Workaholic

It had been an incredibly ordinary day. A day so mundane that, within a week, it would not leave even the slight imprint of a long forgotten memory. As her computer whirred smoothly to a stop, she packed her empty lunch box and the files that she would work on through the night. People found it strange that a worker as devoted as her would shy away from buying a laptop – a compact case of all the information she would ever need. However, being a technophobe, she detested the impersonal click that relegated a folder to nothingness. She would stick to paper files till the day she retired.

It was 8:30 p.m. The workspace wore an abandoned look with a single spotlight directed on her cubicle. The janitor waited patiently, his broom propped up against the wall. As she strutted out the door, he smiled at her but she didn’t notice. There was only one thing on her mind – she needed to get home and get to work.

As far as Indian nights go, it was a beautiful night. Pleasant and not too hot – it was the kind of night that would inspire someone to take a long stroll or to picnic on the terrace with a glass of wine and a comfortable shoulder to keep one company. Yet through the darkened windows of her car, she noticed nothing but the road. Despite the consistently crazy traffic, she kept her phone close – ready to take a call at a moment’s notice. “She’s my best worker!” her boss would proudly tell his superiors, “I can count on her to do something at any time – even at 2 a.m., she can recall the stats of our current customers!” People would nod and look at her appreciatively. She was an indispensable cog in this well-oiled machine. Pride would fill her heart when she delivered something on an impossible deadline and she took great joy in saying, “That’s not a problem at all. I can get it done.”

Her hard work had paid off. Financially, she was the most stable 28-year old in her family, with a posh apartment in one of the more highly coveted residential locales in the city. She would wake up to the beautifully scenic ocean and her daily commute was an absolute joy. Her car would glide silently past restaurants and cafes, brimming with people. As the traffic inevitably slowed to a grinding halt, she would turn her attention to these spots; families enjoying a quiet dinner, couples whose hands were firmly entwined and friends who couldn’t stop giggling at the most trivial jokes. For the tiniest moment, she would feel a pang of guilt and her mind was overwhelmed with thoughts of unreturned calls and overdue visits. It was a sharp one that lingered for an unbearable few seconds.

The car behind her honked and she opened her eyes. The traffic had begun moving. She shifted into gear and her thoughts turned once more to the files in her bag. It was going to be a long night but she had work. And it had to be done.      

She awoke from a nightmare

Of shackles and prisons

Of being locked away without the chance to gaze upon

The refreshing blue of the morning sky.

The blackness of the cell

Unnatural

So unlike the freeing darkness of the night.

To hear nothing,

Not the sound of the birds

Nor the winds rushing past.

She awoke

With a sigh of relief.

As she began her day,

She told herself that she was lucky

Not to be imprisoned,

To have her freedom stolen.

Trying to lift her spirits,

She walked out with stooped shoulders

To a day she wished had ended already.

Not knowing

Not understanding

That not every prison has walls.

The Scarab

She wiped away the beads of sweat with her one free hand

The other holding on to the dredges of her past

Unwilling to let go yet it made the struggle uphill worse

Her past seemed to grow heavier with each step

With every memory trying to drag her down

Back into the abyss.

She envied the people around her as they flitted by

Their own baggage nowhere in sight

While every now and then, she spotted another kindred soul

And looking into their harried faces, she did not empathise

But felt only one thing

Disgust.

She watched the same scene unfolding in front of her

Others walked on, leaving pieces of their private wreckage behind

Their silhouettes disappearing into the horizon

She sighed, as she trudged on grimly,

Sidestepping potholes that would free her

From her arduous journey.

Hope

She opened her eyes to the little padded cell that had been her home for the past three years. A sudden wave of nausea swept through her and passed. She recalled the days when it wouldn't go. The first few days when all she could dream of was getting out of there. A distant dream… As the months dragged on, she realized that no one was coming to take her home. She was forgotten – an imperfect part that was hidden behind white walls, in shame of its ugliness.

She had lost all concept of time. The only time she got to see a clock was when she was reading in the library during the recreation hour. She only observed the day’s passing through her activities. Wake up, use the bathroom for 20 minutes, breakfast, group therapy, lunch, recreation, tea, more therapy, dinner and finally the slow march back to their cells. Their little padded prisons.

Today felt oddly different. She felt that she could walk to the door, push it open and leave. She turned her head sluggishly towards the door, looking for some sign that she could be right. It betrayed nothing. The worst thing about being imprisoned is that despite everything that happens, there is a tiny flicker of hope. All it does is open your mind to more blows and beatings and then open it a little more. It was this flicker that made her pull herself up and drag her body to the door. Her weak hands reached out to the handle and she tugged cautiously. Waiting for the click.

The door did not move.  

