Monday, 30 May 2011


The hero yawned loud enough to produce a rattle in the dingy confines of the roadside cafeteria. He could swear he had almost drowned out the relentless cackle on his walkie-talkie. It was someone from the control room, asking him if he was on his way to the spot. He replied in the affirmative, just like he had been doing since the past 30 minutes or so. Deciding that he’d had enough of the reminders, he reluctantly dropped his now-empty cutting chai and crushed his cigarette butt next to the ashtray. He picked up his hat, and walked towards his bike like a bored zombie. Five lazy minutes later, he managed to get his vehicle in motion.

“Why can’t Superman do everything?”, he muttered to himself.

A few minutes down and the hero had reached the west end of the bridge. There were people screaming and peering over the side of the bridge, peering into the lake below. The man who had reportedly been standing on the edge of the long steel structure and threatening to jump into the lake below was nowhere in sight. “Must’ve jumped already”, the hero thought to himself.

And then he saw the other hero. He was dressed just like him. In his mind, he thanked the stars. This was exactly what he'd been hoping for.

Both gave each other a knowing stare, which wasn't exactly friendly. They walked slowly towards each other, one step followed by the other, in a manner befitting a Hollywood Western showdown. Oblivious to the jeering crowds and the searing heat, they walked till they reached the centre of the bridge, marked by a thick red line. Then, almost in synchronised harmony, they peered down the side of the bridge at the spot where the man had apparently jumped. The hero crossed his fingers and waited patiently. The other man dressed like him did exactly the same.

Two hours later, the body emerged, bloated at the midriff and its skin a ghostly white. But the hero was least concerned about the loss of life - he had more or less prepared his mind for a casualty. He simply wanted to make sure it didn't get any worse.

He looked at the body and compared its position to the red line on the bridge. After satisfying himself that the body was floating at a spot comfortably beyond his side of the thick red line, he pumped his fist in the air and let out a winning war cry of sorts.

The hero had cheated misfortune yet again.

“Sorry, your jurisdiction”, he said loudly to the other man dressed just like him, as we walked towards his bike emphatically.

Drumrolls....Yet again, Superman Khakhi-Man had saved the his precious day.

Trust the average Indian cop to pass the buck every time there’s a job on hand. Hell, why just cops?



Monday, 16 May 2011


Scripted In Sanity has completed 4 years! Never thought it'd make it this far and don't know how far I can take it from here.