If I could dial your number once more..

 If I could dial your number once more

I wish I'd dial it wrong

I wish I misdial 9 for an 8, and 6 for a 7

that way I wish, I would never meet you,

but find love in a parallel dimension

I wish this time, I'd find the wrong number

as the right one, the last one, the correct one for each lifetime

dialing 9 for a 9, and 7 for a 7

and listen to my favorite husky voice,

dipped in honey, painting my day in its hue

kissing my cheeks softly,

leaving a print like strawberry's skin

Only if I could dial your number once more,

I wish I misdial it, to get the right one,

in this lifetime, and beyond...

What does a border mean?

 

This poem is not a celebration

Somewhat  a deliberation

 

Often I have listened to the episodes of strife and hate

Narrated by my grandfather, the stories that never fade

 

About communal riots, separation and humiliation

About plundering, mental torture and frustration

 

I was a listener, so I drew my own imagination

Supported by the chronicles in movies and animation

 

I never understood the ‘why’ of it

The effects so sad, but what was the ‘cause’ of it?

 

National fragmentation and mutual disagreements

Joys and sorrows are the same, so are heart, blood, and sentiments

 

They look like humans, so do we, they behave like animals, so do we!

So, time to pause and ponder, pushing through a lack of clues, 

why this war stigma stuck to our minds like the flu?

 

Well, borders have only meant geography to me

Marked purposefully on the map

 

It breaks my heart locating divided pieces of land, 

because the books of geography and history

narrated plightful, horrific stories

 I am a clear-headed millennial born in the year 1989

I ask you, why these borders? What’s my crime?

 

This poem looked back, to many funerals and cremation

To each their own interpretation!

 

 

My beautiful wife, often said Jai

Don't say again, "I stay at home, I do nothing," he said in a determined tone.

Rashi smiled and nodded she won't.



It was an event she always looked forward to every year, she would meet Jai's friends. The yearly ritual of getting together with his colleagues and their spouses was a moment to look eagerly to, the evenings so fine, draped in their elegant best. She made a lovely updo, wore a silver and blue silk saree, and adorned her charming best for Jai's annual meet.




Said Jai, while making a left turn, "It hurts when you say you do nothing". Amidst Mumbai traffic, they happened to pass through a lush green trail of trees. While Jagjit Singh ruled the music player in the background at a lower volume, they both talked at length, occasionally reminding each other of their love for each other.



Jai still didn't feel like shunning away from the topic, and again reminded his beautiful wife of her value to his life"You turn cash into the crop I eat, you keep a check on my deadlines, you remind me about our monthly bills, you never make those PPFs suffer the penalty, however small it is. You go to and fro for picks and drops of younger one's academy, you do it all so seamlessly"


"I am just generally curious and habitually meticulous," said Rashi, being her modest self as always.


Reassures Jai, "I come home from work and go flat on my ceaseless linen, is because you 'do everything' and 'not nothing'. You do everything which is not visible, you are my force, my behind the scenes".

Popping Flowers of Glory

(Image Source: Fine Art America)

Those handful seeds                         blended in the soil

Turned into breathing bushes
With ever-widening roots

Promising a future
To me, you and every other creature

Popped out blue lilies, and yellow tulips
Rosy reds, purple orchids, and white jasmine

Every flower infusing a unique fragrance
Filling the air with floating perfume

How beautiful, it is to inhale this air
that pushes thoughts of wisdom
and sow yet another seed of freedom

Beloved to the Cigarette Smoker

             

 Hey Love!

                                                                                                                    

I passed by at five-thirty in the morning

Image Source: Pinterest

Outside your window to smell you a bit                               

All I sniffed was the cigarette smoke

Coming out from your white window

I took a U-turn again

Couldn't knock your door

Decided to leave you in Ecstacy

inhaling the scent from your cigarette

Crossing your block, my eyes turned wet

No, I wasn’t crying, I choked off the smoke

Hey Love!

Why don’t you love me?

Why don't you spoil me?

Like you are spoilt, by that cigarette?

Every step I took

I thought, why couldn’t you materialize those rings

I want no more the circles of smoke, 

but a ring slipped in my left finger

I stopped by a dreamy peach fence

Beheld a couple 

lost in each other, sipping their morning tea

My heart skipped a beat,

Dreaming why won’t you kiss me?

Like you stick mouth to your cigarette?

 Hey Love!

Conquering my head, are these wild thoughts

Open your eyes once,

look through the cloud of smoke

I was there, I am there and I ‘ll be there

Hey Love!

You go back to your cigarette every time

you quit it a thousand times,

for not more than a minute though

But tossed me away, like the leftover ash

think of me, as your cigarette

would you not come back?

just once more?

Self Love

(Image Source: Fine Art America)

I chose to wear hot-pink lipstick

I curled my hair a bit

though stayed in my pajamas

romancing Rhett Butler in the novel

I bestowed upon some self- love

Before stepping out

I wanted ‘not to change’ my skin color

With a dab from foundation stick

I painted myself in self -love

My baby, who ran up to me

For 10 times on repeat

She blabbered the same words
Her smile evident of ‘self-love’

When I could get angry, or sad
laugh hard, or just lay flat
I indulged in self love

Chucking off those silly conventions
Fearlessly adorned that badge of 'misfit’
I confided in self love


Not taking his abusive shit ever again
I rose up and walked off
I idealized self-love

They asked,
Why so mean?
Can’t you be selfless?
I answered, “It’s self-love”.