Inseparable

Wake up now, she said, stroking my hair, you need to wake up now. She sat next to me, her golden hair glistening in the sunlight. There was a small smile on her face as she watched me watch her. We had spoken till 5 a.m. and I didn't want to stop. It felt like letting her go but she put me to bed and whispered in my ears, I'll be here when you wake up. And she was. I had closed my eyes, feeling her cold fingers trace my hairline. With every stroke, I found myself falling in love all over again– falling asleep all over again.

The windows had been thrown open and a warm summer breeze wafted in. I felt a chill pass through my spine – it was an unnerving feeling but I didn't care. She was sitting next to me and through my heavy eyes, I perceived a translucency about her. It was unreal and magical and I didn't want the moment to end.

It was as though she had heard my thoughts. She laughed and said, This will last forever, my love. Don't you worry – you're not going to lose me. I smiled back at her and felt a wave of calmness flow over me. It was perfect. Until…

The doorbell rang shrilly and I was jolted back to an uneasy reality. She was still sitting next to me but it seemed as though a great sadness had descended upon her. Her smile was forced and lifeless and her golden locks seemed to dull. I gave her a reassuring smile but she didn't seem to notice. The doorbell rang again.

I made my way to the door and I felt a lot more aware of the house I was living in. The peeling wallpaper, the intermittent creaking and the pervading stench of alcohol had set in and the house itself had taken on a more rotten quality. Where has our magical escape gone? I wondered as I reached for the doorknob. Ray was standing on the porch, smoking a cigarette – his third going by the number of cigarette butts on the floor.

“Where have you been? I've been calling you all day and I've been standing out here for close to fifteen minutes!” he cried out, stubbing the last cigarette against the railing. “ I've been busy,” I said, brushing my hair back with my hand, “it's just a bad time now.” “Look,” he said, sympathy in his voice, “I understand that you're upset. After what you've been through, it's natural to hurt… but you have got to move on. You can't board yourself up in your house and expect her to come back to you. She's gone…” “She hasn't gone anywhere,” My voice sounded unnaturally shaky, “she's right here with me. And I'm not leaving her.” Ray sighed. “God, man! Don't you see what you've become? You have got to get out of this house. It isn't doing you any good.” I didn't reply. He sighed again and continued, “Hey, you know we're all there for you. We can help. Just call us, alright?” He turned back reluctantly to his car.

As he walked away, I wished I hadn't opened the door. I wished I hadn't spoken to him. But most of all, I wished I hadn't remembered. It was the biggest accident that the small town had seen in a while. A truck had gone off the road and rolled over two cars in the service lane. She was in one of them, driving back home early, just to surprise me. I felt a crushing pain in my chest, so excruciating that it forced me to my knees. It had been months since I had cried like that. Not since she had started coming to see me. I looked up at the landing and saw her standing there, radiant. The walls had brightened up again and the stink seemed to have been washed away. She smiled, I told you that you wouldn't lose me again. I stood up – the pain had vanished – and walked back into her arms. As I buried my face into her hair, I smiled. No more dark nights alone. No more waking up alone. Never alone again.

Breaking souls with sunshine

A new beginning

Tears down the walls

Carefully built

Well maintained.

Waves of change

Flood the corridors

Roaring.

I hide my treasures

My darkest dreams

In a little box

Black as night

Diamond encrusted.

My soul needs no sun

Not yet.

Marvin and his marvelous malfunctions

DEDICATED TO my cousins Krithika and Kavya, who have helped me move past frequent writer’s blocks.

DISCLAIMER – this story is a parody of many earlier books written about magic and magic-doers. It intends no harm or offense to the authors of such books and is for pure entertainment. This being said, if you really want to sue me, there would be no use as I am perennially broke.

***** 

Though dangerously close to crossing the line and falling into the well-known pit of clichés, our story begins thus: it seemed like the start of an extraordinarily normal day as the sun lazily stretched over the trees, spilling over the town of Scanterville. A town rather strange, one might believe after a casual stroll through the marketplace, almost always empty during Sundays. The reason for this was that Sunday was when everyone slept through the day, occasionally peeping out their windows to see if their neighbour’s pumpkins had outgrown theirs.

However, moving away from the more serious topic of pumpkins, the author was referring to the inhabitants of this quaint little town. The one thing that separated them from normal people (or rather what we would call normal) was that they relied on magic for everything they did. So, while we baked our cakes and brownies in ovens and microwaves, the people of Scanterville would mutter weird sounds and wait for the brownies to appear. Yet even with differences as vast as these, there were astounding similarities. While we ran around looking for our car keys when we were late in the morning, they would run around looking for their magical portals all the while muttering under their breath, “I could have sworn I left it near my book of curses!”

