I could quietly sleep without being disturbed by the city traffic. It was the perfect place to build a bon fire.

I got a few drums of water filled, in case things went out of control and collected some dry twigs from the ground outside. I tore a few more pages from the book and placed the twigs over them. Then I lit the flame from my lighter and touched one page with it, until all the pages were engulfed in flame.

The twigs started to crackle under the fire, and suddenly my face started burn.

I was scared. Was I dying?

I turned away and ran towards the water drum. My face was still throbbing with heat. I was in panic mode. I jumped towards the drum and thrust my face into the water. The coolness engulfed my face and neck and immediately I felt better. I could not check if my face melted because one of the inconveniences of being a Vampire is that, our reflections did not show up in mirrors.

I felt my face with my fingers and thought that it was fine. I turned around to see what has become of the bon fire; it was still burning with flames a foot high from the ground. I decided to go nearer and sat down a couple of feet away from my bonfire. I sat there watching it until it died out into a pile of red ambers. 

By November I was regularly building bon-fires on the terrace, sometimes even with big logs, with flames three feet high. The fear was no more and I had found out that I could withstand bonfires too. I had noted all my findings on a blog.

It was time for the final showdown.

 The Final Showdown

It was towards the end of November. The passes for Sunburn were available online. Time was ripe and the final hurdle now looked at me in the eye. If I passed it, I would bravely walk into the sun the next day.

That night as I slid opened my coffin and saw the moonlight kiss my face, I was eager towards a good night’s work. I had prepared hard for the final hurdle and had scoured the internet for all the information on one ancient exercise practiced by the great yogis in reverence to the power of the sun. 

I had memorized the yoga-asanas, or poses, by heart in the darkness of the night until I could do all the poses in one fluid motion.

Now I had to consummate the asana by doing it at the break of dawn. 

I decided to fast and took a midnight bath. I drank a few glasses of water as I wanted my body to be as hydrated as possible. I set an alarm for 5:15 am, fifteen minutes before sunrise, and lied down on the ground. I decided not to think about anything and just stared into the moon. It was beautiful. And I dared not to think anything beyond that and dozed off. I woke up at the sound of the alarm and quickly took another quick bath to regain my senses.

It was 5:25am. Time to start my asana.

I faced east and placed my palms together in a Namaste and closed my eyes. The next time they would open, they would see the sun.

 I took a deep breath in and extended my arms towards the sky.

Then from this position I bent down to touch my knees with my forehead. I heard the birds chirping and could feel a bit of heat on my bare spine. I took a deep breath and focused on my mental training over the past few months. I had learnt to control my fear.

In a fluid motion, perfected over the past few weeks, I slid my left leg back and arched my back like a bow.

Now my face would have been facing the sun. All the trainings of learning how to stop thinking and focus on doing, evaporated as the realization hit me like a wave of thunder. The future was unknown between the spectrum of death or freedom. 

I opened my eyes. 

There was silence.

The birds have stopped chirping and I could not even hear my heart thump. All that I was aware of was the orange globe in front of me – 93 million miles away.

Some external force took over my body as it moved voluntarily through more movements before finally settling down facing the sun with my palms in a Namaste. 

A feeling akin to freedom swept through my body as I realised that I had become the only Vampire who had done a complete Suryanamaskara.

I let the feeling sink in as my eyes welled up with tears and I stood there in the dawning sun.

Later I bought my pass to Sunburn and climbed into my coffin.

The sun was at its full glory and I laid there in my coffin without the lid, embalmed in SPF-50 sunscreen.

The End

It's How You Win (#TOIWriteIndia)

Submission for Write India campaign. All Copyright Reserved.

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 She willed herself to not check her phone to see if he had replied. It had been about three days now. She hated that she was constantly checking his 'last seen at' status and yes, he had logged in just five minutes ago. Yet she couldn't stop herself. This sinking feeling to find absolutely no communication from him was becoming unbearable, almost torturous.

