As Kabir sat down on a chair in his balcony, he was pleasantly surprised by the view. The mountains, far off, were presenting just a view of their top. As the clouds seductively hovered around the peaks, Kabir went back six years in his life. He was sitting on a beach trying the gauge the vastness of the ocean. He wanted to explore every breadth of his life. There was a strange attraction in the waves frothing the sand and cutting across the dunes that children had made. "It is life, isn't it", thought Kabir. As you freelance along your way, there will be things least expected that will cut short the journey. Or do they? Maybe it's just a new pathway." How could have life given me this opportunity", Kabir gazed. He was working as a freelancer in an ad company. He had his own responsibilities to take care of. He had to support his family. Although he would find solace in making music, the wait was long and tiresome. "Some day I will have my own music label and a company", Kabir would always tell his friends. His friends were so used to this line, that they had saved his contact as "MusicMan" Kabir. But the stagnation that his passion brought with its frivolous fantasies was taking a toll on his finances. Kabir was 25 and had an advertisement and PR degree. It was about time that he supported his family.
Kabir finally got a job as an advertising artist. He had to create jingles and write little content for the company. Slowly he started working for a few more companies as a freelancer. His earning had increased steadily, but he reminded himself never to become a slave to his bucks. It was his music in the jingles thathad really given him respect and popularity. He would shoot small videos to stimulate various situations that aided his content creation. He worked alone, he was good and competent. His working alone kept him grounded and reminded him of the greater goal.
Three years had gone by and Kabir's journey that started in Delhi had taken him to Mumbai. He got a big break of shooting a short film on the slums in Mumbai. One of the companies in Delhi had recommended his name, to the producers of this film. He had to compose five minutes of music and work as a joint assistant to the director. Kabir's method of shooting scenes for his jingles had worked in his favour. Kabir was super excited with the offer. He had never been to Mumbai which added to this. It was a project that had to be completed in a week, straight. Kabir knew it was challenging, but what had not been till then in his life.
Three days of his shooting had gone by and the work was going on in a speed that was completely new to him. But there was something that evoked an astounding sense of perplexity in him. En route Dharavi on the first day of the shoot, Kabir was moving in a company van, that had stopped on its way for the purchase of some logistics. As Kabir gazed through the window, he saw a narrow pathway that seemed to have a dead-end with buildings on an elevated datum, both left and right. But he could hardly resist the temptation to find out what was that pathway. He felt very strange, a medley of feelings that had evoked unrest in him. He was excited, nervous and scared. All the three days, whenever he would pass that building, hiseyes would follow then from the van's window till it vanished from the horizon. His rest house was not very far from where that mysterious building was. On the fourth night, Kabir decided to finally break the shackles. He kept the camera and his laptop bag and asked the team to go to the rest house after the shoot. He wore his hoodie and strode forward. The area was shady without a second thought. A man in his fifties gave him a very strange and confused look. But Kabir was too fixated to notice the vagaries of the ambience. As he approached the stairs, his heart was beating fast and the blood was pumping as if in knots. He ignored everyone as if something had just blurred the entire surroundings. He felt like a focused object zoomed-in portrait mode behind his lens. Kabir counted the steps as if making mental notes. Fourteen he noted, silently. A feeling if eeriness surrounded the place. He lit his cell to enthuse some light in the remorseful pathway. There was nothing. It was indeed a dead end. Disappointed, as he turned to walk back, the light floated on one of the walls which seemed to have been painted by graffiti. On closer examination, he could see a young lady on the wall, being stabbed by four men. Blood oozed from her belly and washed the walls. Kabir's mind spun for a while. It was as if someone had played this scene right in front of his eyes. It was a strange piece of art if it could ever qualify to be called as one. From an angle, it felt like a rush of paint as if portraying a graffiti art. But if one were to look at it straight, facing it front on, itrepresented the true picture. "Strange, very strange", thought Kabir. He wanted to throw up. But somehow as he moved the torch light, he saw a small blue coloured locked door, towards the end of the building. The lock was unusually cold. Kabir rushed down the stairs without looking back even once. In the hindsight, it was just a dark place with a gory art form and a bolted door. But the sense of detachment and heinousness the place had was insane. He decided to never come back again.
As much Kabir wanted to embrace sleep that night, it deprived him even further. The painting and that face kept flashing in front of his eyes. Tired and disturbed, he finally managed to get a couple of hours of sleep. The next day was a constant toss between his work and his instincts. Kabir had a feeling something was amiss. The more he concentrated on his work, the more detached he became. Kabir gathered the courage to return to that place, but to the same scenes again. He cursed himself as to what expectations did he brew before coming to this place. "Someone might have painted that", he reassured himself.
