1 2 Copyright The author asserts his moral right over the ownership of the contents this book, they being his personal intellectual property. No part of the book may be copied, Xeroxed, quoted, or otherwise reproduced without the express written permission of the author. Disclaimer This book is purely a work of fiction. However, in attempting to depict certain emotional situations, it may portray circumstances that might seem to tally with some real-life scenarios, in which case it is clarified that any purported resemblance to actual characters or situations is entirely coincidental, and no part of it has anything to do with any living person, any particular place or any present or past events. 3 This book is for My Timeless Muse Enigmatic…angelic…eternal “In everyone's life, at some time, our inner fire goes out. It is then burst into flame by an encounter with another human being. We should all be thankful for those people who rekindle the inner spirit.” ~ Albert Schweitzer, philosopher, physician, and musician (1875-1965) 4 TILL HELL FREEZES OVER Contents Page no. Title page ............. 1 Dedication ............. x Preface …………. x Introduction ............. x 1. Once Upon a Lifetime ............. x 2. A Pillar of the Establishment ............. xx 3. The Volunteer ............. xx 4. The Garden of Dreams ............. xx 5. Another Time, Another Place ............. xx 6. The Last Rainbow ............. xx 7. Journey’s End ............. xx 8. Children of the Light .............. xx 9. Hurry Sundown ............. xxx 10. Half a Billion ............. xxx 11. Solace at Sunset ............. xxx 12. Visitor …………… xxx 13. One Good Turn ……………xxx 14. A Prize too Easy …………. xxx 15. Paradise Island ……………xxx 16. Market Penetration………….……………..xxx 17. Out of the Desert …………… xxx 18. Epilogue Do you love me because I'm beautiful, or am I beautiful because you love me? ~ Oscar Hammerstein II, lyricist (1895-1960) Preface 5 It came to me just as I’d finished reading the second page of Ayn Rand’s ‘Atlas Shrugged’…the insight about the Dedication. Dedications are written for books, not the other way around. But this book was. It was written for the dedication! That’s the way things sometimes pan out in real life, the cart preceding the horse. But (I questioned the silent inner voice that sometimes answered) was this true in the present case? Why on earth was I writing a dedication before I’d even started a book? ‘Because’ (answered the small inner voice, as I knew it would) ‘the dedication already exists, the stories exist… but the book is yet to be.’ That didn’t make much sense to me till I groped around inside me. And then it was that I knew they were there again, the stories that had waited for eons, out there in the great unknown, stories written in the past…and in the future, long ago. Stories that would (as the others before them) start by gently tapping at the periphery of my mind—tap away diffidently, hesitantly, then with greater insistence till the tapping became a knocking and then a violent hammering at the outer edges of consciousness, chipping away at the perimeter till it crumbled and the stories came pouring through into my mind, fighting their way out through my fingers via the keyboard onto the computer screen, to finally embed themselves in infinitesimally tiny patterns of energy on the hard disk. Life! I had again felt life flow through me into the creation of another Being, this time an un-living one. Yet, in some curious way, I knew that these invisible inscriptions on the PC’s innards did have life…they were just as alive as my own children, perhaps even more so! I did not give them life; I was merely the medium. They came from some other reality of whose existence I can but surmise. And so, as always, I dedicate them to my timeless muse, whose subtle alchemy lured them into tangible existence through the conduit of my clumsy fingers and bemused mind. ~*~ Introduction 6 This book is a collection of tales mostly concerning themselves with situations that deal with the grand emotion. They could be set in your own neighbourhood or in some distant land or time…but the one thing they have in common is that they all attempt to explore that magic land of love where it is always spring and where the sun always shines…for a lucky few, at least. Much of what is to be found within the pages of this book is inspired by the timeless beauty of my eternal muse. Love is an emotion that usually gets short shrift in the daily shuffle. I realize that most of us are obliged to desensitize our finer emotions in trying to cope with the mindless inanities of our daily lives. It’s not hard to empathize with that, but I continue to be amazed at the warped priorities of a civilization that spends countless trillions of dollars in promoting cynical hatred, terrorism and ‘national pride’, despoiling the environment and dehumanizing major parts of the world in the process…while sneering at the highest emotion that we, the only inhabitants of this planet who are capable of feeling and nurturing it. Lest the reader get the impression that I’m putting myself on a pedestal by distancing myself from these deplorable trends, let me hasten to assure you that I’m just as culpable of participating in this malaise of global proportions as the next man or woman. What often rescues me is the fact that my muse always intervenes whenever the effects of this baleful Weltschmertz threaten to overwhelm me. The stories in your hands, however, emerged from a frame of mind far removed from the intense preoccupation with mundane happenings that normally degrades our working hours. Few of us could have reached the level of spiritual elevation of the Zen masters who proclaim, “Before enlightenment, chopping wood, carrying water; after enlightenment, chopping wood, carrying water.” An average person, glancing through the stories at an inappropriate time, might dismiss their contents as poppycock. Many, however, who have conjured up a relaxed mood and read them in peace and solitude, have heard an answering echo in their hearts. Every male knows that the female of the species is as unpredictable in the matter of bestowing her favours as is the Indian monsoon. I doubt very much whether the daughters of Eve divine their own motivations, for the simple reason that these obscure driving forces evolved ages ago, when life was born in the primordial seas of a very young Earth—over two billion years ago. Nevertheless, it is wrong to burden the heart with things left unsaid. It obliterates a possible future, and worse, it tells on the one who suppresses those unexpressed emotions. Passion is a pressure-cooker that often explodes violently when unfulfilled. Imagine the distress of a gentle soul that waits in vain for the three little words! I am of the school that says ‘go ahead and tell it like it is’; not that it’s some sort of panacea for this most unsettling of emotions. It just happens to be the recipe I advocate. I do not, however, guarantee its success in winning a soulmate. The gods hold all the aces… Love is at once elevating and debilitating. It can make the most articulate of men tongue-tied. It can reduce a suave, debonair man-of-the-world to a bumbling oaf who’s 7 always putting his foot in his mouth; much sleep is lost, much mental agony is suffered. Love—if reciprocated—can be supremely inspiring. It can take a man to heights he’d never otherwise have scaled. The opposite is also true. If frustrated, it has the potential to destroy him. Either way, love is strong medicine. It should come with a sticker: ‘Injurious to health; only for those beyond redemption.’ And yet, it is an unlucky person that never experiences it (are there any such unfortunates, I wonder?). The Thunderbolt is a gift of the gods, spurned only by fools. It is an experience so unlike any other that it can only be felt (endured?), never described, especially through the poor medium of words. There are no words in the country of the heart. Have I bitten off more than I can chew in trying to map the terrain, in the epilogue? Perhaps. You decide… Nevertheless, through the ages, poets and writers of every culture have explored love’s myriad nuances—and will probably continue to do so far into the Age of the Cyborgs, Androids and Clones. I enjoyed the experience of having these stories write their way out of me. I hope you enjoy reading them! Subroto Mukerji “A fool in love makes no sense to me. I only think you are a fool if you do not love.” ~ Sigmund Freud “I obey only my own instincts and intuition. I know nothing in advance. Often I put down things which I do not understand myself, secure in the knowledge that later they will become clear and meaningful to me. I have faith in the man who is writing, who is myself, the writer.” ~ Henry Miller “I just write a song and I know it’s going to be all right. I don’t even know what it’s going to say.” ~ Bob Dylan Once Upon a Life time 8 The house in Daman and old Mr. Sen were made for each other. Wealthy Parsis of Bombay had carved out the little settlement near the sea. They had enjoyed it and departed. Or died off.