Hard Rock Cafe, Pune Review

Okay Guys, be forewarned... the following article is not an HRC review... rather, I would term it as HRC Sunday Evening Review to avoid any beating from the HRC Hard core fans.

Why do I say that?

Well, just because I had a nightmarish (or evening-marish, if you will) Sunday evening at the HRC yesterday.

Now, I've always been going to Apache (Chandni Chowk) and am very impressed with the kind of music they play, and for a Rock Crazy person like me, the versatility offered is just amazing. Last month, I decided to check out Thousand Oaks and Hell Yeah, was I pleased or what? (I'll cover T-Oaks in another review)

Amazed by the music and the cocktails at T-Oaks, I decided to give all the Pubs and Rock Clubs in Pune a try and explore for myself...the best of 'em!

So, here I head to the HRC on a Sunday evening, hoping for the best night of my life and expecting a Headache after half a dozen Tequila shots and some deafening music...... only if I knew!

Reached HRC by 8 o’ clock and I must admit, the edifice looked awesome.

The words "Hard Rock Cafe" were glowing in red neon lights and a small garden (kinda) just in front of it adds something 'extra' to the charm. Went inside and was delighted to see/feel a mind blowing ambience. HRC is like a small museum and it have so many awesome mementos that it takes a while to stop, admire, and absorb the beauty of every single guitar, photograph or an autographed Gramophone Record.

Eric Clapton's guitar, Steven Tyler's custom made costume and Bob Dylan's concert dress is worth mentioning here. Now, I am not sure whether these are the replicas or the actual artifacts. I didn't ask the people there, but what I feel is- they have the originals tucked in safely in some part of the world, and they display the replicas in every branch of the HRC. Will confirm this and update my blog accordingly.

A quick tip here: Don't forget to click a picture of the chandelier (with saxophones attached as connectors between layers) just above the main bar!

A very cute receptionist escorted me to my table and I was already feeling rhapsodic by the time I took my seat. Now, in HRC, wherever you are seated, if you look around, you'll find many photographs, depicting different bands or individual band members and various kinds of guitars. Now, this gives an amazing Add-On to the ambience and you really feel like listening to some metal.

My friends joined me in 15 mins and we ordered some light drinks (Beer, anyone?) coz the music being played was very soothing kinda, not exactly Rock, but I'd say Rock in a POPish kind of way! The volume was very low and it seemed the music was coming from the neighboring restaurant. I got bored after a while and decided to check out the outdoor Trance Lounge. It is also a nice open air cozy lounge, but it was too hot out there... and anyways, I always pick Rock over Trance or Jazz, so.. decided to return. Asked the receptionist if the music will remain the same way, she said that after half an hour, they'd be playing some metal and the volume will definitely increase. She even quoted an example - "The music will be so loud that we won't be able to have this conversation without yelling at the top of our lungs." I asked her if the patrons can request any songs, and she declined politely, "Sorry Sir! But we don't take any requests!!" (Now that's a huge... I mean.. HUGE Negative!!!)

Somewhat reassured, I went back to my table and called for another round of booze.

Just as I turned around, to my utter dismay, a family walked in. Now, this family consisted of three Women (Aged 50 or above), a Couple (Early 40's) and their children (15 yrs or younger)!

What???!!!

What are the kids doing in a Rock Lounge?

Is it allowed?

Period…

Now, during the past three years, it has become a reality that during the months of Mar-Apr, wherever you go - across India - you can't escape the Indian Premier League (IPL) and the HRC was no exception. All over the place, they had LCD Televisions bumbling with the match and even the big screen (which occupied the podium where the Live performances usually take place) gave no respite!

T-Oaks and Apache also screen these matches, but there you take a peek at the screen only occasionally, to check the score. But in the HRC, due to the poor content and disastrously low volume, everybody was watching the great Master Blaster Sachin smashin' them Rajasthan Royals! To add to the IPL woes, some guys seated at the adjoining table were hooting immensely every time the Mumbai Indians hit a four!! Heck!! They were even hooting whenever the MI's took two runs!!! Grow Up you sissies!!!!...

I think the HRC staff should've stopped them.. anyways...

Time passed..

