The King of Exams

The CBSE Tenth Standard Board Examinations is one of the toughest and most feared examinations, undertaken by Indian students all over the world.

The conventional way of passing this examination, is by memorizing hundreds of pages of facts, applying logic, and banking on a little bit of luck.

The unconventional way of passing?.was through cheating.

For the 2008 CBSE Tenth Standard Board Examinations, held in the month of March, 20 students decided to play a game called, ?The King of Exams?. The objective was simple. Use the best means possible, in order to pass all the examinations.

This is their story?

* * * * * * * *
Peter?s Point of View (P.O.V.)
8: 00 A.M.
The hall was silent, and the atmosphere was tense. I sat on the last bench in the left row, as far away from the invigilator as possible. And from where I was sitting, I could easily see what the others were up to.

Twenty students, I thought. All going to cheat.

The bearded, rather short invigilator looked at the clock, and declared. ?Start writing.?

I took out my pen, and did as I was asked?

* * * * * * * *
Philip?s P.O.V.
8: 15 A.M.
It was just as I expected. A piece of cake. Two days before this examination (our final, Science examination), I had begun my preparation.

I took out my ink pen, and making sure the Invigilator was still gazing out the window, I opened the ink pen, and took out the chits. For the next two minutes, I quickly memorized three answers. Just as the Invigilator turned around, I placed my ink pen back into my stationary box.

This was going to be exciting, I thought, as I quickly began writing?

* * * * * * * *



7: 15 A.M.

No one had noticed the blue colored van that stopped in front of the Examination centre, every day at 7: 15. So there was no chance of anyone wondering who the 20 students inside could be. For every examination, they would enter the building, and wait till their ?boss? handed them a piece of paper.

?Remember, act properly. Best of luck!? their ?boss? would say, before walking away?

* * * * * * * *
10: 15 A.M.

For some reason, Prashanth wasn?t feeling good. Of course, he had successfully copied enough. It was a piece of cake. All he had to do was write the answers on the black board, with invisible ink. It was a good thing his father was a chemist. As he had said, ?Phenolphthalein developed by ammonia fumes and sodium carbonate? would do the trick.

After writing on the board, Prashanth, who was sitting in the first row, closest to the black board, only had to press the light button on his watch. Using his reflective stationary box, he could easily flash the florescent light from his watch, onto the board. Cheating had never seemed easier. But yet, something was troubling Prashanth?

* * * * * * * *
7: 30 A.M.

Mohan Kumar was a dedicated teacher. He came to the examination centre everyday, signed his name in the register, and received his file from the clerk. The file would give him every detail necessary to conduct his invigilation.

That day, he looked inside, and smiled. ?10 ? C, is it? A good class??

He walked in, and began invigilating. Everything went smoothly. He made sure the students signed the register paper. And he had a feeling none of them were copying. By the way, Mohan Kumar was clean shaven?.

* * * * * * * *
10: 59 A.M.

Prashanth surveyed the class. Nineteen were present. One was absent. Patrick. It was a shame, since Patrick was known as ?007? in his school. It was said that he had cheated for every exam he wrote since 5th grade.

The time was almost over. ?Please hand over your answer books, please.? Declared the bearded invigilator.

Prashanth handed over his answer book. There was a frown on his face.

He had heard that a different invigilator would be invigilating every examination. But he sure that for all the examinations, the same bearded man had been invigilating. Weird, he thought?.

Everyone else was smiling with delight. After the books were collected, the invigilator said, ?Please, do stay in this class itself. There is an important announcement to be made.?

Prashanth watched as the invigilator began counting the answer books. Surprisingly, he was reading some of the answers as well. Come to think of it, thought Prashanth, the bearded invigilator had been doing the same thing for all the examinations.

Suddenly, a pang of fear attacked Prashanth. What if the school authorities knew of his plan? He had heard of instances where special invigilators were asked to monitor some classes. What if the bearded invigilator suspected them? What if he was gathering all the evidence to catch them?
No one else knew what was going on. Prashanth began sweating?

* * * * * * * *
11: 02 A.M.

Mohan Kumar handed over the answer books to the same clerk he had collected his file from. ?You know where to place these, don?t you?? he asked.

The clerk nodded. He walked down the corridor, and paused in front of a trash bin. Making sure no one was watching, he tossed the answer books into the bin, and walked away?
* * * * * * * *
11: 03 A.M.

The bearded invigilator handed over the answer books, and then closed the door.

?May I have your attention please?? he asked. Everyone stopped talking and looked at him. There were gasps and cries of surprise, as the invigilator began removing his beard and moustache. Smiling calmly, he removed his wig as well. Finally, standing in front of the 19 students, was Patrick.

?What? Patrick?? Prashanth cried.

?Yes, it?s me. Now, I?m afraid I don?t have much time left. So I?ll explain what has been going on. Guys, I?m sorry, but I think I am the winner of this game.?

?How can you say that? You didn?t even write the examination!?

?Ah. That?s where you?re wrong. You see, I wrote the examination. All five of them. Unfortunately some of you haven?t.?

?You?re not making any sense!?

?Let me explain. In order to cheat for this examination, I devised a plan. I asked 20 Ninth grade friends of mine to help me out. For all the five examinations, they came dressed as students, with fake admit cards. Of course, we all know that they don?t check admit cards!?

?Then, I paid a clerk really well, to do something simple. He hands over the file to the invigilator who is supposed to come to this class ? 12 - B ? and makes sure they go to 10 ? C instead. It?s very easy to do that. I just needed to fake the Head of Department?s signature, and change the class from 12 ? B to 10 ? C.?

?Of course, I also needed to place a fake register paper as well. The invigilator makes sure the students admit card number matches the ones in the register paper. And of course they would match. I made them both, didn?t I??

