Rohan Pius - Personal Site

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Tales are made up of imaginary elements. The stories from Saltwater are part of Rohan's Master Collection of fictitious stories, which will be added to this website by November 2024 and includes HANNA: A Short Crime Novel.

Issue 7: Angel-Seraphic

Staged in 2019...

Issue 6: I'm All Thumbs (and Fingers)

As usual, my morning routine carried on. A glass of lukewarm water, pea size amount of toothpaste for brushing my teeth and probably yet another glass of water for the gargle. Pea-size was very little toothpaste for my teeth. I needed it to lather and reach the farthest corner of the mouth. All those hidden teeth must get the lasting taste of the minty flavor. That was the time, Colgate introduced a new variant for their Max Fresh range of toothpaste. The yellow-lemon tang was my preference. Despite Kevin's dislike of the paste and lack of my concern, a tube of Max Fresh Lemon was always on my list. There was a time when, with a needle, I would try to separate the tiny white colored mints from the paste. I bowed out. Mom always said, "gargle at least four times." Pfft! The time taken to do a boring task.

One day as I was attending to the morning ritual, adversity strikes. While exiting the bathroom after brushing, my right thumb ran into the hinge of the door. My left hand shut the door without a care for what just happened to its partner. A band of lights hit me. Unless those lights were filled with pain. I let out a cry. Tears rolled down my eyes and my mind go blank. What should I do next? Should my culprit left hand reverse the action, that is swing open the door, or should I force-pull my thumb out of the hinge? I knew the force-pull wouldn't work. It was taking too far to think about anything. Mom came to the rescue. She opened the door and pulled out my thumb. Kevin brings a cup of cold water filled to the brim. The water overflowed while my palm drowned in it. The water turned light red at the bottom and dark at the top as the fluids dripped and dripped. I could not help but cry loudly. I recall those sessions with dad while he pulled out an aching tooth from my upper jaw. Lower jaw was harder for my small circular mouth. The dad-powered tooth extraction was not as painful as this one. I resisted the urge to peak at my thumb in the bloodied water. The pain seemed to lessen in the cold water, but the sight got worse. Mom pulled my palm out of the water, then dressed the wound in a ripped, dry piece of fabric. "Rohan, stop looking at your finger. Kevin, help your brother put on a shirt. We have to go immediately." Time seemed to fly, and we were prepared to go. As Kevin finished buttoning my shirt, Dad pulled the car out of the garage.

Our neighborhood is part of a place called HAL, Stage I. We had to drive to Stage II, which is Indiranagar, about two kilometers away, there is a hospital run by a missionary. Dad wouldn't want Kevin to drive. You could believe that the apocalypse was already here if Kevin were to drive. Not that his driving was poor, but for the long forceful presses on the accelerator pedal and the inertia dragging my head backwards in a tug, causing motion sickness and nausea. Since this was a medical emergency, and Mom was not sure how to treat a nail broken into who-knows-how-many-pieces, Dad's driving would only secure my thumb more.

Upon reaching the hospital entrance, Mom assisted me in getting out of the car as we arrived at the hospital door. The fabric was now damp and dark from being saturated with liquids. She moved approaching the gateway that said "Casualty and Emergency" while firmly holding my hand. Dad and I entered the room while mom and Kevin waited outside the door, occupying seats close by. Before the doctor's arrival, I was instructed to take a seat in a recliner-like patient chair in a brightly lit white room with vivid green window blinds. Through the open sides of the covers, I could see more clearly beyond the window, including the trees and birds. My body seemed to relax a little bit to the environment. A male doctor and a female nurse greeted us. I didn't feel very welcomed because the pain has already rendered my body lifeless. My eyes slowly began to lose its sharpness. In the distance, the detailed trees and sounds of birds chirping were much duller. I noticed that I was losing energy as well. The horror concealed beneath those layers was revealed as the nurse carefully peeled back the fabric covering my thumb and palm. My left palm yanked itself free from my father's hold and clung to the nurse's right hand while she cleaned the wound with gauze and a sterilizing solution. Despite, the cotton swab having good intentions, the movement felt like a knife scraping my already-borderless finger. The remedy had a cool sensation, and I remembered that chilliness is effective against pain.