We were at the HRC for more than 2 hours now, and there was still no sign of the Metal that I'd been promised by the cute Receptionist (girls are deceptive most of the times.. aren't they??) It seemed the underpaid DJ had inserted some Rock-For-The-Apes CD in the system, pushed the Play button, and gone to sleep!

When you can talk to your friends, in a Rock Lounge, without having to raise your voice, then something's wrong.... Something's really REALLY WRONG!! (Anyone remember the doomed MEGADETH concert at Bangalore in 2007? The speakers were so faulty and the sound system, microphones etc so sloppy that fans were consummately disappointed and the next week Economic Times published an article loosely based on the following theme - "How/Why the Indian event management companies still suck!!").

Well, the same thing happened to us. We were talking and Gossiping as if we were in a family restaurant!!

Then, someone at the bar whistled (Yes, he had the Traffic Police kinda whistle) every time he prepared a drink to be delivered at a table. Again, that interrupted the little bit of so called music being played there...

Coming to drinks and food - It is a known fact that HRC is very costly, so it's always better to come there half drunk. Thank God I didn't go there half drunk or it would have been an insult to my Antiquity Blue (you know.. my eternal ranting with the music there)! They have some good Cocktails as well as a varied collection of Mocktails which are good for tryin’ out. Food menu is fairly good too and you can have some American dishes, a specialty in itself. I didn't check the menu thoroughly, and didn't eat much, so it would be unfair to comment on the diversity and the quality of food. But one thing is certain - If you are planning to drink and have a decent meal in the HRC, do expect more than 1000 or even 1500 bucks to be spent per person.

Period…

Even After spending two and a half hours, the music didn't change and we felt it was not right for us to have that over-expensive food with such a treatment thrust upon us. Now, I am the kind of person who worships bands ranging from Beatles, Rolling stones, Jim Morrison, Dire Straights, U2, Metallica,... to Marilyn Mansion, Nirvana, Linkin Park, Rammstein, System of a Down and the contemporary rock- and even then, I was barely able to recognize two or three songs out of 20 or more that they played during those excruciating two and a half hours!!

Hence, we paid the bill and slipped over (I did watch a fashion show and a Belly Dance Performance {Thank God for that!!} by the poolside across the HRC before leaving the territory!) to Carnival (Saada Desi Dhaba!!). I was happy to order all the chicken I wanted to without worrying about the bill, a privilege, which you are denied at the HRC!!

Given the reputation of the HRC and the positive reviews I've read all around the World Wide Web, I'd like to blame the Sunday evening for all the mess, and I'd love if I am forced to change this review the next time I go there...

Yes Hard Rock Cafe, I will give you another chance.. and I'll have another Beer.. and I'll come on a Saturday Night, I promise!!... But please live up to your name... and lemme know what 'HARD' in the Hard Rock Cafe means!! Bring on what you've got.. and bring the best out of you...

Rock Isn’t Dead!!

I.N.S.O.M.N.I.A.

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Chapter 1: The Rainy Afternoon

It was a Rainy afternoon, one of those rare days when God forgets to turn the tap ‘off’ and the weather slows down the time so much that you feel the rain would last forever. It was one of those days when the ambience is so woebegone that you don’t feel like leaving the warmth of your bed, let alone going to office and getting some freaking work done.

It was one of those days……

Christopher was walking on a Road, perhaps a long one, but clogged due to the unending downpour. The loud honking of a horn….far…far away brought his attention to himself. He stopped, looked around and the marks on his forehead became deeper as his face contorted. Perhaps he was trying to remember something, and trying very hard at that.

“Why am I walking on this road?” he mused.

He turned around to trace his footsteps. Perhaps then he would be able to recollect where he came from, but the rain had washed them. The dense curtain of rain had made it impossible for him to look beyond a few meters. As he became more aware of his existence, he noticed that he was drenched to his very skin and shivering from the cold zephyr that accompanied the rain. He looked at his feet. One of the shoes was missing.

‘Ah!’ Now he knew the cause of the pain in his right foot.

But wait!

What was that spot on his foot? He couldn’t make out the color exactly. It was dark blue… “No Maroon”, he thought. He looked up. Unable to find any thing of interest, he looked back at his feet. The color was Red! Blood Red!! And it wasn’t a spot; it was thick, frozen blood which was so glued to his foot that even the pools of water forming on the road were unable to get it off.

