Love Across The Lines

This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 44; the forty-fourth edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton. 

Ayesha’s gaze fell like a grenade on him. He became breathless and blindfolded. Suddenly, the world turned blank for him. And this ― and this was not the first time he was going bonkers over her beauty.  

Ayesha, his junior, was hauntingly beautiful. Her 1000 watt smile alone could warm an Everest, he thought.

And then she was wearing that cream-colored salwar kameez that complemented her fair skin so well.  As she sashayed in the direction of her desk, the entire class seemed to eye her, but she ― she had her eyes only for Aahan – the Ice Prince.

“Look, she’s eyeing you,” one of his friends had mocked playfully at him.

“Hey!” guys give me a break,” he heard himself say, and then gritting his teeth had looked the other way.

                                                                 ###

A second year arts student of St. Michael’s college, Mahim, Ayesha was everything that Aahan was not. She was breathtakingly beautiful; she had an amiable personality; she was an avid reader and writer etcetera, etcetera. All these qualities gave Aahan great complex. In fact, she used to ghost write for one of the leading magazines in the city. His friends, once mentioned that she had connections that helped her publish stories, but Aahan took these allegations with a pinch of salt.

Aahan, the admirable singer, Aahan the awesome sculptor was literally in awe of Ayesha. 

“Undoubtedly, Aahan and Ayesha look great together, but aren't they as different as chalk and cheese.” Guessing their relationship status was the favorite time-pass talk of the college, considering their diverse backgrounds.”

                                                                 ### 

The festival season was full-on in the college campus. Festival season, in other words, was meant to be a dating season in the college. Love was in the air. It was also the time of the year when the seniors and juniors, keeping their differences aside, got their acts together. It was also that time of the year when you could freely freak out; damn the classes. It was also the time of the year when no-nonsense Professors, for a change, would turn a blind eye to students’ idiosyncrasies.

                                                                ###                         

“Hey, Aahan are you participating in the singing competition,” inquired Ayesha, trying to make light of the situation.  “I heard top celebrities from Bollywood are going to grace the occasion. It would be golden opportunity for you to showcase your talent to the outside world.”

Aahan’s heart leapt, adrenalin surged, his nostrils taking in the sweet smell of  her perfume. But except for flashing a smile and nodding his head in acknowledgment, he turned blank as usual. All he could gather was a mild “Uh, huh ya, ya ya ya .”

But what he left unsaid was, “I am quite confident of myself, just don’t give me that look of yours… Ayesha”.

                                                                ###

Aahan climbed on the stage confidently. Within no time he was his usual self, belting out melodious songs of yesteryear's. The college auditorium reverberated with his mellifluous voice.  The applause and you-are-too-good-to-be-here expression on the judges’ face propelled Aahan on to a higher plane. He was totally lost in his songs…

But then suddenly his eyes fell on Ayesha. That was enough. He stood there, stunned and startled. Hypnotized. Despite his best efforts, he seemed to forget his lines. Panic crept up his throat. His friends, standing at the sidelines, knew it was a gone case now: Aahan, the singer was gone now, and Aahan the ashique of Ayesha had taken him over completely. Even then they continued cheering him. 

“Aahan sing,”shouted his friends. But Aahan had gone deaf to their pleas.

When cheers were replaced by cat-calls and boo, it was then Aahan got a sense of his surroundings... that he was standing in the middle of the stage and making an ass out of himself. In no time, he hurried down the stage and found an empty room for himself to hide his embarrassment. 

Quietly, he closed the door and knocked his head against it, thinking, “How could he act so cowardly? Idiot, Idiot, Idiot.  It was really idiotic of him to behave so spinelessly, that too before an august audience and Ayesha. How would Ayesha react to this?” 

                                                               ###

The next day after the lectures, Aahan along with his gang of friends were busy executing a class project. The semesters were fast approaching and they had to complete the assigned projects ASAP. Aahan was so involved in sculpting the Taj Mahal miniature that he didn’t realize Ayesha was nearby. He realized her presence only when she touched him on his shoulders.

With a jerk he looked up. The touch was shocking yet excruciatingly pleasurable...and...and...
He loved this feeling. His heart raced a mile-a-minute. As calmly as he could, he blurted out. “Ahem! Ah! Ah! How are you Ayesha?” as he used every ounce of his will power to maintain his composure.  