And then, just as she sat down in her chair, her phone vibrated. With her heart thudding in her ear, she unlocked her phone and stared at the screen. Finally! It was his message.

But when she opened it and read it, she nearly stopped breathing. She didn't know if he was joking or not. What was this?

MEERA

She rechecked the message to see if it was “Meher”. It was not.

“How can it be Meera?” She thought. “She cannot even speak proper English!!”

But what was worse, she actually liked Meera. She felt an old pain she had been trying to wash away from some time. It was not nice to have this pain again. Not now.

NO! It cannot be now.

She sighed. “Ambition is such a…bitch!” She dialed a number she wished she never had to.

The caller tune kept on ringing till it died off.

She dialed again, but knew that, even this time, it would not be picked. She waited for a few minutes before the third call. She knew the drill. She remembered the process. An ex-boyfriend, a small time criminal, in jail now for having ties with the underworld, told her that five years ago; just in case she ever needed some ‘help’.

She re-dialed with her hands shaking. She knew it would be picked now, but there would be no helloes.

The line went active on the first ring.

“Hi, this is Jessica…” She started.

“No names.” Interrupted the voice, emotionless; almost ruthless.

“I am a…”

“I know who you are. WhatsApp the photo on the other number with the emoticon.”

Jessica hung up.

What the heck are you doing, Jessica?

It was the forgotten voice inside her suddenly re-surfacing after many years. She hated it. It made her weak. She craved for a cigarette, to light it up and inhale deeply; letting the smoke fumigate the weakness out.

“Shut up. Not now. Not when I am this close.”

She tapped the Photo app on her iPhone and selected a photograph of Meera. Her thumb scrolled through the album marked Contestants.

It had the photographs of all the girls she had clicked on the first day of “Diva India 2015”.  Day One.  The first day, she knew, all the girls would be at their most vulnerable and trusting. As the competition would grow fiercer, the armor would become more impenetrable. Every action would be looked with critical eye. Just going around asking for photographs and numbers would get a lot of undue attention. On the first day, it would all be put down as an attempt to network and become familiar. That was expected.

The first day was always the best for the photographs, although she never had to use them…until today.

 She slid through the photographs and only three of them were relevant today: Meher, Meera and a Selfie with the “Diva India 2015” neon sign behind her.

The rest had gradually disappeared during the course of a month. Jessica also made sure she clicked a selfie with all of them when they left. This photograph would then go to an album: The Fallen Angels.

 These selfies were always the most fun to take.

Jessica would go to the contestant who was voted out, and would catch them in front of the camera. The she would give them a fake hug and a kiss. The girl had no choice but to behave graciously in front of the camera.

Most of them called her names when they hugged.

All of them would cringe when Jessica would kiss then. She would then suggestively brush her breast on their arms, gently feel their buttocks and would ask them to “call her”.

Click.

Jessica had figured out that, this ensured most of the girls would have no misconceptions of Jessica as someone they could call for help later on in their lives.

She hated people who called for help.

But some of them did call her, but not for career advice. Jessica liked those calls.

“Ambition is a bitch,” She smirked. “…so am I.”

*******

Beauty contests are not only to judge beauty, glamour or poise; they are business events. Events, which would decide the spending habits of the masses and consequently, the marketing strategies of the biggest companies in the world

The girl who could reach out to most number of people, would be the favorite. And even better, if that girl could sell that “one hell of a dream” she was the most probable winner. People always paid a more for a dream than a product.

And Meera had that edge over the others.

She was not a big-city model like Jessica. Nor was she a Mayo College alumni like Meher from some antiquated royal family.

Meera was an underdog. She came from a small town in Madhya Pradesh. She was not a convent educated girl, nor was she from an affluent family.

She had not gone to school with fancy names and fancier uniforms. She had attended Baba Bhimeswara Public School and had worn salwar-kameez till college; with ribbons and plaited hair.

