A speaks.

The inside of an ambulance is scary. The IV tubes, the blood dripping from the sheets, the lighting on the top, the ominous signal, pointing to the imminent end. There was complete havoc inside, the nurses frantically engrossed in keeping everything together, the doctors working in a hustle. The driver in a hurry, cursing the traffic jam, as every second is precious, precious to a life. There was a single flickering bulb on the ceiling. I tried to look away from it. It stared at me straight in the eye. I flinched, closed my eyes. There was a slight hustle as we stopped at another traffic signal. I could hear the driver’s harsh hoarse voice.

“Payncho. Gaadi chala raha hai ya desh ! ( Are you running a car or the country )”

I tried to laugh, but couldn’t. My class three quiz contest was ringing in my ears. It was the final round and the heartbeat was rising. The drop of sweat trickled down Tanmay’s forehead. It was his dream. Everything was his dream, I never could relate to his eagerness. The teacher proceeded with the question paying no heed to the nervous shaking of his leg and quivering lips.
“Why is ambulance written in reverse on the ambulance van?”
Buzz. I hit the buzzer in a split second. It was the first time I heard of an ambulance.
Tanmay struggled to form a sentence.
“Mirror, rearview, front car, read”
I wondered what could be made out of these incomprehensible words. But the teacher understood. We won the contest. I was ecstatic, but still did not know what it meant, and how Tanmay knew it ? I tried to laugh but I couldn’t.

I felt a chill – the sort when you feel life is going bleak, dreary or the AC regulator is not working. We were at a traffic signal. the nurse besides me opened the window. A shock of breeze came in. I realized it was the chill of fresh city air. I couldn’t control my smile. I tried to twitch my lips, it hurt. The paint across my side was peeling slowly, inching towards me. As the signal turned green, the ambulance started with a hiccup, like a rickety old man suddenly awake from his slumber. The paint peel fell.

“Cover the wounds, nurse.” Screeched the doctor, who till now had been chewing on his stethoscope.
“Why don’t you do it yourself?” Barked the nurse. She must’ve been around 25 years old, her face was a picture of grit and serenity, the sort that comes with an un-fazed self confidence of hardships. And she cursed under her breath, “payncho”, ever so slightly. I have always had a knack of picking up abuses. I tried to read her name, without staring at her breasts. Ananya Rajan.
Meanwhile, the doctor embarrassingly got up and put a sheet on my stomach. Saumik Rajan, read his flat chest. And it struck me then. And then, again. I flinched.

“Shut up you sissy! Can’t you stop crying for once..” Shouted my dad at me as I stood red-faced after a scuttle with Shruti at school. I always liked strong women. They get me. And I also liked accepting my fault. It also gets me, gets me into trouble. So, I accepted having stolen her pencil, and she hit me. And that was why, I was the sissy, again. I vowed never to cry, even in the most desperate, agonizing pain, ever ever again.

But that was 20 years ago, 20 years is almost forever. So, I flinched, and the single tear drop escaped my eye. I readied myself for another one of those, wounds build character story, I wanted it bad. But, now there was no one there for me. I miss home.

In an ambulance, you miss a lot of things. Like a wall clock on the wall. I mean, when time is of essence, life and death essence, you need to have a clock, ticking away ever so slowly. I loved looking at the clock, as the hands moved past each other at the stroke of midnight, leaving behind a trail of misery to meet again, at the same time, same place – quite like a daily soap. A wall clock symbolizes everything.

I tried to look outside the window, into the hearts of our beloved city. There it was, on the hoarding, what said it all. It was the advertisement of a push-up bra. I wondered what my dad would have said to such an ad, that is if he would have said anything at all. Anyhow, what I am coming to is, is that
Life – is like a strangled bra strap, you turn it right on the front and it twists and marks your skin on the back. My life was like that. Everything was topsy-turvy, a lovely phrase indeed, intertwined and messed up. That was one of the many revelations of that swinging ordeal between life and death. Another one was this ..