Given a choice to exercise
Would tell them a difference between
Ego and self-love


The more these words echo in my mind
The better it feels, yes!  one of a kind

Self-loving folks, I clap for you
Bow down and relate to you
For to love another, first

Smile at the image in the mirror

Amid Lockdown

                                

While talking in my head

An argument persists

Many a plans are dead

Still the talks I can’t resist!

‘Family’ the newly found folks

Chatting, sleeping & cooking galore

Realised we all stayed in the same block

Watching news all day, nothing more

Neighbours, I hear them in & out

Every time their cooker whistles

While I snack on my sprout

What’s cooking? I can’t find out

I like stories on ‘Instagram’ more

Amid lockdown, liking all posts

Dusted the bookshelf and did chores

Damn! eggs in the pan just got coarse

Made boring lentils and never ate

Clicked a fancy picture with salad

Applied three filters sitting with my mate

Life is a story itself, or a ballet?

Waiting for godot, yes I am

‘Dear Namo’ come assign another task,

Waiting desperately, yes we are

Here your people, suffocated of masks!

That first trip with my newborn was a journey of self-discovery

Being a mom for the first time is exciting, confusing, and challenging at the same time. It is a journey from ‘I can’t wait to hold my baby in my arms’ to ‘I can’t wait for the baby to sleep’. Motherhood tests you to the optimal and expects you to be enduring it at all times.

 Every new mother reading this out there should be able to feel what I am hinting at. It was just after one month that my daughter was born, that I had almost started feeling exhausted of all the household chores, attending to the demands of the newborn, struggling through the days to catch a nap, being hopeless about the pending laundry and nights where I made futile attempts to make the baby go to sleep. There was a time I even started reasoning why I needed to experience motherhood so much? What was I thinking before making this leap into motherhood? But then I saw my little girl musing on me with her twinkling eyes and those negative thoughts disappeared at a snap giving me ample reasons to choose motherhood.

The routine got repetitive and mundane. Rocking her through days and nights, feeding the little one at her beck and call, thus finding no room for myself. I was sipping down the coffee that was made hot but consumed cold. All that I needed desperately in the middle of this ordinary day was a long sleep and to be waken up by nobody.

The only source of enjoyment was playing with the baby girl during the afternoon hours and the conversation that I had with my handful was the most precious one that I miss when I see her grown up into a toddler now. Always being in a hurry to make her sleep and catch up on a nap or TV made me all troubled. Being a mother to an infant is so much about taking care of the needs of the baby that you forget that you need a break too.

Never thought of traveling so much apart from some weekend visits to family or friends’. May be sometimes at a favorite restaurant to make up for the rest of the tiring week that would keep her father away at work and both of us at home. Some family friends’ initiated a trip to hills, it popped out on me like a challenge and I couldn’t even think to take this one considering that she was just 5 months old.

PACKING!! This very word gripped my mind and heart! It would be like wadding the whole house- it was no more the same as before. Now we were three and not two. The third one was the smallest but her stuff would require time, effort, and space that would be the biggest. Deep down my heart I wanted this vacation, yearned to create memories with my daughter in the serenity of hills, wished to breathe in some fresh air but I was scared to take the next step. My husband motivated me and said it would be okay to put some effort into packing together because the holiday would be worth it. I smiled.

I made the list, maybe the longest of all times in my life. It was going to be my first trip with my princess. I laughed hard at the list of stuff that I had to pack along! I geared up like a soldier, I ate well, played some happy music in the house, and gave loads of toys to my baby. I kept her engaged in all the possible ways I could and went on with the packing. Finally, the big day came and I was still anxious ‘What if I have not packed anything that she might need?” “Check Feeders, Towels, Wipes,…...” I calmed down and let myself roll.

When we reached the destination it felt like one of the most appropriate decisions that I could take. The baby was happy, I was happy and we all were happy. It no longer felt the lack of sleep or that I was exhausted, I was much more animated, spirited and the girl I used to be. I thought it is all in our mind, we sometimes confine ourselves to one routine so much that we never dare to take up anything new. This trip was indeed rejuvenating and I explored myself to be dexterous and adventurous- a happy new mom (not to forget).

Strangers to Soulmates

It started with writing! It initiated as the hero read, thankfully he likes to read. He surfed through her blogs and got promptly fascinated by the writer. Though she had mentioned earlier that she was a blogger but the impression of everybody becoming one these days, made him just mock away this whole idea as it was bogus!  While munching through his snacks on a lazy Sunday afternoon he read one after the other, he was enthralled enough by then. The ensuing step was to quickly message her; that her stories were overpowering. It was as if every word that she wrote on the blog pages, had cast a spell on the walls of his heart. They just had met once before, a formal meet up, fixed by the respective parents. A close and strange affair was being set up in the evening that day. She wasn’t taking it too seriously; she came tired after work, thus just ransacked hurriedly through her wardrobe and simply dressed in a pair of black denims and a striped black and beige top. Her hair left loose and fell on her shoulders, she was conscious of her graceful gait and simplicity she was carrying. Yes, the top had dangled quite tastefully on her. Wearing deep black kohl and a hint of gloss she had arrived at the meeting with Aman. She luckily caught a glimpse of him dressed up in a blue check shirt, walking looking a bit conscious but charming. His blue denims hung on him casually and added appeal. He was really tall, that sight just clenched every inch of her skin and spoke for joy, putting one tick on the checklist she had mentally prepared once.  Her family was warmly welcomed inside by theirs’, as they all sat, a sudden silence broke in, which was embarrassing. Sitting undecided and clueless across the table she tried to look here and there, smiling more than usual, just because she smiles when she is nervous! The boy engaged himself overhearing his father and her father talking with each other now.

