It is a cold, dreary evening. I had tried to get a flight ticket to Denver but all the airlines were booked out. After all it was Christmas season.
I had been on the road for over 40 hours now.

No, I did not pull over at any motel for a  short nap.

The only break that I remember was the one when I was asked to pull over by a  country Sherriff. I was charged with over-speeding. I tried to reason with him and explain him of my plight. I had to be in Denver by the evening. The girl whom I had loved for the past 15 years was getting married on the 25th of December.
I had to tell her. I had to let her know, just in case…

He smiled and issued me a ticket! That loathsome, f***ing bas*rd!

"Come on! Come on!" I urge myself. I had to be there before dawn break. Although I  encountered heavy traffic in a few places, I didn’t slow down. Instead I chose to break all the possible rules that I could. It had to be done. I had to reach Denver soon or it would  be all over.

I drift off to sleep for a brief while and jolt back into consciousness; narrowly missing the freeway divider. The darkening sky is calm and grandiose. It soothes my senses. The last glimpses of the crimson sun sinking below the horizon, beyond the Rocky mountains, quickly reminds me that my life will be no more if I do not confess my love to Shelly. I speed on.

Ah! There’s the St. Paul’s Cathedral. I recognize it even though my GPRS has it on the other side of the road. Couple of miles north lies my destination. Will she come out if I call her? How will she reach when I confess my love to her? All this, and many more questions play peek-a-boo in my mind.

I can see her house now. I think it has been freshly painted for the wedding. I speed on crazily. I want to reach there as soon as I can.

The car comes to a screeching halt! Had I hit her? Shelly’s best friend! I think I have coz the thud that it produced when I hit her still reverberates in my ears. I am shaking and sweating. My shirt clings to my chest like anaconda to its prey making it difficult for me to breathe.

I get out of the car. I see her motionless body - white as snow, with a few streaks of red. Her skull is fractured and body badly mangled. I kneel over her hoping against hope to breathe life back into her.
All of a sudden she jumps at me biting my hand and bludgeoning my face from all sides.

I awaken, shaking, sweating and screaming in the wee hours of the morning. To be precise it is 02:10 am again. My breath comes in short, sharp, frightened inhalations of terror.

"That darn cat!" I shout as I throw my pillow towards her.

Cheers,
Rosh

Dear friends.

Hope that you all enjoyed a wonderful Christmas.
May the joy and cheer of the season fill our hearts with utmost joy.

Wishing you all, and you loved ones, a wonderful New Year  in advance.

Cheers,
Rosh

"Good Morning Dear"
"What’s there for breakfast today?"
"You"

I smiled.
She had been the same for the past 55 years.
Yes. Age had finally caught up with her and she had wrinkles on her face.
Yet as I lay on the hospital bed, with an oxygen tube in my nose, I could see the angel I had married to. She was my guardian angel - gentle, supportive, caring and beautiful.
She was and is and ever shall be my love - More beautiful than a display of thousands of twinkling stars or a garland of well cut diamonds.

I held her hand in mine once again as breathed my last.

———————————————————————————————-

Cheers,
Rosh

Christmas is a wonderful season; A season to be happy because Our Saviour was born on Christmas Day. Here’s one more Christmas song composed by me.

That cold Christmas night
When the stars shone bright
God came to the earth,
in a manger born.

O that lovely morn!
That ever-blessed dawn.
All darkness gone
When our Lord was born. - (Repeat stanza)

Angels sang that night
While shepherds watched in fright
"Peace on the earth,
‘Coz the Lord is born"

O that lovely morn!
That ever-blessed dawn.
All darkness gone
When our Lord was born. - (Repeat stanza)

Cheers,
Rosh

Here’s a short Christmas song thats composed by me.

Sing, Sing, Sing; Hallelujah! -(3)
Praise be to Lord, Our King!

Worship, Worship, Worship, Lord we worship you. -(3)
Your word shall lead my way.

Christmas, Christmas, Christmas; Wonderful season -(3)
Our Lord was born this day!

Happy, Happy, Happy; Happy we all are! - (3)
Our Christmas wishes to you.

Cheers,
Rosh

Inspired by Psalm 91

Since I dwell, since I dwell
In the shelter of the Most High
No harm shall come to me.

He’s my refuge, my refuge
My strength and my fortress
My God, in whom I trust.

        I shall sing, I shall sing
        Of the blessing of my Lord
        My heart rejoices in glee.

He’ll save me, he’ll save me
From the fowler’s snare
His love shall be my shield

Every day, every night
When I pray to the Most High
My Lord does answer me.

        I shall sing, I shall sing
        Of the blessing of my Lord
        My heart rejoices in glee.

P.S> Everyone appreciated the skit ‘The Reason for the Season‘ performed by our Church’s Sunday School children. I shall post the pics sometime later.

