Skip to main content

This is'nt a drill

“Save your work, shut down your PCs switch off the fans and lights and follow the instructions carefully”. The fire safety instructor blared in a monotonous voice. It was our customary safety mock drill and as a valuable employee to the organisation every one had to participate. Off went the alarms and the instructors took the centre stage and paraded us through the entire office. Suddenly I heard a loud scream, “Hey did you hear that scream, something ain’t right”. I said to Rohan. “Yeah let’s check it up,” said Rohan. We came out of the procession. “I think it came from the fifth floor”. I said. We scurried through the stairs and opened the door. “It's empty, there is no one here,” Rohan said. We heard the scream again. “Sixth floor its Keerthi's department,” I said. We scampered to the sixth floor and broke open the door.

The sixth floor was filled with smoke and fire was engulfing the entire space. "Rohan, I will take the fire extinguisher you go turn on the sprinklers," I said. I knew it was a race against time. I started extinguishing the fire clearing the main lobby, the screams coming from the conference hall got louder as the fire leaped wildly. I kept dosing off the fire but it was not enough we needed the sprinklers to be turned on. The automation had failed and someone had to manually open it.

Meanwhile, Rohan hurried to the sprinkler system which was beside the refuge area, he had to find the right valve and turn it on, after a few attempts he hit the right combination. Sprinklers squirted the water all over the place and the fire was dosed off. I heaved a sigh of relief. People came out of the room. They were thanking me to save their lives, but I told them it was not possible without Rohan. My eyes were searching for Keerthy and finally, she came out looking unnerved but felt at ease after seeing me. “Hey, are you fine?” I asked as I embraced her. “I feel good,” she said placing her head over my shoulder.  

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

The Mountain

Siddhartha was born in the month of monsoon, in a small sleepy hamlet called Thione. He was a cute and a healthy boy born to a decent couple. The father was a craftsman and mother was teacher in the town school. They lived in their cottage by the green mountains of Thione. There universe was always peaceful and happy. Siddhartha grew up in an environment that was filled with love and care. He was an efficient learner and was quickly taking his baby steps. The first word he uttered was “Maa..” that left tears of lasting joy in his mother’s eyes. He would play for hours with his toys and would then have his lunch made by his mother. The courtyard in the house had a swing. A baby Siddhartha would swing like a pendulum sitting over it. One day his gaze fell on the green mountains behind their cottage. “Maa, what’s there in the green mountains? For how long they have been sitting there still?” He asked with an unmatched curiosity. “They have been there since a very long, long...

Two Earthen Pots

As I sit beside the balcony, I see two earthen pots one besides the other, light brown, freckled and same, but still there lies a difference none the less. There was a blossoming flower once, with its ripening petals of red, being watered daily it grew slowly, maturing into a mesmerising rose. But now in the earthen pot lies dried leaves, shrive l led petals, and lifeless roots, all turned into the dust, with one cruel swipe of death. Dancing to the tunes of wind, a sapling grows in the other earthen pot, watered with care and love, life finds its way out through the mud. Life and death is a cycle, one takes place after another, the old becomes one with the sands of time, and the new blossoms with eternity.

An Empty Canvas

A paper is a writer’s canvas as the sun rose I showed up at the page and the blank page stared at me balefully afraid I closed the notebook. My friends would ask, “ W hat’s there in your notebook?” “ Ideas, words and creativity.” I would say, But they could find none. Let down by the bare page, “ Where are your w ords?” T hey would say I know where they are read them hidden beneath the layers of an empty canvas.