ЭνιℓℓινЄ WITH A VEIL ON...

The eyes remained closed. Calm. Serene. There was no way anyone could tell, what lies deep inside those closed eyes. Back and forth- as the chair rocked, the clock ticked away, unable to stop itself. The phone. She glided towards the mobile. “Hello”. Silence. “Hmm”. Silence. She looked up, at the clock- 8:06 pm. “Fine”. She kept the mobile down. Her eyes fell over a photograph on the table. A girl, standing beside her father. The girl, innocent, unsure, afraid- and barely living.

“… you see, she doesn’t have a mother. She died, you know. And I’m a single father. How do you suppose that I can manage a girl all by myself? I mean, look at her. She’s always crying and eating. You are very beautiful and smart..”

He was smart too, her father. She could never forget him. He kept bringing home new mothers, all the time. Some were kind, some- didn’t care. And one, kept beating her, all the time. But one day, everything changed. That was the day, when she swore to herself that she’d never let people, use her. And that made, all the difference.

“.. you can’t beat me anymore”, she said, firmly. The woman only smiled. “And who’ll stop me? Your drunken, good-for-nothing father”? “No. I Will”, she said. The woman started laughing. “Oh yeah”? And she advanced towards the timid, little girl. The smile in her eyes turned into fear. Bloodshot eyes. She was gasping for breath as she slumped. And the little girl, stood there, with the blood stained knife in hand. Her eyes spoke a new language. A language of power- life!

The phone. She set aside the photograph and picked up her mobile. 8:25pm. “Hello”. Silence. “By 10? No. Finish it up by 9”. Silence. “Yes, I have it”. Silence. Silence. “Alright.. 9:30”. She looked up, again. 8:27pm. She turned back to the photograph. She took it out of the frame. Turned the photograph. A poetry. The heart, that understood her- Jennifer.

“.. I know, child. It might be very difficult for you, with your father in jail for murder. Was it your mother”? “No”, she replied, “step- mother”. “Ah! You poor child. Don’t worry. You are born to live. You are God’s special child. He’s sent all his angels to be your friends. And you’ll find them all, here. I promise”.

But she found only one. Jennifer. There was something in Jenny, that made her get close to her. They became inseparable. At times, she felt as though, Jenny knew her more than anyone else.

“.. Is that you and your father, in that photo”? Jenny asked. “Yes”. “Do you miss him”? She wasn’t sure whether she missed him or not. So, she said, “Sometimes’. “Will you miss me, if we ever part”? Jenny asked. “Yes. A lot”. Jenny smiled. “Let me give you something that will remind you, about me”. She looked at Jenny, curiously. Jenny was looking at the sky, thinking and smiling. “Let me write a poem about you”. “About me”? she asked, amused. “Yes”. Jenny got the photo from her, and began to write the poetry..

8:42 pm. She dialed a number. “Do you have the cash that my husband wanted you to get from the bank”? Silence. “Good. Leave it in my husband’s car”. Silence. “That’ll be fine. Thank you”. 8:45 pm. Another number. “It’s in his car”. Silence. “Good”. She moved back to her chair. Now, she’d wait. And as she waited- she sailed, back again, through her memory- her life.

“… I know. This promotion means so much to you. But you are still new around here. You understand me? The boss is so sorry. He thinks you are very good, no doubt. But still.. you get me”? “Yes Mr. Trivedi, I understand”, she replied. “That’s better”. Mr. Trivedi smiled. He knew, she’d be no trouble at all. This young female- she was beautiful and intelligent. But only, woman. He turned to leave, when she spoke suddenly. “Congrats, anyway, Mr. Trivedi”. “Congrats? Why”? “Well, obviously, if this promotion is not mine, it’s yours, isn’t it”? Trivedi was not sure how to react. He managed a smile, however. “Well.. well.. You sure know everything that’s going around, don’t you”? She smiled. A kind of sheepish, yet, a pleased, you-flatter-me kind of smile. “Ah.. not everything. Just a few things. Like, there’s a loss of .. how much is that.. 4 Crore ? about which many people here, have no idea.. and a few others.. you know- the 5 bedroom flat, a beach house and 3 days- 3 nights holiday package to Malaysia.. you know.. all these kind of stuff..”

She was promoted, the next day.

9:05 pm. The phone. “Hello”. It was her husband. He had a nice telephone voice. “.. guess what. Everything is planned. I’ve got the tickets. I’ll reach home by 10. Packed your things”? “Yes”, she replied, and smiled. “Great. We are going to have a great time, I promise you”. “I’m sure, we will”, she replied. “Bye. See you soon”. “Bye”. 9:07pm.

She moved her fingers across “Love, Jenny..” written below the poetry, on the photo..

“.. my husband’s going to leave me. Tomorrow, we’ll be divorced. And the day after, you’ll both be married. This is what you’d always wanted, right”? Jenny was shaking with rage. “Jenny, you know very well that I never wanted it that way. Everything, just happened. I couldn’t do anything..” “Oh you could! YOU and only YOU, could’ve done something about it. YOU- can do anything. And YOU know, YOU CAN”. Jenny’s fists were clenched. She was trying hard to control herself. “Calm down, Jenny. You are very disturbed. Sit down..” “Shut up.. you..” Jenny was breathing. In and out. In and out. She waited. She’d let Jenny speak. And Jenny spoke. Her voice, calm, tired- dead, “You know why we were friends? Because it was I and only I, who’d understood you, completely. I, knew you. And yet- I believed that I can be friends with you. You know why? I was foolish. I thought, I could change you. Help you get better. Thought you were a girl who’d been hardened by the miseries of life. And I was wrong. Only later, I realized that the reason people fear Evil is because, just when you are beginning to understand it’s course, it changes it’s course. Evil is evil, because it is unpredictable, for the good. You are Evil. And you’ll Live. Always. Goodbye”.

Jenny died, the next day- depressed.

9:35 pm. The chair was rocking. Clock ticking. She was holding the phone. She was tensed, for the first time ever, in her life. She dialed a number. No reply. She dialed again. No reply. The chair was rocking faster. But the clock, at the same pace, as ever, ticking rhythmically.

9:46 pm. No reply, yet again. Her heart beat started rising up its pace and she could feel the beat. She quickly rose up and decided to make the phone call. The last phone call. She dialed a number. She waited. She waited. She waited. A cold voice spoke from the other end, “You husband’s dead. I have the cash”. She felt relieved. As though she was plunging into deep, cold water- celebrating her freedom from the scorching summer heat. “Good. I should never hear again, from you”. “You’ll never”. 9:57 pm

A week later-

The eyes remained closed. Calm. Serene. There was no way anyone could tell, what lies deep inside those closed eyes. Back and forth- as the chair rocked, the clocked ticked away, unable to stop itself. On one hand, she had a letter from the Board of directors, requesting her, to join the board. On the other hand, she held a photograph- with a poetry on it’s back, that read-

VEIL

Soft muslin, light and tender
The breeze playing with it
Hides the rosy lips and dimple chin
And the emotions that lie within.