Kabir had managed to strangle his thoughts of returning to the dark pathway. But he remained lost in his thought. From the night when he had paid a visit to the place, he dreamt of himself being inside the room, that the locked door led to. He would feel everything to be blurry and hazy. And then just in the blink of an eye, he would see himself turning around and screaming. He would wake up after that perspiring and breathing heavily. There was something he needed to sort, or so he thought.
He had decided to pay a visit to the place. It's dangerouslyfunny, how evil and negativity sometimes can instil a sense of false confidence in anyone. Kabir had to work in a different location on a penultimate day, much to his frustration. He was itching to go back there, not knowing what to except. He was a scared wreck.
Finally on the last day as Kabir walked along the path that led to those dreaded stairs, he tried to ignore the surroundings which seemed to be extremely spooky. He would find people staring at him, as if he were an alien. Soon, he found himself on the pathway. He was surprised that he was not that scared. Partly because he had imagined all this umpteen times in his head and there was absolutely nothing to worry. The painting was there and the door was locked as well. He started going down. And then as if in a reflex action, he turned back to look at the door holding his phone with the other. He was dumb founded. The door was open. Kabir was petrified. He felt a paralytic jerk in his body, as if someone was staring right in his eyes. With all his strength, Kabir walked towards the door. He so wished that he were dreaming. His strode forward his trembling hand almost with his eyes closed, to have a feel of the wood. The door was indeed open. There was a dim light sweeping through the entire floor. He moved in slowly. It felt like a room. Kabir could see, the room led to another. He moved forward as if almost chained. He kept exploring the vacant and cold space he had intruded. He soon reached the third room. A thought hit him suddenly. As if immediately transformed, Kabir recollected himself and turned back. He literally ran his way out ofthe three rooms, only to come to a screeching halt. He felt a lump in his throat. As if someone was slowing taking life away from his body. All he could see was a never-ending stretch of white wall in front of him. The door had vanished, the locality non existent. He had no bloody option than to trace his way out. He was indeed trapped. Kabir reached his mobile to switch on the flash. It did not work. The phone was switched off. The realm of darkness and negativity had engulfed him. Kabir could now hear people reeling and crying out of pain and suffering. He somehow gathered the strength to move towards the third room. He could see light flickering in that room. But something else bothered him. When it went a bit dark, he could see a girl towards the end of the room. Kabir would have preferred to die rather than every single moment conspiring to take life out of him slowly. He moved forward to go near the girl. Kabir was fighting his own existence. He did not want to go forward, but turning back would only lead him to an infinite stretch of wall. Every single step made him more and more uncomfortable. He could barely stand. And then suddenly a wind gushed as if to cut across his body. The girl opened her eyes and even with her face cracked, Kabir could recognise she was Natasha, his close friend from one of the ad agencies he had worked in. Kabir turned around and screamed in fear, exactly as he did while dreaming. Except that he was not dreaming.
...To be continued.
Kabir finally got a job as an advertising artist. He had to create jingles and write little content for the company. Slowly he started working for a few more companies as a freelancer. His earning had increased steadily, but he reminded himself never to become a slave to his bucks. It was his music in the jingles thathad really given him respect and popularity. He would shoot small videos to stimulate various situations that aided his content creation. He worked alone, he was good and competent. His working alone kept him grounded and reminded him of the greater goal.
Three years had gone by and Kabir's journey that started in Delhi had taken him to Mumbai. He got a big break of shooting a short film on the slums in Mumbai. One of the companies in Delhi had recommended his name, to the producers of this film. He had to compose five minutes of music and work as a joint assistant to the director. Kabir's method of shooting scenes for his jingles had worked in his favour. Kabir was super excited with the offer. He had never been to Mumbai which added to this. It was a project that had to be completed in a week, straight. Kabir knew it was challenging, but what had not been till then in his life.