“Whose blood is it?” he thought. Perhaps the blood was his own, he wasn’t sure. But he didn’t want to spend his time on this tiny detail. Bigger questions were squandering his mind. What the hell was he doing in the middle of nowhere? Was he a criminal?

Of course normal people don’t have blood on their body parts. Was he running from the police? And if at all he was, why didn’t he remember?

“There must be some clue. Look in the pockets.”

He searched the pockets of his oversized brown jacket, but found nothing. He searched again and found some coins. He searched yet again and drew out a photograph.

The hollow face from the black and white photograph stared back at him.

“Who is she”? “Come on man…. Think hard…you know her!!”

It was his wife, Lisa.

If he only knew……

The sound of a car horn distracted him again. But this time the sound was not coming from far away. The car was very near, perhaps on the same road. Christopher realized that it’s been hours since any vehicle passed that road. He found it strange. One more question – unanswered.

The intensity of the car horn grew louder. It wasn’t allowing Christopher to dwell in his empty mind - his own world. He turned around, his heart beating fast. The shivers increased. He was not just feeling the cold. He was scared. His intuition was trying to say something to him. But what? He thought…thought hard. He could see the car now. It was a white colored Fiat. The car came closer. He could now see the people inside. A weird sense of recognition seeped through him.

“Am I running from these people? Who are they?”

“Why am I running?”

He brushed off these thoughts and concentrated on the car again. It was close, dangerously close. He tried - once again - to identify the people inside, but couldn’t.

The car came to a screeching halt in front of him. A middle aged man came out, took out his gun and pointed straight at his forehead.

“What’s going on?” he wanted to ask.

Bang!!

His tongue couldn’t move. Something had happened. He was not on his feet anymore. He was lying face down on the road. The rain was filling his nostrils. Something was accumulating in his lungs. It was his own blood. His head was split open. But in the fraction of a second between the bullet hitting him and his falling down on the ground, his entire life revolved in front of him. His questions were answered. Christopher was dead.

But now he knew…..

Chapter 2: The Foggy Morning

It was a foggy morning, one of those rare days when it appears that clouds have come down upon earth, when it appears that earth is nothing but a part of heaven, when you can’t see your own garden from the bedroom window. Oh, how beautiful a foggy morning is!

Christopher was disturbed by soft footsteps. These were not his own. Someone else was in the room.

Which room?

“It must be my house” thought Christopher. “It has to be!”

The footsteps were coming at him. The soft feet were not walking any more, they were running. Someone held him from behind. Christopher thought he was going to die.

“What happened honey? Did I scare you?” It was the gentle voice of a lady.

“Nah! You can never scare me.” Lied Christopher.

As the lady came in front of him, a weird sense of recognition seeped through him.

“This must be my wife, Lisa! Oh I love her so much”

The phone rang.

“Hi, this is Anna Morgan. May I help you?” the lady answered the phone.

Christopher was shocked!

“Anna? Anna Morgan? ….. What the...?”

“It was a wrong number. Never mind. Would you like some tea honey? Oh look at the weather today. The morning is so beautiful. Please don’t go to the office today. Please Hon!!” Anna was talking non-stop.

“Office? Do I work somewhere?... Can I work somewhere? .. hmmmm!!..”

“Yeah, tea would be good” said Christopher, just to shut her up.

“Okay, Hon!” hummed Anna, as she raced to the kitchen.

“Is she my wife? Then who is Lisa? Why do I love her? Do I even remember her face?”

Bang!!

A loud, piercing sound made Christopher jump. The sound had come from the kitchen. He was sure about that. He ran towards the source of the sound. It was not the kitchen, but, the bathroom.

“How could it be?” thought Christopher. But now was not the time to ponder. He slammed the door open and barged inside.

Anna was lying in her own pool of blood.

“Anna!!....Anna!...”, Christopher was crying.

A woman was laughing. A ghostly laugh!

Christopher moved to the right and lifted his head. A figure moved. Christopher fell down on the floor with a loud thud.

“Who..err.. What are you? What have you done to Anna?” Christopher was sobbing uncontrollably.

“I am that hollow face you were looking at some eras ago. I am Lisa!” a voice was emanating from the hollow face.