Cheers,
Rosh

I could see the captain, vice-captain and few senior members of the team have an animated discussion. I knew what their concern was - ‘Who should bowl the penultimate over?’
Sachin was as keen as ever. Munaf had four overs pending, Zak had one and Yuvi and Sehwag had plenty.
Munaf had gone for thrashing that day. His first spell read 3 overs, 48 runs, no wicket.
He had fared marginally in his second spell of 3 overs where he yielded just 43 runs - not bad considering the way Yuvi’s mediocre left arm spin was treated.
The Lankans scored 27 runs in the sole over sent down by him. He would have definitely thanked his stars that the Mascarenas episode had not repeated itself.
The Lankans were brutal, but it did not hurt the way it did when Mascarenas had tonked him repeatedly out of the park.

After posting a huge score of 281 on a difficult track, we were certain to win. But the whole complexion of the match had changed when Sanath decided to switch gears.
2 overs to go. We needed 1 wicket to win. Lankans required 41 more runs to win. Difficult equation but not impossible! One had seen Sanath accomplish even difficult tasks.

I was surprised when the captain beckoned me.
I sprinted over to the meeting place. Captain Dhoni, known to trust his instincts more than anything else, smiled as he handed over the ball to me.
"You have been our best bowler today! Same waise hi daal!"(Eng translation: Bowl in the same manner)
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing!
I was just a rookie, directly flown in to replace the injured Harbhajan Singh. I agree I had played a handful of Ranji matches. But, nothing did prepare me for what I was going to do.
I was going to bowl the penultimate over of the finals of the Champions Trophy. I felt good that my captain had so much faith in my abilities.

The crowd encouraged me and cheered me on but I felt nervous and fearful, like one of those gladiators, egged on by an anxious crowd, who had been pushed into an arena to fight with lions.
Everybody seemed to agree, I was the right choice. The gentle breeze had started picking up speed.

Placing the field for my last over for the game was excruciatingly slow. I wanted to be sure that I had the field of my choice.
I walk slowly to the umpire and hand him my RayBan sunglasses. I did not ever appreciate the sight of spinners bowling with their sunglasses on. And that is why I disliked the mercurial Mark Waugh.
I practice my run-up once more. My run-up is quite simple. It is a cross-breed of Warne’s and Rajesh Chauhan’s.

The first bowl that I bowl to Sanath, I come around the wicket. I pitch the ball on a good length which enables Sanath to get under the ball and heave it over long on. It’s a massive six.
"Come on! Come on!" Dhoni shouts from behind the stumps.

The ball comes back to me. I say a silent prayer before starting my run up. I decide to bowl a googly. No Sanath would be waiting for that! Let me bowl my stock ball - the leg break again.
I manage to pitch the ball in the same spot as I had done the previous ball.
Did I see Sanath smile as he thumped the ball further in the crowd? Am I losing my mind?

Dhoni rushes to me and pats me on my back. Bowl the googly, he advices me.
I return to my mark. I have a look at the field placing once more. I bowl a beautiful googly. Pitches on the middle stump and spins away sharply from the burly left-hander.
He swings wildly at it. He misses it completely, and so does Dhoni.
I am still in the state of shock as I see the ball race forward to the boundary ropes.

Umpire signals 4 runs. I run over to him trying to explain that it has missed everything. The umpire just smiles. I just stare at him in disbelief as I tug on my locks.

Slowly I walk back. I want the humiliation to be over soon. I am unable to focus. I feel that everything is going against me.
As I run up to bowl the fourth deliver of my over, I see Sanath changing his stance. I now knew what Styris would have felt when he saw Pieterson do that.
I was shocked. So shocked, that instead of pulling up, I bowl him a slow full toss which is disdainfully dispatched over my head for a maximum.
Sanath oozed of belligerence, the quality that made him successful. I am not ashamed to say that I was intimidated.

I can see now that Dhoni is fidgety. Maybe he is ruing his decision to make me bowl.
Sachin, at long off, is chewing his nails.

I wait for a moment before I deliver my fifth ball of the over. I bowl a flipper. I got the line all right but the length is way too short. Sanath rocks on his back foot and pulls it over long on. I stare at the ball as it sails over the newly built stands.
It is a maximum by a big margin. Sanath walks down the pitch as we wait for the fourth umpire to bring the replacement balls.
Dhoni agrees on the replacement ball.

My sixth ball almost yorks Sanath as he tries to get under it once more. Did I hear right? I turn to see the umpire extend his arm to signal a no ball.
Sanath runs hard. But Murali is a little slow of his blocks. They attempt a third run on the throw. Munaf, not the best fielder in the team, throws the balls toward me. Sanath is easily in. I attempt to run out Murali. Dhoni springs forward to collect my throw. The wind is stronger now and Dhoni’s cap flies off, distracting him for a moment.
The ball bounces off Dhoni’s pads and rolls towards the cap.
The umpire signals penaly five runs.

