Superstar: Horn OK Please
Read Superstar: Horn OK Please Online
Authors: Kartik Iyengar
Superstar
Horn OK Please
Kartik Iyengar
Edited by Devyani Kalvit
www.hopfans.com
Copyright © 2014 by Kartik Iyengar.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher, addressed “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at the address below.
Kartik Iyengar
www.hopfans.com
Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental. The collaborators hold the moral right for their contribution.
Superstar – Horn OK Please/ Kartik Iyengar. -- 1st ed.
ISBN : 978-0-9963777-0-6
Contents
To you, dear reader, thank you for downloading ‘Superstar’. I promise you a fantastic read.
If you like it, I’d be grateful if you could spread the word about it
-
Kartik Iyengar
www.hopfans.com
***
Roses are red and violets are blue,
Love’s all around, but true love happens to a chosen few;
Just when the world seems dark and things fall apart,
Love walks in through the door; it takes control of your heart;
She feels she has it all, but she’s sadly mistaken,
The emptiness tears her apart; it leaves her broken;
Yet her heart yearns for her one true love,
She waits for him, heaven sent from above;
Her loveless heart is a lonely road,
Sadness tears her soul; a painful heart’s about to explode;
Yet she waits with patience though it seems like forever,
She cries tears of blood as she longs to see her lover;
She won’t die loveless; she knows love is on the way,
She hates the pain and fear; she waits for him everyday;
With a smile on her lips, laughter is a pack of lies,
Deep inside she knows; he shall come before she dies;
She is the angel of despair; she is the Mistress of Doom,
She’s the dark mother of fear; she is the Princess of Gloom;
But if smiles and imagination makes you say ‘Cheese’
Drive on, that’s the spirit of Horn OK Please…
***
Hell’s Bells:
‘My feet would race against my thoughts and drag me to her abode, a place where even my own shadow made my heart beat faster. This continued day in and day out, until that day. And then, we were no longer strangers. The barrier had been broken and I got to know a person who was so full of life, so full of energy. It was a shame that she had to die…’
My name is Chief and I am the narrator of this strange, dark tale.
I had spent weeks at an old cemetery tucked in the midst of dense coffee plantations. It was a place of the living-dead. The huge, wrought iron gates of the cemetery were always locked. Nobody was ever allowed to disturb the ones who had been sleeping for years, or maybe I thought so.
That’s where I met her. Night after night, she would come and visit me in my dreams. Her exit was marked by the cacophony of windowpanes banging against the brick walls of my room. The sound of the howling wind would wake me up and I shivered, till I would just give up and drive back to the cemetery.
When I’d be sure nobody was watching me, I surreptitiously climbed the high gates of the cemetery and make my way to her grave. Strangely, it was always cold and dark inside. With every single step that I took to get closer to her grave, a strange sense of warmth and calmness embraced me. But I knew there was nothing to fear.
I knew her as a very beautiful and desirable woman when she was alive. Now she was dead, but not gone. She could still be seen as a nebulous white apparition floating around her grave.
I’d make myself comfortable by the foot of her grave. With a gentle flutter of her angel wings, she would settle down beside me and tell her story in a lilting voice. She wanted me to spread her message, ’Life is precious. Don’t waste it. Always stay happy and spread the cheer…’
And then, one night, she flew away heavenwards and I watched her leave...
This book is dedicated to the spirit of Jenny D’Silva - a beautiful, young woman who yearned for true love, but just when she found it, it was time for her to go. So read on, dear reader, pay attention, for this is the story straight from her grave. Do not be the judge as you read her epitaph.
“God took you from me, 'twas his will;
But Ah! The gift is with me still;
He cannot take the good you wrought,
The spell you wore, the light you brought;
Though from my presence you have passed,
They will be with me till the last…
RIP, O’ beautiful angel, wherever you are
You shall always be my Superstar…"
***
The D’Silva Estate:
Nestled amidst misty mountains and grassy green woods in South India, the sprawling estate boasted of plantations, a 9-hole golf course, canals overflowing with fecund water and just about everything that would make one call the place a ‘Paradise’. Unbeknownst to many, it was the Promised Land, away from the civilization, for seekers of peace and tranquility.