Scanterville looked exactly what a magical town should look like. Rows of jauntily built houses lined the cobbled streets. Houses shaped like hexagons, trapeziums and even amoebae were among the more normal-looking houses in the town, posed precariously on their curves. Streets were well labelled because the houses changed colour whenever they felt like and so did not make very reliable landmarks.

The mayor of this town was a certain Mr. Lingardo. He was a man of impressive stature, towering over most of the town’s inhabitants. His enemies whispered that the reason he won was his ability to persuade people to feel small and insignificant. On the contrary, the mayor was a kind-hearted man, who loved the town, kittens and romantic comedies featuring Meg Ryan. Most of the town reciprocated this warmth – the people of Scanterville had a soft spot for a well-dressed man. The mayor would never step out of his house without his pea green top hat and his well-ironed lemon yellow overcoat.

Mr. Lingardo, being a very important man, had employed a secretary to sort out his papers, make his appointments and make him his favourite cappuccino. The only difference in this employer-employee relationship was that his secretary made the mayor his favourite cappuccino only when he was in a good mood. They were actually very good friends. This secretary in question was a well-educated wizard who went by the name of Marvin. He liked to be referred to as the mayor’s Organiser as he believed the word ‘secretary’ was plain degrading.

Marvin’s story so far was a rather interesting one. As a child, he had a rather wild imagination that was only supplemented by his magical talent. His parents could not remember a single day when they had not walked into the house only to be confronted by a large talking turkey. Or something similar. Deciding to put his talent to good use, Marvin’s parents sent him off to the best magical training institute in the country. While Marvin was quite a good student, an unfortunate incident during a Potions lesson left him Befuddled. In magical terms, a Befuddled person has magical talent but finds it difficult to use it for the purpose in mind. It is rather hard to function when the spell you cast on your rose plant turns it into a Venus flytrap instead of making it bloom faster.

Cutting a long story short, Marvin tried to open a business, which failed miserably and was taken under the mayor’s wing, as he was well aware of Marvin’s wit and quick thinking. Despite his various incidents that frequently made the mail vanish, he soon built up a good reputation and people from all over the little town would consult him on many matters.

One such story took place, albeit on a Sunday, when a very distraught man sped through the streets, unkemptly dressed and hanging onto his crimson hat with one hand. The mayor’s butler found himself facing this man, who was breathless after his run. In between gasps, the man asked to see the mayor as it was a matter of utmost importance and could not be delayed. A few moments later, the man found himself seated in the mayor’s office (as I previously said, the mayor was a very generous and kind person) with a cup of tea in his hand. He explained that someone had cast a spell on his sister, which had, apart from leading her to flirt with the potted fern in their house, was making her create all sorts of havoc in their home.

“What sort of havoc?” asked Marvin, as he peeked out from under a pile of overdue parchments. The man in the crimson hat turned towards him and spluttered, “She keeps breaking things… the pots, pans, my unbreakable stone statue of Socrates… It cost a fortune and the salesman said that it was humanly impossible to break it! I just don’t know what to do…” Mr. Lingardo turned towards Marvin, an inquisitive look on his face. Pushing the parchments aside, Marvin said, “Well, it is something that is within my area of expertise but I will need your permission to spend a few days at your house to determine the nature of the spell. That will tell me exactly how to counter it.”

-       “Certainly, sir!”

-       “Please… Call me Marvin. You make me sound like a dictatorial hogglepot.”

-       “Alright, Marvin.”

-       “However, I do have two questions. Did you buy the statue within the past six months and was your television among the debris?”

-       “Yes! How could you know…?”

-       “Because the warranty for your statue lasts for six months alone. The scam was exposed a few days ago on news stations all over the country. Apparently, no one bothers reading the fine print. May I know what your name is, sir?”

The man in the crimson hat looked stunned for a few moments and then regained his composure, replying, “I’m Alvin Albright. So sorry I didn’t introduce myself earlier. I was overwhelmed.” Mr. Lingardo waved it off, saying, “Nothing to worry about. So, Marvin,” the mayor turned to his left, “how long will you need to stay at Mr. Albright’s house?” “A day or two, I suppose.” The mayor sighed and said, “Well, it looks like the butler will have to make my cappuccino temporarily. But please hurry, he adds too much sugar and it keeps me up all night.” Marvin nodded curtly. With a swift tug, he lifted his bag out of the tussle of parchments and walked out the door.

*****

 A shrill scream cut through the pleasant morning and Marvin found himself jerked out of his sleep. A crash led him to jump out of the guest bed in the Albright’s mansion and right into the nightstand that he had somehow given the gift of speech during his slumber. “Watch it, mate! The woman is running around like a wild horse already. God knows when I’m next. I’d rather not die early!!” “So sorry, sir...” mumbled an embarrassed Marvin as he valiantly tried to pull his clothes on. “Have some decency, young man!” cried out the rug, another surprise beneficiary of Marvin’s sleep talking, “ no one wants to see you half-naked.”