They were husband and wife. Ananya and Saumik Rajan. And I was the patient in the ambulance. And wall clocks are not there in ambulances to prevent further injury as they are quite heavy and the drivers are rustic abusing bastards. And I was on laudanum, for sure, because I could see the blood, but not feel the pain.

A sixteenth century chemist, german-swiss, a something-ius, discovered that opium alkaloids were more soluble in alcohol than in water. And since that day, the world thanks him, over and over again. Its easy, you take a quarter of ethanol – procured from the chemistry lab earlier, and the defunct chemist shop now – and mix some opium latex – or powder, whichever is cheaper in your access – and bang ! 10% opium and 1% morphine, the most potent soporific, analgesic beyond belief, self curing prescription. Laudanum. I was climbing stairs to a light, a heavenly abode of calming soothe. The music was awe-inspiring, nerve-wreckingly serene. It was quiet and light. The air was silent, pure and energising. I was uncomfortable, until I saw a used condom on the stairs. This can’t be heaven. They don’t have sex in heaven. It was contradictory, really. No sex in heaven. So, this is not heaven, is this hell.

I tried to open my eyes again. The makeshift stitches in my left eye pained. I felt inexorably in pain and helpless about it, similar to the bat wound on my ass, that I could not access, I got in 1994. It was a painful year. With my right eye and half of my left eye, I can see the ambulance’s intestines again, stenching rectum of a withering system of hospice and care. There was that uncomfortable silence between Ananya and Saumik. I wanted to help them out, to avoid one more ambulance on its way to a hellhole. I wanted to help them, for the urge was strong to not be me again. I wanted to help them, because I could see in Saumik, what I saw in the mirror, three years ago .. in my then scarless, almost beautiful, face. I am you. I am everybody, or rather, I was everybody. Now, I am case no. 138673 in ambulance #7, Wockhardt.

A self-obsessed male chauvinist to a number in the register of a rickety ambulance, in just three years.

The dream job

He hung the puppets back on the wall, no strings attached. It had been a long hard day. Yet He longed for satisfaction. It was meant to be a stop-gap arrangement, but He never managed to move out. Sometimes, He figured, it’s not a question of options, it’s more about inertia – an innate tendency to let things stay, unruffled. A deep exhale marked the end of yet another day. He looked at the fogged window pane with a tinge of bitterness and wrote His name on the droplets with a finger. As He looked outside the window, there it was – the usual humdrum going on, a world that never slept – the lights flickering, the hum of the traffic, slow but moving, moving towards another day, at a rummaging grumpy confident pace of a giant.

It had been a long time, and yet He never got used to being a part of the usual goings on of His world. It felt strangely apprehensive to be on the top, alone, working odd hours, hours and hours of mind numbing repetitive work day in and day out. Sometimes, He wondered aloud, whether anything He did made any impact, and there was not a soul in the vicinity to hear His musings. That led Him to make indistinct maneuvers to make it interesting, subtle and yet endearing. He felt needy, mildly depressive and yet in control. Another one bites the dust .. played in His walkman. His beeper read in gold font, A.G, blinking, on the desk, signified the end of His break.

The hand written ‘Almighty God’ on the window slowly melted away as the street light lit up the room for the next shift.

P.S Even the dream job is not that dreamy after-all, playing god is tough and I bet He feels feel underpaid, and overworked !

Disclaimer: I have all creative liberty without being blasphemous. In my defense, I have used, or at-least tried to use, a capital ‘H’ for Him everywhere. And finally, I am sure I would have loved Him if I had faith.

Courage.

I was intimidated from the moment I entered the building. An aura of history engulfed the place, as if a wretched past was associated with it. There a mild warm breeze blowing across the street, giving a mirage-like tinge to the brownish fading walls of the building. It swayed in front of my eyes. I was desperate to go on, against the odd, against my will.

