I Adore When It Isn't Me

Her brow wrinkles in concentration and her ink-stained fingers tap the bench in rhythm. Coffee with what looks like whipped cream on top sits half forgotten next to her stack of notes. She looks up in time to catch a retreating smile. "I was singing out loud, wasn't I?", she asks the smiler. Exasperation Central.

The Rose Garden-5

“Honey, am home!”
She went straight to the loo mirror, ran her fingers through the freshly re-bonded hair, highlighted with blonde streaks. For a moment she drifted into the first anniversary, then the second, finally lost count……
She took out the carefully hidden gift and ran to the Study

The doctor declared he was gone by 3 pm!

Dream Away--2

A home with a chequered red napkin in the kitchen, a dark wood bookcase, some lilting music in the air, a warm Sunday lunch a warmer homecoming on a Monday evening.

A home in moments and an inaudible flutter of an eye.

She, so wanted to dream them and she did.
Just that they never came true.
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[The other side of Bibs' Dream Away]

They lost him--VI

He checked once more-- the final draft—before handing it over. The lady at the counter wore a blank look like the other side of an important piece of paper which exists just so.

“My father….you see, this is my father” he stammered.

The lady nodded and stamped ‘24’!

In the ‘Missing’ column,
a father- numbered!

Time, Perhaps? VII

She’d been cleaning and washing for days. The winter sun would often envelope her back like a warm pashmina as she sat there mending quilts.

Then one day, she skipped breakfast and bade a teary farewell to parents.

Soon she pulled out the pre-selected saree and brought the stool near the fan before she ran out of

Come III

In response to Ideasmithy's Telling All

Come here,
where the air whips up cigarette ash, the tattered moments fly out of windows in the sky, fluttering in the air till they vanish forever into nothingness, where every day someone leaves all that he ever had, everyone that she ever called her own.

Come here,
where days are fire balls of lost love.

Yeah- IV

Have you ever felt like the walls are caving in on you with an insurmountable force, that the ground beneath has been trembling and your feet had gone numb to tell you so, that the ceiling above has cracked and you are shrinking in yourself till a huge blast sucks everything out to Nothing

Yeah!

Yeah -III

Have you ever walked on fire, simmering, spread out fire like a fluorescent carpet, feeling the singing deadwood beneath your feet, Trusting that nothing can hurt you and knowing that it actually didn’t touch the soft skin where your feet shapes out like a bean pod, knowing that Life is but a Real Trust-Walk?

Yeah!

Yeah-II

Have you ever run through blinding dust-storm, not knowing what lies beyond, where you are going, whether you’ll Be in the next moment, just running till you almost feel that you are flying with the storm at your feet, soaring into the Nihil above, staring at the Creation beneath until a grounding spray of freshness?

Yeah

yeah

Have you ever walked down the street, staring pointlessly at the nearly-melting tar road, hoping and praying that a big, freakish bolt of lightening would just strike you, singeing you to the bone, just so you don’t have to walk another step or live another minute of this crappy existence you call a life?

Yeah.

Come II

Come here,
Where the casuarina has been shaped by the whispering wind gone by,
Where the evening star always hugs the dark
Where you will know the tales of the old tree bark.

Come here,
Where your footsteps will talk to the one behind
And your soul will meet the one whom you always hide.

love story 3,4 & 5

He started smoking. She asked if he’d mind some coffee given that they were both cold and waiting.
Waiting for something. Anything actually.

“How did your wedding go? Show me your wife’s photo.”
“Alright. I don’t have one on the phone.”

“Life doesn’t stop. It comes a full circle.”

Her bet was always on Life.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The road was emptied by the sudden shower.
Their shadows moved through broken branches, leaves, broken pieces carried by the dust-storm. Occasionally the headlights of speeding vehicles would startle them. She tried very hard to keep-up with his gait.
There was not a cab in sight.

It was raining on the tumult of the storm.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Two days later, her phone beeped

“I don’t know whether I should say thanks. But you made me feel better, much better.”
She wrote “We better our own selves; the world is just a vehicle.”
But was met with “There is a word ‘Rekindle’. That’s it.”

That evening it rained again.
“Love story, come again.”

love story 2

Their story was broken when it had just begun.
He knew it all the way, she didn’t.

And then an evening of sudden summer shower, the dust rose in a storm giving way to water.
They were caught in a café across a rickety table, drenched and not knowing what to say.
Love and rain…..
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[Wendigo, I guess I discovered this one late]

Nomad XX

I might be making numerals up now *sigh*. But love the new twist :)

They loved each other, knew each other. But perfect relationships just didn’t work for her. She had been unhappy. Now, thankfully, he would never know.

He tried to stop looking for hidden messages in her posts, but couldn’t. Had she been unhappy? Had it really been an accident?

“She swerved instead of braking. Probably panicked.”

Courtesy Kaushik

Nomad XIX

He typed a comment about the accident, but didn’t publish it. She had always said that her blog was a journey that wouldn’t end.

She smiled as he left. He had always given her what she wanted, even when she didn’t ask. She wanted her blog to be like her, a story with no ending.

Courtesy: Kaushik

Everyday VII

Every morning he woke up wanting to be with her. Every thought of hers he wanted to know. Every word she spoke had to be addressed to him. Every second she was away from him seemed a blank, airless void. Everyday he wanted her to be completely his. Everyday.

And then one day, he didn’t.

Time, perhaps? IV

They gathered in the visitors’ ante chamber. One-by-one they checked the clauses of dividing the heirloom of grit and gumption.

Then one of them walked into the silent, eerie room. The artificial respirator was the only thing that was seemingly alive.

He picked up daddy’s hand and held the pen before they ran out of…

Time, perhaps? III

“Hurry up! The crowd’ll be here any moment. I can already see the horizon reddened with fire.”
“I know. The news is that they have looted the treasury of the next village”

Their estate burnt behind them with cries of “Vande Mataram!” and they fled in a carriage towards the unknown, before they ran out of…

Time, perhaps? II

It was a slow spring evening. The house was dark and sombre.
The fan trudged along slowly, very slowly which made a noise keeping with her heart beat….dhuk-puk,dhuk-puk…
A little light trickled in from somewhere ensuring that nobody knew they were there.

They made love…once, twice, so many times, before they run out of ….

Nomad XVI, XVII and XVIII

I'm fast running out of Roman numerals I know.

Nomad XVI
A nomad. Without home and roots and anchors and binding, limiting ties. Going where the wind takes her, to faraway lands, places unseen.

In her head, she was that person, headstrong and independent. In real life, her adventures were limited to 20 minute taxi ride from home to office. And back. Six days a week.

Nomad XVII
Every once in a while, the routine, the meetings and the endless smiling got to her. Then she would sneak out to the fire escape and stand at the very edge, her back to the building and all it stood for. And the wind sweeping in over the sea would beckon with its wild tales.

Nomad XVIII
The wind was the perfect lover. It didn't try to woo her with flowers and fancy dinners and stories of feats of strength. Instead it talked to her till it was hoarse, and even after that. They were like Othello and Desdemona. She fell in love with its stories. If only it'd never stop talking.

Courtesy N