“But! But! Anna is my wife”, Christopher’s voice was barely audible.

“If only you knew….” Roared the voice.

Bang! Bang!! Bang!!!

Three bullets hit him hard on the face. He could only count the first.

As he hauled his last breath, he figured out what was happening to him, and then, he died.

Now he knew…..

Chapter 3: The Revelation

“And that is why Your Honor, such a freaky criminal should be put behind bars for 250 years in a cold cell without a fuckin’ ray of light to give him warmth”, the attorney was barking like a mad dog.

Christopher came to his senses and became aware of his surroundings. He was sitting in some random room.

It wasn’t a random room….

It was a Court Room!

He was tired of thinking again, hence didn’t bother to think “Where am I”?

“Oh! Anna is dead!!” a thought crossed his mind.

“Anna…..Who”? Christopher wondered.

“I am not a criminal”, Christopher wanted to say, but the voice barely left him. He went largely unnoticed.

“Your Honor. He is not a criminal! You have his files.. How can law treat such a person like a criminal? Has the humanity died? Is justice so Blind!” Lisa was pleading now, her voice too heavy with her own emotions. Oh! Never had she felt such empathy for a client.

“But he killed his wife! Obviously such a psycho can’t be allowed to roam freely. He is a threat to our mothers, daughters and sisters.” the attorney was emotional too, although in his own way.

“Can you term this thing as killing? The poor chap doesn’t even know that he killed Anna”, Lisa felt she was losing the case.

“He doesn’t know??” the attorney was fuming with anger now. “His files clearly indicate that he seems to remember everything just before a black out! He knows everything Your Honor, everything. He has the audacity to go for a stroll after killing his own wife. Oh how I wish capital punishment was still an option!!!!”

The voices were becoming distant now. Christopher was mildly amused at the fight between the two attorneys. “Tom and Jerry”, he thought and chuckled.

As the world revolved around him, the feeling of amusement suddenly changed into utter pain. “Oh what have I done!! What have I done? I’ve killed Anna”

His tears hit the floor before his face. He tried to retain his memories but they were slipping out quickly. His body writhed in an odd fashion as his tongue rolled out, huge drools of saliva dripping out of it.

The Schizophrenia attack had once again taken the sanity out of him…

Now he knew!

And now you know too!!

3 Idiots Review

3 Idiots - directed by Rajkumar Hirani and loosely based on Chetan Bhagat’s 5 point someone is a Joy Ride, albeit not without its share of bumps and flaws.
The movie starts with a lot of potential and Hirani does deliver much of what the viewer anticipates, but again - and this is a caveat for serious movie goers - he does take your for granted and interjects the story with some nonsense sequences.

The movie starts off with Madhavan’s narration as the two college chuddy buddies (i.e. Madhavan a.k.a. Farhan and Sharman a.k.a. Hari) are searching for their college buddy Ranchoddas Shamaldas Chanchad a.k.a. Rancho (Aamir Khan) and the movie dives into a flashback – straight to the ragging scene which, by the way, is a complete deja-vu of the Munnabhai Ragging scene (People Dancing in Undies, etc.).
Enter Rancho, a genius and a no nonsense taker as he hits his senior hard where it hurts the most. This is the point where Madhavan says,"Humne to Physics Padha tha.. Us ne apply kiya!"
As the rest of the movie unfolds, Hirani comes to the point as he makes Rancho criticize the education system which is designed to produce crammers or human-machines. Rancho is of the view that the main aim of our education system should be to teach the real stuff, and not just make students cram everything from the books!
I won’t reveal anything beyond this as it would take the fun out of the movie.

Coming to the actors, although Aamir, Madhavan and Sharman have done justice to their roles and there are shades of brilliance in each one of them, they don’t quite pass off as 19 something olds. Each of them looks way old to be a college student, but on the other hand, I can’t imagine any other actors capable of delivering such good performances as Aamir, Madhavan and Sharman have done. In my opinion, we desperately need some dependable teenage actors so that we don’t have to depend on Aamirs and Shah-Rukhs to potray love-struck college students anymore.
Kareena doesn’t have the screen time of a full-fledged lead heroine, but she does her part well. Boman Irani is outstanding as Viru Sahastrabudhhe (famous as Virus among the students), the cunning director of Imperial College of Engineering. Mona Singh has done a good job as Kareena’s older sister.
At this point, I would like to mention the name of Omi Vaidya a.k.a Chatur Ramalingam, the super-crammer typical front bencher who either nauseates his roommates by his continuous farts (thus, his nick name Silencer), or disturbs other students by secretly shoving porn magazines under their dormitory doors, that too on the night before the exam day. Coincidentally, he’s very bad at Hindi and Hirani has taken full advantage of this quality in one of the most hilarious scenes of the movie. Watch out for this Omi and his Hindi!