The doctor inched closer toward me while carrying an injection needle and a little glass vial containing a translucent liquid. He was dressed in a thick white coat that was resistant to the breeze blowing from the window shaft. I could recall a friend who became disoriented at the sight of an injection needle. He is lucky. The pain of the jab is undoubtably terrifying, but nobody thinks about the easy and painless aftermath. The syringe pointer pierced into the skin, equally uncomfortable to a red ant bite. The anesthetic kicked in and the dark-reddish thumb quickly turned yellow, then whitish yellow, until I could no longer feel I had a thumb at all.

Issue 5: PPT, Let's Gab

Our marketing instructor, a little displeased with the class' answer, announces, "Who is ready with their ppt?" Since all of the students were graduates, the teacher anticipated some accountability and deadline adherence on their part, but this is always the complete reverse of what occurs. On the day of the presentations, no team shows up. Some of the teams respond, "Prof, we are finishing it." Quite a few others fail to show up for class. Oh! They enjoy vanishing and avoiding the "stage-fear-antidote." When our lecturer summons us forward to present our thesis, or most likely a power-point presentation that everyone is familiar with, it truly feels like judgment day is drawing near. PPT file creation is put off until the very last minute or an hour before the disastrous deadline. "Let me start doing it the night before the presentation...haha lol!" Where is the time to make the power-point presentations for my speech on stage? Did you know that we are also obligated to speak on the ominous dice, similar to how I would speak while wearing heels so high that I could see the whole class below from that height? I have friends who would do the same thing, but there's a twist at the very end - All Nighter - Sit all night infront of the laptop and do the work, just like I am doing now. No no, I am not doing the slides. I am writing this piece for the Saltwater Issue. But yeah, I have ppt work to be done and guess what! My team has our deadline tomorrow afternoon.

When I caught up with Puhi, she told me about another unfinished task that she had just remembered. Now we got two resumes to create, Puhi's and mine, and we got the slides. God damn it! The resumes were worked on for almost two hours, accounting to being finished at 2am the next day. I leave the room and head to the balcony to get some fresh air. From the third level, I can see street dogs patrolling the area and barking at other dogs that try to enter their domain. Did you know that they use their pee to mark their territories? They at least have a purpose in life—to defend their territory against invasion. That's when I understood that having a self-checked timetable may get rid of the most undesirable things and help us concentrate on the necessities. As soon as I enter my room, I turn on the laptop because it is difficult to sit in this room without it. So, that's a challenge. Now, what I do on my laptop is important. Because it allows me to complete my task in a matter of hours rather than several lazy days, my weakness of wanting my favorite tunes to play in the background can be overlooked. "Perhaps I'll complete this piece tomorrow." "No, Rohan, no. You must finish it right away or else you will be done." Few snippets of what I think about every second when I work on crucial tasks, like writing this supurrr-important narrative.

Guess I gotta start the ppt slides right away. Or nobody will start it for me, will they? Search for Canva, browse and get a good template with a decent amount of infographics, statistical bars and beautiful yet professional fonts and colors. Oh yes, I got a good one. Check the slides one last time and export to pptx extension file. Yay! Our ppt is ready. No wait, the information is wrong.. its all placeholder text. I got this... I got this. Launch ChatGPT. Login with Google or Apple, who gives a shit with what I login. Click 'new chat' and then starting throwing in questions into the head of this robot before it starts complaining about Rohan's last minute irritation.

"I apologize, but I don't have access to real-time data or the ability to provide inside statistics for specific companies, including Wipro. My knowledge is based on information available up to September 2021." — 'Poker Face' — What were they doing after September 2021? It's been two years and running. Yet no update on their databases. "Rohan, they clearly say that GPT 4.0 is for subscription-paying VIPs who got the Plus version only." So what do we have to pay to get the information? Don't they know that information is free to all on the planet, yet they want to put up a paywall for new data? Which penal code are they violating? Arg! Anyway, I am just going to go with the info this generative robot can give me, Ctrl-C and V them all, add mine and Puhi's names at the bottom, and present them tomorrow without any oral preparation on stage. Just let the drama play out naturally.

Let's just gab, and sorry for my last-minute English grammar.