She lived in a railway quarter where her father was a government servant. She was driven around town by her brother in a Bajaj Pulsar. Their family car was a Hyundai i10, which they had bought after her father sold some ancestral land in their village.

And yet, if she could become the most glamourous celebrity in India for a year, then why not a Pooja from Raipur, a Reema from Imphal, a Lakshmi from Madurai or a Firdous from Nasik?

All of them would become accessible through Meera. Each would be sold the dream of hope and possibility through beauty products, coaching centers, clothes, shoes, and expensive beauty salons. Not to mention the brand endorsements for the growing real-estate market in the tier-2 cities of India.

Meera represented the face and aspirations of millions of Indian girls. And that, was her market reach. If she would become Miss Diva India 2015, the cheer would come from the heart of an untapped market on the verge of a boom.

Meher and Jessica never had that market reach.

*******

Jessica craved for the cigarette again. The final was yet to happen, but she had built a strong feeler near the deciding board of judges. A feeler was like the tentacle of a jelly fish which felt for signs of food in the surroundings.

That feeler was Markand - Senior Data Analyst.

Markand was her tentacle in the decision room and his job was to analyze the nation-wide votes and make market predictions based on them. He called himself a data scientist and his specialty was that, he could come up with a dollar-figure in expected sales if a certain girl would win.

This figure was very important for those who decided.

As the number of contestants grew smaller, the voting responses become more stable, and then Markand’s analysis became more accurate and consistent. He was not an important cog in the wheel, but the result of his analysis was.

Jessica had understood the role of a data analysts long before “Diva India” had asked for the girls to apply for the contest. So she started sending friend requests to anyone who had anything to do with data analysis and had models or event managers in their friend-lists. She wanted to be in touch with the one who would finally be doing the data-analysis for “Diva India 2015”

She had zeroed in on a few people who seemed to have the best chance of being part of the contest. The day a contact, Markand, updated the status - Diva India 2015 … here I come - Jessica had asked him out for dinner. Later that week, she allowed him to seduce her. They had been going around since then. She even allowed Markand to “force” her to audition.

For a data scientist, Markand was a walk in the park.

They had kept their relationship a secret but within the confines of secrecy, Markand had become increasingly infatuated with Jessica. There was also the high of dating a model.

Jessica made sure he was satisfied enough to remain loyal to her, at least till the finals. One afternoon when Markand mentioned marriage to her after some vigorous love-making, she knew she had him where she wanted. She had smiled and had given him some more reasons to remain there. And today Markand had made himself useful by sharing the data analysis with Jessica even before the judges.

He knew that it was a strict violation of the rules and his career was at stake, but Jessica’s addiction was not an easy thing to let go off.

For the past few days he had been busy with the analysis and wanted to win her over with some good news, but in whichever way he sliced and diced the data, it always gave a clear name: Meera. The margin of victory was too big to hide under some cleaver data tweaking. He knew sending this message could mean disastrous to his relationship, but he felt that if he told the truth maybe he had a chance. Arriving at this decision did not take time, but getting himself to type the message took three days of heart-wrenching dilemma. Finally today he typed the name, sent the message to Jessica and headed off to the nearest bar.  

*******

“So, Meera! Yes, I knew it would be you all the way.” She thought. “The question is, now what should I do about it? You know, I deserve this crown more than you. And DEFINITELY more than that Meher who could only walk if she was wearing a bikini and stilettos. I have worked harder than anyone of you, and I have given more than anyone of you.” She vented out. “Is it my fault that my parents are from Mumbai? And so what if I don’t relate to behenjis? I am the face of ambition and that’s what the Indian girls need. I am the face of confidence, courage and the attitude to just go and get the bloody job done! And that’s exactly what I am going to do now.”

She clicked on the share button after selecting Meera’s photograph and the Whatsapp window opened. She tapped the contact on Whatsapp and sent the photograph.

Now the emoticon.

She chose the fist and then the skull.

Jessica smiled. The whole thing felt so weird. And scary as hell. She felt the shudder down her spine. She knew this was really the only thing left to do now: hammer the last nail on the coffin of her dreams.