My sixth ball is not over yet and I have already conceded 9 runs of it. The equation now reads - 1.1 overs to go and 4 runs to win for the Lankans. Murali is at the strike.
The impatient crowd has begun to throw bottles on the ground. They expect Murali to finish it off in this over itself.

As I walk back for the final time to my mark, all of a sudden the stadium lights blink and die leaving the field in pitch darkness. It’s not even a full moon night.
The umpires consult for some time and walk back.

It seems there has been a major power overload and all the bulbs on the stadium have burnt out. There is no was that the authorities can rectify the problem now.
Duckworth-Lewis results are out. India win by a run.
Dhoni pumps his fist in the air. All the team mates run up to him to congratulate him on the finals win.

As I walk back dejected, I feel a friendly arm on my shoulders.
"Thanks mate! At last you have relieved me of my burden. Now nobody will remember the Mascarenas Massacre! “, smiled Yuvraj.
I punched him in the face and watched his nose bleed.

We don’t talk anymore.

And yes. I forgot to mention. I have switched over to Golf.

Cheers,
Rosh

I suddenly wake up in the middle of the night. Bad dream, I suppose. I rub my eyes. Selma is not on the bed.
"Must have gone to the kitchen to drink water. How many times have I told her to fill a jug and keep it next to the bed before sleeping? She doesn’t listen" I remind myself. I decide to wait for her to come back before I go back to do, what I love to do at night - Sleep.

That is when I see him. I am startled and I jump to my feet. I see his gun.
Am I dreaming? Probably not as I can feel my sweat trickle down from my armpits down to my love handle that I always wanted to get rid off.
I grab the night lamp hold it as if it were a meat cleaver.

A cold bloody voice asks me my name. I tremble with fear not just for me but for Selma’s safety. Where was she? My trousers are wet. Sweat, blood, piss - I do not know what caused it.

"Rashid" I reply as if in a trance.

"Don’t be afraid, Rashid! Your wife is safe, I promise" he remarks.

Selma and I have been married for fourteen long months. I was ecstatic when she told me about our baby seven months back. As soon as I had heard the good news, I had christened him ‘Imran’. I knew that it could only be a boy. It was a family tradition, you see.

"Take all the money that we have but please do not hurt my wife." I beg of him.
"I am not here for the money" he barks. "She will remain safe as long as you comply with my orders."

He hands me his backpack.
"I want you to put this on." he said. "Drive to the parliament house. Once you are at the gates, just pull the trigger. Are you scared?” He laughed but then in a serious tone he added – “I shall be watching you mister. One wrong move and your wife is history."

He walks over and switches on the television. There is news playing about some terror attacks.
He moves closer to me and pats my shoulder. "I assure you that you will feel no pain."
It is only when the room is lit by the television light, that I see his face. He seems normal but there is hatred in his eyes.

“Brother, the police are everywhere. They have located us.” shouts another armed man as he enters the room. “What do we do?”

“Hold the police back till I prepare Mr. Rashid for his task.” The first intruder shouts back.

All of a sudden there is a flash of a bright glow of yellow accompanied by a loud bang. I feel pain as a big shard of glass razes against my forearm as I attempt to cover my face.

And then there is another bang. My body is numb as my mind grows blank.

———————————–***————————————–

I never wanted to do this but I had no choice. Lot of innocent lives had been lost.

As I clip the silencer to my gun, I notice her beautiful face. She is fair and has beautiful ruby red lips – dashing but not ridiculous! She is a dream that any man would love to cherish but this is not the time to think over trivial matters. She is not the one I am looking for.
I smile at her.
"It is all for a just cause. My God will forgive me for this" I remind myself.
She falls in a heap, her hands still clutching her stomach. I watch her jerk a couple of times before I move into the master bedroom. I might have startled him.

He is quick to his feet, but I can see him trembling. Probably, he has noticed my gun. The moment I lay my eyes on him, I know he is a perfect specimen – Tall, handsome, upper middle class.
Perfect!

I can see fear in his eyes.

"I want you to run an errand for me. If you do it without asking any questions, I promise your wife will be safe" I lie. The mention of his wife seems to have quadrupled his fear.

"Please don’t hurt my wife!" he whined like a dog.
I relish the moment of power. I feel like God; with the power to give and take life at will.

"I want you to go to the Parliament gates and blow yourself up. Can you do it? Or should I ask Will you do it?" I laughed at my own joke. During my school days, I always used to mess up my essays with the improper usages of Can, Will, or May.

He showed no other expression but fear.

I hand him the backpack. "Put this on. Just pull his trigger when you are at the gates."

"Come on! There is no time! Put the damn backpack on. Trust me. You will not feel anything. One bang and it will be over" I urge him as we were running short of time.

"I will come to know if you have succeeded in your mission" I add as I switch on the television.
My country is still burning. Terrorists had attacked yet again.
The fire brigade is trying to douse the fire. I wish them success, but I know that nothing could put out the fire raging within me.

A loud bang! And it was indeed over.