As I crept up the dusty stairs, I wail crept up from inside and echoed in my heart. I was startled and almost fell back, my determination shaken to the core. I tried to shake the fear away .. think of something calm .. and it was then, that my eyes fell at the red stains across the wall, blood red. It’s a wretched haunted place, something inside me screamed and yet against my own heart, I went on unheralded. My gaze fixated at the blood on the wall. It looked as if it was trying to warn me, someone with a past wading off my future. And yet, something tugged at me, constantly pulling me inside. I was strangely proud of having defied all odds, and worked my way through to my destiny. I am intimidated, am I at the wrong place at the wrong time, what will become of me? And yet, with steely grit and determination, I trudged forward. I have to do it today, otherwise …

And I entered the electricity department. Today was the last day to pay the bill. I have to do it. The pan stains gleamed in the sun !

Avi Speaks

1. It unfurls ..
“I have a last name. My identity is complete. Have you ever felt hollow on the inside. Lonely because you don’t share the name the connection with the people you share a roof with. I felt that all my life. Each of those days is livid in front of my eyes. I don’t know why my folks never gave me a last name. I feel they never gave it a thought, I feel they never gave me a thought.”

I paused for a second. The silence was growing on my mind and I felt submerged in it.

“Avi Sharma. Ecstasy ! I can’t hold it in myself. It feels like exploding, I try to control it by counting the revolutions of the celing fan. Against a white background, the black blades of an eternal rotation.
One .. two .. three.
His face is clear, I can see it across the scarlet night lamp’s glow briefly interspersed by the fan blades. He is smiling at me, happy that I am content. The room is a lovely white, the rose petals on the bed complement the rose on my cheeks, in the parting of my hair and the blood red on the bed sheet. A conjugal bed, a calm night, a silent mind and a loving husband bedside. Life is turning for good.
Four.. five.. six.
Sleep is rare when the heart leaps, the thud across my chest is so loud I fear it will awaken Aru. Try to calm down.
Seven.. eight.. nine.
I look at the wall clock. I always loved doing that. Awake till mid-night, just to look at the date change. It can give you a feeling of both desperation – to catch the day you just wiled away – and a sense of achievement at the same time for having survived it. It is this mixed exasperation and delight that draws me to it and I stare at the clock every single night as both hands overlap as if a communion of the beloved – long awaited unfulfilled desire coming true, just for a minute though. And yet, that second of closeness, proximity and passion is a defining moment that justifies the day, gives it an existence, a present a past. And this consummation conceives the future, the next day – thereby completing the cycle of time – the cycle of life.
Ten.. eleven.. twelve.
A slight shadow across the window attracts my attention. The tulsi plant outside our window is shivering in the windy delhi night. Our window, our tulsi, our night. The transformation from I to we, my to our, is beautiful and completing.
Thirteen.. fourteen.. fifteen.
They say orgasm is the best gift a man can give a woman, I feel it’s the identity, a self-belief and the whole life falls into perspective. As the hands separate in the clock, Aru falls into a deep slumber. I grope around for my pack of cigs. They say smoking feels great after sex. It is not there. Let me look at his side of the bed. Got it. As I light one up, the dark of the night weighs on my heart like an unfinished story and an unfinished story it is, my life. Its our first night together after marriage.
Sixteen.. Seventeen.. Eighteen.
Marriage .. it feels strange to think about Aru and marriage in one thought. Puff … I like the haze it leaves in front of my eyes. And as my mind clears .. my eyes haze out slowly, into a trance, a tranquil sleepy haze, that starts in the mind and takes me back, back to the day I first saw him.”

All eyes were transfixed on me. I anticipated the adoration in their eyes. The voice continued.

“It was not love at first sight. In fact, I did not even know about love at the time of that sight.”

I thought – corny one liner. I don’t even know about it now. He smiled with the gaze.