After some exchange of greetings and introduction was done, the boy and the girl were asked to go away for a while and talk. Sanvi had all the apprehensions, the butterflies were teasing and tickling her inside out, she was guessing wild about the course of their conversation that was about to take place between absolute strangers, apart from what they know about each other through that matrimonial website that had brought them together, atleast till here today! They sat on the sofa and it started with the writing again! He asked about her likings, and she mentioned about blogging. His business administration degree also had set some great expectations before the meeting, but after they talked she was wafted away by the aesthetic sagacity his dialogues reflected. He started appearing to be a gentleman now, a journey he had measured just in minutes of beginning their tête-à-tête. His talks weren’t sugar-coated, that’s what she appreciated. Returning home she was hopeful of a yes, though her mind had some arguments as against the anxieties of her heart. She wondered if he was as genteel as he had seemed; else why would he ask for the girl’s phone number on the first meeting? But, she was secretly delighted at this and cherished foreseeing the sequence to follow only if her phone rings.

The messenger on the phone beeped once and then tooted till the finger tips hurt. May be the buds were up-and-coming and the love blazing. She was bowled over his wit, his approach and curiosity to know more about her, she was giving in, while he was amazed by her impulse and honesty. Neither of them was trying to know anything that was superfluous, it was a long drawn plain-speaking banter between two adults, who must be anticipating to turn into soul-mates, from strangers. The honest confessions, the prospects, the viewpoints, leisure likes and dislikes, places have seen/bucket list, all that was required was being conferred. They clicked!

A family picture all dressed in bright reds, pinks, oranges, blue, greens under the chandeliers of the nuptial hall hanging proudly on the ceiling, was further clicked in the month of December, following a six month courtship period. They had successfully shown their souls bare to each other while the thought of being in each other’s arms forever, must have kept them delighted through this period, a love that was arranged to be culminated into marriage that was destined to be on this day.

PS: Some writings can paint the right picture for life, while some strangers turn into soul mates. Yes, their story was made in heaven and they continue to live happily ever after…

Why not?

“Dr. Seth will call you Ms. Anjali as the reports come out” said a delicate voice with usual consideration of the matter. Anjali moves towards the exit gate, however determined and carefree. Stepping inside her car she was certain that she would not be troubled by what the reports will be like. She needed solace, which medicines wouldn’t provide.  The car was directed towards the shopping mall and the evening was spent with self, followed by a tumbler of cold coffee. As the sound of the tyres screeched as it was parked at the garage, it was an indication that Anjali had again arrived home with a bad day at the hospital and must be distraught. Mother stood alarmed and the trembling fingers opened the latch of the main gate with anticipation and the countenance encountered across was rather lit up and lively for a change. As she pounced upon the stuffy bean bag she possessed a different spirit that evening. She gulped down a glass of fresh lime and talked on for the following hour about the footwear and kurtis she splurged on that evening. Mom had no other thought but was glued to her daughter’s eventful monologue. She offered her another glass of the drink which she heartily welcomed.

That night was starry and the sky was chockfull in an altered hue. Anjali decided to open an unfinished book of Sheldon. She had resolved to get lost in its depth and sought to come out of the long lost pondering over her own un-culminated story of life. This night she wanted to read and re-read the cluster of words under the dim light and had a longing to be melted in the emotional strings in the novel and wished to never be back to the bitter part that her own destiny had exposed her to. She tasted joy after many days and had plans to baton on it. Flipping on the fourth page of the novel, an unwanted thought started to fence her, she had crossed-brows for a while as she thought about the medical reports but shunned the idea of being taken away by it and favored a fictional zone she had set for herself and camped in.

Next morning the corn flakes were being poured in the blue milk bowl for her, she paused by the table and clicked at her mother’s hands she demanded aloo paranthas instead. This was enough to hint at the U-turn she was taking to her previous ways of living life. Papa winked at mom and passed a satisfying smile. The sizzling paranthas were served flouting the monotony of the past eight months. Eating the belly-full she laid back on the couch to spend another afternoon dating the romance in Sheldon. Like a phoenix she rose upwards as her curious journey of skipping the pages endured on. “Here are some photographs you should have a look at” said papa while strolling through the drawing room on the lazy Sunday afternoon. No reply was made. She continued reading, as she pretended to have been lost in the core of Sheldon’s love story while her mind was back to the pain given by the things which fell apart, and vanished a year ago. The nerves of her mind were contracting and the head ached. The tears trailed down helplessly, but the book held tight in her hands was the only escape. Krish had gone in the last winters, leaving her amidst the mist of January; she was subjected to solitude, expected or may be forced to withstand the chill of silence and face the foggy life. Her conscience asked her to stop lamenting over the loss so unbearable. Having spent the last year in vertical depression she was conscious enough to not go back to that phase again. It was only with difficulty that she had decided to not pay attention to what the medical reports had to say.