Another crash and shriek pulled Marvin’s attention back. He hurriedly pulled on his pants and he shoved the door open, only to drop to his knees, narrowly missing being hit by a small vase. "It seems that the potted fern was carrying on with the teapot in her absence!" yelled Mr. Albright, as he ducked to avoid being hit by another flying saucer. As a petrified Marvin tried to descend the stairs on his knees, his acrobatic feat was interrupted by a teapot that shattered on the stair below him. "Looks like the competition has been dealt with." he mumbled to himself. When he looked back at the scene unfolding in the living room, he found the potted fern crumpled next to the distraught lady. "So much for the love interest" Picking himself up, Marvin yelled out as loud as he could, "Madame! If you would be so kind as to tell me what your problem is, I could try helping you!" 

She looked around and on spotting the wizard behind the sofa, burst into tears, saucepan in her hand. "I gave him everything he asked for!" she bawled, "And what do I get in return? A broken heart while he carries on with that wh..." "Alright, I think we've heard all that we need to know - Madame, why don't you take a seat while your brother gets you a hot cup of tea?" She nodded as she absent-mindedly dabbed her face using the corner of the window drapes. "But she broke the tea..." said Mr. Albright, only to be cut off by a wildly gesticulating Marvin. After Mr. Albright had retreated to the kitchen, he proceeded to take his seat next to the distraught young lady. 

"There, there, now..." he said as he awkwardly patted her head. Ms. Albright continued to sob loudly, the saucepan lying idly on the floor. "I knew about it for a while, you know," she said, in between sniffles, "but I thought he would come back to me. I l-l-loved hi-him..." She burst into tears again. Marvin fished around in his pockets for his handkerchief and handed it to her. She blew noisily into it and Marvin made a mental note to burn it after it had been returned. "Are you feeling better now?" he inquired. Ms. Albright nodded. After a few moments of silence interrupted with a couple of sniffles, she spoke, "But why did this happen to me? I gave him love, sunshine and water and this is how he repays me?" Marvin nodded sympathetically, a blank look on his face as he stared at the bookshelf.

It was at this moment that he had a brilliant idea. He turned to the weeping woman and said, "Madam, if I may shed some light on the matter, I believe that potted ferns have always been rogues when it comes to love. In fact, their inability to keep their attention focused on one person is well known. Have you not heard the term 'a fern-like rogue'?" Ms. Albright shook her head and he continued, "Well, it's a well-used phrase in the romantic novel circuit usually describing the hero before he is changed for the better by the heroine's love. Of course, everyone knows that you can never change a fern-like rogue."

A quarter of an hour passed and Mr. Albright walked in with their tea. Still mourning the loss of half his kitchen, he was rather astonished to see his sister laughing silently as Marvin continued speaking. "After the fire-and-whipped-cream incident, the fern was then discretely disposed and the lady now lives happily with vast expanses of money and good spirit. I must say that the teapot got the worst of it in this case." She rocked to and fro, covering her mouth as she laughed silently. On noticing her brother staring at the two of them, she smiled and said, "Sit down, dear brother and wipe that look off your face. No one likes a man who insists on looking like an idiot."

*****

"It would please you to know," said the mayor, "that Mr. Albright called on me at home yesterday and spoke very highly of you. His sister has been rid of her unnatural obsession with plants and has taken up socialising once more. In fact, just yesterday Ms. Shiverham told me that Ms. Albright had the sharpest wit and tongue of all the girls at her dinner party last night. She intends on calling on her and arranging an alliance with her son." Marvin smiled and said, "I'm glad to hear that."

-       "Go on, Marvin. How did you pull it off?”

-       “It was quite simple actually. I was observing her bookcase and noticed that she was read copiously and had a taste for romantic novels. All I did was capitalize on her tastes. When she asked me where I had heard about such terms before, all I had to do was narrate one of Ms. Lingardo’s novels.”

Mayor Lingardo sighed and said, “She’s not going to like the sound of that. She doesn’t know that I’ve shown you her manuscripts. Anyway, that can be handled. So tell me, Marvin, what is it that your heart desires?”

-       "Ah, it’s nothing..."

-       "Good lord! I'm sure that there must be something you want me to do!"

-       "Well, there is one thing..."

-       "Then speak up! You’ve never been this shy around me."

Marvin looked at him hesitantly and then said, "Every time I try to make coffee, the coffee machine swears at me in the most unsavoury language. It's starting to disturb me." The mayor sighed again, "I'll find the reversal spell but till then a set of earplugs may serve you well."