The D’Silvas owned a beautiful post-colonial mansion that they had converted to a homestay. Acres of well-managed tea and coffee plantations embellished the place. Needless to say, it was beautiful, majestic and seemed very inviting. We had decided to spend a month of our free time at the D’Silva mansion.
We did not know until then that we had made a mistake by choosing it as our next destination…
Tibetan Settlement Camp, Choglamsar, Ladakh:
It was a bright sunny morning and there was a flutter of activities at the Tibetan Children’s Village in Choglamsar. The teachers were busy helping the children make cards for it was Father’s day!
The table was adorned with papers of all the colors and shapes. Crayons, color pencils and oil pastels seemed to have got a life of their own. Their tiny fingers would say ‘X marks the spot’ and the colors would paint their imagination.
Lobsang was helping the tiny tots cut out sheets and neatly fold them into cards. The impish children watched her gleefully, as they waited patiently for her to hand them their cards on which they were supposed to stick sparklers using the glue-stick.
Lobsang was a young woman in her early twenties. She had studied at the Tibeten Children’s Village as a student. As time passed by, her affection for the Village grew day by day and culminated in her decision to become a teacher. Her education had been paid for by the D’Silva family who were supposedly very wealthy. Every year, she would look forward to meet Jenny D’Silva, her God-friend, who would come down to Ladakh just to spend time with her during her summer vacation. Lobsang always felt protective about Jenny. She was probably the only friend Jenny ever had. They were worlds apart yet over the years, they became an integral part of each other’s world.
“Wait, children! There’s no rush. You need to be patient till I give you the cards. Now hold on to that glue-stick, make sure you don’t waste too much, OK?” Lobsang couldn’t help but smile at the shooting excitement present in the boisterous children.
The phone in the Staff Room was ringing constantly with some parent or the other wanting to speak to their child.
“What about you, teacher? Aren’t you making a card for your father?” asked a five-year old student innocently. Lobsang's eyes went moist at the mere mention of her parents.
“Don’t you have one? Super women don’t have fathers?” with one of her typical knee-jerk reactions, the student looked straight into Lobsang’s eyes.
“I do, you naughty child! I have a father who loves me dearly. He now lives in heaven along with my mother. I’m glad you reminded me, I need to go to my room and quickly get some stuff and you can help me make a card for him. Will you, little one?” said Lobsang, getting up quickly before the children could sense her sadness.
Rushing out, Lobsang walked briskly towards the Dean’s office. The Dean was out of town and she knew she would get her privacy in his room. Once she made it to the empty room, she bolted it from inside and broke down. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she remembered her father. How she wished he were alive then.
A simple and a hard working farmer who could scarcely make both ends meet for his family, Tenzing, as he was known, lived in Tibet. A friend, a mentor and a father, all rolled into one, he loved his daughter with all his heart.
When Lobsang turned nine, Tenzing decided to send her to India along with his wife to start a new life. He said that he would not be able to join them for he had to take care of his aged parents who wouldn't be able to make the torturous journey. He'd told her to be brave and make her family proud.
After Tibet had come under Chinese rule in 1950, things had completely changed for the natives. Their simple life of spiritual pursuit and prayers had been destroyed when many monks were killed or put into prison camps. It was the time when thousands of refugees fled Tibet and sought asylum in India.
Tenzing had spent many months preparing his little girl and her mother for an arduous journey across the treacherous terrains of the Himalayas to India, where he hoped they would have a chance to lead a good life. He had warned them about getting frostbite or going snow-blind if they were ill prepared. There were crevices that would eat them up, one mistake and they would be pushing up daisies. They had to bite the bullet and cross over stealthily to avoid being seen by the prying eyes of the soldiers.
He'd told them many horror stories of their people being caught by the border police and being beaten mercilessly before being thrown into prison. Freedom was only for the brave and a chosen few. Her mother had told her that death was far better than falling into the hands of soldiers as they would torture her and beat her to death.
She was scared and had refused to leave her father behind. He'd soothed her by telling her how brave she was and how she was the Superstar of their family. He had painted a beautiful picture of her future life in India. He had narrated stories about the snake charmers and the saints. He had told about the rich cultural diversity in India.
