GRUNDY THE CIRCUS MONSTER.

Does it hurt to be abnormal? Ask Grundy. When all stares upon you pierce like a million, tiny arrows. “Freak”, they called him. And by the ablest imagination, they were right. When even his smile wrought fear in the audience he sought to please. Circus, that’s where he was brought up, and what could wail better than a century of suppressed laughter. For not a day did pass he stopped looking for affection. The fat gentleman, the crumpled lady, the candy girl, those mean kids. He could happily end his life in exchange for their love. But the dank corridors and iron cages is what he returned to, every night. 

 

Some in the circus argue they found Grundy abandoned at a gypsy camp, undeniably lending to the legend of his cursed life. Yet others maintain Grundy came all by himself. The ringmaster holds firm to his theory. The one rainy night he went out for a piss. When a crack of lightning blazed the horizon, this creature came charging, right at his throat if he could make you believe. Not surprisingly the bosses at the circus were afraid to approach the abomination. Outright ugly, wasn’t uncommon for the ladies to retch at a mere glimpse. As he learnt to live among his new folks, the legend of him grew. It was almost taken that he had come to pass a hundred years, knew hokum magic and was a deceitful killer. Perhaps they were right, Grundy, at a glance seemed all that.

 

While Grundy was an animal at the circus, Shanta differed. Then again a woman of ill repute couldn’t warranty much. Her delicate, impossibly slender fingers seemed to cure much of the hatred he held in him. She brought him incense from the temples and lotus from the lakes. She even sang, as her feverish, frail body would sway to the renditions of the hymns. For all the optimism that seemed to pull the humane from the animal, that coaxed smiles from the monster, couldn’t last a “summer romance”. Shanta didn’t rise to the morning tolls. She possibly couldn’t with her torso missing, presumably, brutally gnawed at.

 

They shoved hot iron to his face, smeared him with shit. Grundy was always a part of pompous displays; atrocities were a minor diversion. He kept his silence, never spoke a word, and almost got killed. When they got tired and flimsy, they simply locked him in his cage and forgot. That was when he discovered light, in the dark brooding corners. And for the first time he felt a strange sensation on his cheeks, that warm dribble rolling down his chin. He stood stunned, almost impassive to this newfound sensation. And it did not stop there. He tried stopping, it got stronger. And then he let it come; Streams of tears down those weary eyes.

 

But what occurred that night? While the accusations were unanimous, Grundy was defenceless.  The ignominy would haunt him for centuries to come. Now embittered and personally shattered, Grundy resigned to his fate, he always did. And that was when we saw something change in him. The remorseless creature was blithe. A macaque on a tent pole! He flourished on the circus scene like fire to the straw. Suddenly the circus was enlivened, no exaggeration then it was packed to full houses. Grundy could chew iron, devour raw seals, and even allowed the curious children to touch his scalded hide. He gave the circus his life, and no amount of chide would ever break him again. He had vowed and he knew how true it was.

 

Decades later the cityscape changed. There were automobiles, industrial smoke and general apathy. That age bore a flower. A frail trapeze artist that was the most beautiful acrobat the circus had ever seen.  Grundy adored her, for in more than a thousand ways, she was Shanta.  She had fed Grundy as a kid, but kept her distance, especially since the ring master had warned her. Grundy admired her with a ferocity that was taking control over his mind, and would eventually his heart. Oh how he wished to be a part of her conversation, the reason for her careless giggles. Poor soul wouldn’t understand, you never douse fire, with fire.

 How strange is fate then?  The circus burned in raging flames, trapping Grundy and the girl inside. Nobody came to the rescue, none could. The ferocity was astounding; Flames, resolute, coming from the pits of hell itself. They waited till the morning light, when the bell tolls, and beneath the white smoke, they saw a miracle. A mass of charred flesh, like a blanket, lay upon the frail girl. Sometimes you douse fire with fire.