Without saying a word, she motioned him to join her. Both of them walked towards a quiet corner of the campus. After a short silence, Ayesha rummaging through her silk jhola bag held out a Shakespeare’s book and a CD for him.

 “Romeo and Julliet! Is this for me?” Aahan questioned coming out of his hypnotic trance.

“Yes, of course,” she murmured and smilingly went her way.

Aahan knew what the book meant. But just to confirm his doubts he asked one of his friends.

“What do you think? Has she proposed me through this book and CD.”

“Of course.”

Aahan felt elated. He liked Ayesha a lot, but always failed to express his feelings, given her background and religion. But, now with her proposing, there’s was a new ray of hope in his life.

“The made for each other feeling' may not just remain a feeling but a real fact of life, after all”, pondered Aahan. 

                                                             ###

Ayesha’s worried friends, on the other hand, dissuaded her from displaying her feelings for Aahan.

But she seemed completely taken by Aahan’s innocence and talent. He was knight in the shining armor for her. 

“ O Mere Maula’ Ayesha, you proposed Aahan, proposed Aahan, of all people ― a Hindu.” Said her friends. Ayesha felt offended and simply stomped off the college corridors.  She knew the proposal will lead to one of the biggest emotional upheavals of her life. She knew that she was a Pakistani ambassador’s daughter, which might make matters even worse for her.  

                                                             ###

Despite Ayesha’s parental reluctance and resistance, Aahan and Ayesha tied the knot after three years of courtship. They were wed both according to the Hindu and Muslim rites.  The best part being Allah and Ishwar did come together support their love, because contrary to her belief, matters turned out to be smooth in the Aahan household.  

Her in-laws were pretty accommodating.  While Aahan was busy establishing himself as a sculptor, Ayesha focused on fine-tuning her cooking skills.  

“Your Pakistani delicacies taste so good,” her MlL told her time and again, encouraging her to widen her cooking knowledge. “Given your writing skills, who knows you could author a cookbook some day.”   

Within no time the stork came calling and the beautiful couple was blessed with twins ― a girl and a boy. The couple led a jolly good life, until one day she heard an unusal knock at the door.
                                                                   ###

Uniformed visitors were at their door steps. Ayesha answered the door. The sight of police at her doorstep gave her goose bumps. They simply barged in and within no time she was handcuffed. Her in-laws came rushing in to her aid. Since Aahan was not at home, they couldn’t do much to help her.  

“It’s is a police case. We should not get involved.” “Moreover, she’s a Pakistani, this had to happen sooner or later.” The neighbours gossiped.

When Aahan reached the police station, he was informed by the officials that his wife’s visa had expired and plus her Pakistani passport was not revalidated. So, the next day she would be presented in the session court, where the future course of action will be decided on.

                                                                  ### 

The session court judge directed the Mumbai government to deport her to Pakistan. The court deportation order hit Aahan and Ayesha like a lightning bolt. They both broke down in the court. Suddenly their beautiful world came crumbling down.

Ayesha pleaded with the judge saying that she had no one to go to in Pakistan after spending 15 long years in India. In fact, her parents would be upset with her return.

The judge fired back saying, you had enough time to extend your visa and passport. Since you had taken your stay in India for granted, you have to face the music.

Aahan and Ayesha were so busy in their world that they never realized that her visa and passport had expired. She was overstaying in India illegally.

                                                                  ###

Aahan was not ready to give up on the only love of his life so easily. He appealed to the higher courts on humanitarian grounds. He pleaded with them, saying if she was sent back, she would probably be killed by terror outfits for marrying a Hindu. And if not the terror groups, then her parents would. After all honor killing was a new-age phenomenon.

The lawyers and judges turned deaf ears. The law of the land has to prevail, they said. 
“Nothing doing deport her,” came the judgment.

                                                                   ###

Aahan didn’t have the heart to send Ayesha back to the terror state.  But what could he do now. He simply caught hold off her hand and rushed towards the waiting car.  

The police stood there stunned, trying to comprehend the situation…but everything was over in matter of seconds.

                                                                   ###

In no time they were on a flight to Dubai. Yes, Aahan had an inkling that it would be sometime before Ayesha's passport and visa could be extended, so settling down in a neutral country was a safer option.  

Today, the Aahan family has made Dubai their abode, for they had experienced enough enmity and bitterness in their own respective countries. They didn't want their children to grow in such a hostile, inhospitable environs. SO they decided...better to live in land where their religion and nationality never aroused suspicion. Better to live in a land where they do not have to fear losing their loved ones to communal clashes. Better live in a land where they could really live and love each other forever. 