?And then comes the easy part. I walk into this class for the examination. No supervisor bothers me, since they check with 10 ? C. Besides, any one who passes by will think I?m conducting a class test.?

?I spend three hours, assessing who?s writing the best answers. Sometimes it gets complicated, since no one?s answered the paper fully. So I try my best to make it all right, by attaching one fellow?s excellent map work, to another?s wonderful written work. I must say, it?s been easy so far. All I had to do was change the roll no. and write my own. So you see, I have written all the examinations. Well, technically, all of you have. But I will be getting the best marks. It?s been good talking to all of you, but I?m afraid my 9th grade friends are waiting for me. Bye!?

Everyone stood stunned, as Patrick walked away. Praveen suddenly lunged forward. ?Stop, you rascal. You think we?ll let you go like that??

Patrick stopped. ?Oh yes you will. After all, you wouldn?t want the authorities to see the video of all of you cheating, would you?? he said, flashing his mobile, which had been secretly placed in the hall.

The nineteen students stood dumb struck as ?The King of Exams? walked away?.

In Memory Of...

"Excuse me sir, would you like to see ..." "Madam, I am sure that you are interested in this..." "Young man, have you heard about the new..." "Young ladies, may I have the pleasure to interest you..."

Unfortunately, he didn't have the fortune. Everyone passed by him in the mall, as though he was invisible, or they were deaf. Either way, Vikram Chopra was a miserable man. With his tie strangling him, and sweat drenching his shirt, Vikram was in a desperate state.

Being the salesman of Akon furniture shop, Vikram had to sell for at least 5,000 dollars in a month. Twenty-nine days had elapsed. It was almost impossible that he could salvage his job within just one day. Throwing his tie into the bin, Vikram walked home.

In the dim light of the orange bulb, the dingy room was illuminated. There wasn't much in the house, except for a bed, a wardrobe, and a few chairs. The bed almost touched the floor, unable to bear the weight of the depressed man sitting on it. Vikram wanted to get rid of it all. He wanted to get rid of his ridiculous job, his one room apartment ... his life, too.

In his hand were a few papers all weighing heavily on his already stretched wallet. The landlord was waiting to chuck him out the next day. Besides, the electricity department would hound him, for the three months of overdues he had to pay. Life was miserable.

Vikram looked up, and saw the table in front of him. In the dim light, the faint silhouette of a bottle was visible. And with strained eyes, he saw the six letters written on it. P-O-I-S-O-N.

Something that would end it all, quickly and silently. Vikram had joked about it a month ago. With every passing day, the joke became more and more real. It seemed as though life was playing with him, toying with his mind. He was drowning in debt, and had about an ounce of self esteem left. No prospective future, no ambition.

It was horrible to see that everything that he was doing at the moment was useless. Vikram's life was almost mechanical. He spent 2/3 of his life in the mall, trying to get at least a single customer. His bank account had almost gotten depleted, since he hadn't deposited or withdrawn anything. The reason was simple: The account was empty and he was broke.

But, even when he was contemplating the thought of a possible suicide, Vikram felt a deep urge to make a statement. Something that would make him famous. Something that would find himself a place in the newspaper.

He looked up and saw the fan. No, not the tried and tested fan method. It was so dull and unexciting ... then, with a sudden jolt, Vikram got up and looked at the thing in front of him. His eyes shone as he saw his way out. Using that simple apparatus, he could make sure that he had a solution, a final solution to all problems.

The next day, everyone moved around in the mall as usual. There was a large crowd, moving around looking for something that would appease them. Slowly though, it seemed as if a large crowd was gathering. It was not apparent at first. But, at about 10.30am there was enough people surrounding the Akon furniture shop, to make the boss come out.

"What is the matter here?" he asked, secretly wondering if they wanted to pull down the shop. "Sir," asked a young lady, with tears in her eyes. "Is this poster true?"

The boss looked at the poster. "Oh yes, we got the information this morning. thought this could be the last respects..." His voice trailed away as the crowd stood motionless.

On the window was a large poster, with a large face pasted on it. Vikram's eyes peered at the mall goers, oblivious to what was going on. Under the photo was a notice:

In Memory Of...

We regret to inform you that our beloved salesman, Mr Vikram Chopra passed away due to massive heart failure. We offer our condolences to his grieving family. Akon Furniture will also be accepting donations in the form of sales, to pay for Mr Vikram's funeral. He is survived by two handicapped parents and an unmarried sister.

The notice had a magical effect on the audience. Everyone looked down, silently grieving the loss of this salesman. The boss went into his room, grumbling that he didn't get the opportunity to fire Vikram. Besides, he had tried to ask the man who called, how exactly Vikram had died. Heart failure for a young healthy man like Vikram seemed highly unlikely. Something suspicious was going on.

Not only was something suspicious going on, but also, there was something unbelievable happening in the Akon furniture shop. Two hours later, the assistant banged on the boss's door, asking him the most ridiculous question:

"What do we do when our furniture stock is over?"

The boss chided him at first, but then, dropped his jaws, literally, in shock and surprise. In front of him was the largest crowd that he had seen in his life, at least inside his shop. People were moving around, looking for small useful furniture. There was no one to tell them the price, or the quality. Instead, they took the small handmade pieces to the cashier and demanded to see the manager.

"Dear Sir," said an old lady in a croaky voice, "Please make sure that you give the commission for this furniture to Mr Vigam Chopra."

"Vikram Chopra, Ma'am?"

"Right. Give it to Mr Vigam, please."

"And, mine too," the rest of the crowd chimed in chorus. The boss looked baffled. "But, he is dead ? I mean he has passed away!"

"That doesn't mean that his family can't take his money, does it?" Someone asked. The tone of his voice was dangerous. The eyes of the crowd were bulging.

The boss meekly nodded his head, and agreed. In front of their eyes, he zipped 45 credit cards and transferred 12.5 per cent to Vikram Chopra's account.