Three days of his shooting had gone by and the work was going on in a speed that was completely new to him. But there was something that evoked an astounding sense of perplexity in him. En route Dharavi on the first day of the shoot, Kabir was moving in a company van, that had stopped on its way for the purchase of some logistics. As Kabir gazed through the window, he saw a narrow pathway that seemed to have a dead-end with buildings on an elevated datum, both left and right. But he could hardly resist the temptation to find out what was that pathway. He felt very strange, a medley of feelings that had evoked unrest in him. He was excited, nervous and scared. All the three days, whenever he would pass that building, hiseyes would follow then from the van's window till it vanished from the horizon. His rest house was not very far from where that mysterious building was. On the fourth night, Kabir decided to finally break the shackles. He kept the camera and his laptop bag and asked the team to go to the rest house after the shoot. He wore his hoodie and strode forward. The area was shady without a second thought. A man in his fifties gave him a very strange and confused look. But Kabir was too fixated to notice the vagaries of the ambience. As he approached the stairs, his heart was beating fast and the blood was pumping as if in knots. He ignored everyone as if something had just blurred the entire surroundings. He felt like a focused object zoomed-in portrait mode behind his lens. Kabir counted the steps as if making mental notes. Fourteen he noted, silently. A feeling if eeriness surrounded the place. He lit his cell to enthuse some light in the remorseful pathway. There was nothing. It was indeed a dead end. Disappointed, as he turned to walk back, the light floated on one of the walls which seemed to have been painted by graffiti. On closer examination, he could see a young lady on the wall, being stabbed by four men. Blood oozed from her belly and washed the walls. Kabir's mind spun for a while. It was as if someone had played this scene right in front of his eyes. It was a strange piece of art if it could ever qualify to be called as one. From an angle, it felt like a rush of paint as if portraying a graffiti art. But if one were to look at it straight, facing it front on, itrepresented the true picture. "Strange, very strange", thought Kabir. He wanted to throw up. But somehow as he moved the torch light, he saw a small blue coloured locked door, towards the end of the building. The lock was unusually cold. Kabir rushed down the stairs without looking back even once. In the hindsight, it was just a dark place with a gory art form and a bolted door. But the sense of detachment and heinousness the place had was insane. He decided to never come back again.
As much Kabir wanted to embrace sleep that night, it deprived him even further. The painting and that face kept flashing in front of his eyes. Tired and disturbed, he finally managed to get a couple of hours of sleep. The next day was a constant toss between his work and his instincts. Kabir had a feeling something was amiss. The more he concentrated on his work, the more detached he became. Kabir gathered the courage to return to that place, but to the same scenes again. He cursed himself as to what expectations did he brew before coming to this place. "Someone might have painted that", he reassured himself.
Kabir had managed to strangle his thoughts of returning to the dark pathway. But he remained lost in his thought. From the night when he had paid a visit to the place, he dreamt of himself being inside the room, that the locked door led to. He would feel everything to be blurry and hazy. And then just in the blink of an eye, he would see himself turning around and screaming. He would wake up after that perspiring and breathing heavily. There was something he needed to sort, or so he thought.
He had decided to pay a visit to the place. It's dangerouslyfunny, how evil and negativity sometimes can instil a sense of false confidence in anyone. Kabir had to work in a different location on a penultimate day, much to his frustration. He was itching to go back there, not knowing what to except. He was a scared wreck.
Finally on the last day as Kabir walked along the path that led to those dreaded stairs, he tried to ignore the surroundings which seemed to be extremely spooky. He would find people staring at him, as if he were an alien. Soon, he found himself on the pathway. He was surprised that he was not that scared. Partly because he had imagined all this umpteen times in his head and there was absolutely nothing to worry. The painting was there and the door was locked as well. He started going down. And then as if in a reflex action, he turned back to look at the door holding his phone with the other. He was dumb founded. The door was open. Kabir was petrified. He felt a paralytic jerk in his body, as if someone was staring right in his eyes. With all his strength, Kabir walked towards the door. He so wished that he were dreaming. His strode forward his trembling hand almost with his eyes closed, to have a feel of the wood. The door was indeed open. There was a dim light sweeping through the entire floor. He moved in slowly. It felt like a room. Kabir could see, the room led to another. He moved forward as if almost chained. He kept exploring the vacant and cold space he had intruded. He soon reached the third room. A thought hit him suddenly. As if immediately transformed, Kabir recollected himself and turned back. He literally ran his way out ofthe three rooms, only to come to a screeching halt. He felt a lump in his throat. As if someone was slowing taking life away from his body. All he could see was a never-ending stretch of white wall in front of him. The door had vanished, the locality non existent. He had no bloody option than to trace his way out. He was indeed trapped. Kabir reached his mobile to switch on the flash. It did not work. The phone was switched off. The realm of darkness and negativity had engulfed him. Kabir could now hear people reeling and crying out of pain and suffering. He somehow gathered the strength to move towards the third room. He could see light flickering in that room. But something else bothered him. When it went a bit dark, he could see a girl towards the end of the room. Kabir would have preferred to die rather than every single moment conspiring to take life out of him slowly. He moved forward to go near the girl. Kabir was fighting his own existence. He did not want to go forward, but turning back would only lead him to an infinite stretch of wall. Every single step made him more and more uncomfortable. He could barely stand. And then suddenly a wind gushed as if to cut across his body. The girl opened her eyes and even with her face cracked, Kabir could recognise she was Natasha, his close friend from one of the ad agencies he had worked in. Kabir turned around and screamed in fear, exactly as he did while dreaming. Except that he was not dreaming.
...To be continued.
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