neelwrites/smokedout!/sixsentencestories/shortstory/inspectorsharmacrimeseries/285words/17/02/2018

SHORT STORY/FICTION

SMOKED OUT

By Neel Anil Panicker

Holy smoke! One look at the woman seated opposite him and Inspector Sharma felt a stirring in his loins even as a slow bulge began to build up under his pants.

 

Thick lustrous auburn hair pulled straight back only further accentuated the air brushed smoothness of a high cheek boned porcelain china face that sat majestically atop an hour glass figure that looked as it had popped out of a glossy movie poster.

Looking at the smoking hot beauty for a moment he wondered if had made a mistake, wondered whether for once his famed powers of deduction had gone wrong, that she wasn’t the killer, and that she had absolutely nothing to do with the body that lay dead in the inner bedroom of this sprawling sea side bungalow in Lutyen’s Delhi___the lifeless bullet ridden body of the man the world knew as the ‘Diamond King of India.’

In a bid to clear the doubt that was plaguing his mind, Inspector Sharma decided to probe the woman one last time.  “Could you please tell me Mrs Khurana where and what exactly were you doing between four and six today morning”?

‘I…we…I mean I was …’

That’s it!_the smoking gun. He had got the answer, the small iota of doubt that had nested in his brain, even it was for a nano second, had now completely vanished; this lady was all smoke and mirrors, she indeed was the killer.

Suave upper crust English bred women born into wealth who lived in 100 crore mansions the size of a football stadium and travelled the globe in their own private jets did not blabber and get tongue tied when facing questions from lowly keepers of the law.

©neelanilpanciker2018 #fiction #shortstory #sixsentencestories #inspectorsharmacrimeseries #285words

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neelwrites/gangsofdelhi/bawana/fiction/novella/21/01/2018

EASY COME, EASY GO-

GANGS OF DELHI- EPISODE 1

(FICTION/NOVELLA)

By Neel Anil Panicker

The sky is a bluish white spread, white empty of all dark clouds. From behind the snow capped mountain peaks the sun peeps in and begins to shower its slow brilliance on the wind swept landscapes below. The tall cinder trees that abut the lake come alive with the twittering tales of birds and bees.

Safely ensconced atop his throne, an oblong monolithic stone kissing the edges of the moss filled dampness around him, Vikram watches Nature’s munificence unfold in spectacular glory, his still bleary eyes slowly crawling out of the stupor induced by the previous night’s indulgence.

Alcohol and deer meat any day is a deadly cocktail.  Top that with marijuana! Ah! The night of debauchery would be a never ending one.

His lips curl up into a smile that spirals all the way like water bubbles to either edges of his pock marked angular face, the almond shaped eyes suddenly popping bright at the memory of it all.

It’s the start of yet another perfect day, or so it seems.

Life’s good so far, he surmised.
The past six months had been great for him. He had wiped off all his enemies, importantly Abdul Quadir, his acolyte turned arch rival; the only one who had the daring plus the guile to outwit him and take control of Bawana Outer, the 100 kilometere square stretch of urban landmass bordering Delhi, the national capital that fetched him an annual income of over Rs 100 crores.

That kind of money didn’t come easy. The last year he had seen more corpses than in his entire four score life.

The last of his enemies had been laid to rest and he had taken a well deserved break and was enjoying the fruits of his success in the lap of the Himalayas, his go to place__for peace, for reflection, for rejuvenation.

For his death. His reflexes were a tad late. By the time he sniffed a human voice around him and turned around, his hands reaching for his loaded AK 47, the bullet had smashed through his skull__his brains, spilt milk on the floor.

From behind the bushes emerged Naseer Quereshi, the strapping twenty five year old son of late Abdul Quadeer and now the new don of Bawana Outer Delhi.

The wheels of revenge had come full circle.

©neelasnilpanicker2018 #fiction #386words #Gangs of Delhi

Written for

Thursday photo prompt – Distant #writephoto

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Thursday photo prompt – Distant #writephoto

#writephoto

neelwrites/anewyearloveletter/writephoto/thursdayphotoprompt/writephoto/flash/shortstory/322words/05/01/2018

Thursday photo prompt – Window #writephoto

Hosted by   at https://scvincent.com/2018/01/04/thursday-photo-prompt-window-writephoto/

A NEW YEAR LOVE LETTER

By Neel Anil Panicker

Dear Lady Unknown,

Please accept the two flowers that hang outside your window.

You might wonder why two red roses. Well, let me tell you.

The first one is to announce my love for you. The second one is for me.

Confused? Well, let me gain explain.

Unknown to you, for the past one year, I have been secretly watching even following you.

I know some may term it as stalking but what other option does a perennially shy but hopelessly smitten in love person like me have?

The first flower is in remembrance of the day when I first saw and fell in love with you. You can call it my First Love Anniversary gift to you.

The second flower is in furtherance of my New Year resolution which is to be bold.

I have resolved to take my love for you to the next level.