The conscience told her to fly and look high above the stars than treating herself with a cruel number of tablets throwing herself in sedation for hours. The tickets were booked and the plans were made. She, mom and papa were flying for a holiday. “But these photographs Anjali? I need to answer them by this week, please choose one to fix up a meeting this evening” Papa pleaded this time. She held his hand and promised a wonderful life they both could give her during the vacation she had planned for three of them. Why not?  “I need a break, from the languor of this life, I need to breathe before I could think anything” as Anjali copped a plea out of the situation while stroking Papa’s shoulders convincingly. He embraced her sentiments while the white envelope containing the photographs breathed in silence, unattended.

Love that ends!

“The sugar pot is empty” cried Mahi, the anger echoed as she threw away the spoon. With the hair unmade, she hobbled exhausted as she moved across the bedroom. She blabbers and nags while dropping a tear or two, while Daksh remains occupied fiddling through his old files. His fluttering fingers over the pale yellow papers of that mustard file hinted at the tautness of the situation. The afternoon was as dull as the monotony of a gothic arc and the sunset was no longer a romantic scape of the evening. No more did Mahi and Daksh sat opposite each other in the courtyard to share a warm drink together, there were mere two opposite human beings living together with a little hope.

That night there was no whistle of the cooker, no rattling of the cutlery in the kitchen. Mahi had gone to sleep. Daksh peeped through the worn-out net of the kitchen window, he was sure no dinner was there tonight. Entering the kitchen he could get hold of a stale piece of bread that smelt and a quarter of undercooked beans, it was all that he relished and hunted for more. He failed and walked towards the bedroom. His hand had swiftly pulled the handle and he could hear the sniffing sound from the sheets. So, he knew Mahi had not been sleeping. He knew “How could she have slept, she was broken, tensed and was going hopeless”. He had no courage to go and face Mahi, he did not know what to say and how to answer her queries. He had no words of condolences which he anymore could render her. He deserts the idea of entering the bedroom and settles himself in the sofa and broods over a thousand thoughts.

Mahi had quit her job, after her miscarriage she had never been keeping well. The loss was irrevocable and she wasn’t able to overcome the fear of failing once again. The time had taken over them, and the times were bad. He finds solace in reminiscing the gone by days. He surely smiles back to the times when both of them used to hang-around, watch a movie, shop and laugh. He remembers how he met Mahi seven years back at a friend’s house. He cherishes how they ended up becoming best friends to man and wife. After these seven years life had been changed. It wasn’t at all about hanging-around but attending to the daily chores, it wasn’t about watching a movie but was about capturing the mix of good and not-so-good moments, it was not shopping that was frequent but saving was all that mattered. It was not a laugh that filled the ether of the house anymore but a silence conquered the four walls, a stillness that had come between the two souls who once were one.

It was love that was once binding them together and now it was money that had fragmented them apart.  Where Daksh was busy finding the ways to put love crystals together; Mahi got ever anxious about the sugar-pot that could never be filled for numberless nights. She had her set of longings and wishes. She dreamt of a house full of luxury and love, but the present was only bitter and harsh on her. Again with a thousand thoughts he slept that night against the peach sofa cover which Mahi had tailored as a naïve. The next morning he wakes up by the same cover which she had left behind along with the whole apartment. This morning was drab without her. He could do nothing but cry and sit in a corner of the apartment and meditated on the note she left.

He failed..and she...

“Papa, please give it a chance” cried Harsh. The father looked severe, deep into Harsh. The fist tightly grasped, the nerves breaking his skin almost. The anger in the eyes made his face to swell up. Harsh kept sniffing the tears down his cheek. What could his mother do, she cried herself hard in the kitchen, trying to supress her shrilling voice by the snapping utensils on the granite slab.  The poor lady prayed constantly, the lips which moved in inaudible prayers to the almighty that Harsh should be spared this time again. “Get out of my house” the voice echoed warning him. “Papa, I love her” laments Harsh while he draws back to his room.

The night was endless. It was still. No leaves moved on the tree, utter silence it was. No bird chirped, no owl howled, no pigeon fluttered on the window till it was dawn.  The eyes were as wet as they were a night before. His white linen shirt was almost pale as the colour of his body reflected through. Harsh was dying. It was 8:00 am, it was the time when Richa usually reach her office. Harsh picks the handset to call her. He was desperate to listen to her amusing voice. After all she was the muse of his life. As soon as he picked the receiver, many thoughts came and faded in the depth of this grief. The plight was such, that tormented him now. “What am I going to tell her?” he fumbles, lacking in strength. “Should I say….I cannot marry you…” he doused.

She would not react. Probably, she would be lost in her own world. She would be thrown back to a void, a zone to which only she belongs. Probably she will never come back, not to him, but to herself. He feared the very thought of losing her. He was failing. It was now next to impossible to anyhow convince his father about Richa. She is ambitious and that is her mistake. She has got a scholarship to pursue her doctorate abroad; that is a gaffe she probably has committed. “Why should you compromise your goodwill in your company, leave the job and the country for that girl?”. “Papa, I wish to go abroad with Richa, it is my wish to see her progress, we want to realise our dream together! I will find a job and get settled there too” said Harsh desperately, but missed the mark again.