Issue 4: Rosie's Poss-e

"Who is that girl, Rohan? My mother asks in astonishment, "I think I've seen her in one of the photos with you." She adds. "Nobody." I respond, "I don't know her," before the girl introduces herself. I stand there and use my face expressions, eyes, and brows to communicate with my friend in code as if she were a total stranger. She ignores my coded signal and begins conversing with my incredibly curious mother. :Hello, auntie..." My friend says, "Hey Rohan, how are you doing?" and then turns to gaze at my mother and me again. "Mom, she is Rose, my friend from college. She's in my class." "Ohh.. I'm sorry Rose, but I knew it was you in the photo taken the quadrangle at college. That's you, right?" A more curious mother asks Rose. "Yes, auntie. That was me... and that picture was taken on my camera, too." she continues. I was wondering why mom was not doing her regular ritual of forcing me to talk to people in front of their faces. And Oh my god! she just did it. "Rohan, why aren't you talking to your friend." Mom stares into my eyes and asks, awaiting a reply. "A busy street is not a great place to strike something up, ain't that right Rose? Where you heading? Traveling solo?" I ask. "Jithwi is right by the corner. He's coming to pick me up," she replies looking at both of us, once at mom and yet again, twice at me. I wondered what she happened to her, whether she is alright. For all that staring and looking twice each time. "So, great meeting you auntie but I have to leave now. That's the car. Bye auntie.. bye-bye Rohan. Meet you soon, Rohan." she says and slips away toward the grey matte painted car parked fifty or so meters away from where my mother and I stood. "She's a nice girl, Rohan." Mom tells me. I reply "Hmm."

A quiet girl occupied the front row of the classroom, largely to the far right, where an open window provided a view of the college's Richmond Road side. I frequently observe her sitting with her shoulders slumped and gazing out the window. Her gaze darted away to the passing cars, the trembling tree leaves, and the unidirectional moving clouds. Rose had to wait a year and repeat the semester where she had a shortage in attendance before she could join the batch in the fifth semester. One afternoon, during a literature class, our teacher asked me to sit in the chair next to this quiet girl for coming late for class. She jumped up to greet me "Hi.. It's Rohan, right?" she asked me. For a moment, my perspective of this girl had changed. She indeed not a super quiet girl who barely looked up at humans.

Even now, I can still clearly recall that day, which is why I'm writing this. We had a lot to say to one another, and the hour was primarily spent laughing. Miraculously, we grew close to each other very quickly. I was with Rose every day rather than watching cartoons by myself at the library. We visited cafes and museums in the city, but the majority of the time, we probably sat in a favorite grassy spot at Cubbon Park around a neem tree. We talked about life in the funniest way possible while leaning on the tree's roots. One of my favorite parts from literature college was Rose. Occasionally, I drank more than I could bear and tripped over the table at the restaurant-bar, while Rose joked with other strangers. When I encounter individuals like Rose, I ponder why they behave as super-reserved individuals in college but become talkative when around their closest friends. Its more like every guy needs a girl best friend and the sayings are true. Like I have Puhi now, I had Rose back then.

During the encounter with Mom, Rose seemed like she wanted to speak to me. She wanted those old memories to be given a shake. Like she needed them to be alive again. After buckling up her seat belt, she gave a final look at me through the distance. I could see the emotions play out on her face. I nodded up and down twice, to which she mirrored my actions. And there we connected once again. As the car's wheels twisted and went off, far away from us, a smile emerged on my face, and she reflected it once again.

Issue 3 was taken down due to personal objections. Feel free to read newer Issues.

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Issue 2: Estella's most-wanted

"You know we're going over the speed limit?" My heart is throbbing in my palm as I speak, clinging onto my seat. "It says 80, but we're driving in 110." Estella turns the wheel as we pursue her vehicle toward Hosur on the Electronic City Expressway. You want me to drive at your favorite speed, Rohan? Which is that? Oh! Its 40." She answers. "I favor safety over thrill. You're aware that this isn't the US. Here, the police are ruthless. There, there, do you see it? That is a camera with night vision. Probably, someone caught our license plate. It's almost midnight." I carry on. She casts a keen gaze in my direction from her left. "We will consider this an adventure if we are arrested." I attempt to muster the confidence, or at least seem to have it, and I put my heart back where it belongs.