“I like to think of love as a potent sentiment that can arise from stagnant emotions for a need of dynamism, growth – a selfish engrossing need to identify oneself with another being. It can start from concern, sympathy or even hate. And it grows on your persona ever so slowly, like a creeper that needs the supporting stem when it begins, but afterwards the existence of the support is defined by the creeper itself, as the plant capers over and engulfs the very personality of the support and transforms it into a plant itself.”

There was an appreciative murmur in the crowd. Bah! Humbug, the pseudo-intellectual in me .. ! I will get to it in due time. Let the storyteller stay behind the story for the time being.

“Anyways, I felt like it was a dream or is my mind conjuring up lovelorn pictures of a first encounter, I don’t know and I will never find out. Nor do I intend to try. I am happy with the ironies, the contradictions of my love story.”

My mind was racing ahead of my voice. The thoughts and the story were becoming one.

“Sometimes, I feel as if, we – as a race – are dreaming a collective dream and this whole world is an apparition in all of our minds. It started with befooling others and then the lie became so convincing and it cast a spell, a web around us. Aru was such an apparition only, beautiful, disturbed yet calm and unwillingly I was drawn to him the moment I saw him. But, again I like to believe that it was not love at first sight. Love at first sight has a sense of desperation attached to it. It signifies that I was looking for love in the first place and found it in him and accepted it undeniably, unquestioningly as the final truth, as the meaning of my existence or the existence of my meaning or both. So, the story as I tell it is not love at first sight. The story really is not in my hand. I keep putting thoughts ahead of facts –feelings ahead of incidents – self ahead of the story. I really am a selfish author. (Sheepish Grin).”

The hall burst into a deafening round of applause. I suddenly felt very conscious of a perspiring throat. As I looked around for a glass of water, I could sense the nervous twitching beginning once again. It happened always – amidst the applause, the guilt surfaced yet again. I looked for the calming face, it was there, as always. He handed the glass of water to me. I gulped it down in one go, my gaze transfixed on him, all the time. He wore the customary white chemiz with black trousers. I could not remember a time when he had seen him wearing anything else. It was as if he was born with it and the clothes just grew with him. I smiled at the thought. It was reviving. The crowd was still applauding the excerpt. It had been years in the making, these claps, these appreciations, the looks and now, as it materialized in front of me, I could not hold back the tears, howsoever hard I tried.

“Great reading Ma’am. You were exquisite.” The familiar honey tongued Gullak.
“Were you expecting something less …” I replied.

He fumbled for words as always. There was an unusual wily air about him today, more self-assured than he normally seemed. And yet, he groped around for words. I always wonder why such a good manager as he was he was lost for words – maybe he just thought too fast and was unable to match his tongue. His name is not Gullak, but for the matter of the story, we ll let it be. I am Arusha Virmani, I am just returning from the first reading of my debut novel.
“No Ma’am, umm not at at all” Gullak fumbled once again.
“Call the driver. I want to go home.” Home. A wondrous word indeed. There is such closeness, a sort of intimacy in the pronunciation itself.

2. And then furled
The slow brooding tobacco-breath more than the knock on my desk woke me up from my slumber. I looked around for a cover.
Something, anything.
Nothing.
Sigh !
It is impossible to escape the wrath of a Machine Drawing professor – intent on putting you through the grind of having to draw a grinder from all sides – especially when found sleeping in a class on tolerences.
It brought a quirky smile of my face yet again or so I thought.

“Such behavior will not be tolerated in my class.” – He screamed at the top of voice.
“But it is a class of tolerences, is it not?” – I almost half blurted the stupid thought. I am quite self contained though and will always be proud to have held it in.
“I am sorry sir.” – is what I finally said.
“Sorry. huh! The audacity to sleep and then you don’t even respect me enough to stand up while responding.” – And he proceeded to strike out all my attendences from the register none-the-less.
I could almost hear the slushing sound of all the got-up-at-7:50-puffy-eyed efforts going down the drain.
Gush, gullup, gullup, phissh!