P.S. I've changed the climax of the story becoz I and my fellow bloggers were not too happy killing the protagonist. 

This is a fictional story, but the fact of the matter is that today you will find many Pakistani women who lead separate lives away from their Indian husband and kids because of inconvenient visa and passport extension issues. 

The fellow Blog-a-Tonics who took part in this Blog-a-Ton and links to their respective posts can be checked here. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton. Participation Count: 03

Credits :
Image - Love in the air by Anand
Courtesy - Apple Blossom's Photography via www.blogaton.in

Books A Blessing In Disguise

She was an island unto herself;
Utterly self-contained, and happy to be so;
Her books gave her the best company.
Drinking in the smell of old books and new;
She read, wrote and edited, hours on end.
She felt blessed to be a bibliophile.
With just three of her faculties functioning; life had indeed been fair to her;
For thinking of a life beyond books was quite unimaginable.
And thankfully her paralysis had brought her closer to her books; like never before.

 She’s busy penning a romantic novel these days;

And hopes the book make it to the bestseller list. 

Write Tribe's Wednesday Prompt: The Smell Of Old Books

Boy Oh Boy! I'm Going Bonkers Literally!

 Boy Oh Boy! I'm Going Bonkers, Literally!  I can’t really believe my eyes. Blogadda’s top blogger award to me. Gotta a pinch myself for this a million times… is it a dream or a real thing? Yes, my heart is pounding a mile a minute. My eyes are going...blink, blink. In fact, I feel like I am floating three feet above the ground. For the life of me, if this news is true, then surely this is going to be one big milestone in my writing career. But, this news has to be true: it’s there scripted in shimmering bold black letters Jini Maxin Fernanadez - The Blogadda Blog Award Winner Of The Year 2013 on the homepage of the Blogadda page. What more clarifications, certifications do I need?

Muah!! Muah!!! To the judges of the Blogadda Team for bestowing me with this awesome award. I never believed that I could win this prestigious award, given that there so many seasoned bloggers who've been scorching the blogadda space with their brilliant write-ups. Matching up to their talent was a tall order. But then I did it, it seems. In hindsight, I did sweat and slog, but I didn't believe that this relentless slogging would fetch me such an awesome award.

Now that I've won the award, I wish to thank the blogadda team for offering me infinite opportunities to hone my writing skills. If it was not for you, I would have lost touch with my innate skills of reading and writing long back. I believe writing is talent, a talent that can be procured and polished on a continuous basis by stretching our writing muscles every day. Not everyone is born a writer. So platforms like yours help sharpen our skills on consistent basis. Fritz Kreisler, the great violinist, was once asked by a fan that how come he played so well? Kreisler replied, “Its practice. If I don’t practice for a month, the audience can tell the difference. If I don’t practice for a week my wife can tell the difference. If I don’t practice for a day, I can tell the difference." So practice does make a difference in the creative field I believe, specifically in the writing realm. "Perspire for your insipration." What say?

Am a first-generation writer in my family, let alone an English writer. So, it’s indeed an achievement for me, given that it was all self-learning that helped me climb the writing ladder. Your WOW posts, and other contests simply fired the imagination in me and I tried harder and harder to make my mark on your website. The WOW, Tangy Tuesday and Spicy Saturday badges acted as the irresistible icing on the cake. The dogged desire to earn these priceless badges motivated me to burn the midnight lamp, weak after weak. And the best part is, I did win a few of these lovely WOW badges.

Talking about my blog jini-fernandez.blogspot in, I started off with writing book reviews. However, I could only manage a couple of reviews every month. This is when my acquaintance suggested me to blog about anything and everything under the sun and should not confine myself to writing book reviews. That set me sailing and today I ramble about everything on my blog. From fiction stories to real life events, from 100 words drabble to mindful ramblings, from wow posts to contest posts; I’ve experimented with number of things. But I still consider myself to be a newbie writer and there are miles to go before I sleep and miles to go before I sleep…

Hmmm...When it comes to collecting the award, I wish to receive it from none other than Rashmi Bansal or Anuja Chauhan - renowned Indian women authors. Yup!!! Women Power. They are an inspiration for me. And as far as the treat goes, it would be large number of good books, hands down. Of course, I am mad about books, and I believe every writer worth his/her salt is crazy about books. And I believe it's because of them i and you are here. They are my inspiration, the bedrock that boosts the creative spark in me. 