It had been two days, since he had switched on his mobile phone. He felt weak. He couldn’t call her. He convinced himself to run away and fly with her to Michigan. But how can he go away leaving mummy behind to that one cruel man she was surviving for these 30 years. How could he leave her back in a state of depression and live happily himself.

Minutes passed, and so did the days and weeks. “Richa should have understood by now, she would know everything herself” he sighed… “No one comprehends my silence better than she does” his eyes shone with pride. No questions haunted his mind anymore. He had decided both of their fates by now.

Thank you Mario!

As I pressed over the joystick, all glued into the computer screen.
 He was a Super Mario! He was the one super-hero,
 rushing dreamily but keenly after his princess. 

He started from a footpath, he walked and jumped over rich- brown Cadbury(s) 
 There emerged some mushrooms and ducks,
 he kicked them and obtained some powers.
 He was a super hero. 
He comprehends through the sky and obtains the golden opportunities 
with twinkling coins making tinkling sounds. 

My Mario scored 2,10,98,70 today!
See the exquisite high-jump that I can take from that last piece of chocolate staircase
towards that flag of no man’s land! 
See, the fire-shots, how heaven is celebrating along with me! 
And now my Mario enters into a novel castle.

He lands into darkness, he again jumps over the flowers which can swallow him in,
he kicks away the small faces wearing helmets and snubs away all the enemies on the way.

 When lucky, My Mario got through the green mushroom, adding one more life to his tenure

Easing his journey where he is meant to meet his princess.

Mario started off bad, stuck with envious ducks around him, 
jumping over the nauseating bridges and had to shine with all gold to reach to her castle. 

He fought through every obstacle, not eating anything for hours, he kept on searching for any super-powers
he kept on leaping over walls, sometimes could grip over some magic stems that made him float through the sky,

he shone like a star and was immune to all ill-wills of the harmful creatures in the wonderland.

One fine day, he lands into the dragon castle, 
he stands and jumps against all odds. 
He saves himself from all bullets coming on his way, 
he finally faces the dragon and they are in a fiery brawl. 

Oh, Mario has hit the hatch, the dragon has fallen down!

But………… Thank You Mario, your Princess is in Another Castle!!!

Life is one such Mario game. Or you can say it is like finding your love through the hurdles, across the glittery paths which are not gold, while taking a bonus off and on.  He and she, You and I, are there in an ultimate search like Mario is. We exactly do what he does, we make money and get rich, we hear applause around when we move ahead or get through a new milestone. Clothes change from dull red to bright red, we grow up from small to tall, but the search continues. Then comes the one moment when, he and she and you and I reach near that one repulsive dragon in our respective lives; but by this time we are motorized enough that we can tactfully bang that dragon down!

It is an interesting race we are in, every time we take yet another leap of faith and re-start a new game. Life is a joy-stick we dance upon and pause where necessary. We shall keep on coming back to the nasty dragon even when we know the Prince/Princess won’t be there. The journey is fun and even Mario does not lose hope and yet takes another jump from the last chocolate-wall, he soars high, scores great and gets the flag!

So, He and she, You and I , why worry even if the Prince /Princess is in Another Castle…!!!! 

The U- turn

She was waiting, and waiting sitting across the big, repulsive …the pale door near the staircase. She was cladded in her pair of greyish-blue denims and a crisp lime shade halter top. Oh, that oomph! The office people passed by again and again and glanced at her. She tried to read their lip sync but doesn’t care over the usual comments she is accustomed to.Her gaze was steadily set on that huge rectangular piece of wood. Her fingers sometimes clenched the folders and sometimes the straight hair falling on the shoulders were being played with, as the time had to be passed. She twisted sometimes to look for the receptionist who was busy taking long calls at the receiving desk.

The interview with him was fixed for 10:30 this morning, she has her own office to attend to which she has escaped to attend to this new offer. ‘Shelly Seth’ called the haughty receptionist, Mr. Aman is waiting inside for you. The name, pinched something inside but the eyes shimmered and this moment was thanked by her. She hastily turn to her nude-tinged heels and walked in head-high. The disposition she carried through the foyer was all calm and the elegance was personified in the way she dressed for the day. After all, she was to audition for a new advertisement, she had to look her best and yet effortless in appeal. Aman looks at this muse walking in the chiffon top and kept looking……She sat opposite him, thoughtfully shook hands with him and expected the round of questions to be put forward. She was quiet and quiet…. he sat alike. The silence invaded the atmosphere and no questions came around. Aman congratulated her, they shook hands. She came out of the same repulsive door without looking back, walking aimlessly, clueless and unable to react.

The phone buzzed one, twice and thrice, Shelly did not pick and undecidedly sat in her car and drove to her workplace. As she parked the car in the lane outside the office suddenly a realisation hit her, that mummy’s call need to be returned before she reaches the workplace.  She didn’t know what to say, she said, ‘I did get the job, but I am not going to go’.

