Hart was a loner by day and alone by night. he nearly always kept to himself. Never ventured to share his pains with another. Never tried to make friends. But was careful not to loose the ones he had. His only companion were his books. He read like he breathed. He ploughed through books all day with spy and war novels and rocked himself to sleep with old classics. His only other passion was his ride. A rugged monolith of a bike that was the apple of his eye.

Being the loner he was, he had a 'spot' that he felt was his. It was a lonely shade under a lonely tree in the middle of what can be described in ease as 'no where'. He felt the spot. He felt himself in this spot. This where he escaped from the rustic life of his. This is where he consoled himself for all the mistakes. This is where he did it all, collect and arrange his thoughts. But he liked best to read under the shade of this tree, with the breeze helping him turn his pages. The scent the breeze carried from the surrounding wilderness was a song of its own. He nearly forgot himself in his spot, lying on his bike, feet dangling carelessly over the back and his head rested fimly between the bars in front.

He loved being lonley here. He never feared solitude and appriciated it for its uniqueness. His friends always made fun of his habits. they never knew where he went or what he did. They knew it had to do something with his bike and his nauseating number of books. He never cared, for he was a loner. He frequented this place a lot. Atleast one every 3 days. Most days with his books and if he ran out of books, he came there to doze on his bike.

This was just like any other day. he was dozing on his bike, having just finished his second book fr that week. He felt a prickling feeling down his spine. Like someone was watching him. He turned around and through the bushes noticed saw the breeze blow a flock of dark hair into his sight. It was followed by a pleasent pink skirt that flowed with the breeze till it got tangled in the bushes. Unable to tolerate something so elegant get caught in the bushes, he involuntarily reched out from where he was, hoping he could relieve the flowing dress. He then noticed the prettiest pair of pale brown eyes accetuated by the best pair of eyebrows. They, along with the tear drop shaped mouth, made her face look like the prettiest thing he ever saw.

She saw that he noticed her presence and came towards him. "I've seen you here a lot", she sang melodiously. "Ya. This is MY spot", he retorted, not meaning to hurt her. She turned and tried to flee, just as he responded with "Sorry, but I did not expect you here. I am Hart". "Lavender", she sang back, thrustng her fragile palm towards his. "You read a lot", she said rhetorically and tried to catch the name of the book he was using to shield the stray ray of sun that was disturbing his slumber. "Battle Cry by Leon Uris", he said anyway and showed her the book. "Its the best I've read so far. Its about a .........".

Thus it all started. Hart and Vee, as he called her, met whenever he rode there. Howmuch ever he tried, she would not come back to the city with him. He would read to her from his most recent books. They would listen to songs together. As the the days ran into weeks, the found each others company more pleasurable. He never bothered to ask her why she came to that lonely spot. He was merely thankful. It did not take him long to realize he was missing her more than ever. When he had the guts to, and because he was never used to confiding in others, he confronted her with his feelings and asked if she felt it too. "Do you think I would come out into the jungle if I did not?", she responded, elating his thumping heart. "I am taking you to dinner with me today". It was not a suggestion. She firmly declined and elegantly sidestepped any reasons that might have roused suspicion.

Now that he did not have to take his friends into confidence, he told them about her and how they met, slyly missing out on the major details, like how long they were in the dark. He was the happiest man. Vee, the happiest man's girl. He needed to celebrate. He rode his bike, humming the tunes of his favorite songs and drumming his fingers on the trottle in beat. He decided on a cold coffee wishing he could have brought her. If only he had been a little more stubborn. He ordered the costliest drink there and had it topped with all the toppings available, it was his first time there. "Make it sweet as hell", the waiter smiled at the statement. He smiled through the entire coffee and tipped the waiter heavily. Just before he left, he overheard a mischievously sweet voice of a girl talking to an entire bunch of giggling girls. "And every other day I make him read out from his book and he reads to me like he is an enthusiastic four year old who's just learned to read!!!!". The cackle that followed sure drowned the splicing sound that his heart made when it tore.

this is just a story...i kindly ask everyone to please not draw any conclusions...i was just bored when i wrote this...i know the bike and the solitude are catchy phrases all pointing in my direction...but you should know better...



They had to part. It was unforeseen, but they decided it was best for the future. Neither of them liked the thought of parting each other. He did not know how long it was going to be before he saw her again. It hurt him to think about it.

They decided on the time. Both of them were hurt pretty bad and were sure they would not see each other part. He had his friend for support, she only had him. The thought tore his heart right out. He had to decide fast. The best thing to do was to have her moved to some place safe where she can lay back and relax, recover and get back to him, rejuvenated.

He missed the mornings when they spent atleast 15 minutes in getting each other going for the day. He missed the way she was stubborn in letting him leave and how she made him want to take her to work, keep her by him all day long.

She knew she was the love of his life and made sure she kept her toe within the line in flirting with his short fuse on his rage. And he was thankful for this. They both tried each others patience, but love doing so.

He would take her out, wherever he went. She knew all his friends and loved the way he was possessive of her when they were around. He was keen in sensing her "ikki" feeling, around some of his friends and he made sure they never to set eyes on her.

He protected her, though she was pretty tough on her own. He defended her when others made fun of the two of them. Everyone said they were not made for each other. He did not care, but made sure she knew he thought they were wrong.

Life was pretty lively and active untill that dreadful day. He still remembers all the details. Every minute that passed that day and how they felt like an hour. How his decision to let her go for just that day had brought them to this juncture. How he felt he was only helping her, but got her in this state.

