Probability by Santosh Jha (detective books to read txt) 📕

By Santosh Jha

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Copyright 2014 Santosh Jha

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License Notes

Thank you for downloading this free ebook. Although this is a free book, it remains the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be reproduced, copied and distributed for commercial or non-commercial purposes. Thanks for your support.

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Disclaimer: This work is an absolute fiction, an outcome of pure imagination of perceived situations with the clean purpose of the navigation of a set of life ideas. All characters and their portrayal are fictitious, with no intentional resemblance to anyone dead or alive. Any semblance must be accepted as pure coincidence and inadvertent.

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FOREWORD:

There has to be a humble admittance – Any word, however well meant and well spelt, is a possible suspect of misinterpretation. There is a simple reason. People are in different consciousnesses and culturally as well as personally inclined to a specific value-summation of utilities. As a writer it is a huge temptation to take liberties, with not only imaginations, ideas but also with the words, as against their common and popular use. Do kindly accept my latitude with language, choice of words and interpretation of contemporary realisms, as I understand, many times, they may not conform to popular usages and sentiments.

I share with you whatever is part of my consciousness and its honest innocence. All wisdoms say, what stays with you is what sinks in. Wisdom is what we internalize. I share with you whatever I have internalized in my life. This may not be mainstream, however, may have utility in some meaningful way. I believe, as a reader, you shall enjoy this novelty and pleasant awkwardness of the writing.

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BLISS HAS ITS OWN MYSTICISM and grief has its definitive marvel. Randomizations of life and living situations engender a heady blend of both to unravel something, which must qualify as magically magnificent life experiences. Destinies do not label up distinctions and discriminations between bliss and grief as both stand as equal utility at the theatre of life; almost uniformly building up randomized probabilities. Life’s script is surely energized by these.

One of the most mystically marvelous and magical randomizations of the cosmos – the man woman intimacy, brews this blend of joy and grief to infinite possibilities. Every probability generates precarious compatibilities and beautifully mystical mutualities. Each compatibility-positioning and concoction of man-woman body-mind situationalisms triggers off infinite probabilities. These unbounded journeys of cathartic causality between probability and compatibility have a definitive date with delectable destinies. Mutuality must remain the center-stage of all probabilities even as individuals struggle to write the scripts of their own destinies differently. Rather, all probabilities are beautifully satisfying, filled with fruition, if they happen to engender spectacular shades of mutualities. This is life at its mystical best.

Destinies may shape up and get withered away. However, this continuity of making and unmaking of probabilistic compatibilities and resultant mutuality in intimacy-relationships must remain cyclic. After all, this cyclicality is the eternal energy of randomizations of life and life is so full of probabilities. Surely, all probabilities are beautiful! If not, then why do all beautiful men and women exist for! Every man and woman has a date with a beautiful probability… People may not be perfectly beautiful but they all always engender perfect and beautiful probabilities. Mutuality itself must remain the most beautiful enterprise and journey of life.

When honesty blooms in a relationship, friendship happens. And when innocence leads the utilities in friendship, even impossibilities become available to lend credence to every probability. In a man-woman intimate relationship, the semblance of friendship always holds up possibilities. Even when everything seems to have been lost in an intimate relationship, the lurking friendship ensures that at least they continue to talk. Even when, their lips are closed and silent, their bodies keep expressing the subtleties of untold intents.

Words do not create possibilities but possibilities entwined in every word always engender beautiful and mystical probabilities. They are still talking, and even when things are not quite well in their relationship, they remain friends and so are the possibilities.

Her long black tresses are almost hiding her radiant yet melancholy face. The only dim light in the room is struggling with darkness. It surely suits her. She does not wish to show up her emotions but her body posture is betraying her intent. The more words are kept in sedate mode; more the intent gets energized and stands upfront. She keeps looking at the thick mat she is sitting over, continuously pulling threads out of it with a slow but firm hand. Her mind keeps weaving possible words she wishes to say but as she consciously chooses not to speak much, her hands are playing the game of unweaving the mat unconsciously.

He is probably in similar state of emotions but he successfully makes it look as if he is in perfect control of things. After all, he is a man and a very successful one. He is trained to be cool and well poised in trying situations. However, as he sits in a chair in front of her, he wishes she could say something, which could lead the talk. He keeps looking at her for a while but she is in no mood to oblige. He is however not complaining. How can he? He is definitely the one patiently waiting for a probability to open up. Finally, he takes the call…

‘I think I should leave now’, he says collecting his car keys and mobile.

‘Are you forgetting something?’, she whispers, still looking down at the mat.

‘What?’

‘Something you wanted to say… may be…!’

‘Does saying something make any difference?’

‘Probably, this difference has a bit of peace and satisfaction…’

‘Probably…! Means you are not sure!’

‘What do you mean?’

‘This word called meaning has infinite horizon…’

‘Hmmm… and what about your horizon?’

‘Haven’t learnt the artistry of counting the scale of boundaries of the horizon…!’

‘What have you learnt then?’