After the crowd left, the boss sat in his chair, and said to his assistant. "Oh, during his 29 days here, he couldn't sell a single piece. Now, he just emptied the shop. It is a pity he isn't there with us today. God knows how far above he has reached?"

********

"Excuse me sir, would you like to see..." "Madam, I am sure that you are interested in this..." "Young man, have you heard about the new..." "Young ladies, may I have the pleasure to interest you?" "Young man, would like to?-"

"Hey, mister!" A teenager snapped. "Why don't you understand? We don't want to buy your furniture, we don't! I wish you would drop dead!"

The salesman smiled. Your wish just might come true. He walked into his boss's office, and said:

Sir, tomorrow is the 30th day of my job. Please, make sure that you send all the commission to my bank account!

The boss gave him a spiteful look. Rahul Varma had hardly sold a piece of furniture. "I don't think I will be sending anything to your account!"

The salesman smiled. Well, that's exactly what my previous boss said, and then I died, and he sent me 6, 991 dollars. I am sure that you'll do the same!

Vikram Chopra, the deceased salesman, also known as Rahul Varma, walked out of the mall ...

?Mohammed Musthafa Azeez, 14, Grade 9, Al Khor International School-Indian stream, Doha, Qatar

The winners of the Young Times Short Story Contest 2006 are:
I Prize ? Mohammed Musthafa Azeez, 14, Grade 9, Al Khor International School-Indian stream, Doha, Qatar
II Prize ? Roshini Srinivas, 14, Grade 9, The Asian School, Bahrain
III Prize ? Husseina Ibrahim, 16, Grade 10, Dubai Carmel School
Congratulations!!!

This is a short story that I wrote for Young Times in 2006. Dont know how, but I ended up getting first place. Please give me your sincere opinion on this, because I dont think it was prize worthy...

Heart Signed Out...

Now that I have posted short stories on this blog, I'm making a serious effort to write good stories. This one below will be the last of my mediocre stories....cheers!

The wall clock showed 2 : 15 A. M. The computer said it was only 2: 00 A.M. Either way, it was way too late for any normal 16 year old to be online.

Yet, Alex was seated in front of his laptop, sipping a cup of coffee, as he waited for a reply in his MSN Messenger.

He was chatting with a girl, about 3000 miles away from where he sat. Presently, she was hesitant, not sure she should be trusting a stranger whom she met just two weeks ago, that too, under strange circumstances. But when the time is so late, and your chatting with someone like Alex, even the most cautious of girls are caught off guard.

Within a few minutes, the girl began pouring out her heart to Alex. She told him every deep secret she had hid even from her best buddies. All Alex had to do, was coax her to carry on, and silently read all that she had to say.

About an hour later, he finally ended the chat. The girl said she was happy to have a friend like him.

Too bad she thought she was chatting with a girl from Toronto named Emily. Well, what?s in a name, thought Alex smugly.

* * * * * * *

Not many knew what Alex did after he went home from school. He had no friends to speak of, and was hardly ever spotted outside his house. Some knew he was addicted to chatting. No one knew just how he went about chatting?

Both of his parents worked very long hours, which meant there was hardly anything stopping Alex from sitting on the laptop all the time. Chatting, which had started out as a hobby, had turned into an obsession, until finally, it became a way of living for Alex.

Offline, he was a loser. A nobody who had nothing interesting to speak, nothing interesting to do, nothing interesting to show. But once he went online, he became someone else. And there was a reason for that?.

Alex realized very early on, that his online identity was not restricted to his offline personality. While he was not so good looking, possessing above average intelligence, with a huge deficit of self esteem, online, he was charming, handsome, loving, intelligent?

Soon, Alex began making fake identities. He was either a professor from Chicago, or a drug addict from Bangladesh, or an aspiring cricketer from Pakistan. It was easy. All he had to do was lie. And he was pretty good at that?

* * * * * * *

One day, everything changed for Alex. He was standing in his bus stop, waiting for his bus to arrive, when he saw a girl standing next to him. She was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. Graceful, charming, with a dazzling smile. He couldn?t stop looking at her?

He saw her for the next one month ; he saw her smile ; he saw her push back her silky brown hair. And slowly, he realized he had a crush on her.

Then, something happened which brought a U turn to Alex?s life. One evening, when he was busy chatting with a girl from Bahrain (he was in Dubai), he received a friend request. It was from shalini_93@hotmail.com.

The name was familiar. He accepted the request.

?Who are you?? he asked.

?You don?t know? I?m Shalini. I?ve seen you in the bus stop for so long!?

Alex?s heart leapt. He now knew where he had heard the name before. Shalini Mehta. The girl he couldn?t stop thinking about. Without wasting a moment, Alex began chatting?

* * * * * * *

If Alex had a lot of friends, they would surely have commented on how much Alex had changed as a person. He stopped spending most of his time online. More importantly, he stopped fooling people online. For some reason, he no longer got the pleasure from breaking innocent girls hearts. Besides, the only person he wanted to chat with, was Shalini.

She would come online every day, and chat with Alex for hours together. They would share their stories, tell each other their tastes and likings. This went on for two months, and Alex began feeling something he had never felt before.

He no longer had a crush on Shalini. He was past that stage. Now, he felt something else. Love?

Any one who knew Alex well would have understood his condition. He had spent most of his time without a friend. His days were like boring soap operas, where his only hope was that school would finish quickly. And once it did, he would quickly log online. From then onwards, till the end of the day, Alex spent his time duping people. Lying. Cheating. In between all of this, he had lost his own identity. He forgot who he really was.

Alex spent so much time lying about his upbringing and likings, that he was amazed when he chatted with Shalini. For the first time ever, he didn?t have to think on his feet. He no longer needed to lie. All he had to do?.was be himself.
?You know,? he typed, ?there is something that I have to tell you??

?What is it?? Shalini typed back.

