Hunger

This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 33; the thirty-third edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.
The theme for the month is 'Celebrations'

They were keeping a watch on the supposedly enemy ship since two days. There have been no action of any kind. No response to warnings, No SOS calls,no movements were noted.....nothing at all. Their defense education was telling them not to get onto the ship without instructions. For it was a warship & it could even be a trap.
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He handed over the Binoculars to his colleague & went for a walk on the deck.
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"Arre....check this out...There is some movement.Looks like Somebody is there."
He ran back & snatched the Binocular from his colleague."I cant see who that is, a Boy, A girl, a Man, a woman, or an animal. But I am damn sure...whoever that is, is in a celebratory mood."
"Are you sure ?"
"Damn sure.....I can clearly see a loaf of bread...... & listen carefully to the sounds coming out. This is definitely some celebration. Hunger is the biggest enemy & that somebody has just won over it.Imagine you are hungry for days & then u find something to eat"
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"I see some point. I can understand the situation on the ship in distress.. ...That certainly calls for Celebrations. I would have done the same thing in that situation....But What do we do now ?..."
"Just pass on the message to the command about what we saw & wait for instructions."
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Moments after he was back.....
"There are instructions to destroy the enemy ship.......?"
"How can we do that?......we just noted some celebratory mood on the ship. Destroying the ship means certain death for that somebody"
"Dont worry about death.....let's get on with our job & Destroy the ship.....do not forget what we were taught.....Death is the Celebration of Life."
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Boom....after a while there was a deafening sound of a torpedo & the enemy ship was gone.

The fellow Blog-a-Tonics who took part in this Blog-a-Ton and links to their respective posts can be checked here. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton

The Untold Story

This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 32; the thirty-second edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton. The theme for the month is 'An Untold Story'

The Editor threw the papers on his face. "I had replied to your email that I want something new, an untold story. Why the hell you are back with the same old stuff. In three days get me my story else put in your papers. Get your story & personally give it to the Sub-editor. I am not in town".
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He walked out dejectedly.He had poured in his heart in the news story thinking that it would make a difference to the lives of people involved but it had not made any difference even to the Editor.He didn't even gave it a second look.
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After a couple of days........
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"Here is the untold story. Please have a look. I am sure you would have never seen something like this before."
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The sub-ediotr looked at the papers & looked up to him in utter dis-beleif. "How do you know this ? Were you not working on your story." .
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"Exactly....that's what I was doing. I was present at the site working on the untold story" "So ?"the sub-editor shouted back. .
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Suddenly The sub-editor noticed something on his shirt & screamed...."Are you mad....anything wrong with you ? There are blood stains on your shirt"
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"No way....I am all fine. He had left me no option.He was desperate for an untold story & I had to create one."

The fellow Blog-a-Tonics who took part in this Blog-a-Ton and links to their respective posts can be checked here. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton

Roots

This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 30; the thirtieth edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.

There he was.... standing at the beach looking towards the sea with keen eyes. That ebony body was well suited for boxing. Boxing came to him naturally. They all loved him at the Boxing Club.

But nowadays there was a sudden change in him, he was turned into a soul less person for quite some time. He would be seen around but he always seemed to be lost in his own thoughts. His presence was like a rootless tree.

He was a prospective Olympian for the club but he would not be seen at the club for long. They kept wondering what might have happened but nobody would know. A couple of months back the team had been to Liverpool for the Boxing tournament but he never fought a bout, for he returned home without telling anyone.

While in Liverpool the team happened to visit the International Slavery museum of Liverpool. The city once infamous for being the capital of Slavery trading.

He had never heard about slavery before and the experience came to hit him like a lightening shock.

He was taken aback by what he saw. He was pained by the images. The "Middle Passage" numbed him.

Thousands stuffed in cargos of ships as if they were cotton or coal. The men would be shackled together with iron chains during the treacherous journey of 5-6 weeks on the sea. The women would be beaten and physically forced to have sexual relations with the crew members. The sick would be fed to the sharks. So much so that the sharks would follow the slave cargo in anticipation. For they were just the slaves to them, a commodity that would bring them prosperity. They would buy them or kidnap. Nobody would be spared, be it women, children or even the olds. Every able bodied person they could lay their hands on would be forcibly brought on the cargo. They would be branded like other commodities with name of the brand written on the shoulder. Children deprived from their mothers, mothers taken away from their children, fathers forced away from families. They uprooted generations for centuries in the organized trade.

The archives of the advertisements hit him like a bullet. It would roam in his mind like hundred pins.

Available for sale, Just brought from Africa, 41 healthy men of The Cunard brand, 9 boys (they would surely turn into obedient slaves), 13 women. The auction would be held at the town hall.

He could not go through the whole museum. In Whatever he saw, the emotions took him over. He could not see, he could not walk, he could not talk, he could not listen. His soul was lost.

When he could find some composure he took the first flight he got & headed for home.

He could never bring himself to fight a boxing bout after that. For the first time in life he looked at his skin with a keen interest. Deep within himself he knew what ailed him.

He found the answer after a long searching & it was not boxing. He needed to go back to his roots for healing. He needed to find his roots.

There he was standing at the beach looking towards the sea with keen eyes. The sea was the route to his roots. years ago millions were forced to take the route & made rootless. But here he was now, taking the same route to find his roots.

Notes : *Middle Passage : The "Middle Passage" was the journey of slave trading ships from the west coast of Africa, where the slaves were obtained, across the Atlantic, where they were sold or, in some cases, traded for goods. It was the longest, hardest, most dangerous, and also most horrific part of the journey of the slave ships.

The fellow Blog-a-Tonics who took part in this Blog-a-Ton and links to their respective posts can be checked here. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton. I’m thankful to Nikhil(The silent words), who introduced Blog-a-Ton to me, and I debuted in 12th edition.

Credits Image - Shades of Orange by Harsha Chittar Courtesy - Curious Dino Photography via www.blogaton.in