Days roll on, years pass by-
There's no muslin and no breeze;
Yet, it's those rosy lips and dimple chin
That hide emotions, deep within!

love,

Jenny.

She remembered Jenny. She remembered Jenny’s words. And she knew, she was Evil, who’d Live with her Veil, on, always.

"HOME" CALLING...

"Tokyo Drift". I have felt the music to be appealing. I usually let the phone ring for a few minutes, when the call is from 'Home'. I liked listening to "Tokyo Drift". I did the same thing today. Mom- with her ususal list of Do's and Don'ts. I reply to her call with only "hmm.."s and "ya"s. "Don't go alone, anywhere. Don't go in the auto, alone. Don't go to BIG hotels.." . Mom, I presumed, got upset after watching the news. Of course, she was. The whole nation was. Only that, the 200 and 300 people who are dead- they don't seem numbers anymore.

Gopalakrishnan. P. K., AGM., State Bank Of India, Mumbai, a father, a husband, a brother and a maternal uncle, received a fatal gun shot at Taj, last night(26th Nov) where he had been dining with some of his friends.

News of terrorists shooting down people pops up almost everyday. But, being some where so secure, protected., they have never had an impact on me. I feel bad about it. But I also forget about it. But now, when a mere number flashing on screen right below the yelling Barkha Dutt, remains no longer a number- I feel as though something's over there- up and above my head- something evil, mocking at me, saying to me- "What would you do now? I am now, into your life too..." I am helpless.

Away from home. Away from people who I know. Nowhere to go. Yet, no tears come out of my eyes. A strange numbness, has become a part of me.

Mama's last words were the names of his two children. I hope, they find strength enough to carry on...

PS.: thank you, Karthik, for the link.. A report about his death in Times Of India.. Click Here..

YOUR ATTENTION, PLEASE.. RELOADED!

The roads are flooded with busy people. Cars, buses, autos, fly past the 'busy bodies'. Horns reflect the anger of the ones behind the wheels. Trash and junk, ornate the footpath- where some hungry dog would try his luck, sniffing a dirty polythene bag. The place is never dark. The city never sleeps.


The water filled the bucket- and now, it wanted to get out of the same. The pale blue walls of the bathroom looked inhospitable. The mirror was dusty. A hand wiped the same- and the mirror revealed a life, about to begin, again. A smile. And the mirror smiled back. It couldn't do anything else also! Whatever has been going on has been going well. Yet why should the smile be forced? Some questions are best left unanswered.


The auto stops by an office building. A smile, again. No one smiles back this time. Yet, the smile prevails. Once again, I board on the next train- and now, my stop would be- Chennai!

NOW

Now- A fragment in time
A dew on a leaf
A fleeting moment
Soon to be, the past..

An invincible truth-
An invariant lie-
A word, sans meaning
Yet, pregnant with space..

Now, is the star
Now is this sky
Now- is smile
Rest is, but lie!

Now, is happiness
Now is the sorrow
Now, is this life
To be lived, tomorrow...

FOR THE CHILD OF HAPPINESS!

It’s been years since I’d stopped looking at faces- stopped recognizing them. Faces- good, bad, not good, not bad; however they may be, they made me feel bewildered. I was always in a muzzy- nebulous wreck, once I started looking into the faces.

I had settled myself for the legs. I recognized each leg I’ve ever worked on. Day and night, I looked at those legs, those shoe clad feet. I worked on them.. I loved them.

But I worked not for the pleasure that I felt in touching the crisp wafers of currency. No. It doesn’t seem credible, but I work for the mere smile that I get when I see my hands work wonders on those dusty shoes that walk nowhere! I feel happy when my hands work swiftly- right to left to right; over those shoes- black or brown.

Those shoes were of all sorts. Big- fat ones, long- thin ones, flat ones, pointed ones, those that did not fit in those wrong legs, and those worn- only to make others jealous. But whatever type they might be- I worked on them- until I saw them give me a glowing smile.

All days of the week, I worked. The sweat which rest on the tip of my nose, as my eyes drilled on the movement of my hands- evaluating the perfection of my job, knew that they were born out of a man who was happy. They were our children- I, the father and my work- the mother.

A man is happy in his life, as long as his wife keeps him happy. I had two wives- my work and Shanti. And they both made me happy. I earned just enough to run our family and keep us smiling. Shanti too, never wanted for more- not ever. She had learned to read my thoughts and resonate with my smile. And I had learned to smile, when she wanted one from me!

For the past few days, I felt that she wanted less of my smiles. Something had changed. She had changed. She felt weak- and the more she tried to hide it from me, the more it was conspicuous. I decided to take her to the doctor.

Shanti had to be admitted in the hospital. I needed money. We had managed to save a little. But more was needed.

I now worked for the pleasure of feeling the crisp wafers of currency. My sweat was not my child of happiness- it was only the price for my labour. There was so much to do. And there was never enough time. I felt pressured and hassled all day, everyday, seven days a week. And each day, was a day long of drudgery- a struggle to succeed in a deadly game with fate. And in this wrestle, I must win- to save a soul who had only lived to see me smile. And my defeat would only mean that, my smile would be gone.

The pleasure that I got to see my hands move swiftly over the shoes, were no longer pleasure. I had learned to work without passion. I had learned to live like many others- an ordinary humdrum life- devoid of smile but a rage to win; devoid of passion but a compulsion to earn. I was a man- of the Earth!

She was going to be alright. She smiled at me after days of agony. A smile, which relieved her of all her agony. A smile- that left her eyes devoid of light, yet she kept smiling- as though she could never stop smiling- as though she could do nothing else anymore- not fight anymore- and not suffer anymore- but smile and only smile..

It’s been years since I’d stopped looking at faces- stopped recognizing them. I had settled myself for the legs. Day and night, I looked at those legs, those shoe clad feet. I worked for the smile that stayed with me, forever. A smile- and just a smile. But for the smile- Shanti was only a vegetable. And as my first child of happiness- left me- I worked to see my hands work forever- swift from left to right to left to right to left…

YOUR ATTENTION PLEASE...

New Day. The dawn speaks a thousand dreams. Hopes of a new future- bring out a smile, somewhere deep within. Yet, a tiny tinge of fear, constantly infest the smile of the uncertainties that lie ahead.

New life, new faces, new lessons to be learnt! Will I Live the new Life? Yes. I am dying to Live! A thought had crawled up, a few months ago- about Life, being an institution and I, a student in it. But when the doors have actually opened, the thought seems mere words!

Prayers. Blessings. Wishes. Pour in from all over. Thank you, all. The Life, awaits for a passenger, who needs to move on. One step forward- I board in the train. Bags packed. Tickets reserved. And dreams- overflowing, out through my eyes- I’ll be around, I promise- but adieu, for now! The train is off- I move on with it- the next stop- God’s Own Country!

SUNDAY SPECIAL!