Yeah!!! I know i am going on and on....

So, I wish sum up by saying that i want to build a legacy through my blog. That is by compiling all my best blog posts into a book and thereby make my family proud. Hope, my blog posts journey with blogadda will help me achieve this dream sooner than later.

Cheers

Jini Maxin Fernandez

This would be My Winning Speech on being rewarded the BlogAdda Blog Award! 

Raising The Bar The Wrong Way

 

 

Lance had no one on this earth to call 'father'. His real father had left him when he was an infant, while his step father was more of a butcherer than a father. So his mother deserted him and made Lance the center of her small lil world. With a small job in hand she did whatever she could do to help him raise the bar in his ambitious endeavors: be it education or cycling. She knew cycling was his life. His achievements were a testament to that fact.

As a young boy he went on to win the school championships, the neighborhood championships, and the local championships. His winning spree never got struck. He was on an absolute roll. When injuries struck, he made a way around them, but never failed to participate in tournaments. In fact, when he suffered an injury on the sole of his foot, his doc advised him to withdraw from one of the local tournaments, but Lance being Lance, he cut his shoe around the injury and participated. And his confidence paid off. He stood first.

As years passed by he went on to prove his mettle as a powerhouse biker: Won Tour de France, considered the Holy Grail in cycling, seven times in a row: 1999, 2000, 2001, 2002, 2003, 2004, and 2005. His life became a classic case of ‘never say never’ zeal. He become the national treasure of America. In the middle of all these high-voltage happenings, he was down with testicular cancer. His chances of survival were dim. However, he once again showed his do or die spirit by fighting the disease all hammer and tongs and was back on the cycling track; full throttle. As always, his mother was by his side to share his joys and sorrows.

And, yes, Of course, I hero worshiped him. He was the GOD OF HARDWORK. His book, ‘It’s not about bike,’ taught me to see pain, suffering and sacrifice in the new light. Most importantly, his quotes inspired me to fight odds without giving up. 'Give up or fight like hell,' his life-mantra become my life-long mantra too. No wonder, I recommended his books to number of my friends as well.

So much for his hardwork and do or die spirit.

Then the disgrace of doping exploded. Yes, it was rumored long ago that he was on drugs and he was covering it up intelligently. But the world, including me, were not ready to subscribe to these fabricated theories. The world wished to give him full credit for his sweat and blood, and they did so by showering him with some mind-boggling sponsorship's.

But then suddenly, out of the blue, my hero confessed his crimes. I didn’t know how to react to the doping news. The media screamed their lungs out: he's a cheat. I was pained, insulted and humiliated. My people made fun of me. “Your hero is down in the dumps,” they cried. Embittered, I had no answer to their biting remarks. My belief that “hard work can move mountains” fell apart.

All said and done, this time, he indeed raised the bar: no not in the cycling world; but in fooling the world and making a mockery of people’s feelings. And in case his mother supports him in his misery this time I'd say, she raised the bar the wrong way.

This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda. We give out creative writing topics each weekend for Indian bloggers.

So you think you know it all!

Arun did a double take on Priya.

"What was that huge blue mark on her right arm?

A tattoo mark or something else?"

He knew her to be a submissive daughter, a loving sister to her only bro, a voracious reader, a simple next-door-girl who confided in him her innermost secrets.

"Then, what explains that tattoo mark?
She never told me about this. Why?"

With a raised eyebrow, Priya looked at Arun and let out that so-you-think-you-know-it-all grin, lazed heavily with sarcasm.

A mischievous smile played on her lips

"Was it an indication she was no more interested in me?"    

Prompt: So you think you know it all from Jairam Mohan

The Dragon Tattoo

The door was left ajar. Inspector Rajan peered through it vigilantly and what he saw inside the living room was absolutely frightening. A rivulet of blood interspersed with pug marks greeted him. It ended right at the end of the bed where Shankar lay dead.  His neck was covered with deep wound marks. And, there were scratch marks all over his body. Suddenly his eyes fell on the arms. There, right above the elbow he saw an image of a familiar fiery dragon tattoo. Inspector Rajan paused for a moment, tilted his head, and then went forward to have a closer look at the tattoo. He knew he had seen that tattoo before! If only he could remember where.

He knitted his brow in angst; and his mind meandered off to a similar case he had been investigating for the past few months.