The picture was already sent, and then the emoticons. She tapped a few more times and pressed the “Send” button. The Whatsapp message was delivered successfully to the contact.

It read:

“I feel it would be you, Meeru…right from the time I took this picture. I hate you...but with all my love, Jessica”

Living Outside the Box (#TOIWriteIndia)

Submission for Write India campaign. All Copyright Reserved.

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It had been more than an hour since Varun had sat down in front of the TV hoping that there would be something interesting to watch. And for an hour, all he could find were shows peddling stress in different packages.

 

Sometimes they were documentaries accusing that the rain forests and its animals were dying because of "us". Varun questioned that because he had never cut a tree, lovingly tended a kitchen garden on his apartment balcony and even did his bike emission checks regularly. Why, he had been donating Rs 300 every month to Greenpeace for the past five years. Chances were some dolphins may have gotten saved because of his contribution.

“Yea, you almost got me there.” Varun responded to the documentary and shook off the subliminal suggestion of guilt.
 

He had switched to another channel. There was a show now accusing “us” that some minor girl got raped because "we' did not take action. And if "we" were to redeem ourselves then “we” must send an SMS to a number displayed on the screen. A fine print read that the telecom provider would charge Rs 5 for the SMS. Guilt was a powerful tool to get someone to do stuffs.

***

Varun had received the customary education of about 15 years and although, he was never the school topper, he had learnt one very important lesson. It was to do his own thinking and not let the world decide his karmic balance-sheet.

He looked at his own actions in relation to women in particular and other people in general. He has a lovely, fulfilling relationship with his girlfriend of 6 years and by the end of the year, they were getting engaged to be married. He had always respected her and they were both sensible enough to know how to take care of themselves. Being matured, sensible, educated people they had long acknowledged that they did not live in a perfect world, and that there are dangerous elements in the society. But these handful of people were not representative of the general population. He questioned back to the channel, why don't they cover a more usual scenario where a group of friends go to a club and the guys dropped their female friends home safely after the party.

Because, this story was boring!

There was no masala in this story! Every one just had a good time, came back home safely and slept off. Where was the action and excitement in this? Nobody even tried to feel up a girl who was drunk! Now what kind of a boring story is this?

“Well almost got me there, you mind-screwer”

He switched the channels to a soap opera.

He saw a fully bejeweled lady, called Maya, gesticulating wildly to another guy in a Sherwani named Sanjay.

'What the hell is going on between my husband and that bitch?' Maya's patience was at its lowest ebb and she was ready to burst.

Sanjay knew that she was serious. 'Look, Maya. There is nothing going on between the two of them. Just a little bit of healthy flirting, I'd say.'

'Flirting? Healthy flirting? Really Sanjay . . .' she rolled her eyes in disgust. 'That's what you men call it? There is nothing healthy about flirting, Sanjay, not for a married man.

Healthy flirting is a term introduced by perverted men who want to lend legitimacy to their extramarital dalliances. Flirting invariably has a sexual connotation to it.' She got up from her seat and walked around the room gesticulating and muttering something to herself. Suddenly she stopped, turned back, looked at Sanjay and asked, 'Did my husband sleep with her? You are his friend. Did he ever tell you anything about it?'

'Yes' Sanjay said. He came close to Maya and placed his hands on her shoulder. His look was not of sympathy but the twinkle of sensing an opportunity. There was a suggestive split-second shot of Maya's cleavage.

Varun switched off the TV and having retained enough sense, quietly got up from the couch and walked to the balcony of his fifth floor apartment.

It was a day off for Varun, in lieu of working throughout the previous weekend. His friends were at work and he found himself alone in his house.

It was not a bad feeling.

Varun welcomed such days of solitude where he could un-connect from technology. It helped maintain his perspective and he felt a stronger sense of self-worth and in-control of his actions. This was far more beneficial to the society.