What does Sunday mean to you? Sleep until 8 am? (I am a slugabed..) Shopping? Movies? And many other things. To some, it's just another day, in a week-full of days. To some others, it's just a Sunday. For me, Sunday is- Special food day! After all, we live in a country, where people worship food- where people are proud of their cuisine and where, to the grannies, you shall always remain, looking under-fed, even though you can fit in, the entire 70mm screen, all by yourself!

So, what's "Sunday Special" (“S-S”)? Before I answer that question, I should mention about my parents. Both my Mom and Dad, cook really well! How well? I think
you'd be able to guess that, once you get to see me! My mom, does all the traditional- Sambhar, Rasam, Aviyal varieties. My dad- he's the Star! He likes to experiment, create new enticing taste buds and try out, new dishes. In fact, you might be surprised, my dad watches all the cookery shows on TV and tries out those recipes!

"S-S", as you might've guessed, by now, is all about my dad! Sunday is his Day! A day, when he's given a "free reign"! The kitchen, becomes “out-of-bounds” to mom, and dad, takes over! Why? To prepare his "S-S", a mouth- watering, steaming hot, treat to the palate. His "S-S" is a force that enhances the holiday flavour in us. An effort that is never wasted. Creativity- in it's best.

It was on one such Sunday, I decided that, I should do something to show my dad, that I really appreciate his efforts! Further encourage and motivate him? On that Sunday, the "S-S" was Pulao and Aloo Mutter-, all original colours and appetising flavours- that I couldn't help myself, but do what I did! Take pictures of his "S-S"!

The pictures you see here, epitomize fond labour, gleeful pain, raising hunger! I can be ruthless, when I'm in-charge! I was bossing around, while my parents had to do all the cleaning of vessels, dusting the table- kind of chores. I did, only the Final arranging-on-the-table part. They say, the test of the pudding is in the eating.. While I was arranging and re-arranging the “S-S” to take snaps from “different angles”(!), my mom almost lost her patience and asked me- “When can we eat, ra”?! But at the end of the day- it was the most memorable "S-S” with a plateful of seducing, mouth-watering dishes- that proclaim familial bond and affection- framed in frozen time!

AN AWARD? FOR ME?!

Thank you, Vinay and Karthik. I am really pleased. This is my second award on blogger! Some rules that come along with this award are-

1. When you receive the prize you must write a post showing it, together with the name of who has given it to you, and link them back.
2. Choose a minimum of 7 blogs (or even more) that you find brilliant in their content or design.
3. Show their names and links and leave them a comment informing they were prized with 'Brillante Weblog'.
4. Show a picture of those who awarded you and those you give the prize(optional).
5. And pass it on!

And now, I pass on this award to-

Scribbler- What a poet!
Vrinda- Brilliant writer! The way she narrates is great!
Vanilla Sky- There's something in her blog that attracts me to it, everytime! Her posts sound genuine, are pleasant and down to earth!
Arjun- Has a great imagination and a really good sense of humour! Do pay a visit to his blog!
Nithya- Her tamil blog is great- humourous, colourful, lively! I've read some of her better posts on serious issues like- funding orphanages, visit to old age homes, etc. Her tamil blog is so simple and enjoyable- that even me, who literally struggles reading tamil, take pains to sit for hours and read the entire post! Great work, Nithya!
Karthik- It's high time he receives an award for his "Impeccable English"!
Priya- She'd come under the "brilliant content" catagory! Has a very good poetry blog! Do visit!

Thank you again, Vinay and Karthik!

A LITTLE DREAM- CALLED HOPE!

“I just had a dream, Radha! I’m sure, it’s a boy”!

“Vimmi.. Stop for a second.. I just don’t get it. Relax.. Now tell. What was in your dream”?

“I dreamt of Lord Krishna, playing with his friends.. and Mother Yashodha is watching over him, smiling proudly, at her son..”

“That’s great, Vimmi. This is such wonderful news! I think we should tell this to Sarlaji”!

“You both seem so happy.. Now what is it that you’ve got to tell me”? Sarlaji had entered the room. She was a kind and pleasant looking, middle-aged woman, under whose care all the ladies over that place- at Anand, came to know, what was it like, to be in heaven!

“Tell me what, Radha”?

“Sarlaji, Vimmi is going to have a boy! Lord Krishna appeared in her dream”!

“Why, this is such a pleasant news! Vimmi, meanwhile, you should start being more careful about yourself. For now, you are not going to be, just you. Krishna is also, now a part of you”!

Vimmi felt elated. She had never been so happy before. She couldn’t imagine.. How it began.. And now, this!

Vimmi was sitting by the window. “Banwara mann dekhne chala ek sapna”.. crooned the radio somewhere; and she wondered, “Can we ever stop dreaming”? Smiling to herself, she was now, gazing at the stars. Somewhere, sometime ago, a star fell off the sky to become a part of herself. She slowly, got up from the bed. She walked towards the mirror and looked at herself.

She saw a reflection of a woman who was around 30. She wasn’t fair. No. She wasn’t dark, either. And she wasn’t ugly- nor beautiful. She was a mother. And that made her, sheen!

She could feel little Krishna in her, waiting to come out into the world, see new things, learn new skills- become a great man, someday!

Vimmi smiled at her own thoughts. How quickly does a woman’s imagination fly, past the future! But, now, she needed to rest. Krishna, needed to rest.

Vimmi lay awake as she rolled over in her bed. She was just too happy to sleep. She was thinking about Munni and Sukhi. Her two girls. She had been worried earlier about how well her husband would be able to take care of them. They were just two brilliant girls. Now, they went to a good school, too!

Vimmi had always been a wonderful mother and a wife. Even when her husband’s dairy business, collapsed, she never lost hope. She always knew that Lord Krishna would do something. And indeed, little Nand Kishore had played his flute, yielding to her prayers and shown her a way!

And she saw the light, in her pain. The light filled her life. And her pain was now, her hope!

................................................................

“This is such a beautiful child”!

Vimmi opened her eyes. She could now see the people around her. She could see a woman, a young and very beautiful woman, holding the baby.

“Vimmi, you awoke? How do you feel, now”?

“I’m fine, Sarlaji.. the baby..”?

“Yes. You were right. It is indeed a boy..”!

Vimmi felt so happy. She had been dying to see him.. She gained all her strength back as soon as she heard it!

“May I see him”?

“Sure. Why not”! Said the woman holding the baby- “You have every right to do so”! And she brought down the baby to Vimmi.

Vimmi saw a beautiful baby boy, with unusually bright, big eyes! Just like little Kanha! She was so happy.

A man, standing beside the beautiful woman, now spoke.

“You just don’t know what you’ve done for us. I have sent the money to your husband. His dairy is now going great. I have sent him, more than what was agreed upon. And now, you can ask for anything that you may want from us..”

Vimmi looked at the man who had just spoken. She had seen him before. He had been like a God to her, helping out her family- through their misfortune, taking care of her daughters’ education. What more could she ask from him? However, impulsively, she said-

“Sethji, just promise me, that you’ll name him, Krishna…”

TAG- TAG!