At once he turned to his investigators and questioned, “The dragon tattoo, was it not there on Shyam’s arm?” Didn’t Shyam die in similar mysterious circumstances? “We did find pug marks there as well; didn't we?” Inspector Rajan thought and spoke at the same time, also thinking of the unorthodox route the murderer(s) seem to be adopting.

“Immediately,” he ordered his juniors, “collect info from all tattoo stores about clients who had got a similar dragon tattoo done.”

“Do it now,” shouted the inspector, letting out a helpless whimper from his lips, “or else we might witness yet another murder in a couple of days or might be hours”.

A short probe at the nearby police stations revealed two more murders in a similar fashion: the two victim’s ―Somu and Shirish― had similar dragoon tattoo designs on their arms and had scratch wounds all over the body. Without a doubt, a serial-killer was on a rampage. But what about those pug marks?

*****************************************************************

The grave keeper was facing a hard time keeping the 15-year-old boy and his bull-dog out of the grave since last couple of months. The duo spent days and nights there. Even during those chilly nights that might send a chill down the spine of even the bravest and the boldest, the ferocious dog and his companion never left the grave site. This struck the grave keeper as odd. One fine day his curiosity piqued; he asked the lil boy,

“What’s your name boy?”

“Michael.”  And he looked at him with blood-shot eyes.

That’s when the grave keeper noticed an incredible amount of anger and stress in the boy’s eyes. 

But he continued with his conversation.

“And Michael, whose graves are here?”  

“My entire family is here,” said Michael reluctantly with no emotions whatsoever. He ambled across the grave site with a scrapped knee. There were some dry blood marks on his cheeks and neck as well.

“Is there anyone at home to whom you can go to,” the grave keeper further inquired, feeling sorry for the boy. 

"No."

*****************************************************************

On a closer examination, the forensic experts suggested to Inspector Rajan that the pug marks found on the floor and the scratches on all the dead victims were that of a bull dog. 

“Can a dog be a serial-killer,” thought the Inspector.

Then on second thoughts, “It has to be, otherwise what explains those pug marks and scratches on the body of victims.”

Without losing any more time, the inspector ordered his team to round up all the bull-dogs of the city, both strays and home-bred.

A red-alert was sounded throughout the city.

“The murderer has to be caught red-handed,” ordered the inspector, gritting his teeth, adrenaline rushing through his veins.

A massive combing operation was undertaken that resulted in capture of hundreds of dogs, including Michael’s bull dog.

“There’s no escape route for the killer beast now.” 

“Now let’s see if another death happens in the city because of a bull dog,” inspector Rajan spoke to himself, quizzically.

*********************************************************

In the meanwhile the police had zeroed down on two more men who had similar dragon tattoos on their arms. Their houses were put under strict vigilance. CCTV cameras were placed inside and outside the rooms. They knew somehow that they are on the target list of the killer ―man or animal: only time will tell.

Further police investigations revealed that all the four dead men were not part of any gang and had no criminal records whatsoever. Then why were they being targeted by the killer dog? Just because of those dragon tattoos.

**********************************************************  

Mani was taking swigs of whiskey when he heard some noise from the living room.  He feared for his life. Police officials had informed him of his life being under threat and specially asked to stay away from stray bull dogs.  So he kept himself well-armed all the time.  The police at its end ensured that there are no chinks in their security system.

It was half-past 12 when he had heard the noise. He gathered all his arms and walked towards the direction of the noise. The police force was present in full force. There he was paws drawn and ready to make that deadly leap on Mani.  Before he could do anything, daggers and revolvers were drawn from every side.  The bull dog decisively ducked their first attack easily. Inspector Rajan, once again nimbly aimed his revolver and charged at the murderous dog with full force. Michael in dog’s clothing let out a loud, painful noise before he succumbed to his injuries.

**********************************************************

Inspector Rajan is busy solving a new murder mystery these days. However, this time he had failed to fill in the missing puzzle pieces.  Why did Michael kill all these men? Was spotting a dragon tattoo a good enough reason for all these murders? 

His mother being a renowned tattoo artist of the city had she anything to do with these murdered men? Hmm! Was she in a relationship with these men? How come Michael’s entire family found refuge in grave?

This and many more questions have been haunting inspector Rajan’s mind for some time now. However, as of now, the Dragon tattoo case stands closed. 

This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda. We give out creative writing topics each weekend for Indian bloggers.