‘Not easy to say.’

‘Then, what is easy?’

‘Would you like to have coffee; this I can make, it is easy for me, sure…!’

‘Probably…’

‘You know, you… the horizons of your probability are so huge!’

‘Probably… never thought about it, don’t think of things this way…’

‘Ever thought of something, with conviction, beyond probability?’

‘No… never… never felt the need for it.’

‘Sure, not even once in a lifetime?’

‘Can’t say, probably…’

‘Okay… are you breathing, can you say this with surety?’

‘Don’t know; never feel the need to think about things…’

He smiles, which she could see as she lifts her face saying her last words. He rises and walks towards the kitchen. As he prepares the coffee, he can see that she shifts her posture and sits straight, reclining on the sofa behind her. She also arranges her hair and ties a knot. Amazing, how a woman’s body mechanism has facilities to unravel the infinite shades of her intent and shifting moods! He can now see her beautiful face. Good for his determination. Not that it was waning any bit! A man with no patience and perseverance is surely no friends with probabilities. He has loads of it and knows to put it to good use.

‘How is the coffee… now please don’t say I don’t know!’

‘Hmmm… this coffee is also very much like you.’

‘Bitter?’

‘Don’t know.’

‘Bland?’

‘Probably.’

‘Useless, a perfect waste?’

‘Can’t say.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Don’t know, may be I shall tell you after I think about it later.’

‘But you just said, you never think about things!’

‘May be you are right, probably I have to start doing it.’

‘Sure?’

‘Don’t know… probably… have to do it someday!’

‘Can you do it, are you sure?’

‘Probably...’

Probabilities are restless; express themselves in million shades of intangibilities. Possibilities infuse energies in infinite stupidities of tangible entities of action-behavior of things around us. It is for the man to show up and reverberate the elements of true and conscientious manhood to unravel the billion joys and utility of feminine intangibilities. The man-woman intimacy has tangible elements of transcendental mutuality of instincts. However, the instincts and innate nature of female and male elements of bodies express these tangibles in culturally distinguished intangibilities of disposition and demeanor. Women shall excel in the artistry of weaving the magical marvels of intangibilities of deep emotions of subconscious mind, whereas the man must remain honestly conscious and confident of the tangibility of his parental perseverance.

He is a man, very honest, especially with her and truly knowledgeable of the utility of his perseverance. His instinctive nature has sensed the energy of probability in her and like a doting father; he is truly in perfect harmony and rhythm of the intangibility of her moods and action-behavior.

Dualism of mind consciousness in a woman is veritable ecstasy for a true man. This dualism is provocatively palpable in her and he is enjoying like his favorite wine. Intimacies are not meant for action-reaction priorities, as it is something, which is build up, evolved painstakingly and nurtured with patience; above all, with innocence.

He is the master of his craft. She is at the best of her feminine self, unconsciously weaving the magical web of probabilistic potential of pristine intimacies, of which, most women are the first victim themselves. Both are very consciously aware of the utility of the refreshing freedom of friendliness, which shall always be the bottom-line, whatever probabilities, their elemental intangibles may unravel and lead them to. Both are therefore confident and that is why, somehow daringly positive in their respective approaches to the issue at hand.

He finishes the coffee first. He steps down from the chair, comes close to her, sits by her side and picks up a strand of long solitary black curl that has fallen on her yellow dress. She snatches it away from his hand and hides it in her closed palm. He extends his arms, signaling clearly that he wants it back. She ignores his demand and picks up a pencil from the side table, writing a ‘no’ on his extended palm. He keeps his arm extended and inches it close to her face. She looks at his hands, and a half-smile adorns her face. She inserts the pencil between his arm and the wristband, made of thick saffron threads, which he is wearing. She starts to spin the pencil, gradually twisting the wristband tighter on his arm. He shows no resentment and is cool as usual. She smiles more and wriggles the band more. He is consciously ready to unleash the probability of the twist of destiny in his favor even as the tightening wristband triggers a pain, which is gradually becoming unbearable. She keeps twisting the pencil and fixes her eyes on his face to watch his face distort in pain. Few seconds later, she stops, as his face remains expressionless. In desperation of her failed enterprise, she pulls out the pencil and brings it close to her eye as if wanting to hurl a curse on the useless pencil. The white pencil has turned red and a drop of blood falls on her yellow dress.

‘Oh God…! You are hurt… are you crazy… why didn’t you tell me to stop? Look at you, you are wounded, this is blood you stupid!

He says nothing but smiles, refusing to see his wound. The pain of his wrist is nothing in comparison to the joy he is receiving from her. He is enjoying the artistry of the magical marvels of intangibilities of deep emotions of subconscious mind of the woman he definitely values more than anything in the world. Bliss surely has its own mysticism and grief has its definitive marvel. Randomizations of life and living situations engender a heady blend of both to unravel something, which qualifies as something magically magnificent.

He is now in patient expectation of the probabilities, which sure is bound to come his way. Intimacy has million shades and it is the artistry of a woman to express