The day was absent-mindedly spent at the workstation, some assignments done, a few scenes shot for the advertisements. Unless she found the bunch of documents at her desk - freshly wet by the drops from the eyes that gazed upon them; she didn’t know she was crying. The tears marked her journey to the lovely days spent together in college, the frames flashed in front of her, the selfies they clicked together, the biscuits they broke into two and sipped from the same cup, the visit to the quiet lanes of Hauz Khas that was the favourite hotspot during the college days, the drives together, listening from his boring Kishore Kumar numbers to her favourite Honey Singh, the days of sharing the same platter and being best friends to the cutest couple, Aman and her…

She was breaking into pieces by now, after all she had promised herself 4 years back that she will never meet him again. But, life had planned something which she had never planned, life today morning had taken this U-turn. The evening brought such dullness, mummy made her favourite Orange Chicken; Shelly took her pillow to her couch and the dinner remain unattended.

Vo Varun hai, aur tu sirf Shivani

     

A day

He was sleeping till late evening, he got up, Mom: “Varun, beta neend poori ho gayi?”…. She caresses his careless streaks of hair falling on his forehead, says: “Bachhe soja, kal raat ko late aaya tha”. Varun dozes off.

Shivani was sleeping till late in the morning, she gets up, Mom: “Shivani, dopahar tak uth jaati tab tak mein saara kaam akele hi kar leti”….A loud thumping on the floor while mom walks and her tone takes a sharp turn. Shivani gets up at once, rolls her bedding quickly and moves to the wash basin.

Another Day

He was studying in the afternoon, Mom: “Varun, bacche khaana kha kar rest karle, garmi me kahan padhai hogi”…. She hands him over a glass of Roohafza and says “peele  relief milega”.

Shivani was watching a matinee laying on a couch after the exhausting 2 hours of cleaning the almirah, sipping nimbu-paani she had made herself to relax…..Mom : “Humein rest karna hai…aankh me light lagti hai….TV band kar”.

Another Day

He announces, “Mom, mere friends bula rahein hain, sham ko ayunga”, Mom: “Bete…. Kuch kha toh le…aur ye le bijli ka bill jama kara diyo”. Varun, is already gone, and the bill lays unattended in the drawer. Mom smiles, says: “Buddhu Baccha.”

She asks, “Mummy, meri friend aa rahi hai, aap kuch bana doge”, Mom: “Itni badi hogyi hai, khud kab seekhegi…”. Shivani  calls the friend, “yaar, mom ke sath kahin jaana pad gaya hai, phir milte hain kabhi….sorry”

Another Day

Varun’s birthday. Mom: “Le bachhe (hands over cash), happy birthday….kam pade toh le liyo aur”. Varun is too excited, calls his friends and is off to a pub.

Shivani’s 12^th standard result is out. She is very happy, she just bagged 93.7% in Commerce.  Mom hugs her, says “Very Good….. ab kal se khaana seekh ab college jaane lagegi”. Shivani either had no expectation for a gift or money. She is satisfied, “Shayad aaj mummy kheer hi bana lein”.

Another Day

Mom is sick today… “Varun, bete ye medicine laade, papa toh late ayenge”. He raises eyebrows looking at the heat outside and says “Yaar abhi so jao, dhhoop kam hogi toh laake de dunga”.

Mom: “Haan, me thik hu….bahar  garmi bohat hai”.

Shivani rushes to almirah, gets her cotton stol, wraps around her face and head. Picks money that mom had put beside her pillow where she lay.  Returns with a pack from chemist and hands over with a glass of lukewarm water.

 Shivani: “Varun, awaaz kam kar T.V ki, mummy ne abhi dawai khayi…so rahi hain”.

Mom gathers herself somehow: “Bechare ko dekhne de, me thik hu…varun awaz nai aa rahi beta…dekhle tu”.

Shivani picks up the empty glass of water, puts the pack of medicines in the drawer, notes the time next for  the next doze for mom.

 She moves to the kitchen.

  Just Another Day

……….

Why did she go?

Daddy’s princess she was, she was just three when god had sent for mommy. She had hardly grown the bond with her, when she had to let her go to reach up to the heaven. The heaven, daddy told her, was beautiful than the house they were living in. Thus, Anya was happy that mommy had gone to a better place to spend the rest of her life. She was however unhappy that she won’t come back to live with her and daddy, as heaven would be her only abode now. Daddy would take the little Anya in his strong arms and would drive her through swift swings, singing her a lullaby which Richa would sing for their angel. The moon was up high, and Arsh was missing Richa, he was robust  enough to render uninterrupted sleep to Anya while carefully wavering her in his arms; still had his eyes filled with saline droplets which obstructed the vision to the moon making the sweetness of it blurred. Arsh was broken inside but had courage to hold his angel to face the toughness of life as a daddy ahead. Every night would come and Anya would be told the story of a fairy. The fairy who came to their house and took his hand into hers, she showed him how beautiful life was, she taught him how to take care of Anya, she blessed the family and went back to heaven. Anya would listen to the story and asked why did she go and how she looked? The same question at the end of this story every-night had nothing to offer to Anya in return. The little angel would remain unanswered when she asked daddy about the fairy, “Daddy, what is the name of the fairy, how she looked and why did she go back”?

