The heritage of Kaipeng

‘You don’t mind, do you?’ he said pointing his empty glass.

At once I ordered another drink and he resumed his narration.

‘He sat in that chamber while I was there in the next room. He instructed me to put on a few switches and I did as was told. After a few seconds, I heard a huge sound. I went and saw that the chamber was gone. I also saw that the platform was completely broken and the entire room looked like a war zone. This was when I panicked. Had I lost my friend to insanity? Should I have made him see sense?’

‘But before long, I heard a knock in my door. I answered it. It was a white young kid who asked for me. I was bewildered, who in the hell would ask for me in Jack’s house? He gave me a very old letter and told me that his great grandfather, in his will, had requested that this letter be delivered to me at this precise time. The boy was bewildered as to how it was possible for his great grandfather to know me by name. But since I was not forthcoming in my explanation, he must have assumed that I too did not know the reason.’

‘Do you have it with you now?’ I asked rather excited.

‘No. I burnt them. If I had that letter with me, I would have wanted to tell about this to everyone and would be called a loony. So I swore not to tell this to anybody and I burnt my bridge (burnt my letter, I should rather say). But don’t worry. I remember it perfectly well. It had only three words, “I made it.” And at that second I knew that I had witnessed the world’s first time travel.’

‘I was not going to tell this to anybody. But I could not stand it. You may think that I am a loony. But the hell do I care about that.’

written by admin \\ tags: casual talk, story, stranger

‘Yes. Then you must know that motion is relative and not absolute. And according to Jack, all we needed to do was to find a frame of reference from which the speed of light is attainable. So if we find a moving frame of reference, the velocity would add up and it would be easier to attain light speed. Do you get what I am trying to say?’

‘I am afraid not,’ I said.

‘Right. Think of it this way. You remain stationary and a train approaches you. You feel that you are stationary and the train is moving because the platform is the frame of reference. But say the platform is moving at half the speed of the train, what will you feel then? You will find that the train is only travelling at half its velocity, is it not?’

‘Yes, I think I get your point. Pray go ahead,’ I said. I seemed to get what he was trying to say and it seemed quite possible.

‘So Jack had built a rotating frame of reference traveling at half the speed of light and a rotating chamber that rotated in the opposite direction at half the speed of light.’

‘But even half the speed of light is not possible,’ I pointed out the only flaw I could see.

‘Jack was a genius. He was able to reach that speed with a combination of atomic fission and fusion. It was like using a nuclear bomb, but only that this was quite safe.’

‘But if he had managed such a great thing, it would have been a discovery in itself. Why has it not been known to all of us?’ I asked. It was my last defense.

‘Well de never did have a chance to tell the world, did he? I will tell you about that presently. He told me that I was invited to witness the first man to travel time. But I was worried stiff about the safety of that thing, you know. But once he assured me that none of my words would stop him from making that journey, then I knew had no choice.’

written by admin \\ tags: arguement, story, stranger, talk

Looks like i am in a good flow and the gift of the gab.. is awesome.

‘I am not supposed to talk about this to anyone but if I don’t tell this to someone, I might burst or something.’

I assured him that he need not tell me anything if he did not want to. These words often loosened people’s mouths and it worked like magic with Mr. Robert Fitzgerald.

‘It is all right. I have to tell it to someone. All this is very strange, I am afraid. I doubt if you will even take me seriously. But I could not care less about what you or anyone would think about me. Not after what has just happened.’

‘I went to see my friend Jack today. He is a scientist, you know. Really crazy and all that, but a very nice chap. He invited me to see his new creation. Mind you, he did not tell me what it was at that time, but just invited me to his home to see his new invention. Well, I went there expectin’ a new radiator or something, but what I found there was unbelievable. You don’t go to someone’s house expecting a bloody time machine, do you?’

‘And if you don’t mind, could you just get me another drink. It has been a terrible shock, you know.’

I ordered a stiff scotch for him; his story was getting more and more interesting.

‘As I was telling you, it was a bloody time machine. I hope you know that this thing is theoretically possible, don’t you?’

‘Yes’, I said. ‘I know it is theoretically possible. But you need to move at light speed or greater if you want to do it.’

‘This is what I told Jack. I told him that it is impossible to go at light speed, at least with the current technology. But he told me that “for a mind that thinks, nothing is impossible”. Yeah, Jack was like that: always telling some strange quotes; most probably made it up himself. He told me that when we think of moving at light speed, we always consider our own frame of reference and that is why we never thought it was possible. By the way, you know what is frame of reference, don’t you?’