 

A long time after the event, the circus was restored. Grundy survived. The girl did too. With time they discovered a strange friendship. Grundy was overwhelmed with this reckless trapeze girl. She was a splash of cold water to his charred soul. They became inseparable in the months that followed, with some getting close to suspect that the allure of the beast was not normal, that the fire was a setup, that he had cast his spell. It was upon him that he did cast a spell, we all call it love.

But then, happiness and Grundy were old enemies. And the hour of his destruction came much sooner than Grundy could ever imagine.

 

Some argue it was the devilish, handsome brute. Others say it was plain old luck; that Grundy was asking for it, that his end was inevitable. Much before the news of the tragedy arrived, when Grundy was happily performing at the circus, happily loving his friend. There came upon this charming acrobat. He had the circus under his spell; the girl didn’t stand a chance. While the waning meetings quietly pulled a stake at Grundy’s heart, his chance sightings of her in his embrace almost burned him inside. What was Grundy supposed to do? What are monsters supposed to do ? And so he resigned to his fate, very quietly, submission of a lifetime. The monster wouldn’t smile again.

 

It was the same night again, the kind that brought him here. Rains carried forth by winds sprayed the circus cold. If the beast had ever held some magic to his name, then it was this night that would work, overtime!

A premonition that would guide him to the depths of the hallways, to the chamber where shanta had called his name, to the night he had lost her forever. Was it not his shanta that lay that night?

Torso ripped apart, as he held her in her arms. That was when she confessed she had cheated his beloved beast, betrayed the child that had looked upon the only human being ever? She died in his arms, only pleading for his silence and a promise no harm would come to the ring master, the murderer. And when he finally reached upon the spot that she died, it was him, the brute, defiling her right before his eyes. It must have been years of silence, or perhaps his suppressed rage, he could hold no longer and pounced upon him like a dazed kamikaze. In the mêlée that ensued, the hapless girl couldn’t decide where to vent her confusion or frustration. She drew the stake into the brute’s heart, or so she thought. The beast meanwhile had rendered the acrobat devoid of his life. As lightning flashed on the blood laden floor, a shriek so terrifying, blood curdling emanated from the pale girl’s throat. Grundy slumped quietly, the stake firmly gripped, drawn right to hi heart. As life escaped, inches by inches, and the horrific realization dawned upon the girl, Grundy seemed to be at ease. He for once felt love possessing him like never before. As warm tears streamed from the girls cheek onto his, he couldn’t help but smile. Inconsolable as the girl was, and would be for years to come, the monster knew he wouldn’t die in vain.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

True visions of the wonderful kid.

Our kid had his epiphany when he was twelve; the sort we all have when we least expect.  Couldn’t get over with it soon enough, and decided to call himself “special”. The world seemed at ease with his coronation, though they do get lesser mileage these days if you believe me. So it was kid stuck at puzzles lambasting his sister for being stupid. Or some other times blaming the pen for sheer crappiness of his dictations. Wouldn’t it be a heartbreaking then to reveal it wasn’t real, that superstition sucks?  That someday he’s going to be sorely disappointed, bringing shame to his grand lineage and beyond.  For some reasons though this kid was stubborn, donkeys be shamed, he excelled it with élan. Else what would have explained his stoic passage through waves after waves of negative math scores? Or that he qualified for the dimmest bulb on the circuit, yet beamed in his heart, stronger than a hundred light sabres put together.