She, on the other hand, was anxious that he not blame himself for their state. She suggested a break from their tightly twisted lives, to breathe, to recuperate.

He blamed himself, not for them being in this state, but for making the fateful decision to part for a rest. It was for her good, he re-assured his now completely broken heart. He set her up at an all-expences-paid recoup centre. He did not tell her whre she was going. It took some planning and some string-pulling to get her a spot in the centre.

His work had been so demanding all the week that he did not have any time to pine. He only missed the times they had together in the morning and the evening.

The week ended, it was saturday. The day they would forget themselves and just wander around. He still did not completely fell her absense. He was however, torn up with the misery he caused her, later that very day.

After nearly a week's seperation, the first sign of life from her. She had sent him her bill. It ran to Rs. 5186/-. He sent across a cheque, happy he was goning to see her soon enough, fresh, completely renewed and fitted with


He cant wait to see her again and he cant wait to reaquaint with the renewed half of his heart.



I went back to work on the 10th, right after my little fiasco. I was too damn bored at home for my own good. Work is dull with all the global recession and people resorting to stimulate the economy for growth and stuff. My project, being under the direct supervision of the president of the company, is always hot and ready to dish. I work 12 to 13 hours a day, non-stop (I don't even have time to pee).

But that's me. And this is my project. Mine is not the only project in my company.

One of the other teams has 3 people. One designer, one program man and a team leader. This is the team that is the envy of every other team in the module. Not coz its got one person over the usual number or coz the leader is the most experienced of us all. But more coz there are 3 people tending to one non-existent product. They waltz in at 8.35 in the morning. Leave for lunch 2 minutes before the siren goes (I've never seen the canteen at 12.30. I am the one who breezes in at 12.50 and leaves at 1). They leave the company premises at 5 (save one, who tends to stay back till around 6. Hold on...He isn't around working...He's just here to workout...Company GYM). They spend their time doing everything one has to do at work. They dedicate a major chunk of their time to wish everyone in the morning. The rest of their scarce time is eaten away by mid-morning coffee, post-coffee chat, mid-afternoon tea and post-tea chat. Oh...They also sit in front of their monitors refreshing their mailboxes in hopes of finding another "This is my last day at work..." mail.

Recently, I was so amazed at how much spare time they had apart from their usually tight schedule (refer above paragraph for 'usually tight schedule') , that I was sorry for them. They did not know what to do. With the recent advent of a couple of orders from strange corners, most of the module was either busy, or was detached as part of a value-engineering program. They were out of people to nag to death with useless jargon. Man, a real plight indeed.

Time was, however, on their side. Within an eye's blink, the fourteenth of February was here. The day people were dying to see. It did not occur to me , why, they were unusually early for work today. I did not realize it was valentines day (my girl friend failed to remind me through the course of our hour long tirade). They looked like they had a mission. I was happy for them. I thought they finally had an order to work towards. My happiness was as short lived as a rat's fart. Their wait and patience, I realized moments later, was for the arrival of our GM. It wasn't 2 seconds after he had arrived, when one of them, beating the others to it, reached him, shook his hand and in the cutest way I've ever seen, handed him a Valentine's day gift, wrapped in pink.

I wasn't sure who was more embarrassed, me or my GM.



She was late to start from her home. She left only at 7.15.

She usually wakes up by 5.30 in the morning, when I lay oblivious to the hair raising siren my phone emits for an alarm. She was tired the previous night after a delay at the ice cream parlor. She slept 25 minutes later than she normally does. This is why she had to wake up with a start at 6.15, 45 minutes later than usual.

Her father, who usually wakes up at 4.30 for his usual morning walk for paper and milk, was not around the house when she was frustrated with herself. If he had been back, 10 minuets earlier, he would not have been held up in the bathroom, tending to his morning dooties and would definitely have woken her up, at least 10 minutes earlier.

They normally buy the milk that's got 2.5% fat. Today, however, they were forced to buy the one with 5% fat. This delayed the boiling time by 5 minuted than what it normally is. Her breakfast had to wait as she was habitual of drinking her milk before she touched a morsel of food in the morning.

The father, being late as he was, sat down with the morning paper, forgetting the bread that was toasting on the grill. It was too late when he realized that the smell was not of his daughter's usual cologne.

Her breakfast had to wait as he milk was late by 5 minuets. Now that her bread was ruined, she was delayed by another 5 minutes.

She throttled her bike with all he might to make up for the last time. Her effective speed with her daily duties had only delayed her 15 minutes from her usual start for work.

Her friend had, the previous day, a flat tire and could not ride to work and requested her to pick her up as well. She obliged as they lived just a few blocks from each other.

As they zoomed together on the bike, down the deserted main road, they realized that the signal that usually did not work, started functioning. They were inching closer to their dead line for time.

The blazed through the signal, not minding the steady whistle from the cop who was never there usually. They braked to see what the problem was about. Another 5 minute delay.

They realized the main road was not their way to go and turned into one of the less conspicuous side roads that ran parallel to the main road.

The obvious shrink in the size of the road did not stop them form hitting what can only be described as BREAK NECK SPEED.

Leave out all the reasons above, if only I had not done 60 km/h (or was it mph) on my bike, I would not have been sitting at home on a working day, with cops ramming my door and the bleeding slit on my back ruining the pleasure of seating my swollen legs (that's where my bike landed on the road when the, then late, girls crashed into my bike).

P.S.: The word LATE does not mean the girls are dead and the post is no way a representative of what acually happed at the scene of their crime.