Amidst the mélange of emotions, time flew at a furious pace and the day of bidding goodbyes finally arrived. It was a sunny morning. The gentle breeze of home caressed Lobsang’s face for one last time. It was on Father's Day that they left the snowcapped mountains of her country. It had been their country; their home for many generations. It was a pity that she had to flee from her own home.
Lobsang had hugged her father for a long time, refusing to let go of him before she started marching towards her future. She never looked back after that. Her mother had packed provisions in a bag that comprised roasted barley flour, a dish called 'Tsampa'. She'd said that it would give them the energy to cross over to freedom.
Her father had got in touch with an agent from Lhasa, who had organized a group for the escape. Her father had sold practically all his lands to fund the journey for them. For that sum, a tourist guide would take his family across Nepal and then reach McLeodganj in India where they would be able to start a new life.
The adventurous journey for the little girl began on the dark night when Lobsang and her mother were joined by others in a group of 20. Lobsang felt scared as they left the country and trudged across endless mountains and valleys chanting holy prayers. Devoid of sleep, the group walked, rode in trucks among cattle or sought shelter in caves when they heard the sound of troops approaching.
The fear of being caught by the soldiers had made them spend many nights holed up in caves. It was a tiring, merciless journey. When she would be on the verge of passing out, she would be helped in time by her mother, who herself was on the verge of exhaustion. It was their determination and courage that took them through across the border.
It was a fateful night near the Nangpa La Pass when the group was spotted by the troops on patrol. The soldiers had opened fire at them as they tried to flee. Lobsang's mother had clothed her hand tight and tried to run very fast.
She saw other group members fall to the Chinese bullets as she slipped and fell into a crevice along with her daughter. It was about 30 feet in depth. The silence of Lobsang’s fall was broken by the soft crush of her mother's body. She had landed on her mother, who had taken the fall and died instantaneously.
She couldn’t recollect how long she spent inside the crevice but she clearly remembered that something strange happened that night. Numb and wounded, Lobsang had cried herself to sleep on her mother’s lifeless body inside the crevice.
She woke up only when she realized that her face was being licked by a huge, scary beast of a wolf. Coming to her senses and too tired to offer any resistance, she opened her eyes to look straight into the eyes of the strange beast. She could smell the stench of death around her. The wolf stopped licking Lobsang’s face when she awoke. Her blood froze in horror. She wondered if she were dead and this were hell.
The eyes of the beast had been flaming, dark red and its presence made the dark cave seem darker than death itself. She could feel the presence of pure evil in the beast. She continued to stare into the beast’s eyes, wide-eyed with fear.
Lobsang felt a strange sensation in her head and chest as though the soul of the beast had entered her nine-year old body and was setting her ablaze from the inside. She continued to stare at it, too afraid to move, as the evil beast seemed to take over her soul.
She screamed a silent scream before she passed out.
The Indian troops had found her wandering alone near the border, dressed in tatters. She had been rescued by the border police and brought to McLeodganj, where she found herself in a warm bed. She’d slept for over three days in the refugee camp in India.
Waking up had not been good for she soon learnt that her mother had died along with the others in the group. She was the lone surviving member in the group.
She’d managed to stay alive in the cold for days before being rescued and brought to camp. The doctors at the Tibetan settlement in Dharamsala had called her a
‘Superstar’
for it was nothing short of a miracle that she was still alive and kicking. She was a medical wonder.
However, Lobsang didn’t tell anyone about what had happened in the crevice that night. The nine-year old was special. She’d learnt about it when she turned 13. It was her best-kept secret.
She’d soon gotten to know about her father’s death as well from a refugee who made it to Ladakh after her. The elderly person had told her that the soldiers had killed her father and her Grand-parents when they learnt that Tenzing had sent his daughter and wife to India.
It was only when she turned 15 did Lobsang realize that the evil beast had bestowed some kind of a strange power in her. It had also given her a purpose. Strange visions haunted Lobsang every night.
Everyday, she would wake up in the dead of night and find herself covered in a pool of cold sweat, shuddering at the sight of her room on fire. The beast would command her to protect Jenny always till she was ready. Beast or no beast, Lobsang would do that anyways for Jenny’s parents had sponsored Lobsang’s education and ensured her future was well taken care of. That made them her God-parents.
