had seen less of him and was unsuccessful in her attempts of tying him to the material world. Her silent sacrifice, however, went unnoticed, like every other mother’s. Two droplets trickled down his cheeks. But he sighed with satisfaction that he was going to the gallows for a cause that he believed in. And it would send shivers down the spine of this imperialist government, which he knew would reverberate through London. He went into a silent recollection of the past. How he shot the constable J.P Saunders, his days at Hindustan Republican Association. He almost smiled when he remembered the flabbergasted expression of the judge who carried out his trial, as he and his pals kept shouting “Inquilab Zindabaad” almost incessantly. How he refused to sign the draft letter for clemency which his friend Prannath Mehta brought. Thoughts kept ricocheting in his head, and he didn’t realize for how long he kept ruminating, till the attendant came to his cell and called him by name. He remembered that the execution was advanced by a few hours, before people could be aware of it. Bhagat Singh left his cell in Lahore Jail for the last time.

23 year old application developer Amit Trivedi looked at his old Nokia 6300 with disgust and told himself, “an iPhone it will be”. His Boss confirmed his on – site assignment an hour back. His hard work had paid off, not to mention the lubrication of his Boss that he was so adept at. The first thing he could think of doing, once he was off-shore was to dump the old lump of plastic he was holding in his palm, for an all - new iPhone 4s. He was hardly able to control his excitement as he glimpsed through images of the Apple device, white and classy on Google, till the old phone beeped aloud, informing him of an incoming text. As he opened the message, the name flashed “Rhea”, his nagging girlfriend for the last 3 years. As usual, she was complaining about the little time they spend together now. “Poor bitch!” he thought. She wasn’t aware of the impending doom yet. And he mentally added a second ‘To-Do’ in the list. After the iPhone, it has to be a new chick, a ‘firang’ maybe and he grinned to himself. He didn’t bother to reply to the text, left the phone at his desk and moved aside his swivel chair. The giant LCD screen in the lobby flashed a frail old man, donning a white cap, who was involved in some sort of peaceful protest for stopping the menace of corruption in the country. “Hopeless morons,” he mumbled as he headed towards the coffee machine. He needed some caffeine he knew. And also that he need not bother about corruption for long, he will be out of the country forever, pretty soon. A confident Amit Trivedi leaned against the machine as it poured hot coffee into the styrofoam cup, and smiled satisfactorily.