I would now like to come out in the open and declare my love for you in front of everybody, and most importantly would like to lock eyes with you and utter those three magical words.

 

But for that I need a little push, a wee bit nudge, a small but all important encouragement that will help me to break free from the shackles of shyness and timidity that have been my life all through, and transform into the strong, confident, bold, and charming man that I have aspired to be all my life.

So, here it is.

If you too feel the same for me as I so undoubtedly do, then place a flower of your own, a white lily, next to mine before the sun wakes up tomorrow morning.

If not, please treat this as my first and last ever interface with you.

Let the flowers to wilt if that is their fate.

Meanwhile, I shall await and see what destiny has in store for me tomorrow morn.

Until then…

Regards,

Unknown Gentleman

©2018neelanilpanicker #flashfiction #322words #shorstory #WRITEPHOTO

neelwrites/livenbythesea,diebythesea/sundayphotofictioneer/flashfiction/shortstory/27/11/2017

Sunday Photo Fiction – November 26th 2017

Hosted by https://sundayphotofictioner.wordpress.com/2017/11/26/sunday-photo-fiction-november-26th-2017/

LIVE BY THE SEA, DIE BY THE SEA 

2018 11 November 26th 2017

By Neel Anil Panicker

Fighting through the ever darkening rays of the setting sun, Vardharajan watched intently at the swirling ocean waters as a massive tidal wave of memories soon deluged him.

It was some three score years ago. He had first set foot in Chennai. It was these very same waters that had brought him, a bare boned slip of a boy, barely five, holed up in the ship’s bottom deck, in a small six by six hole in the wall cheek a bowl with fiery red eyes rodents.

They had thrown him into the sea, giving him up for dead.

Three days later, his near still frame was washed ashore only to be discovered by some fishermen.

They had carried him over, nursed him back to health, and thereafter accepted him as a gift from Thanniyamma, the Sea Goddess, the protector and guardian of the se/ven seas.

With the passage of time, he had become one of them, learning and doing everything a fisherman does___ rising up much before dawn, then cleaning, scrubbing, oiling the boats in which he would later joining others into the sea casting wide nets, battling massive winds and storms, and returning back safe though bruised and battered, with the day’s booty__ a catch of sparkling fish that later he would help in selling off at the wholesale fish market.

The frames changed. He was a strapping young man and people were bowling to him, paying obeisance, pouring out their concerns, the poor and toiling masses, the very same clan that had rescued him from the seas, saved him from sure death, adopted him as one of their own, even giving him a name were now treating him as their Almighty, their saviour, their dear ‘son’ who was now Vardha Anna __feared by the lawmakers and scourge of the lawbreakers, a law unto himself, the undisputed mafia Don of Chennai City.

The shrill sound of police sirens closing him on him broke his thoughts. He needn’t have looked back. They were closing in. He knew it was over.

The curtains were coming down. Pitch darkness had descended all over. He barely made out the long golden arms of Thanniyamma beckoning him from the ocean waters.

She was smiling. He moved towards her, knowing she embrace him in her arms and put him to eternal sleep.

©neelanilpanicker2017 #fiction #sundayphotofictioneer #sea

neelwrites/It’sCATday/fiction/flash/shorstory/357words/26/11/2017

IT’S ‘CAT’ DAY

By Neel Anil Panicker

Cradled and cocooned. That’s what Vineet felt in winter’s welcoming arms.

He had set the alarm at five and had got up just after the third ring; his mind a step ahead of his body which still was in sleep mode.

Strange how the seasons and our perspectives of it change with time.

As a child and well into his late teens he remembered snuggling up in bed all through the cold Delhi mornings, his mind lost to sweet dreams, sleep induced deep explorations into a distant land of fantasies that was teeming with angels, a never ending fantastical journey into the unknown, a sepia tinged wish filled comatose state of mind, something from which he wished would continue for ever, that he would never ever have to wake up from.

But that was then when dreams were young and life fairly innocent.

Now, especially so in the last couple of years, young Vineet’s dreams had been rudely smashed to smithereens and he had crash landed on terra firma, harshly brought down to earth.

Mercilessly left to confront and brave the everyday vicissitudes that life hands out to students all over the world.

Studies and more rounds of studies, endless hours of poring into copious tomes, juggling multiple subjects, battling and surmounting one gargantuan mathematical theorem over the other, delving and diving deep into one arcane, even esoteric philosophical musing after another, mugging up idioms and phrases and mastering the syntactical intricacies of the eternally perplexing English Grammar___these and other Herculean obstacles ate up his wintry mornings making all those dreamy memories of sleeping through chilly wintry mornings just that__ a long forgotten distant dream.

For an instant his mind turned a child of ten and he half turned towards his room to snuggle in under the warm sheets.

It was then that he heard his father’s thick baritone smashing into his ears like an overloaded DTC bus on Delhi’s maddening ‘busier than a bumble bee’ streets_ “Vinu, don’t forget to take your Admit Card. It’s the most important day of your life. It’s CAT day”.