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I have read Einstein’s theory, thank you.’

written by admin \\ tags: eistein, pub, story, stranger, talk

The Blue dolphin Pub in south of London is frequented by all kinds of strange people. At the expense of just a couple of glasses of whiskey, one can hear all kinds of strange stories from them. Stories about being the boyfriend of one of the most famous pop star and stories about alien sightings are the most common ones. But some of them are simply brilliant. I sometimes genuinely wonder if some of the more brilliant ones are real – yes they are that good. The best I can remember was a story recounted by one Mr. Robert Fitzgerald.

It was often quite easy to catch a potential storyteller. If someone takes a very long time to finish their glass, it means that they don’t have money for more. And with years of experience, I know from the face if that person has something he wants to tell someone. I often get that person drinks like a Good Samaritan and get his story in return. Of course, there was no profit motive in that. It was purely for my amusement and entertainment. The success rate of this was very low and I sometimes had to wait for a very long time (sometimes months) before I get a good story. But the second I met Mr. Robert Fitzgerald, I knew that I had hit gold.

When I offered him whiskey, he looked at me in a mildly offended way. But before I could apologize and move away from him, he said rather regretfully that he was actually very grateful for the offer. ‘On normal occasions, I would have never accepted a drink from a stranger, but today I shall accept your offer. I thank you for it.’

I indicated my requirement to the barman and at once the whiskey came to us and Mr. Robert Fitzgerald started talking.

written by admin \\ tags: london, story, stranger

Years rolled by, so many things changed around me, what was once called countryside is now called a city. Tall buildings grew on all sides of me. I could no longer boast about my height. There were more people, more noise and very few of my clan. I think the younger generation doesn’t find it as painful as I do; they have grown up in this environment. Yet, we were all so apart, that we couldn’t even hear each other. I soon found myself in the corner of a main road, supposed to be one of the busiest roads here in this city.  I stood there unnoticed. Yet I did what I am supposed to do, I spread my branches and covered a part of the road. Pedestrians would stop and relax under my shade, it made me feel good. No one thanked me, but I was proud, I do as my parents taught me to, I give, all that I can, whether or not I receive anything in return.  Years of living with the humans had taught me about how they think and what they do. I then turned my back to the house, which sheltered my friends, their sons and grandchildren, who loved to listen to their grandpa, tell tales about the swing, yet no one came near the dusty old swing since I am not as cool as their gadgets. I listened to street mongers, who sit in the shade of my branches and gossip, I take immense pleasure in swaying to babies that sleep in the swing of cloth tied to my other arm now stretched out to the road, the angels do thank me with his gurgle, but I never dwelt on it for I knew that someday when he grows up, he wouldn’t know me.

I stand by this road, watching mothers scoop up their babies and gently kissing their foreheads. I have seen young lads, waiting for their loving ladies, and walk away hand in hand completely oblivious to their surroundings. I have seen men warmly wrap up their old parents and walk them home. I feel jealous, I wish there was someone for me, someone who’d love me for what I am. I wish there was someone who’d smile at me, someone who acknowledged my presence. I feel lonely; I am starved, starved for love. I have given all that I could do everyone around me, I have borne every pain with a steady heart, I have lived giving love, yet receiving none. I am tired of this existence. Had I been axed just like my family, I wouldn’t have lived to see this day. Then, I did not want to live at all. Yet, funny are the ways of life, I have spent nearly a century hoping to see changes. I hoped things would change and I waited. I thought that someday people would hear me, someday they would understand our lives, and someday they would respond to our feelings. It never happened. I think I have waited long enough.  It doesn’t seem like a change to me anymore, if at all it happens, it would be a miracle. It is time for me to leave now. I have performed by duties to my satisfaction and I now leave to join my family and my master.  Hoping that someday the miracle happens!

written by admin \\ tags: perspective, story

The next day started just like a normal day. All the birds that lived on us had left for the day’s work and I was giggling, unable to shake myself, lest I wake up their sleeping babies, yet unable to stop the squirrels that ran all over me, as we played and rejoiced in the warm sun. My family around me was all busy with their routine, all in tranquility. Then we heard some voices and some metal clinking noise. Even before I could comprehend the sound, there were armed men all around us, each with an indifferent yet determined look on his face. I heard a scream and turned to see my mother with an axe pierced right into her middle. I couldn’t move, god didn’t give me that gift, we weren’t supposed to. Tears flooded my eyes and words choked in my throat. Everyone around me was as stupefied as before. And then it happened again. This time it was not just my mother, but everyone else around me. I heard screams, I heard tears, and I stood there helpless as I heard my children’s helpless cries. Is my heart made of wood, the humans would joke, but I stood there bearing the torture of seeing my world being torn right in front of me.