The movie is not a through and through comedy and Hirani has tried to convey some very relevant messages which I believe are very much applicable to today’s grades driven society. A society which is driving thousands of students to suicide every year. A society where no value is given to education or innovation. It’s just about grades, grades and freakin’ grades! This is the reason that majority of Microsoft’s workforce is Indian, but, we don’t have a Google or an Apple of our own to boast about.

Some of the scenes are totally idiotic though! Like the very first scene in which a plane is made to land back or the pre-climax baby-delivering scene. Such scenes are an insult to the intelligence of the viewer. Also, some of the one liners by Aamir have been heard by every internet/mobile user through forwarded mails or SMS’s. But at the end of the day, this is a comedy movie and “Aal is Well :)”.

I’ll conclude by saying that 3 Idiots is worth your money and time, but don’t keep Munnabhai standards in mind, or you ought to get disappointed.

I’ll go with a 3.25/5 for Aamir, Hirani and the Noble Cause.

Do We need a new Alibi ?

Let's take a look at this very familiar scene -->
Mean Boss (Yeah Yeah!! All Bosses are mean. But let's consider a typical mean Boss) : Where the F$#@ were you boy ?
The inscrutable Subordinate : I was ill Boss!!..
Boss : You one Lousy Son of a B**** !!!! You R Busted!!
.
.
I hate the look on my Boss's face when I take a Day off and tell him I was ill. I especially hate it when I am telling the truth, but can you blame him ?

Almost 99.99 % of employees say the same thing, no matter whether they took a day off to have that 'rare' date with the girl next door, or whether they are watching another lousy IPL match. In India, fake medical certificates are easier to get than drinking water. Thus, you can account for long holidays also.
But!
As I already mentioned, I hate that look on my Boss's face when I took a day off and I was genuinely blowing my nose on a tablecloth the day before. In spite of pondering over this idea over last couple of days, I am unable to come up with a new, fresh and improved Idea which would replace this 'Universal' excuse of "I was ill!"
..
Thoughts ?

The Awakening

Disclaimer: The following piece of fiction has emanated from my mind and it bears no resemblance to any person in real life. Also, this story is not intended to hurt any segment of society or anyone's religious beliefs. So read on... as I take a deep dive into a complex mind...
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He came back to his senses. His pupils widened to absorb the whole view and the distant sounds became clearer, in fact, loud.

Allah!! He rubbed his eyes with his palms. Was I lost??? What’s happening to me?
What are these faces I am seeing? It looks like my family…..
He brooded over it for some time and then clutching the Quran in his pocket, flushed these blasphemous thoughts out of his mind.

Anyway, this didn’t matter now. He didn’t have time for musings, rather these distractions that would deviate him from the real path, the only path…. the path which so few lucky ones could follow and the path which he had chosen so wish fully in spite of all the wails of his mother (“Ashif!!! My son..Please don’t go…please…) ... the pleadings of his wife (“I beg you…for God’s sake please don’t leave me…don’t leave your unborn child…)...and the silent sobs of his daughter (…..).He had left them. That was five years ago.

But he had to do that, Didn’t he? There was something more important. A task lay ahead of him. A task so rightfully entrusted on him. The moment this thought occurred to him, his lips curved in some weird ungeometrical way. This was his way of smiling.
He had long forgotten the act of smiling and the very words which signified happiness, joy, sorrow, family had been erased from his dictionary, from his heart, his life. Yes! He had forgotten his family; he was made to. But that was not without his consent. He remembered only one word and the resonance of this word inside his ears, his mind, his body, his soul was not to fade, never to subside.

