Wednesday, September 28, 2005

The Madman

He was running wildly and faster than the Ram's dog. The dog gave up after some time. He tripped over the milkman's cycle and limped for a while giving the dog some hope, but Raghav picked up his pace and ran.
"She wrote to me! She wrote to me!", he shrieked in an abrading voice.
"What's this new madness?" asked Shalini raising her head from her evening sweeping chores.
"The same thing, I think. But why is he running? He usually stays put outside the post office, right?" asked her neighbour.
Raghav kept running oblivious to his undone dhoti wafting towards his past which barked, albeit unheard, at him.
"So that girl finally wrote to him!", Rajayya said, while cleaning his blades for the next hirsute customer, and shook his now balding head with a smile.
"Who did?" asked the well lathered face sitting beside him.
Rajayya turned to look at the fleeting feet chasing the virgin letter which the related hand held.
"Someone he loves", he said and turned to continue the story, for a story eases the most disgusting task of shaving a pimpled face, but his voice was drowned in the sharp screeching hoot of an approaching train. He instinctively turned around and cut his thumb.
The village madman ran no more...


  1. Good one. I feel sad for Raghav :(

  2. :-) writing

    :-( Raghav

    Good ending :-)

    on a scale of 10; 9

  3. Dear W,
    :-) Glad you liked it... Think of the woman he loved who finally wrote to him. The letter wasn't even opened! :-(

    Dear L,
    Thanks for the rating... :-)

  4. Bravo! I really liked this one, especially the picture of a quintessential village saloon (probably open air?) and the small conversations between the barber and the customer... The story ran in front of my eyes like a movie reel...

  5. Dear M,
    Yes, yes, yes! Open air indeed!! Did you also see the tree under which they were sitting? And the rail crossing? The mud paths? Yes... This is it! :-) Thanks... thank you so much....

  6. three more near blind days before i can get my glasses ...

    Tooth is fine - rather the hole which once housed a tooth is filling up naturally ...

    Here's a lil bit more about me - I never trusted my eyes, I never trusted my ears, Never trusted how rough or how smooth another person or thing felt ... I always went by a combination of all my senses. I learnt to read between the lines, hear the unsaid and feel the non existant - Psycho ...??? LOL that's your perception. But I think one cannot see all, hear all, feel all ... one's got to make the best of the little one knows.

    that's in defense of giving a good review for a good piece of writing after having read it with eyes paining with strain ....

    O i do that always - reading when i should and shouldn't :-)

    By the way, finally wrote up a long piece too - unfortunately was interupted and became moody ... am not moody now ... no use worrying ...

  7. Ok, finished up what i wanted to write ... look it up when u get time and forgive the font change and color change - i have no idea what i did and now my eye hurts a lil too much for me to correct it !

  8. "Someone he loves" How true and specially the line "Fleeting feet chasing the virgin letter which the related hand held" But His legs could never make it to his hands,his heart could never feel the words and his eyes could never read them.Why is he called MADMAN? I dont feel so..He chased his dreams? or waited them to be fulfilled...Is that madness?

  9. Hi L,
    No I do not think you are a Psycho (well, if you got in the shower and shrieked, I might! ;-). I read your post. Completely. It was too personal for me to comment on it... I saw on your blog a "adapted from Eroteme's comment". When did I say something like that!!?? :-o

    Hi A,
    I don't know whether you noticed that the barber says "loves" and not "loved". :-) I am glad you found that line interesting. It was my favourite along with another one... Why is he called a madman? Well, every lover is a madman. Everyone who is dearly passionate about something or someone is a madman. In a society which can only accept those who walk the trodden path, every footstep on the dusty shunpike belongs to a madman... :-)