Thank you, Raphael..

1. What have you realized recently?
Boredom drives one, mad!

2. Have you given your first kiss away?
I kissed this book titled “The Fountainhead” after I finished reading it for the first time. If u can count that..

3. If you were to be stranded on a deserted island, who are the 11 blog buddies you would take?
Hmm.. Difficult.. I’d rather take them all along!

4. Where is the place you want to go the most?
I think, that would be Paris.. Also a place named Vijayanagara.. Saw that on Discovery in a show called “Spiritual Nation”.

5. If you have one dream to come true, what would it be?
I usually have only nightmares! So, no, thank you! :)

6. Do you believe in seeing the rainbow after the rain?
Yes, I do.

7. What are you afraid of losing the most now?
Nothing, as of now..

8. If you win $1 million, what would you do?
Buy a new mobile each day of the week!

9. If you meet someone that you love, would you confess to him/her?
Hmm.. I don’t think so!

10. List out 3 good points about the person who tagged you
I don’t know Raphael personally.. So, briefly- A really good blogger!

11. What are the requirements that you wish from your other half?
As of now, I have no idea!

12. What type of people do you hate the most?
I’ve said that in a tag earlier..

13. What is the one thing you can't live without?
Oxygen..

14. If you have faults, would you rather the people around you point out to you or would you rather they keep quiet?
Would want the people around me point out..

15. Raphael's tag shows that this question is missing. What do I do?

16. Are you a shopaholic or not?
Nope.

17. Find a word to describe the person who tagged you
Sweet..

18. If you have a chance, which part of your character you would like to change?
My laziness..

19. What’s the last shocking thing you've seen or heard?
Death of a friend of dad’s. I was the last person to see him alive!

20. Would you rather have love but no money or money but no love?
I am a realist.

I now tag:

Vinay
Padma Priya
My inner world
Karthik

THE OTHER END OF A CIGARETTE

This would be my 50th post! Thank you for making LIGHTER SIDE possible! I wrote this story on 7/3/2008, to be precise. Yet, I wanted this story to be a special one, for it is my most favorite post after RAJANIGANDHA. Though the story didn't win me any prize for the creative writing contest for which it was actually written, I don't know why- this story remained to be my favorite!


Saket. A dream, a hope- a friend. He was life. I met him on the first day of our college. I was new and friendless- a castaway. He was then, a hand over my shoulder. A cigarette that we shared then, had bonded us for life.

A life lived, shown itself on those lines across face. A face that had once been handsome- charming. Spread on the couch- in an easy, lazy way, with one leg on the couch and other hanging outside it- his shoulders looked as though they could bear not, any more weight.

Saket knew a person by their eyes. He knew almost everything about everyone. May be that was why people adored him, for he never said anything to anyone what they did not want to hear. Everyone needed him and he was there for everyone.

“Can you get some water for me, Shabd”? It was weak- not the one that I was used to- his voice. It was tired.. No, not tired. It sounded fresh. As though it had not come out for years- not that it wanted to, either.

The cafeteria could never be complete without Saket inside. He always had his place reserved or rather the place had itself reserved for him. He would either be treating or be a part of it, himself. Some other time, when crowd is less, you can even find him with some girl or two. Now, he wouldn’t like me to tell you that!

He always drank his water, chilled. But today, he poured some on his face, his body- his mind! And when he let go of the bottle, he looked as though he had never relaxed that way- not for many, many years.

He hardly attended any of his classes. So it wasn’t a surprise when he didn’t attend any of his classes that day. But then, it was odd. He never attended his classes thereafter. We tried contacting him- that day, the next and the next. We tried calling his home. But it was as though his life had had a wash out- a trail on sand, washed away by water!

Saket opened his eyes. Eyes that could once make anyone yearn to see them all their lives- it had lost its soul. Lifeless, he looked at me and smiled. It was a smile that had been locked away in a cocoon, yet bursting to get out after a long exile. And I smiled back; a smile, too true to be expressed in words. How I had longed to see him do it, and it had been worth it!

“Can you light up a cigarette for me”? I did as he asked me to do. He smoked. Saket was born again from its ashes. He passed it to me. And when the other end of the cigarette touched my lips, I knew- Saket would never leave, again. For he, was alive- again!

A TAG AGAIN!

Thank you, My inner world and River soul!

These are the rules to follow-

1. Link the person who tagged you.
2. Mention the rules on your blog.
3. Tell 6 unspectacular quirks of yours.
4. Tag 6 following bloggers by linking them.
5. Leave a comment on each of the tagged blogger's blogs, letting them know that they have been tagged.

This, will be me:

1. When I'm nervous, I tend to check, re-check and re-re- re- check everything! The result is never "perfect"! I am very careless. But, this re-checking, keeps me assured- "At least, I've done my part"! :)

2. When I am trying to avoid seeing someone or avoid seeing someone else see me- I start staring at my watch! In other words, I cannot live without my watch!

3. I'll spend hours arranging my room. But the more I try to keep it clean, the messier it gets! I just can't work, when my place is- "all arranged". I find it easier to retrieve my things from a pile of junk, than when my room is all "neat and clean"!

4. I am "extremely" lazy. Sometimes, all I do is- sit and keep staring at the wall clock!

5. I am a fantastic "bathrom singer"!

6. I just can't throw away things. I even have my 3rd std notebooks, my imposition papers, my control systems answer sheet, assignment papers, a pencil about 2cm long (guess I used it in my 4th std.!) etc. Not that I try, but I just couldn't bring myself to throw them off! They are my memories, after all!

I now tag:

Vanilla Sky
Arvind
Padma Priya
Suchitra
Ranjhani
Asha

A TAG!!

Phew! I am finally doing this tag! Sorry and thank you, Vinay!

8 THINGS I AM MOST PASSIONATE ABOUT:

BOOKS: I can't really imagine what I'd do without them!
MUSIC: Magic, beyond all magic!
MY BLOG/ WRITING (in general): Writing had always been there. But My Blog helped me grow!
MY DIARY: Not a personal diary. It's the one in which I scribble down my stories. It has seen me as a kiddish- no good thing, and also as some one whom even I do not recegnise!
PEN: I love collecting pens. Fountain, ball-point, anything. I love them.
RAVI VARMA's PAINTINGS: They live on canvas!
HARRY POTTER BOOKS: Need I say more?
( only 7!)

8 THINGS I WANNA DO BEFORE I DIE:

Die?! I think it's too strong! I'd want to do many things- it all depends on one's age. I had mentioned that in some other tag too. So, not 8 things. But these are a few:

Publish one book, at least!
Meet J.K. Rowling and bow before her!
Meet Adnan Sami/ Kareena Kapoor and enquire them about their dietitian( I am serious guys! Can't you see that I'd already mentioned that in some other tag?!)

There are actually many other things. But, I think, I'd do them first and then, write about them!

8 THINGS I SAY OFTEN:

"Whatever"
"Sorry"
"Thank You"
"I'll do it later"
"I'm bored"
"I'm too bored"
"I'm so vetti" (That again means- "I am so bored"!)