“ JIHAD “

He had desperately wanted to be on a mission, almost pleading at times to the Commander-in-Chief to send him instead of others…. and today his dream was materializing in front of him.

Allah had shown trust in him and bestowed upon him a great responsibility, to teach the Kaafirs a lesson. Lesson for not following the right path, for not obeying the aayats of Quran and for persecuting Allah’s true followers.
“They shall pay”, he told himself and blood rushed in his eyes and a vein in his temple began to throb. His eyes were bloody red, perhaps because he had not slept for last 108 hours, in anticipation …. in preparation …. in exultation.

“Is this the reason for my hallucinations?” A vague thought crossed his mind.

Suddenly an unmistakable shriek of a woman caused him to jump. He rushed towards the source of the noise and came to a halt in front of a wailing woman while carefully avoiding his head from the luggage cabinet above on which a label read:
Seat Nos.-16A, 16B, 16C.

The sight made the hair on the back of his neck stand. The woman was lying sandwiched between her seat and the seats of row 15, lying almost as if dead. Apparently, her husband had tried to disarm one of the big shouldered Hijackers. Another hijacker, a little younger and innocent looking but with a rage unmatched had aimed his gun straight at the duo, now struggling very hard to overpower each other. Filled with panic and anger she had plunged at the attacker. He, disregarding the fact that she was pregnant slapped her so hard that she fell…face down on the floor… crying in agony…Eyes swelling due to pain. She tried to get up but her arms gave away. Mustering every ounce of strength left in her body, she managed to look up only to see her husband being shot in the head.
Blood rushing out like a waterfall, the lifeless body fell with a loud thud and yet another family lay destroyed… shattered …. All hopes lost. Perhaps their faith in God Lost.

He bent down, sweating profusely, trying to pull out the lady but he couldn’t. Perhaps she was not in her senses and hence lay totally lifeless in there.
“What the hell do you think u are doing?” roared a voice from behind.
It was their commandant. He was a burly man, about 6’3” tall and sporting a long graying chin curtain beard with traces of dark brown, a consequence of faded Mehandi.
He had large phantasmal eyes and an expression as if he had nothing better to achieve than to just kill.
There was something devilish about his contorted face and just one look into his eyes was enough to send a chill down the spine of the onlooker. He was wearing a Black Pathani Suit and a kufi. It seemed he had just finished his Namaaz and was quite offended being disturbed during the prayer.

“Leave the lady on her own. She will get up if she survives.Anyways, I don’t think she stands a chance”. And with a triumphant smile spreading across his face he added, “I don’t think anyone aboard this flight stands a chance”.
He turned and vanished into a small cabin, closing the door behind him on which a silvery word gleamed “COCKPIT”.

“Allah be praised! Allah be praised!”

Ashif turned around, aghast at what had just happened. Reality was seeping through him.
He had chosen the way of Allah.
“How could all this be so brutal? Allah can not preach such doings. There has to be a misunderstanding. Someone might have misinterpreted what Allah had said…. what Prophet Muhammad had preached.”

His mind took a U-Turn.

“But they had to be punished! The lady and her husband had resisted. Those ignorant souls. Didn’t they realize how lucky they were to be in this flight? This flight, the chosen one…. Going on the path which is ultimate… which is true... which is …which is the only way to achieve Him.

“O Allah!! May your name prevail. May your name prevail “

Thoughts were racing in his mind.

“These Kaafirs, yes these stupid people. Why are they so blind? Why don’t they follow Islam? Why don’t they learn? Why are they after Islamic countries?
I just fail to understand.”

But wait.

“Was that lady a Kaafir? Wasn’t she doing what she had to do? Saving her husband.
Preventing her unborn child from being orphaned.”

“How can I call them blind? The child. Was he a Kaafir?
Was he blind? He had not even opened his eyes yet. He had not hurt any Islamic ethics.
Is Allah pleased with me? With my fellow Mujahideens? With the murder of an unborn baby?”

He cast a long look at the passengers. All of them were petrified. It seemed as if they were already dead. They could hardly move. Terror and fright had bound their body and their limbs were lifeless, gone. They seemed to be paralyzed.
He looked further….. taking his time… analyzing the people, their faces, their expressions, their fears.