He remembered some Facebook story where a Father asked his 3 year old daughter to put together a torn world-map. The daughter did it in a few minutes and told the Father that on the other side of the world-map there was the picture of a man. When she pieced him up properly the world was fixed. 

Varun loved that story.

He loved it at a very primal level because it suggested a very do-able step for him as an individual in responses to all the questions put towards us as a society. It put the focus on an entity where he had some control - himself. It did not urge us to tackle a big, malicious, nebulous machinery of world economics of which we are a part, but a more physical, immediate and in-the-face entity.

This was an entity which went to bed with him, woke up with him in the morning and stayed with him when he fantasized about Megan Fox. This entity was more immediate and nearer to him. The aparition of “us” which killed rainforests, raped girls and broke traffic rules did not even have a tail which Varun could grab. All it did was laugh at him when he tried to fight it in a losing battle of perpetual hide and seek. Long back, Varun had chosen the Ghost that lived with him rather than an evil monster. He could at least feel it, talk to it and, sometimes, it even listened to him.

That did not mean the ghost always listened to him. Varun lit up a cigarette*

The day was becoming.

It was around 11:00 am and the winter sun felt nice. Varun loved sunny days. He loved to see the colorful apartments enlivened by a spray of bright sunlight. The trees were greener and brighter. The sky was bluer. And life, as a whole, was more delightful.

Varun loved the emotion of delight.

It was a strange emotion because its very essense is subtlety. Delight was much like the warm, winter, sun. There were things that it was and there were things that it was not. For example, it was not like the glare of the summer sun. Neither was it obvious as a pink sunglass. But what it was, was a general feeling of benevolence. It was like the warm love that was just there, without any reason. It was a sense of happy completeness in the present state of here and now. And one should just bask in it, without trying to find its source - just like the warm, winter sun.

Varun looked at the watch, it was 11:30am. He had a whole day in front of him, one which the Bible encouraged people to rejoice and be glad in. That was a good plan, Varun figured out that he would just rejoice in this day and be glad in it. But he had no idea how.

Keep the focus on the intention, not the how. Just let it go and be happy and glad.

“Go with the flow?” Varun asked the Ghost. “What do you mean, go with the flow? There must be an agenda, which, when complete, will mean that I have had fun. So do I watch a movie? Or do I invite my friends for a drinks and dinner? If I do these things, I should be anointed happy at the end of the day.”

You lousy duck**! Get off those agendas. You dont need to complete lists to be appraised that you had fun. What would make you happy now? Will making a list of things to do , and doing them make you happy? If yes, go ahead do it.

Varun felt The Ghost was making sense.

Alu ka Paratha!

“What?” Varun asked, startled at the inspiration that hit him.

Make Alu ka Paratha.

“But I dont know how to make Alu Ka Paratha? What if it turns out to be lousy - uncooked but burnt?” Varun asked.

 Who would know? You are not inviting anyone for lunch. The idea is to have fun and you love cooking. Results? ... well we will see what comes out.

Varun thought he should open YouTube and watch a video on how it is made, but The Ghost will not allow it.

It would be more fun to see how he would make it. It would be more adventurous to grop around his own mind and figure out the recipe himself. Afterall, it was just a simple Alu ka Paratha, not some exotic sweet with four hundred and thirteen ingredients! Discovery and invention - that was the whole essence of creativity. Yes, it did possess the inherent risk of failure, but it also promised excitement and ....fun!

“And I am only making a few Parathas for myself,” Varun thought.

That put the whole endevour into perspective.

“And even if the Parathas came out bad at least I would know how it is done and next time, it would be better. BUT who knows, maybe I am a born Paratha cook and they may come out great! The only way to find out is to make it.” Varun was not sure whether it was the Ghost talking or him.

Varun felt his empty stomach growl and immediately laughed out loud at a phrase that came to his mind. Maybe this is what they call the risk-taking appetite.

----- The End-----

*None of the characters endorse smoking. They just smoke because they are addicted.

** Word censored.