It was late at night, and Alex was sure he wasn?t thinking straight. For some odd reason, he felt like confessing to Shalini about his deep secret. He wanted to tell her about his dirty habit of fooling people. It would make him feel better. It would make him feel as though he had redeemed himself.

?Listen, I need to go now,? Shalini said.

?Oh?okay. Bye then.?

* * * * * * *

The next day, Alex woke up with a firm thought. Today, for the first time ever, he would talk to Shalini face to face. For the past five months, he had only chatted with her, since he was too afraid to speak to her in person. But now, his fear vapourised. After all, if there was one person on earth who knew Alex properly, it was Shalini.

He waited for her in the bus stop, and the moment she arrived, he walked up to her.

?Hey, Shalini, listen, about what I wanted to tell you yesterday??

?Excuse me? Do I know you?? she asked, looking bewildered.

Alex felt surprised. He knew Shalini was a little playful. But asking such a question in a bus stop, when there were adults around, would put him in a tricky position. He decided to get serious.

?Quit playing, Shalini. Now, I want to confess something to you. Or else I wont be able to be friends with you anymore.?

?Hey, listen, I don?t even know you. Why the hell are you talking to me like this??

Alex was stunned. ?But we just chatted last night-?

?Chatted? Chatted where? I don?t even have an email id. How the hell could I have chatted with you??

* * * * * * *

Alex stared at his Messenger Contact List. The email address shalini_93@hotmail.com was no longer there.

He had confronted the person, whoever he or she was. Asked if she was Shalini. The truth was bitter.

Alex had always wondered how his ?victims? ? the endless list of online friends ? would have felt when they realized they were duped. Now he knew?

He had loved one girl. Chatted with her for 5 months. Poured out his heart to her. Only to realize that he was cheated by an online identity.

Table of Contents

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A Train Ride

It was seven o? clock in the morning. There was a light shower, which seemed to cleanse Dallas Railway Station, leaving the passengers feeling fresh.

Near the platform, in a local pharmacy, a young teenager was looking at a bottle, which he was clutching. The lad seemed to be about to make a crucial decision. After looking at the bottle for a while, he finally paid the shopkeeper. He quietly slipped the bottle into his knapsack just as a train was floating into the station.

The passengers clamored to get into the train, and the youngster managed to wriggle his way into an empty compartment. He threw his knapsack on a seat and sat next to the window. He was staring out of the window, when the compartment door opened and a man along with his son, got in. The youngster eyed the man with suspicion. The newcomer was rather short, looking typical in plain shirt and pants, stroking his beard with delight. His son was about 6 or 7 years, the youngster judged, and seemed rather a bit old to be playing with toy cars.

The train began to move out of the station and it was a full minute before the man began the conversation. ?What?s your good name, my son?? he asked.

?Norman? the youngster answered coldly.

?I am Ahmed, and this, is my very own Ali!? Ahmed beamed with happiness and pride. Norman looked at the boy and then stared out of the window. He wasn?t in the mood for conversation.

Norman was a rather unusual boy. He was never moody and quite like this before. But all of a sudden, he was lost in thought, contemplating something.

Ahmed restarted the conversation ?You know Ali is now in 2nd standard. Yes, he passed the 1st standard. How much did you get Ali?? Ali stopped playing for a moment and answered, ?I got 58%?.

?Yes, 58%! The teachers were very proud of him. He did much better than they expected!?.

Norman, who was trying to keep the conversation at a minimum, couldn?t help but wonder why Ahmed was so delighted. According to him, 58% was horrible for a 1st grader, even by a failure?s standards.

?I?m sorry, but didn?t you say that Ali was in 2nd standard??

The smile on Ahmed?s face vanished. He looked sad and depressed all of a sudden. ?Ali, could you go out and play with your new friend, Vickie? I am sure that his mother will allow you two to play,? he asked. Ali stopped playing and said proudly, ?Vickie is my new best friend!? There was an innocent gleam in his eyes.
?Well, you must be wondering why I am on cloud nine when Ali passed 1st grade. To explain the reason, I have to give you a bit of history. You see, seven years ago, Ali?s mother gave birth to him. But, something went wrong in the delivery room, and the doctor told me that some severe damage had been done to Ali?s brains. According to him, this would severely impair his I.Q. Well, at that time, that wasn?t the worst thing. My wife, Fatima, died during the delivery. I never clearly understood the reason why.

It was the greatest tragedy of my life. My wife had passed away, and my son was retarded. For a while, I was too shocked to do anything. Then, God Almighty blessed me with courage and faith. I raised him, and enrolled him in the local nursery. It was tough to teach him. He understood things four times slower than others did. When he reached 1st grade, it was horrible. He spent the whole day at school, and the whole night at home, studying. I would sit and teach him, while his friends would enjoy cricket outside.? Ahmed?s voice began to quaver. ?I remember a time when I was teaching him the alphabets. It was 10 in the night, and I fell asleep on the table. The next day, I heard him say the alphabets perfectly. He had spent the whole night, learning just 26 alphabets?without sleep?I?I...? Suddenly, Ahmed?s eyes swelled with tears, and he was no more able to control the tears. He burst out crying. ?He, he could not understand what his teachers were saying. Yet he spent six hours every day, studying without an ounce of entertainment. He never grudged it, nor did he complain. He only studied and said his prayers. For him, school was the only thing in life. Poor Soul!?

Norman looked dazed as he stared out of the window. He couldn?t think of anything to Ahmed, nothing to console him about. Norman felt lost in his emotions.

??. (Sob)? (Sob)?you know, sometimes I think that Ali is blessed. Whenever I read the news or see the papers?.I really feel that Ali is lucky!? Ahmed said.

Norman could not understand what Mubarak was saying all of a sudden. ?What do you mean sir?? he asked respectfully.