The passengers mostly comprised of the whites. However some blacks and some Asians were also to be seen. One thing was common though. Death was dancing on the faces of all of them.

There was an elderly couple. He saw them in amusement. They seemed to have accepted their fate. They were totally calm and were talking to each other in a soft tone as if chit-chatting over coffee. He cast a glance downwards and saw them holding hands as if feeling each other’s touch for the last time.

Then there was a young boy, perhaps the same age as Abbas.
He was watching the fellow passengers with quite a keen interest. There was a spark in his eyes. The spark that builds the future … of an individual, of a family, of a country, of this world. If he only knew….

Wherever he looked, he found eyes staring at him... young college girls, Business executives, newly married couples, Yankees, …. People…..all ordinary people. He could feel the heat growing in his face now. Unable to continue watching them any longer, he broke off with a shrug. Such hatred, he couldn’t tolerate. He was supposed to be Allah’s son, a martyr. Yet they were looking at him as if he were some filth, scum, a killer.

He felt a pit deepening in his stomach.

“If I can’t win the love of these earthly people, how can Allah accept me with open arms? Will he call me his Son? Will I go to heaven? Or will he make me suffer as the child might have suffered in the Lady’s womb?”


“I have read, reread and read again the Holy Quran. But it doesn’t mention killing anywhere. No religion ever does! There can’t be bloodshed. Violence has to be avoided. No riots! Islam doesn’t tell you to go on a killing spree.”

Remorse was overpowering him.

“But why am I thinking all about this right now? Where was I when my wailing wife was trying to stop me? I call these people blind…

Bloody HELL I am BLIND”

“Islam is being misinterpreted. Some unscrupulous people, for their own gain are misleading the youth. Jihad is not violence. Jihad is not force. Not agony. Not blood”

Suddenly, he felt blood rushing to his brains.

“I must stop this!!! “

He let out a scream. This time it was not a scream to kill. It was a yell of realization. It was a yell against betrayal. It was a yell to save ‘Islam- The correct meaning of Islam.’

He leapt upon one of the Mujahideens and began to punch him mercilessly in the face.

“You! It was you who took me five years ago. Away. Away from my family. Away from my friends. Away from reality. Away from Islam. I will no-…n …. .

“Aaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrggggggggggg……….”

Someone struck. The butt of an AK-47 met the back of his head. He fell, unable to bear the searing the pain it caused and before darkness engulfed him, he saw his assaulter. His own commandant, the father figure for him, the prophet of Allah for him!

Suddenly, the plane shook violently. It began to lose height. Sentience had not left Ashif yet. He knew what was about to happen and silent tears fell from his eyes. He regretted it. He had chosen the wrong path. It was now that faces started revolving in front of him. His mother, his wife, his daughter. He wondered how his son looked like and his longing to see him before dying increased even further. He felt so ashamed of himself. He had left him even before his birth. Abbas, they had named him. His wife had written to him, in the only communication he received from his family after he left. He wanted to be a Martyr, but couldn’t be a father. He wanted to take the responsibility of vindicating Islam when he was too coward a person to take the responsibility of his own family. He shouldn’t have done that. No one should do that. No one…..

The palpitation became more violent. The shrieks of dying people and the clanking of the engine grew.The brouhaha became deafening.
Ashif closed his mind. He mussitated his last prayers and asked for exoneration.

Then with a loud, deafening explosion the plane hit the World Trade Center and he felt the intemperate heat claiming his body.

As the building lay in ruins…

A half burnt page from Ashif’s Quran lay there. Thick black soot was emanating from it.
One could read the half burnt word on it.

“JIHAD”.

Hola - An Introduction

You know the kinda guy who does nothing but bad things in his life and then wonders why his life sucks...???
Well, that's not me , that's Earl. Earl J. Hickey if you want his full name... and this is his opening line too..
Why have i put it here? That's because I don't have an opening line.. No wonder i don't score with Girls easily. :(
Anyways, jokes apart, this is Sandy and I am here to entertain.. i am an entertainer.. But mostly you would find serious articles here and most part would be fiction. I haven't tried my hand on comedy but am looking forward to it.
I would love to share my opinions, both on global and local issues, and would love to have open discussions too.
So, here am I... will be writing as and when my schedule permits...
Hasta Luego!
Sandy.