8 BOOKS I LAST READ:

False Impression
Veronika decides to die
Gone with the wind
A Romantic Manifesto
Games people play

List is too long, as I normally never pause..

8 SONGS THAT I LISTEN TO OVER AND OVER AGAIN:

All the A.R. Rehman songs (Roja to Jane tu/ Ada)
Jaiye aap kahan jayenge (Mere Sanam)
Aap ki nazron ne samjha (Anpadh)
Malare Mounama (Karna- Tamil)
In the End (Linkin Park)
Private Emotion (Ricky Martin)
Engu ninnu vannu (Calcutta News- Malayalam)
Peeli yezhum.. (Poovinu.. I don't remember the movie- Malayalam- Beautiful song by Yesudas ji and Chitra ji)

8 FRIENDS I NOW TAG:

Karthik
Amber Light
Padma Priya
Priya
Rajesh

3 more? Who ever likes this tag, can do it! No restrictions! :)

A RETRIBUTION: ANONYMOUS- PART 5

"Hey.. C'mon in, Joy"!

Joy was smiling at Rakesh. He smiled at Patil too.

"I was thinking about you", said Rakesh. "C'mon in. Meet His Patilship". Rakesh started laughing aloud.

Patil was trying hard to conceal his disappointment. He forced a smile and greeted Joy.

Joy settled down, beside Patil. Rakesh's eyes were glowing with happiness. Like a child who has been surprised, pleasantly.

"How are you, Rakesh"? Joy had a soft voice, that was very pleasant to hear.

"Oh, just fine. You know how my wife treats me".

Joy looked uncomfortable. But he said with a smile, "Don't worry. Things will get better. Shall I make some tea for all of us"?

"No. Lekha would do it once she returns home. I know, she is at.."

"I will make one for her too. She could join us, once she is back, right"? asked Joy.

Patil felt that he was in an asylum and both the men, beside him were out of their minds. Rakesh had no wife! She was dead, in that accident. He was looking nervously, at Joy.

Joy seemed to read his thoughts. He said, "Why don't you come along with me, to the kitchen? I am not very good at making tea. You might help me".

Patil nodded. And both men, left to the kitchen.

Joy was letting the water boil. He turned to Patil and said, "I am sorry about that. You know, he still thinks that his wife and daughter are alive".

"No. That is alright. What do you do"?

"I am a.. well.. lawyer".

"Oh! How do you know this man.. Rakesh"?

"We are friends. We went to the same college. Who are you, by the way"?

Patil was excited. If this man was Rakesh's friend, he must know anout Mr. Nobody too. But, he must not take a chance- not now.

"I am just a friend, too. He was just telling me about a friend of his from college, whom everyone called a "nobody". Do you know who that is"?

Joy started laughing. "That was me. I was the nobody, he was talking about".

Patil was finding it hard to contain himself. He wanted to punch this man, hard on face and drag him along to station, right now. No. He must not do anything hasty.

Patil tried to sound surprised. "Really? But why was that"?

Joy was smiling. "Oh! I just wrote a story under the name "Nessuno", for a magazine. It means nobody, in Italian. Let's go to the hall. Tea is ready".

Patil was surprised. How can this man behave so well, after murdering another. He acts so cool. But no. He won't be getting out, this time. I'll make sure of that.

He followed Joy to the living room.

Rakesh, was playing with a Barbie. He saw Joy and Patil. He showed Patil, the Barbie.

"This is Mitu. Anu and I play with her, everyday, you know. She is her favourite doll. Look, I dressed her up"!

Joy, politely said to Rakesh, "You had done very well. I am sure Anu will be pleased. Here, take your tea. Look, I made one for your wife too".

Rakesh was suddenly angry. He threw the cup of tea. He was shaking with rage.

"She is not my wife. She was never my wife. I have no wife"..

Joy said, "That is alright. She was not your wife. That is alright"..

Patil was shocked. What was happening?

Rakesh, suddenly started crying.

"You know, Joy. I am not a nobody. I am a great lawyer. You know that".

Joy was trying to console Rakesh. "Yes, I know. Just calm down. Here, have your tea". He look Patil and gave him an uncomfortable smile- which meant to say- "Sorry about that"..

Rakesh was sobbing harder. "He stole it. That Sumit.. He stole my job, my money, my wife"..

"There..There.. Just clam down"..

Patil was staring at both men, not sure if he could have his tea. And startled by Rakesh's statement!

It took a long time for Joy, to calm down Rakesh. Rakesh was now looking at Joy, oddly happy, as though he'd achieved something. He was saying, "I have showed him, what a nobody can do, but"..

Joy looked at Rakesh, sympathetically. "Oh yes, you've! I need to go. It's getting late".

Patil gained back his senses. Let go of his man. Never. But how was he going to get him. Joy had already reached the door, when he suddenly turned back and said to Rakesh-

"By the way, thank you for getting back, my lost diary, my Anamika"...


-------- THE END----------

THE NOBODY: ANONYMOUS- PART 4

"I am in search of..hmm.. a nobody".

Rakesh was staring at this man. He seemed sensible. But this- well, perhaps, he wasn't in his senses.

"Sorry"?

"My name is Patil. Rishishresht Patil. I am the one who is investigating the Anamika murder case. Hope you know about it".

I know that, Your Patilship!

"Yes, I get that much. But Sumit wasn't Anamika. Commissioner said that on TV, right"?

Patil was irritated. "Yes. He did. Now tell me, did you know anything about this diary that Sumit had? You were his room mate and a friend of Sumit's from college".

"Friend? He was my roommie, all right! But he was no friend of mine".

Patil waited. Rakesh spoke again.

"He was a back stabber".

Patil again felt irritated. He could gather that much about Sumit. He was not sure about meeting this person, first of all. Every one said that he was out of his mind. Rakesh, who had once been a celebrated lawyer who rose quickly in his firm- suddenly lost everything due to an accident. Now, he had no family, no job, no money.

The only reason why Patil was there to meet him was that, he was Sumit's room mate at college.

Rakesh and Sumit had worked for the same law firm. There were even rumours that Sumit was behind Rakesh's accident. Patil felt sorry for this man in front of him. But now, he was in no mood to listen to his woes.

"Look, I just need, whether you knew any Anamika when you were in college"?

Rakesh smiled. "No. There was no Anamika. But my daughter's name is Anu. You want to see her photo"? He pointed to his study table.

Patil was really frustrated. But this man was now, his only hope.

"Do you know any person who was a nobody. I mean, who never talked to any one or was not any one's friend"?

Rakesh stopped smiling. He appeared to be angry.

"No one is a nobody. I am not a nobody. You are not a nobody. If we were, we wouldn't be talking to each other like this, would we? But you know, him? Every one called him a nobody. Fools. When everyone calls him a nobody, he becomes a somebody. Idiots. They never realized it. I was the only one who saw it".

Patil was surprised. Rakesh went on.