 Days had gone, and now months were passing by, the ritual of mourning over the loss had to be broken as another rule of life and the time had come to attend to the routine. Anya would go to a preparatory school, and Arsh would leave for office while dropping the kid to the Montessori. Lunch hour at the office would let Arsh overhear the husbands discussing over the expertise of their wife’s hands at Aloo Parantha or Biryani. It happened daily, Arsh would be reminded of the noise invaded by the steam of the cooker when Richa would cook lunch for him. He smiled as the flashback started of the times she would be worried unnecessarily over petty matters of sharing his lunch with office mates and never having enough himself; or worrying  whether he liked Shahi Paneer in the lunch or not? Who thought this would be a memory in the present, and would be so important to him a matter unlike its pettiness before. He munched over his piece of bread-butter, had his cup of tea and was back to work.

Anya was at the baby-center as usual in the late afternoons and would be having children of her age around and thus was happy. She would be cranky at times and cry for daddy and would ask the mistress to call him. Time was passing this way. Sharp at six thirty daddy would come to his angel and she would run, with an amazing speed and cling to the tough shoulders of her daddy, as if this air she inhaled of daddy’s scent had saved her life. Arsh would kiss her forehead and observe her dark brown eyes sparkling and the beautiful curls of hair she was getting as her mother had. Arsh would take Anya to the park, would be one among her friends and laugh with her till she got tired of it. The months were passing by and she was growing up to senses. She was being sensitive to her surroundings as she would see her other mates being fed by their moms, being scolded and pampered at the same time, being dressed in their best of Barbie’s and Dora’s collections, while poor daddy would collect the heaps of the same but never had expertise of accessorising the angel as a feminine hand would craft it. Anya was now getting bored of the same fairy story and was disappointed with daddy as she never got an answer to her question as a routine. Richa existed in the collection of the photographs Arsh had put all over the house on all the peach colour walls, both of them had done. Anya would now observe daddy caressing the beautiful hair of mommy every time the peach wall would be passed by. She would smile when daddy would kiss the pink flush on mommy’s cheek and then would pull on his angel’s chin and wink at her. Life was not easy, there were dreams to be fulfilled for the future with this kid, but it were mere memories they were living in.

Days changed to months, and time passed by. Today was 20^th of March it was Anya’s day, the day when Richa had given birth to this angel 12 years back. Richa was nowhere to be found but kept looking at her family, saw them grow together, it were the peach coloured walls in the house on which her photos hung. The peach walls were their garden, the orchid of the father and the daughter, which was most fragrant in the house. Her friends came, and the table got flooded with the gifts. The girl didn’t open any of the gift wraps; all she wanted was to unfold what she could never get hold of. She was not going to demand of anything as a birthday gift even after Arsh’s constant asking. All she wanted was the answer to the fairy-tale she had been listening to for years. However, she had grown up enough to know that how the fairy had looked but ‘why did she go’ still remained a mystery…..

Shree and the final move

                                                                       iii

She had decided and now there was no looking back. She had packed all her stuff. The bag remained at the door. His favorite outfit she wore, hopeful to be held by him unexpectedly. Still he didn’t come, no not at all. She prayed deep inside, she questioned her heart and wanted an approval from its bottom, but it denied. Her conscience failed to convince her, she had gained that courage somehow, now she will not stop, never!

“I want to come to stay with you mom” phoned Shree. “Mom, the whole house stifles me”, she choked. The ticket to Kolkata was booked now, her heart filled with the joy like a little girl’s, she wanted to breathe now, an air of another world, one with some beauty around. The silence now strangles the every move she makes in the house without him.

It is 6:00 pm, the maid came for her usual work, but Shree is not interested to hear what Meena has to say, Shree ignores her today. Shree’s mind is already occupied with the flashes of him going, saying goodbye through a note. She is angry and cannot swallow that any more. Meena went after her routine cleaning of the house and all her dues were cleared by Shree; Meena shed tears of sympathy and said she would miss coming there and speaking to her memsaab. Shree remained quiet and bid goodbye to Meena for the last time. She cooks, but doesn’t eat. She packs it the next morning and leaves it at the stained kitchen basin.

The dawn is more quiet than usual, it certainly isn’t peace! It is some painful lullaby that continues till dawn that day, it ceases to cease. She looks outside the window of her room, the same window pane where she stood with him for the first time, after coming to this abode. The same window where she sat looking at him reading the paper, with a vague frown and a baby like eyes. The place from here they both looked upon the whole street, sipping coffee and talking of their lives together. The thought of leaving distracts her from his memory, she suddenly feels the pain which she never deserved to have gone through, and asks why?

Ghanshyam rings at the door, “Memsaab, the car is here, I hope you are ready to leave, the train is at 2:30 coach is C1, seat no. 64, and there shouldn’t be any problem”. Shree nodded. Shree thought she won’t look back, but. Her eyes were wet, and her walk was slow, she was doing what she never thought, she will. She touched the window pane and felt he was there, smiling at her, with tears in his eyes. No, but he never came, not at all.    

Darkness....

The murmuring ceases

the night ascends

through marks of wisdom

finding clues through it

Dark turns darker, unseen and random

the wait for a light to cross by

Wait, the endless waiting

like the immortal sea

its an expanse so dark

Only my eyes shining through it

 having hope undersigned, untouched

Finding clues through it,

Dark turns darker, unseen and random…

The Eye-liner!!