?Oh, I?ll tell you. Don?t you read the papers? How many children are wasting their lives because of their exam results? Suicides committed in the millions due to 3-hour exams. Souls are wasted! And when I read all this, I feel that Ali is blessed. Do you know why? Because God was kind enough to make him a retard. I tell you that was God?s way of protecting Ali from committing suicide. Every time I see Ali puzzling over something, I praise God for not allowing my only son to tie ropes and buy poisons. He is truly blessed.

Norman was quite and tears were streaming down his face. He quickly wiped them and stood up. It was his stop. He grabbed his bag, and after saying a quick word of farewell to the weeping Ahmed, walked out of the train station. Just as he was getting down, he saw Ali playing with Vickie. Ali was trying to fit three pieces of a simple jigsaw puzzle together. Something that Vickie had completed ages ago, and was now looking bored. But Ali was stumbling over what to do. He repeatedly tried to fit the three pieces together.

?He will never stop,? Norman thought, ?He will keep at it till he gets it!?

Norman came out of the station and was standing near the road. The train hadn?t started moving yet. He put his hand into his knapsack and pulled out a bottle. Without even having a second thought, he tossed it into the drains nearby.

As he walked, a paper fluttered out of his knapsack. Anyone passing nearby would have managed to see it. On it was written:

Name: Norman Mueller
Marks (total): 162.5
Remarks: FAILED, NOT PROMOTED.

In the drains, the bottle lay, pushed forward by gushing water. On its label was the title: POTASSIUM CYNADIE
POISON FOR ELEPHANTS
DO NOT TOUCH
FATAL IF CONSUMED
Then lastly, it was written: FROM WALTERS PHARMACY, NOT FOR HUMAN CONSUMPTION, WILL RESULT IN DEATH!

Norman was now walking with a reassuring smile. He no longer had that plan in mind. He was thankful that he had met his angel.

In the train station, just as the bottle of poison was broken open by the gushing water, and all its contents destroyed, the train began to pick speed. Inside the train, Ahmed was smiling with joy as he saw the last glimpses of a troubled soul, walking with a knapsack. And besides him, was an angel. Ali had finally managed to put the three pieces together.

There was a triumphant smile on his face!

The Airport Story

This story is very dear to me, since this was the first story of mine that was ever published (in a regional magazine called Young Times). The reason I'm called a budding author today, is because of this story. Not great in literary merit, I agree, but irreplaceable in emotional value. Let me know what you think about it....

?Excuse me sir. Would you like anything to drink?? asked the airhostess. I was sleeping and in a sleepy mood shook my head to indicate no. However, the man who was sitting next to me asked for the orange juice. I turned my head a little to see who it was, but the whole airplane was dark. Every one was sleeping, except for us. I was flying from Paris to Los Angeles. It was a seven-hour journey with two stops, one at Amsterdam (half an hour) and another one at New York (Three Hours). The man started talking to me. Although I pretended to be asleep, I soon found out that the man was keen on talking. ?Cant he go and talk to the air hostess?? I thought. Nevertheless, I listened. The conversation quickly became about Baseball. Although I was a businessperson, I had a liking for The NEW York Yankees. The man asked me who would win in the match between New York Yankees and Boston Red Socks. I told him that for sure New York Yankees would win. He started to dispute that, and within minutes asked if I dared to bet.

Although I was offended, I betted him, 50 dollars. He raised it to 100. I then went to sleep. The man, however, got up and walked towards the toilet?

Half an hour later, the man and I ate our dinner. While eating, I was wondering about the baseball match when the man again engaged me in conversation. ?Now, what bet does he want? I thought, slightly annoyed. He talked about the market condition and finally ended by saying that the Day would end with the NASDAQ losing 6 percent. I could not resist challenging him. I told him that due to Hurricane Katrina, NASDAQ would go down by 10 percent. ?Any common man would know that? I thought. The man challenged me and once again, I bet 200 dollars that NASDAQ would go down by 10 percent.

I put on my headphone and waited for the in-flight movie to start. The man got up moved towards the toilet. ?The fellow has grown attached to the toilet,? I thought. For the next two hours, I did not see the man. After the movie finished, he came back. I was bewildered and asked him if he had spent two hours in the toilet. He laughed and said ?No, of course not. I just talked to a few of my friends who are on this flight. I asked if I should exchange my seat for his friend?s (so that the fellow would leave me in peace) but before long, the conversation was about Movies. ?You know, Brad Pitt must be sad that he hasn?t got a movie to act in? he said. I sensed another bet coming up, and after informing him that Brad Pitt had not one, but three movies in the making, boldly said that I would challenge him 300 dollars for a bet. He agreed, and I felt mischievously happy. I had a friend who had a friend whose cousin was the Agent of Brad Pitt, and he assured me that Pitt was working on three movies.

I felt that I needed a few hundred dollars from this fellow and happily listened to some music. The man however, went to talk to some of his friends.

Soon, the plane landed in Amsterdam, and the man came back from his chatting, looking excited. When I asked what he was so excited about, he said that the latest addition of TIME, WALL STREET JOURNAL, and SPORT STAR was to be gotten from Amsterdam. He went up to the front of the plane and took the magazines and came back (he had by now made it a habit to walk around the plane as though it was his own house)

He opened SPORT STAR, and I lost 100 dollars. The New York Yankees had lost, the magazine said, badly. Then he opened WALL STREET JOURNAL and again I was surprised to know that NASDAQ had only gone down by 5 percent. Grudgingly I flung the 200 dollars at him. Then he opened TIME magazine, and I was so surprised that I let out a gasp. Brad Pitt had not gotten any part in a movie. Still shocked, I took out the last few dollars from my wallet and handed it to the man. He happily put it into his pocket and got up. For the next hour, I bitterly cursed my luck. ?Why did every thing happen to me?? I thought. I had lost 600 dollars.