"He was my best friend at college. He never spoke much. He was the most brilliant boy of our batch. Not many people knew him. And not many remembered him. But I remember him. For he is the only one who remembers me. He comes to see me, often you know".

Patil was desparate. He was shivering. He was trying hard to control himself. He asked, as calmly as possible, "What was your friend's name"?

But Rakesh was looking at the door. There stood a man, thinking, whether or not to enter the house.

Rakesh was smiling. He seemed very happy. He almost shouted when he said-

"Hey.. C'mon in, Joy"!

(To be continued..)

AN UNSAID DESIRE: ANONYMOUS- PART 3

The smoke filled the room. There had never been so much smoke before. The door was opened.

"Rishi, what happened? What have you done to yourself"?

Rishi looked up. He smiled at Dev. Rishi spoke.


"You saw the TV"? Dev replies, "Yes, I did. We both know that he's one big idiot. Why did you run to him and tell him what you'd found"?

"I had no other go, Dev. I just thought, the commissioner should know it, at least. I told him not to do what he did. There is, now, no hope left".

Dev looked thoughtful The silence lingered for a few minutes, until Dev, finally, broke it-

"Rishi, what did you have in mind, originally"?

Rishi lighted a new cigerette. He began-

"From whatever I was able to gain from the reports, the man behind the murder is highly confident about his anonimity. He completely believes that he is a nobody and no one would ever know him.

This man is also sensitive about his creativity. All he wanted was that he, and no one else should claim over his words. And this was where we could've nailed him".

"How"?

"He only wanted people to know that Sumit was not Anamika. As long as the truth does not come out, the real Anamika would remain agitated, desparate. He would've let out his glimpse- again- some how or the other. But now, since he got what he had wanted- there is no hope left for us".

Dev looked at Rishi, sympathetically. They has been friends for a very long time. Dev had always admired Rishi for his intelligence and nerves. He was one honest man- struggling to survive in a leering world, filled with corruption.

Dev spoke again, "If the real Anamika was indeed the murderer, why do uou think he didn't kill Sumit before and only now, after he came out of his shell"?

Rishi knew this would come from Dev. He smiled.

"I am not very sure about that, yet. I can give you what I think, though. I think, the real Anamika, actually never knew who'd taken his works from him. And Sumit too, was initially not sure whether or not to come out of his shell. But later on, I guess, that Sumit too got convinced that Anamika, indeed, was a nobody. So, he decided to let himself known".

Dev was watching Rishi. He appeared to be desparate, yet, helpless. Rishi had never been so helpless before. Dev was concerned.

"Rishi, let's get out of here"..

Rishishresht Patil. He had never felt pain. He who had accepted the world that surrounded him- he, who had got himself used to the suffocation- who had healed his paining heart- that screamed out. Rishi, was desparate. Secretly desiring to meet a man who had made him helpless and weak. Rishi wanted to meet him- whom the world called- "Anamika".

"I am in search of a nobody", said Rishi.

(To be continued..)

ANAMIKA : ANONYMOUS- PART 2

[After reading my post "Anonymous", some readers felt that a sequel to it would really appeal. But, I personally felt that it was just right the way it was. Later, I thought, why not? I had never written a sequel before to any of my stories. I always struggle to end it, and just end it. So, this is my first attempt at writing a sequel. Hope it's all right!]


"Anamika murdered"..

"He was found dead by...."

"Sumit's relatives, refuse to.."

"... the police have nothing to give us, yet. Jeyant Mishra, with camera man ..."

Patil was exhausted. He swtiched off the television. He had never handled such a bizarre case before! His meeting with the commissioner that morning had been pathetic.

".. murder weapon is a Chef's knife. A carbon steel one. The damages are more for the tang had become loose just as the knife.."

"We don't want u'r theory Patil. We want- Who"?

"We are working on it.."

Patil opened his eyes. He saw the file marked "ANAMIKA" right on top. He reached for it.

Sumit had been quite a successful lawyer, well liked by his colleagues and clients, married, no children, he had been living alone, though, for the past three years.

Patil encircled the word "alone" and wrote "?" over it. He read on.

Since one week before his murder, Sumit had attended nearly four official parties. During one such party, he had drunk heavily and had to be escorted back home by some colleague.

An alchoholic writer? Patil chuckled. He imagined the media's reactions over it!

The pages were full of names of his clients, their addresses.. Patil shut the file.

He knew two facts about the murder. one. The murderer wasn't a proffessional. Two. There had been a very strong reason behind it. Patil had reasons to believe these two facts. The murder was not perfect. The tang of the knife had come off the handle. The murderer had left the blade behind.

Secondly, the murderer had tried to leave behind a message. Over Sumit's corpse, a page from a very old diary had been intentionally placed. The writing over it, read the name "ANAMIKA". Also, the knife had been plunged with such force into Sumit, only a man who has been saturated with anger could have done it.

The telephone rang. He had been expecting this call. He listened attentively. His eyes shrunk and bulged as he listened. He put the receiver down.

Sumit's ancestral home. Wasn't very big, but he certainly had a big family. Patil spoke to the widow, first.

Sumit and his wife had been living together only for about a year. Sumit was alchoholic and almost constantly abused his wife. So, her in-laws brought her back to their ancestral home. No one in his family had ever tried contacting him since then. Next, Patil spoke to Sumit's father.

Commissioner was shocked. "Are you sure, Patil"?

"Sir, Sumit's father claims that as a young man, Sumit was never remotely interested in writing. Infact, he was never very good in any of his subjects. Some of his friends from college too, share the same view about him, as his father.Next, the hand writing on the page from the diary and that of Sumit's do not match. The writing on the diary is a few years old.

I tried contacting "The Messiah". The editor says, that Sumit came to his office a few days back and showed him the diary- saying that it was a collection of his works. Which was when, he also gave the editor, his next story in person, which was again from the diary..

I inquired the watchman of Sumit's building about the visitors he met that day. He showed me the register he maintains with the visitors' names on it. And I found this"..

Patil spread open the register. One of its recent entries read- ANAMIKA..

"And this writing, matches with the one on the diary". Finished Patil.

".. So he was a fraud, then! He was never the writer"!

"I am not sure about that, yet. But I ask you, not to reveal this to anyone until we find the person behind all this.. "

".. Patil, you may leave".

Patil was exhausted. He was also, frustrated. He had one chance. But now, he lost it. There was no hope.

".. the lawyer, is after all, not Anamika, announced the Commissioner, today.."

"... shocking truth. Let's hear what the fans here have got to say on this.."

"... they call it a betrayal of their trust. With camera man.."

Joy switched off the television. He looked at the diary he was holding. He turned its pages; his words, his thoughts. A few pages left blank towards the end- he took a pen and wrote:

"The few pages of Anamika"...

(To be continued..)

ANONYMOUS

The breeze seemed to sweep away his thoughts. He was trying to concentrate on his shoes. That way, he needn't look into anyone. This wasn't new. He always did that.