He already started feeling like a mouse.

(c )neelanilpanciker2017 #fiction #flash #shorstory #357words

neelwrites/night’svigil/thursdayphotoprompt/fiction/flash.25/11/2017

Thursday Photo Prompt HOSTED BY sue vincent

NIGHT’S VIGIL

By Neel Anil Panicker

Raymond looked down at his feet and kicked Jack’s once muscular body, now just a crumpled mass of tissue turned ‘cold as winter’.

It had taken him a good hour to get rid of his best buddy, and more specifically partner in crine.

Good riddance, he screamed out in gay abandon, a cry of unbridled joy, absolutely aware that standing where he was, at the promontory that stood atop a gargantuan rock at the extreme right edge of the mile long deserted beach, none would hear or even see him as far as the eye could see.

He flicked a Marlborough from his inner baggy pockets and cupping his large alligator hands struck a match as an icy wind swept by.

Three quick inhalations deep into his lungs and he was a calmed man.

Slowly his gaze lifted far into the sea towards a solitary speck of land__Sir Albert’s Island.

His wrinkled eyes sparkled with untinted joy.

He had made it. Well, almost.

Nearly five months of threadbare planning, three murders, a couple of shootouts, and a daring mid-day bank robbery later, he had managed to lay his hands on a pile of money.

The spoils of the day added upto a staggering five million American dollars.

He touched the peak of his felt hat in acknowldgement of the success of the mission.

It had been worth it, the sheer daredevilry, the bizarre risk of crash landing a two seater rented aircraft and hoisting his band of four robbers straight into the bank’s inner santum sanctorum, the exact hexagonal area where the huge vault lay, and then fighting and shooting their way out into freedom, the massive steel trunk full of hard cash acting as a much needed shield.

Raymond’s mind suddenly flicked back to the present. He had double crossed his way to a pot of money.

But knowing the ways of the Spanish Police well enough, he knew that if ever harboured any hopes of enjoying all that wealth he had to get to the island and thereafter beyond to be absolutely safe.

His mind went into a tailspin as he stared out into the ever darkening sea waters.

(c)neelanilpanciker2017 #fiction #flashfiction #ThursdayPhotoPrompt

neelwrites/pest/thegreatindianbanparty/sundayphotofictioneer/20/11/2017

Hosted by  Sunday Fiction  at https://sundayphotofictioner.wordpress.com/2017/11/19/sunday-photo-fiction-19-november-2017/

GREAT INDIAN BAN PARTY-

Playing at a theatre near you

17 Anonymous 19 November 2017

By Neel Anil Panicker

A ghoonghtaless brave Rajput princess bedecked in mesmerizing regal wear, prancing around in her own magnificent gold bedecked palace courtyard, dancing her heart out in gay abandon, her swirling lehanga swishing wildly in huge concentric circles while her dainty hennaed hands rise up to the skies above, her beautiful kohl-lined eyes sparkling with divine love, her lips a prayer, ever seeking blessings for the earthlings below.

Deepika-Padukone Ghoomar-song_1

Or, a near desperate woman forced to step out of her home in search of her ‘missing’ husband, overnight losing her moniker Goddess Durga; instead finding herself metamorphosed into a mere object of man’s lascivious predatory instincts.

Still another, bogged down by the vicissitudes of fate, compelled by the dire need to keep body and soul together, sheds her clothes under the harsh glare of arc lights, only to rejoin her starving family of five including a paralytic father and three mother-less younger siblings, their hollowed eyes hooked onto to the bread crumbs that she clutches in her hands, her paltry wages of the day.

Disturbing, uneasy, uncomfortable… is that what these images evoke in us?

Yes, and that’s because it’s we, the male of the human species, who decide the status of women in this world. It’s we who decide whether women are to be revered or reviled.

For us, especially, the men of India, women are a binary.

It’s easy slotting them. They are either good or bad, the compartmentalization arrived at from the periscope of our ever vigilant male eyes.

We decide who is to be worshipped and who is to be crucified; we decide who is to be hailed as a princess and a goddess, and who is to be hauled to be coals and branded a witch, a siren, or a slot. It is we and we alone that decides who is a good woman and who is a bad one.

And woe betide anyone who dares to defy us, challenge us, question our unquestionable hegemony over all such matters.

We vow to throttle all such voices; swear to ban, burn and bust them, crush them to pulp__all ye ‘uncultural voices’.

Such pests must best be put to rest.

Long live the Indian male, long live India, the India of our dreams, the India of our vision, the India of only our vision.

©NEELANILPANCIKER2017 #358WORDS #PADMAVATI #BAN #THEMOVIE #RAJPUTKARNISENA #SATIRE

 

 

Note: I have slightly deviated and written a longre non-fictional piece as i felt this is a story that needed to be told in the present context that is playing out in India. Hope you shall forgive me for this rather off beat, long piece.