When the plane was about to land at New York (Where every one would have to go to the Transit section to wait for the next flight) the man came back. I was bewildered when I saw him counting hundreds of dollars. I tried to ask him where he had gotten it from, but he merely smiled.

The plane landed, and the man raced to be the first to reach the airport.

I was walking towards the Transit area when I noticed a few magazines. Suddenly I stopped. Something had just caught my eye. I quickly grabbed TIME, WALL STREET JOURNAL, and SPORT STAR and did not pay (I did not have any cash with me). I quickly read the main news: INTERVIEW WITH THE YANKEES, WINNERS OF THE 2005 BASEBALL CHAMPIONSHIP, ECONOMY UPSET AS NASDAQ FALLS 20 PERCENT, BRAD ENJOYS THREE MOVIES.

I could not understand what was going on. The magazine, which the man had, said that none of these were true (and as a result, I had to pay 600 dollars). I quickly walked towards the transit area to find the man.

After searching the transit area, I still could not find the man. I asked an airhostess if she had seen him. She replied that the man had left the airport. I then asked if there were any more magazines of TIME, WALL STREET JOURNAL, and SPORT STAR in the airplane. The airhostess looked surprised and said, ?We only have the old issues of these magazines. Our planes don?t stock them when we are on a transit flight sir?

I sat down on a chair in the transit area. My head was about to burst. I did not know what was going on. The Yankees had won, NASDAQ had gone down (not that he was happy about it) and Pitt had gotten three roles. Then why did the magazines in the flight write false news? In addition, there actually were not any magazines in the flight (except for the old ones) that could only mean one thing?

My thoughts were interrupted. Men were fighting. Some were saying, ?Yankees won? while others argued ?Boston?s won?. As I had a reputation for solving problems, I asked them what the matter was. One of them said, ?Look, a guy asked us if we wanted to bet who would win the Yankee-Socks match. We betted and the guy took down our names-??How many were there?? I asked, not feeling easy. ?Well, about twelve. The guy took the betting from almost every one in the plane. About hundred of them? I was shocked. ?Well then, the guy brought magazines and proved to us that Yankees lost, and collected money. Lots of money. But we find out that the Yankees did win-?the man was interrupted by another man who said,? No the Boston?s won? and so the fight started again. I interrupted them and said,? You are not going to like it, but that guy cheated you. The magazine he showed you was a fake. He made duplicate copies of the magazines, and then betted. And how much did he get?? A man said,? He took about hundred from each of us?

That night, as I lay in my bed in my apartment in Los Angeles, I thought over all that had happened. The man (whose name I do not know) had cheated every one of 100 dollars. It all added up. He never introduced himself, and got away with Ten thousand dollars. Ten thousand dollars. The flight only cost 5000 dollars... The man must make a couple of hundreds every month.?

I remembered that I had not informed any one about this cheat. Not even the Airport Police or my friends. My worry changed into joy as I thought, ?The man took 600 dollars from. Let him take 600 dollars from another man.? With that happy thought, I went to sleep.

Brain Box

A completely cheesy story, that was written to feel like a Stephen King story, but ended up feeling like it does now - like a B Grade horror flick. Anyways, failure is the stepping stone to success...

?Well, Joseph Blake was executed yesterday, wasn?t he?? I said, looking at the newspaper in front of me. I was hoping someone would talk to me. ?I wonder whether he deserved it? ?Of courser, he deserved it!? said a man. I looked at the man who had just spoken. He was tall and lean, and had a thick beard. He wore a thin round specs and a long white coat.

?Oh, really, and why is that?? I asked. The reason that I wanted to know was because I was a reporter and was covering the story. William Blake was a serial killer who had killed thirteen people. He was finally caught and executed.

?So, tell me your opinion, Mr.?? I asked. ?Dr., Dr. Andrew.? The man said.

* * * * * * * *

A month passed by. I and Dr. Andrews became close friends, and one night, I was talking him in his house. It was quite late. ?So, Andy (that was his nick name), what do you think would be the right punishment for a person like Joseph Blake.? I asked. For you see, Andy was of the opinion that Joseph Blake?s execution was too soft and that it wasn?t good enough.

Andy didn?t reply and just stared at me. ?Andy? Is anything the matter?? I asked. Again, he didn?t reply. He seemed to be thinking of something. A minute passed by and then, he sprung up from his chair, and grabbed my hand. ?Come with me? he said and ran up the stairs. ?Where are you going?? I asked. ?Come to my study? he said. ?The study?? Andy never showed me his study before. He had said something about it being ?personal?.

As I stood near the study door, he took out a key and opened it. Inside, it was quiet dark, and warm. He motioned me to sit in a chair, and moved towards a cupboard. Once again, he took out a key and opened it. I couldn?t see what he was looking at, but a moment later, he put a black device on the table next to me. The device looked very strange. It seemed to be made of an extremely thick metal, and had slits all over it.

Without looking at me, Andy sat in a chair next to me, and fell silent. He seemed to be thinking something. ?Andy? What?s the matter? You seem troubled? I asked. Andy looked at me, still lost in thoughts. Then he said, ?You remember the time when you asked me what the right punishment for Blake would have been?? ?How wouldn?t I?? I asked, a bit surprised, ?I asked you just a few minutes ago!?

?Yes, yes I know. Now, Ahmed (that was my name- Ahmed Yusuf) listen to me very carefully. I asked myself the same question, about six years ago. At that time, if you remember correctly, a man nicknamed Doctor Death was being sentenced to death for killing about a hundred people wasn?t he?? I shuddered as I thought about the fact. ?Yes, I remember? I said. Doctor Death had poisoned his patients.