Joy. He was a nobody to anyone who'd see him for the first time. With ordinary looks and a polite, shy demeanour- hardly anyone would find him interesting. He wasn't very tall- neither too short. He was neither dark nor fair. He was neither too smart nor dull. Joy. A man- among many men.

Joy's life started with an alarm. A tea and news paper were his companions during the morning hours. A hasty shower; he usually boarded a crowded bus to work- A man among many men.

His job usually left him with plenty of time to think. A dusty office, and a name plate that read-"Joy Kumar, M.A.,B.L (Advocate)", hardly fetched him any client. He had never had a chance to know, how good a lawyer he was! He was anonymous.

Anonymous, the nameless, or- "Anamika". Every one knew Anamika. A wizard. A creator. A writer. Everyone adored Anamika. No one had ever seen her. Or him! But everyone knew Anamika. Her words were her identity. Or, his!

"The Messiah", everday, would receive a new story. A white cover- with the address typed over it. Inside, a short story- story that no one had ever heard of. Neatly typed, and neatly folded. "The Messiah" itself, wouldn't sell even one copy, if it weren't for Anamika's stories! People were dying to meet her. Or him!

4th of June. "The Messiah" had a news that excited its readers. "Anamika would reveal herself"! It read.

"The Messiah" threw a grand party. Only guests were allowed. These guests were those who hardly ever read Anamika. They wore designer clothes and attended fancy parties. A large crowd- outside the hotel, were calling out- demanding to get a glimpse of Anamika.

Sumit- a handsome man in his thirties. He was smart and people adored him, wherever he went. Sumit- a lawyer, a writer, a celebrity.

The crowd applauded. They now knew, finally, whom they had admired. Who had captured all of their imaginations. They cheered. They didn't want him to leave. Almost, everyone was smiling. There was one, however, who didn't join the celebrations. Who did not look happy about seeing Anamika.

Sumit had achieved what he had always wanted. He wanted to be famous. He knew, he'd be famous. He'd do anything to achieve it.

Later, that night, Sumit sat looking at the old diary. He turned its pages. ANAMIKA. The first page had captured his attention, the moment he read it. He remembered very well- the November night- a few years ago- he was in college. He had nicked it. From whom- he did not remember. All that he remembered about the boy was that- he was a nobody!

A knock on his door. Sumit thought- "Fans! They are so silly"!

The morning breeze seemed to sweep away his thoughts. He was trying to concentrate on his shoes. That way, he needn't look into anyone. This wasn't new. He always did that.

Joy came to a halt in front of a small shop. He purchased a tea and news paper. He walked into the park and sat over a bench. He sipped the tea and flipped
the paper. It read- "Anamika murdered!"...

A TAG AGAIN!

"5 cadres of people, whom I love to hate"!

Thank you, Arjun

I normally avoid it when some ask me this question- "whom do you hate"? I used to think that "hate" is rather a powerful word, not to be used, unless one really means it. But recently, I had been unfortunate enough to meet all these categories of people. I used to boast, until a few years back (read- before I met the characters) that I can never "hate" anyone. But, I was proved wrong- thanks to these "wonderful souls"- who've irritated and frustrated me in every single way!

Please note: Friends, who know me personally- this is for you: "You know who "they" are. And you can always ask "them" to visit my blog and comment"!

They talk like a kid
who's barely known the world
The silver on their hairs- shine;

They boss me around
and force me to frown
And claim aloud- "Oh! you're mine"!

All day long
they warm up the benches
Gossiping aloud- grinning;

They boast of their greatness
they let not, one speak
Subtle- they play: cunning!

Them, I hate
I hate them all
But not more than those here:

Traitors, who betray
the trust I hold-
And sell my faith for pleasures, mere!

I tag:

Padma Priya

Arvind

Vrinda

ICE AND THE TRAIN

The crowd. It seems to move so fast. I wish I knew why. Neither they stop, nor do they pause. They keep walking without a goal- or so it seems to me!

The taste of the ice can do wonders. It had changed the way I usually thought about things. Or is it because, I just feel so happy today? I was going out with my mom after such a long time!

Granny never lets me go anywhere. Nor would she get me ice candy. “What if you fall ill”? She says. I don’t like it at the Granny’s. Wish mom would take me along with her, this time, at least!

Mom is so pretty. Today, in particular. A white and green saree. Smiling at me always and holding my hand.

We moved fast. We ran. If not, we would miss the train. Fast, fast and finally, into the Ladies’ compartment!

I heave a sigh of relief. I lick my ice candy. So pleasant it tasted after that run! I turned to look at mom.

I find a woman wearing a white and green saree. But she wasn’t my mom. I turn around. Right, left, everywhere. There was crowd, but no mom. The ice was melting.

The ice froze in my heart. It was not pleasant anymore. It brought water in my eyes. I couldn’t see properly. I was crying- “Mom… mom..”! Only, no words ever came out. The last bit of ice, which stuck on to the stick, fell down.

The crowd would not care if I was lost. They would neither stop, nor would they pause. More water from my eyes. It kept flowing down. It made me go red- both on the inside and the outside. The ice on the floor had turned into water.

“Bharath”! I heard someone shout. I turned around. Mom was running towards me. She was crying too. The ice had left my heart. I was holding my mom. And, she lifted me off the ground. We were both crying. No, she was laughing, too. And I laughed with her.

I was clutching the ice candy. I was licking it. My lips were red. As soon as the door was opened, I rushed in and hugged Granny. She was smiling. She bent down and kissed me. She asked, “Had fun with mom”? I said, I did and smiled. Mom saw me smiling. She smiled back. I was happy.

THE UNTRODDEN PEREGRINATION

The gates were open at both ends. And I had made my choice. I was never sure about where that gate would lead me. Yet, I was sure that my choice was correct and I'd be welcome, in there.

A bunch of blank faces- blank as mine, staring curiously at me, as though I were some alien creature, without realizing that they too were a part of the same kind of species- I found myself thinking; and smiling to myself, I get to know them.


But as I spoke to them, I found out that these species had some name. A beautiful name. Friends. And soon, there were many. Friends, friends, and more friends- all over.

Then there were lessons- some boring, a few interesting and yet a few more- bitter. I was now a student in the institution called- life. And each lesson, had something to say.

The roads ahead weren't smooth. A few pits and a few helping hands; a few smiles and a few tears. But these roads never let its traveler stop and rest. Even it's pits, had paths, which let those, inside it- move on.

People. A few good and a few- better. But each of them had a role to play. People. Some- who helped me just go on, and a few more- who helped me travel better. People. A few, who moved ahead; a few more- who stayed behind. And a few- moving along.

My peregrination, had come to an end. And the gates have been opened again. But outside this gate- yet other choices, await. More friends and more lessons. A longer road and lethal pits. But I move along now, not uncertain- but sure of where it'd lead me to. With the lessons of the past- to build my future; I move along- still, as a student: In an institution called- Life!

TAGGED!

Thank you, "rampantheart"..