“She prefers it in black! Ok, the dark shade of the brown would also do. No, let’s go for dark tinge of magnificent purple, it goes strikingly well with her laced mauve lingerie. Crazy, isn’t it?” Yes, to match your eye-liner with your slip-ins. But, let it be, as she thinks once the former is on, and the latter is in, he is going to die in her arms. “Hush me!!” these were some wild thoughts she just devoured upon, a wild reverie. She leaves for office and think about the heap of assigns she has for the day and a huddle of emails she had to reply to. Just before saying goodbye to the room, she flashes her eyes in the mirror, they look amazing in black….she adores and would gently kiss them if she had the capacity to do so. Heights of narcissism; move on!

The day had been spent, somehow all goofed up and upside down, some unmanaged thoughts make their way through her mind, but his thoughts makes her grip her palm even harder. She dreams about him, even day-dream, gosh he is lovely! She makes it sure at 5:00 pm to visit the mirror and check upon the expression of her face. The blush is all gone, but the eye-liner stays there, the deepest black, the shimmer well defined and it comes out sharp from the edge of her dark brown eyes. She is contented; she is happy to see that smile that reaches her eyes and makes it even more classy.

He is meeting her for coffee this evening, they will decide mutually whether Barista would make it smooth or Starbucks would help them feel all the way more starry! All set, with her off-white shirt tucked in her black colored pants, a thin black belt with a dull gold buckle hangs around her waist erotically. He comes wearing a white shirt too! She loves the shade of the blue color denims that hang upon him, and that ethnic pair of chappals which she had gifted him. She loves him so. His mood is switched off, and she can make that out as she has not been complimented as yet, even with the echoing shade of black which defines her eyes. Oh lord, men!! She flutters her long lashes, helplessly.

She keeps his right hand in her lap, and hold his fingers so as to pass on an amusing tickle, just to alleviate his mood. He is numb. She finally initiates the conversation, “how do I look?" he says "you look sexy as always!” she blushes red. This time her smile reaches even a higher distance than just eyes. She feels high at her head. It was difficult to determine the rationale behind that numbness or say the dumbness surrounding him that evening. Being quiet and saying nothing, why men do that? Why would some men want to just hold your hand and sit quiet and let you bear the consistent urge of your mind? The mind which was yelling at her, that why you had to waste this elegant pair of pants and a sleek-cut off-white shirt if he was sad today?? He kissed her forehead and they parted ways, for the day!

After dinner, she sat relaxing in the balcony, under the splendid moon-light, as she sips on a king size cup of coffee. She wonders, “Why is that so? why is there a need to feel appreciated? Why did so desperately I want him to compliment the profound black eye-liner I had on my eyes.” She was answer-less, she went to see herself in the mirror. Her reflected version was ready to admire her untouched dark-brown eyes, and the shimmer of the black was as loyal and brightly labeled. She goes to bed, and sleeps with a gratifying thought at least my eye-liner speaks!!

Shree and the memories of him..

(It is continuation to the prior written short story "The Written Note". Soon, to be called a collection of chapters from Shree's life.)

                                                                      ii

Memories hang around in her mind. Can she ever get out of her past? Does she even want to? The questions go unanswered while she swings in the armchair. Yet she found music in every sound and sight. She desperately waited for the evenings to come as they ensured the noises of the children playing outside in the colony park. While she shuffles through her wedding album 11^th time that day, the bell rang; Shree gets up and is surprised to have her childhood friend at the door. She stood speechless and tears rolled down her eyes. Anisha came closer to embrace Shree. She needed this; the minutes which denied the passing on. Time was running out of her grip at once, she didn’t wish to lose this moment ever. Anisha’s arrival had made Shree smiled, her heartbeat grew fast and summer seemed spring. Some 15 years back, Shree and friend, had shared their tiffins daily, had helped each other in completing their school assignments, had known each others likes and dislikes and had been together through thick and thins. But this time they met, it was different. They were neither school going girls nor some aspiring youth, but life had been tough to Shree.

He had gone ending all the things in a note, a note that was written to amaze her, to shake her out of her comfort zone and then putting her in a lifetime of trauma. It was Anisha in whose company Shree could sip that evening coffee in relaxation. Shree missed him and wished his soul sat near her, watching her face talk, and her eyes seeking him. Anisha talked about her homely stuff, the mother-in-law who was affectionate and the children who were the apple of her eye.  Shree wished he was there to look at her countenance and caress her hair which fell on her forehead. She was listening to what Anisha spoke, but was deep down missing him.

Anisha stayed that night with Shree. They both talked about Shree’s life with him, how happy Shree was, and how she had met him at their first date. The eyes were full of tears, they remembered him. The thought of the written note had been scorching her nerves. Shree wished he was there again, wiping away her tears and hugging her across, and the thought brought a sudden urge to be loved. Again, she slept with his memories holding her bosom tight; she could hear her own heartbeat. Anisha went back that afternoon. It was five in the evening, the sun had set. Now, the children did not play in the park outside. It was quiet and gloomy. She opens her wedding album for the twelfth time. She missed him yet again!