?Well, at that time, I talked to many of Doctor Death?s patients, just before they passed away, and I asked them what pained them the most. They all told me the same thing!? Andy?s voice was now shrill and excited. I leaned forward. ?They told me that the pain was excruciating, that it was beyond their tolerance. Many died just of the pain! Ahmed, this set me thinking. Doctor Death had killed so many poor souls, and he was being punished by the death penalty. But think about it. In the electric chair, you only feel pain for half a minute, right?? ?Well, I wouldn?t know, since I have never been in one? I said, but Andy didn?t laugh at my joke. Instead, he became more serious and continued, ?In fact, Doctor Death didn?t feel a fraction of the pain that his victims felt.?

?So what are you driving at?? I asked, half angry about him not laughing at my joke, and half annoyed about his lecturing. ?Are you saying that we should torture murderers?? Andy shook his head. ?No, there was something more that the patients told me. They told me that the emotional sadness that they felt was equally bad. They told me that they were depressed, mentally and physically.?

?So you?re going to torture the culprits mentally too, is that it?? I asked, in a mock voice. To my surprise, Andy laughed. He stood up and began walking around the room. ?Ahmed,? he said, slowly. ?Let me tell you something. The brain controls every action that we take. Every feeling that we feel too. The brain lets us feel pain, joy, sadness, and so on.? I nodded my head. I knew all this primary stuff.

?Now, Ahmed, there is a portion of the brain, located in the cerebrum, which controls emotions. It is called hypothalamus. This organ-tissues-what ever you call it, controls every single one of our emotions, understand? Which means that if the hypothalamus was removed, we wouldn?t cry, laugh, be afraid, or do any other behaviors.? His voice became sharp. ?It also means that if the hypothalamus was tampered with, we would feel emotions that weren?t real!?

I was beginning to realize where this was going. ?So,? I said, trying to frame my question properly, ?you are saying that if the hypo- whatever, was tampered with, we would laugh even if nothing funny was going on-? ?Yes, and we would cry even if nothing sad was going on, we would feel pain, even if nothing painful was going on!? Andy said.

I fell silent for a while. ?Andy,? I asked in a small, frightened voice, ?are you going to make people feel artificial pain??

He sprung from his chair, his eyes gleaming with greed, his mouth twitching with joy. ?YES!? he yelled, his voice a changed one. ?Yes, I am going where one man has gone before. Don?t you see, Ahmed,? he asked, shaking me. ?Don?t you see? Using my instrument, we will be able to punish criminals, murderers?every one who does wrong!?

I stared at the metallic black box, wondering whether it was his ?instrument?. He picked it up (I moved away) and began walking around the room. ?Ahmed, every emotion that we feel is due to nerve impulses that are sent to the brain, you know that right? Well, these nerve impulses may send signals of pain, laughter, sadness, joy, any thing in the world. Now, these nerve impulses are essentially electrical impulses. Now, listen carefully! The types of electrical impulses that are sent to the brain are not all the same. They are varied. The impulses sent to the hypothalamus are electromagnetic!? He looked at me triumphantly. I didn?t understand the greatness of this information and asked Andy to explain. ?Electromagnetic impulses in the brain are similar to the electromagnetic impulses that electronic equipments send out. Now, put one and one together Ahmed!?

I looked at my friend, horrified! Was he implying that?? ?Ahmed, this box, which I call the brain box, is made up of special components- solenoids, copper, alnico?- which can be used not only to send out electrical impulses, but to control it as well! Meaning that if the brain box was connected to someone?s brain, I would be able to-? but he broke off, his expression changing. ?You know what? I think I?ll-? Again he broke off the sentence.

The man was crazy, I thought. I didn?t understand his idea. Using the brain box, we could effectively make a man feel all the basic emotions. But how? Would it work? I knew that Andy was strongly against those who did crime. But was his hatred so great that he would create an instrument to punish them?

And besides, I had a nagging feeling that I should tell him something. Well, it would have to wait now.

Andy picked up a phone and dialed a number. ?Who are you calling?? I asked. He didn?t reply. Instead, he spoke in a frenzied voice to whoever was on the other end of the line.

He put down the phone, and before I could ask, commanded, ?Go down and wait near the front door. A man will arrive soon. Collect whatever he gives you?.

I didn?t know what Andy was planning to do. But whatever it was, it wouldn?t be good?

A few minutes later, I returned with a cute little monkey. A man from the zoo had given it to me. Upon seeing the animal, Andy yelled, ?Strap it in the chair!? That was when my eyes fell on the metallic chair. I felt a wave of horror sweep me.

?Are you-? I asked, feeling horrible, but Andy cut in, ?Yes? .His voice was cold and rude. I put the cute, little monkey in the chair. Feeling disheartened, I only strapped his chest to the chair.

?Finished? Good. Now come here? he said. It was more of a command than a request. Before I moved away from the chair, I put a banana next to the monkey. ?What is it?? I asked, feeling angry. ?Look here,? he said, pointing to a small monitor, which was connected to the metal box. I stared at the monitor, while he strapped a metal cap on top of the monkey. ?Andy, what are you going to do?? I asked, feeling worried. Without replying to my question, he looked at the monitor. ?Look!? he squealed. Lines were forming on the monitor, lines that form on an equalizer when sound is produced. ?You know what this is? (Without waiting for my reply, he continued) The metal cap scans the brain for electrical impulses. Now, monkeys have similar brain structure to ours, and I think our experiment will work.?

Work? Was he going to create artificial emotions for the monkey? He was mad! ?Look!? Andy squealed again, pointing at the monitor. Now red lines were forming over the already visible blue lines. ?Andy, what are these lines actually?? I asked. Every thing was now a complete mess. I couldn?t understand anything. ?The blue lines are electrical impulses in the cerebrum. They show how much emotions the monkey is having right now. See this,? Andy said, and waved his hand at the monkey. The monkey moved back a bit, in fright, and I could see the blue lines changing formation. ?Amazing? I said. ?Then what are the red lines, Andy?? ?The red lines are the formation of electrical impulses that I am now going to create. Wave like formations show that happy emotions will be created.?