I wailed, I pleaded, I cried and I begged, but they never heard me. I stood there, seeing each one of them fall, all their lifeless forms, being chopped and bundled together. I waited for my turn; I wanted to be done with this, so that I would be gone, just like my children, just like parents, my siblings and friends. But my turn never came. The sky turned orange, and I stood there as all the remains of my family were being cleared out. All our friends who lived with us, returned home to see their families devastated. I could barely hold myself, when the birds and squirrels, let out the loud tears, a mother bird as she cried out whining to hold her babies for one last time. But nobody heard her. Humans don’t hear us, I realized. They do not even realize that we live, just like they do, and that we have emotions like we do. I cried out loud all night,  why should I shedd silent tears, all my tears and cries would be unheard however loud they are!

I know not about my existence for a few weeks after the horrible incident. I knew I was alive, but just barely alive.  I remained in the same place where I first sprouted out, but now all alone, apart from the barren land around me.  I was visited by my bird friends once in a way, and we would console and empathize with each other for a few seconds. Apart from these irregular yet sincere visits, I had no company.  Soon, I saw many humans walking in and around the area, with fine buliding equiments, as I recognize it now and busy with them.  Soon a beautiful house stood in front of me, and a fencing enclosed me and house with a paved way from the gate to the house. Then a family moved in, with two young boys all excited and happy about a swing tied on around by arms.  I was apprehensive at first, later I grew fond of these boys. They spent many evenings, playing around me, hiding in my branches, winging on my arms and I let them play with me, for finally I was seeing some hope in life. It would never be the same as earlier, but there was something I could look forward to.  It was not long before the boys grew up and as they did, they got bored of me too. I was desperate for thei attention, I swayed, I called out to them but they never heard me. I was hurt. I know not why, this wasn’t new to me, but maybe I had my hopes high. But I never gave up.

written by admin \\ tags: perspective, story

It may sound ironical to you if I tell you that I am standing here in the corner of the road with countless people around me, yet so lonely and lost. I have been here all my life, watching all the destructions and constructions happening around me. I am starved; starved for love. I don’t want a twig breaking hug, I don’t want goodies and gifts, not even a kind word; an affectionate look would do.  I would be gratified, no, in fact overjoyed if someone turns and acknowledges my presence.  But alas, no one does!  That I am a living thing, with feelings and emotions throbbing inside me just like everyone else is beyond the comprehension of the normal mind.  I am not whining, I am only telling you how I feel.

My early days were not as lonesome as this. I opened my eyes, to see my very eager parents, my siblings and my ancestors all stooping over me, as I looked upon them and smiled. A fresh drop of tear, or dew, as you call it, rolled out of my mother’s eyes on to me, and she smiled at me with glee. My siblings swayed in pride and sprinkled all their colorful flowers upon me. I could hear them all chatter and laugh with glee, boasting to all the buzzing bees and singing birds that lived there with us. It was a picture perfect moment, and I thought someone did take one when a flash of light dazzled me. It was the sun who had peeked between the thick branches to greet me.  This was my home. This is where I grew up to be strong, where I was taught that giving was joy, where I laughed and cried and starved and rejoiced with my family.

A few years later, one pleasant summer evening, we had a visitor. He was our landlord. Landlord? How could someone be the lord to the land? Isn’t it everyone’s right?  Though my roots lay deep buried and well spread in this earth that I stand, I knew, as always that I could never claim it as mine. I did not understand this term landlord. So our landlord, as he was referred to, walked around the place, staring at each one of us, gently patting one of us occasionally, and leaning on one of us whenever he felt like. As he walked past me, I greeted him, with a gentle sway letting the cool breeze scented with the fragrance of my flowers hit his face. He closed his eyes and enjoyed the feeling. But he did not turn back and look at me. It was as if he didn’t care about my existence there. I was hurt. But I hoped, hoped that he would notice me when he returned. But he didn’t.  He was looking at us as if were exhibits. I did not know why, then, of course I know now. Then it happened, he stamped right onto one of my new born cousins and I screamed. The poor child had no voice to even cry out loud. Even before he could lift up his head, he was gone.  I heard the cries of all the others around me, but the “landlord” was completely oblivious to the screams and he walked away.   I did not understand anything then, but I cried, silently cried.  What was happening?  I cried and cried, until I fell asleep.

written by admin \\ tags: opinions, story, views