 

When he turned sixteen, kid discovered love. Couldn’t sleep at nights, loved tearing his boom box at the seams. Neighbours complained, but kid wouldn’t listen, too stubborn you see. Then as it was natural, as we all have seen it coming, kid got his lady love to listen poems he wrote. Slight deviation; the big dude sitting obviously in the proximity heard it too.  So how would you like me to explain? Showdown at little basketball court. Big loaf was polite, real gentleman. Said not once, but a hundred times. “Stay away from her motherfucker, avoid like plague”. He stared at the goliath for a minute, wouldn’t wipe the smirk you see. The famous talk of the campus was kid could have been saved, could have lived! While views are divided over the brutality of the beast; was a hulking 200 pounds motherfucker, it’s safe to say kid was pretty fucked up in the end. Ever seen a banana split smashed to the floor?  Only he was messed a hundred times over. Got punches all over the face like “street fighter” on turbo mode. E-Honda must have died in shame. While kid lay on the floor, drool galore, bloodied lips, eyes fluttering in anticipation of a fresh volley. Hulk didn’t stop there bro, sadistic son of a bitch. At night after waging another war with folks at home, failing to explain how a fall from the stair case could have possibly done this to him, kid sat on his window, staring at the skies, those stars, His eyes questioning them, when? When? We really wouldn’t get his meeting with the higher powers that be; after all, kid was special.

 

Age twenty three found him in more shit than ever, mommy dear had left him for her abode in the skies; daddy had taken to depression, more like a second wife if you saw it that way. Now it wouldn’t have been all that bad had mister “iron will” got some decent job or perhaps had some girl to call “dear”. But it was downhill slide from here. Shit just kept piling on. Every which way he tried; his attrition was so inevitable that he took to chanting” Elvish “. Sometimes word reached home kid got stuck up in some brawl, always the snarly, arrogant ass he was. Lover boy even tried wooing the ladies all over the town, wrote sonnets and made paper planes out of them. Left notes for the neighbourhood widow, spared no chance at whistling for the nurse, and once, slapped the fat lady on her bottom, well before the humongous being could turn and notice. Such was the state of affairs that we could only sympathise; yeah it had come to this.

 

Age thirty five? Nope, not then, not even forty, somewhere slightly higher; our hero finally got what he deserved. So how did it happen?  Having found a decent job at the supermarket our hero had finally accepted reality. There was no divine revelation, no meetings with fate from his fortress of solitude. Then did they die after all, those voices inside him? Fuck no bitch! It was only piled under enormous heaps of shit that kept piling over the years. Sometimes at night he heard a feeble knocking at his heart,” hey kid, wake up”. But the day of crowning was not as you and I would have imagined. Not that “confetti bursting” above your head, jesters clowning around shit. It was a fine sunny day when the intruder arrived. No messing around then boss. He shot the security just to prove he meant business, in the face bitch!

Then had all employees along with kid lined up at the aisle. “Nobody fucking moves”, nobody did. Wait, except kid, fucking foolish dude.  Brother gunman wouldn’t want to be messed with; you don’t fuck with some gun happy vagabond after all. He held the gun to the head, kids head; my kid goddammit!  But Kid wouldn’t budge, he stood his ground. Now that I see it, kid did have his visions after all. Kid just stared, couldn’t wipe the sneer on his face. And in a sudden moment, the dimmest bulb in the circuit was burning bright, the light sabres whirring like a thousand fireflies. Purple, red, blue!

Gi-joe shot thrice, in succession, in the head, same place motherfucker! In that moment, when kid slumped to the ground, those microseconds before life ceased to matter, it flashed before his eyes, that moment he waited all his life. The grandeur of the spectacle, you wouldn’t have missed it. Not even if the Las-Plagas was unleashed bro. He stood up for something, maybe it cost him his pathetic life, but then he knew it all along, during those long meetings with the stars. But we wouldn’t have known it could we?  Kid was special after all.

 

 

Curse of the Mughals and death of a cliche.