Andy moved towards the brain box, and turned a knob, labeled A. The red lines on the monitor changed formation. I looked at the monkey, prepared for the worst. Surprisingly, it began to laugh, and show its teeth. It stood up in the chair, and caught the banana; seeing it make sounds made me happy. Then, suddenly, Andy turned another knob, and the red lines formed a low line formation. The monkey?s happy expression vanished, and instead, it just sat in the chair, looking depressed. ?What did you do?? I asked Andy, feeling angry. To my resentment, he smiled, in the most devilish way! ?This, Ahmed, is what I have been working for. To see the culprits feel the same sadness that their victims felt. Don?t you see, by just turning this B knob a little, I can make people commit suicide. I can make they feel the real sadness.? There was menace, and devilish joy in his voice. ?But what about-? I was about to ask, when suddenly, the monkey?s face became pale. The veins in his arms bulged outwards, and his eyes became bloodshot red. It moved its head from side to side. ?What are you doing?? I screamed. Andy smiled, ?This is Pain. Pain that is delivered right to the brain. Pain that cannot be resisted. This, my friend, is how criminals will be punished!?

It was horrible. I saw the monkey?s face change. It tried to get loose, but the chain bound his to the chair. It grasped the banana, and began squashing it. And then? the ear piercing cry. The monkey was in pain! Its eyes shed tears, and in its animal voice, it tried to beg for mercy. I looked at Andy. My friend had transformed into an animal! He sat there, looking at the monkey, devoid of all emotions. ?Andy?? I called out, with tear in my eyes. The metal chair began to rock, the animal tried to escape? Then, there was a deathly silence. The animal stopped screaming. I looked at the chair. There was a deep silence. Then, Andy got up, and said, in the quietest voice, ?It?s dead?

* * * * * * * *

For the next 12 months, I did not see Andy. He was in his laboratory, working on that thing of his. I felt anger at him. Deep resentment. I had a nagging feeling that I should tell him something. Well, forget it, I thought. I wasn?t going to tell him anything. I wasn?t going to talk to him. Then, one day, the chief Prison warden of the state prison called me up and asked if I could come. He didn?t tell why. When I reached the prison, I saw a large crowd, gathered around a glass chamber. Inside, sitting in the metallic chairs, were six men. The warden came up to me and explained. These six men were murderers that had been caught six months ago. They were awarded the death penalty. Now, they faced the brain box. ?The brain box?? I asked, looking startled. ?Yes, don?t you know? Your friend, Dr. Andrews is doing it.? Then he pointed towards another smaller chamber. Inside I saw the man I used to call my friend. And next to him? was the brain box. ?Sir,? I said, panicked, ?You cannot do this. Stop the execution. You don?t know what will-? ?Yes, I do.? The warden said.

Then, as I stared at the six men, he explained, again, that the governor had authorized the execution after witnessing a trial test. Six metal caps were fitted on the heads, as I looked at the young men, I somehow felt sorry for them. Somehow?

When Andy turned Knob B, I left the building. As I unlocked my car in the parking lot, I heard the ear piercing screams?and then?the deathly silence?

* * * * * * * *

Three months later, I went to the local police station to file a complaint against vandalism. To my surprise, I saw Andy there. A man called out to me. ?You must be Ahmed. Hello, I am detective Stiller. Please, could I have a few minutes of yours?? I nodded my head and followed him to the interrogation room. ?I was planning on calling you. Please take a seat.? Said Stiller. I took a seat far from Andy. He looked, (to my astonishment) devastated. ?Ahmed,? said Stiller, handing me a folder. ?Inside the folder you will find the report of the 6 gang case. Have a look? I read the folder. It was about the six men that had been executed three months ago. ?I already know this,? I said. I had written a report on the gang. ?Yes, I know. Now comes the part that you don?t. These six men are innocent.? ?What!? I cried. ?Yes, all six of them. We mistook them for another gang. The night the murders took place; these lads were at the wrong place at the wrong time. They are just farm boys.?

I stared at Andy. So that was why he was looking so sad. ?So, the execution-? I asked. Just then, Andy burst into tears. Stiller left the room. Unconsciously I moved towards Andy, and patted him. I was consoling my friend. ?It?s all right, it?s all right,? I said. ?It?s not all right. These- these? Andy said, in between sobs, ?These lads worked for their parents. Do you- do you?-? He voice broke down. I looked at the folder. There was a picture of the six men and their parents. Both of the parents wore black glasses and had a walking stick. They were blind? ?What kind of a beast am I?? Andy cried. I consoled him. My head was filled with that piercing screams? of loving sons.

Now, I could no longer ignore the nagging feeling that I should tell him something. I said to Andy, ?Andy, I tried to tell you something, but I pushed it away. Now, listen to me. God Almighty will punish the wrong doers in the hereafter. They will rot in Hell fire. We are not the ones who decide the right punishments for the wrongdoers. How many times could we have incinerated Hitler for incinerating 6 million people? Only once. And we wont know who are innocent and who are guilty, will we?? Andy looked at me, his tears drying up. ?You?re right, Ahmed. I was foolish. Men cannot decide the right punishment for men. God will see to that. Ahmed, Let?s go home.?

A few days later, the mayor called the two of us. ?We will need the Brain Box for another execution,? he said. Andy smiled. Just then, there was a loud sound. ?What was that!?? the mayor asked. ?Why don?t you find out?? I asked, smiling. The mayor sent one of the assistants to find out what had happened. ?No, sir. We cannot give the Brain Box. You see, it?s a long story? said Andy, and with that, the two of us left, leaving the Mayor baffled. A few minutes later, the assistant rushed back into the office. ?Sir,? he said, ?we found the men?s restroom blown up. And in one of the dustbins, was a black, metal box, blown out of shape. I wonder what that device was?...?