10 things I miss in my life right now:

I am not someone who’d “miss” anything. For I believe that one must grow with every past towards the future. But right now, the 1 thing that I really miss the most is my college! How I miss attending classes for the sake of “attendance”. Shouting for “free hours”, assignments, late submission, arguing with the staff, playing with friends, “Industrial visit”(read- picnic), etc. I wrote this poetry on 17^th April, for 16^th was our last working day. I dedicate the poetry to my Section- C and to all those people, who like me, are missing their life at college!

Tears on eyes
have not yet dried
nor has the smile left me- yet.
Memories are fresh
like the dew at the dawn
and still make my eyes- wet.

The teasing of friends
assignments and tests;
Proxies, bunks, pranks and rest.
Give me back- Oh life!
those days of fun
of friendship and fights, yet fears- none!

One day in future
I want, in life, a day
With friends, in college, all happy and gay.
I want no more
Yet-I want nothing less
I want it with all heart- true enough, I guess?

10 things I want to achieve within a decade:

There are many things that I wish to achieve. But I believe that people wish different things at different times., that is, their needs, aims and goals keep changing as they change. If you’d have asked me “Which is your favorite profession”? when I was in my 1^st standard, I would have replied “Bus conductor”! For, believe it or not, I used to be really fascinated by the way they move without even getting the hold of the rods provided even as the bus is in motion! Besides, I loved the way they held in hands, the “tickets” and distributed it!

So, now, I wouldn’t say it for sure, for these may change. So, right now, the things I wish to achieve are:

1) Read all those books that my dad has read so far, and then read more.

2) Improve my writing skills.

3) Someday, in future, try my hand at writing a novel and getting it published.

4) Contact Adnan Sami (Singer/Music Director) , Jotika/ Kareena Kapoor (Actress) and enquire them about their dietitians.

5) Find a good music teacher and continue my music lessons.

6) Play as many number of musical instruments as possible.

7) Become a polyglot.

8) I am already working of becoming ambidextrous. But I still need to perfect my skills.

9) Become a better human being.

10) Seeing to that that I wish for more and better things in future.

Now, I tag:

Karthik

Suchitra

Vidhya

Vanilla sky

Nithya

M I N D

Stubborn, yet wavering

Mighty, yet light

Formless and shapeless

It travels alone

Defying space-

Silent and fast

It defeats time-

The absolute truth.

Make it stop- they cry

The fools who fool themselves.

But it travels only to seek wisdom.

Breaking the layers of thoughts

Past the veil of memories

It flies on..

To seek, the Self.

Let it fly- wherever,

Till it flies- forever.

DEATH OF HATE

- “It eats and it is eaten”

A scowl that gave birth to a spark. A spark- that grew in size. Burning every bit of flesh it could reach out to. Tearing it down. Bit by bit, the flesh is cooked.

No shriek comes out. And the fire doesn’t stop. It crawls too slowly. Leaving out nothing. Its tongues tasting the meat.

It urges to kill. To taste pain. For nothing else, would make it stop. It relishes pain- the fire. And it prepares the meat- to taste the pain. Pain- not of the self. But of that cause of the scowl. That cause that lit the fire- which fuelled it. It urges the meat to finish the cause.

The meat feels helpless. It wants to finish the cause. But can’t. For, the cause, is in a cocoon. A cocoon, that can never be broken into. The meat burns- hoping that someday, the cocoon would break. And that day, it would finish it; with sheer strength, and no other weapon.

It wanted to relish in the pain of the cause- like the fire. It wanted to see the cause struggle. Hear it shriek. A shriek- that the meat could never let out. It wanted the cause to do it. Only then, the meat would live.

The meat was now coal. Red hot. Burning. But the cocoon was intact. The meat never saw the pain. It could never stop the fire. And soon, it’d be ash: A part of the soil; lost- forever!

510

The isolated corridor welcomed him with glee. It seemed to have befriended his betrayed soul. The sound of his shoes on floor, rhymed with his heart beat. He came to a halt- right before the door no. 510. The sight of that number tormented him with memories that he did not wish to remember, now.

The room was just the way as he’d left it. The vase remained broken. The glass table, which used to be gleaming spotless, was now covered with dust. And over it was the glass, now empty.

His lips parted- a thought which made him do so stopped him at once from uttering the name. The name did not exist.

He moved around that familiar place, eyes recognizing things that he’d used. Each of them, reminded him of the name, her name. Suchitra.

He stopped himself once again. The name was not to be said. And it was his fault- all his fault.
The room was blue, all around. She wanted it that way. But he should not think of her. But he couldn’t help it. Everything in that room spoke about her. And every single thing blamed him. They were shouting his name. and he slammed the door, shut.

He now stood facing the dining table. His chair was upturned. The kitchen was open. There shall no more be any food cooking inside. Everything was dead.

He had said to her that she never cared for him. He had blamed her for everything that happened to him. He shut the door against her. He never heard her plea. He made her leave. And now, she has left.

He sat on the couch. His eyes fell on a package. He’d never seen it before. He grabbed it and saw a familiar writing over it that had carved his name. Trembling, he opened it.

And he saw it. A watch. Just the one that he’d wanted. A note on it said, “Happy Birthday, Akhil”! The plague of the dead gripped him. Guilt, clutching his throat- throttled him, and yet, there was more on the note. He turned it. And it said- “ With lots of love, from Suchitra”!

MASTERJI

I lived in a place where the world begins with the rising sun and ends with the setting sun. A world where people smiled at one another, where people were satisfied with what they had and never wanted more than what they needed.

It was a very small village. So small it was that everyone knew each other. Our village had just two streets. All the houses were similar, except for the Big House. My father worked for the Big House.

We had to walk a distance of about 5km to reach our school; telling adventure stories, mostly concocted impromptu; we played at the fields after school; how we liked hiding our books beneath our shirts to protect them from rain! We loved using banana leaves as our umbrella! We liked the fresh aroma of the soil after the rain. The earth was our bed and sky- our blanket!

Masterji was considered the most learned man of our village. Masterji taught us math, English, about plants and planets. He would tell us stories. We all showed lot of affection and respect towards Masterji.

Father had been to the town since last week. Mother said he would bring lot of rice and vegetables and sweets from the town. And I waited everyday for him, to return.

Masterji taught us about plants outside our classroom. We had a big banyan tree in our school. We all sat under the banyan tree, while he would tell us why the leaved were green and that plants were also living beings. That day, before teaching us about fruits and vegetables, he asked each one of us to narrate what we had for breakfast. When it was my turn, I just blurted that I had onions and cabbage.

That afternoon, Masterji called me to his room. He told me that onions were not usually consumed during that time of the year and it was also not the time of year when cabbages were available. Then he called Sukumar. He was in my class and he lived in the Big House. Masterji asked him to get some extra lunch for me, from the next day, and everyday thereafter.

That evening I came home and cried. When my mother asked me why I was crying, I didn’t know the answer. But, I cried.

Thirty years later, today, I received a phone call. The voice from the other end was easily recognizable as Sukumar’s. He said, “Naveen, Masterji has left us all, today”.

And today, I cried, again!