I considermyself an observer, and that is what I’ve been doing since my good for nothing days. Not much can escape my omnipresent radar. So where do I begin? It’s Delhi! You don’t decide where you begin fool; it will always be the Mughals. What? Why them? I hear you say. Bitch please! Never heard about that dude Aurangzeb? What about those before him?  Mindless marauders from the plains of the chinks? They cursed our lands so hard that even the weather dreads laying benevolence above us. So the Mughals aside, what else is glaringly obvious? Clichés it is bitches, no harm in saying its everywhere. So here I was standing at the bus stop, peak summer season, rape alarm!  You see our land is blessed with plenty of sun for more than half of the year. Humid air languishes everywhere, especially the underpants. No wonder a whole species of “groin diggers” have been bred to adapt. And summer is just the excuse for belles to flaunt the latest tank tops. Besides this group of freshly caked (talcum powder) power puff girls, an “uncle forlorn”, a visibly peeved aunty (remember the heat homeboys) stood “The Competition”. Bomchicka bow wow! Dude was all muscles and shit. Had headphones snuggled in the ears and some crazy lip movement (Shakira as I later guessed) signalling a top level alpha male thing in the hierarchy and beyond. Darwin must be proud! With great heat comes the biggest responsibility, this dude forgets, every now and then, gosh, almost doesn’t understands. Maybe the curse of the Mughals is upon him, no escaping this shit. While he clawed his groins to glory, old uncle obviously annoyed, rapidly approaches his threshold. Now the typical way of letting steam here is through the mouth, usually accompanied by expletives. So not caring for the already irked aunty or those Lolitas he shoots. Rather unsavoury id say but satisfying. Some aimless, stack upon stack of ill meaning phrases directed towards you know who. Lolzz. But the dudes got defence bro! His headphones remember? So while general ruthless doles out some serious shit with mind numbing accuracy, muscular guy just claws away to glory. We’re all watching now, stray dogs’ et al. Even the belles are giggling like some hidden wisdom dawning on the brink of their brains. No time for sympathy bro, when shit hits the fan it hits the fan. Then by some miracle the hunk notices, everyone. Uncle all red eyed and panting, his face bears a bewildered expression, did u just had a heart attack old chap? The giggling girls-mother would have been proud senoritas. “tere ko ghar mein maa-behen nahi kaya re?” this time aunty number one jumps in. “bol, bol. Bol...haan?” she hollers and cries. “Hormone stack” is surprisingly cool. Hell he cares not of those stares, those chides, those awful curses. He’s macho bro;   remember it was the Mughals that originally instigated him. Those headphones now slung over his shoulders he continues to pull at his backpack, the once original accessory of macho dudes now over flaunted by pathetic wannabes. Water was spilled as he splashed it all over himself, pouring his “bislerri” like some soap commercial. “Beta” thus began the uncle apologetically, “you are from a good family, then why?” our hero now coming to terms that something is wrong glances menacingly at all and sundry. That famous “kya mangta hai tu” look. Makes me proud, competition was for real bro. I stood no chance at all. Power puff girls swoon. I almost peek into their minds, chanting” my hero my hero”. Kya mangta indeed. Aunty Join in the camaraderie and goes as far as to put her hand on the dudes shoulder. Such mother-son display of affection is rare to come by. Bus arrives soon and all board it except us. So its showdown time then, just me and meatball, Duel to the death. He seizes me menacingly, I remember I should gulp else lack of it might be taken as a sign of intimidation. Oh he’s horny (it’s those horns you perverts). There’s tension in the air and it perfectly latches on to the prevailing humid air. I can sense he’s looking at me while I sweat to kingdom come. “Are you all right bro? You seem to be struck by a lightening” I seem to ignore by looking the other side and assuming he’s talking to the spirit of Aurangzeb. I know I’m ready with my monster punch lest the need arise. “Calm down bro, you need water” he pulls at my arms and forces the bottle in my hand.” Now here are some pills to get you ahead” I look at the angel with” air of magnificence” his headphones glaring “shakira shakira” his voice seem to boom in my ears” go home Frodo, the ring will be taken care of, Aragorn will be the king, Sauron will perish” now that i think of it, some clichés are meant to be broken, and sometimes it takes a bloke with shakira on its lips. The Mughals will not be pleased.