I parked my car near the station's exit after Mom instructed me to pick up Estella from the metro station close to Indiranagar. Although I had heard about Estella's life in the US, I was meeting her for the first time and was perhaps awaiting it in some manner. Estella is my distant relative. My current assumption is that this person is one of the daughters of my grandmother's several sisters. It's only a theory, so I'm not sure. Mom says Estella was given birth in the same hospital, on the same day. Which means we have the birthdays on the same date, month and year. Grandma says that Estella is more like a twin who I could not get to meet until after 23 years.

"Turn on the a/c, the windows are getting misty. I am going blind." As she puts the brakes on, Estella says after clearing her voice. The car's speed immediately reduces to 30 kmph. After about two minutes, the glass starts to clear. The sound of the car's engine fades, and everything returns to normal. My left hand's finger pushed the switch, causing the window to descend and let some clean, fresh air enter the vehicle and circulate inside. The a/c is turned off by Estella twisting the knob. I get my phone out and text Puhi to tell her to give me a call shortly. Estella steers to the side of the freeway and glances my direction. "You want to drive through the rest and return home? I don't know the route." I smile and nod as a contented expression appears on my face.

As I unlocked the door handle to exit the vehicle and grabbed the phone in my left hand as the door closed behind me, Puhi's call came in. "Hello, Puhi!" I said. "You called?" the voice asked. Estella slipped her phone into her side pocket and stepped outside to take in some fresh air as I continued the chat outside in the bitter cold. "This is the aroma of India. Your nation has a pleasant, more earthy scent." Estella remarks as she casts a sidelong glance toward the long, seemingly never-ending highway. She walked forward to position her back to rest on the front of the car, craving for the warmth of the engine. The call with Puhi cuts off and I wondered why Mum or Dad hadn't called yet. "It's probably day time in the US, no wonder you're not sleepy." I say. A small laugh from Estella. "I slept in the plane, and that was it. It's prolly the excitement of meeting you after such a long time. Years." She answered. "We have never met," I say. "Rohan, do you know that we were born together?" My face glowed. The theory is unquestionably true. "Estella, I believed it to be just..." A voice block developed in my throat. "It's true," she continues. "The hospital, the day, and the year were all the same." She goes on. She stared curiously into my eyes as I appeared perplexed. "You still tune in to Ben Bohmer, right?" Estella queries. "That's a trade secret. There is no way you could know that." I interrupt her. She takes something white with wires on it out of her back pocket. I take a quick look at her to see what she's pulling out. "Do you remember this, Rohan?" I was at a loss for words. "My old phone. I believe I lost it in 2015." I tell her. "Yup. I take assuming you had an accident during a wedding? I found your misplaced phone." I had a hundred questions for her because it was beginning to make no sense and I asked them all. "How did you...why didn't you return it?" She places the phone on my right hand as I ask.

My fingers touch the iPhone 5c 2013 Limited Edition's polycarbonate cover. My favorite phone was the one I lost at a pointless pre-wedding celebration at my cousin's house. "I downloaded your iTunes playlists from here and listened to them on the sound bar. I haven't wept more for anything than this. I adored it. Family as a whole enjoyed your playlist. I also gave some to my buddies!" She clarified. "I am sorry. Your phone was not returned since I had to leave for the first flight. So I missed my one opportunity to meet you. However, I kept it secure in my room until yesterday while I was packing." She explained. "Seven years... Seven years you protected it, and today you brought it back for me." "Thank you, Estella," I replied as I wrapped the phone in my palm and met her gaze.

We remained standing for a while giggling. "Let's move quickly so your mother is able to punch you." She says with a chuckle, twitching eyebrows, and an emerging dimple on her left cheek. "Your mom is my mom too. Technically, we are twins." I say. "Rohan, you are undoubtedly my twin brother. But how come our names are so dissimilar?" She responds. I laugh it out as I get into the driver's seat, Estella pushes herself in, slams the door and puts on her seat belt. I buckle up too, turn the ignition key and hit the gas. We drive off toward the end of the freeway and make a U-turn to get home. "Who's Puhi?" Estella asks. "You will know, twin sis!"

Issue 1: Biased round off

[issue deleted]

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