About Me

May 15, 2013

1. Prologue: The Gift of Happenstance

There is a very special piece of journal this narrator has acquired. It's a diary of someone who could be of great importance to mankind. I must admit it was a mere blip of a coincidence to have this book in my possession today. Nonetheless, I've realized it's worth and the importance of ideas this scripture holds within it's strange papyrus folds. I must share it with my readers; for the outflow of truth should never cease.

***

It was the wee hours of one of those full-moon winter nights. I love the most to roam in Delhi at this time. Me and two other of my gang were going to a place in the ridge near Kali Badi Mandir. 'Prince's Den', we would call it cheekily. There is a very interesting walk through the rocky ridge to reach PD. You have to follow a trail through thick trees and walk over huge water pipes hanging firmly 12 feet above the ground and surrounded by lush greens to reach this place. It is one of those very few spots within these cement walls where nature is in just about sufficient amount to unplug you from the chaos of the jungle we live in. There is nothing extravagant about PD though, it's just a clear space on top of a hillock surrounded by short trees. But on full moon-nights that place glows like an ethereal dream. That's why we popped acid and decided to head there that night. We go to there almost once a month. Although it's not a safe place to chill but we all have our ways of getting 'kicks'. But that night turned out to be different from normal escapades to PD. 

We were almost peaking when we reached PD that night. We found a red bag in the middle of that open space. It was glowing strangely under the moonlight or it might have been that Green Martian taking effect. Anyway, the area around PD is a famous hideout for thieves and robbers. After a successful hit, they often hide inside the thickly forested ridge and segregate the valuables from the loot. Although the sight of that bag looked very unnatural to me, but my friends who were more regular to PD didn't care much- A snitch must have gone lucky and lifted someone's bag at the nearby railway station and abandoned all it's unimportant stuff here. I decided to inspect it and it actually turned out to be an ordinary bag belonging to someone who had traveled a long way to reach Delhi. There were clothes, files and folders and other ordinary day-to-day essentials. There was nothing inside that bag that could have indicated that it's real owner must have actually been a traveler- not of distance, but of time. Because I only got to realize it recently.

I have this tendency to keep things I find while traveling. Sometimes they act like souvenirs from all the places I visit and sometimes I keep them for the history they hold within themselves. I have a maple leaf from Paris; burnt notes from an army settlement near Puh; a hotel bill from Raithal; bus tickets of Bangalore and of various places in Himalayas where I choose buses as my preferred mode of travel. These are generally those things which  don't have much worth in life once it has served it's purpose. But for me, these things are the bookmarks of my journey in life.

On that night I found a brown diary inside the red bag. What was written on it's first page grabbed my attention:

What remains away from the sanctuary
would be just words and the black veil.
Rest shall dissolve.
So I kept it.
Along with the diary I also kept a glowing unused sticker from the bag; the ones you used to stick on your notebooks, pencil boxes and book-shelves when you are young. However, this one had a very strange design on it and I thought of using it in my pop art poster that I was making at home. After coming back home that night from PD, I completely forgot about the diary and the strange alien-design label. I even forgot working on the poster. But a few days ago after umpteen attempts I finally convinced myself to redo the poster. At almost the same time I was reminded of that label. I recalled keeping it in the brown diary. But I searched it everywhere at home and since it had been quite some time, I could only find the diary. The label must have been displaced. I didn't really look for it, because then my attention went to what was written in the brown diary. Once I started reading it, I couldn't keep myself away from. It was so simple to understand! Yet it explained to me things that I could never ever imagine to exist.

It was someone's diary; that's for sure. Atleast it was written in that way. But all those things which seemed to be a work of fiction at first, sooner became the scariest truth that I could ever know. It was the truth about the future of our race.

Wait for my following updates as I unravel the diary of a man who lived in the year 3412 AD.


I'm writing a story. I'll try to be regular, I promise.

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