I am not Arusha Virmani, but for sure I want to be – despite needing a sex change. I have been dreamy always – I never could figure out why I dreamt of myself as a lady though – but never have the dreams struck me so hard where it hurts most. As I tried to get up in a panic-struck moment of insanity, my innards squashed against the table. I half-hoped the resulting expression would melt the prof.’s heart. Anyhow, that is my story as it starts. A devoted engineering student at your service.

3. Who the hell is this Arusha Virmani ?
“You were just so laid back in your ironies, just too self-un-involved. Always going round-about about and about .. again and again .. It was I who made life a challenge for you. I gave you direction, a way forward, I brought you face to face with reality, with truth ….” She cribbed twirling the strand of hair on her finger absentmindedly. I sort of loved that about her. She could be serious about everything in a playful way. And whenever I tried that, I got stuck up being .. stupid .. to put it mildly.

“Truth is just a sequence of random ideas, coincidences life throws at you, especially you, that you try to put together and see a bigger picture. The truth is that there is no truth. It’s all perception, your or mine, and mine says fuck the bigger picture ! I bask in the glory of my insignificance, I don’t matter and so I don’t care.” I blabbered wondering if this was the last line before she got up, and left. It hurt me though – that I was more concerned about the 18 rupees I would have to shell out for her Maggi in case she did that – than my love life going down the drain.

“And the bullcrap begins again. You really don’t give a shit to life, do you?”

“Life, aah! How strange it sounds coming from you, you just suck the juice out of it, churn it about and .. “

“Cut the crap, Roh.., there really is no worth talking to you. You don’t care about those who care, you don’t ..” – It was the ambition, I was sure..

“All I can say is, here we are celebrating the uselessness of a man, barely a man, in your supposed bigger picture. But to see the picture, you have to step out of the frame. That is what I am doing, when no one sees you, you see everything. I am just cleaning the lens, and for that the glasses have to be removed. I can go on and on with the metaphors as thats all I want to do … you need not bother.”

“I need not bother! All you ever do bothers me, bothers all of us. You are dumb, not suited for the world, our world.”
“Or maybe, the world is not suited for me. All I am trying to do is find out.”
“And what good would that do?”
“Why do you breathe?”
“What the fuck .. you are just …”
“No, no please answer. Why do you breathe?”
” Because you ass, if I don’t I will die”
“And if I don’t find out, I will die.”
“I guess that would be better, atleast for you.”
“Well, what can I say? I will find out.”

“Waiter, Bill please.” And I heaved a sigh of relief and in a gentlemanly way, pretended to put my share of the “treat” – a coffee and 2 smokes – but she won even that .. The 50 rupee note glistening on the table.

And that was our last conversation or so I thought. I thought it on all our dates these days. As the days of placement and suit wearing and interviews and GDs and tests and decision making began, our thoughts and our gestures had drifted apart. I was walking through the gallery by blue lagoon a puff in hand, a whistle on the lips
- Main zindagi ka saath nibhata chala gaya,
har fikr ko dhuein main udata chala gaya …
That day was crystal clear in my eyes, I wondered if I was imagining it or was it happening all over – the smoke making me hazy – 31st Decemeber ..

4. This day that year
The watch just kept ticking. A desperate stare at it again. I looked at the glass door pretending to be in deep thought.

A female silhouette – alright, a white jacket – she loves white, the light .. come into the light.!!

She returns the utter What-You-Staring-At look. Someone else. How many times, How many. I look at the watch once again. The lines from our chat running through my mind. It was __ PM. ______’s. 31st .

2006.!! Godammit yes. !! So, what was it. The waiter comes around again.
W : Anything else for you, sir.
I : No, I am waiting for someone.
Oh No, it’s the thoughts again. As if he is playing mind games with me. Yes, the crooked smile. Why doesn’t he ask. Why the hell.
The red appareled monster walks away returning the hostile stare.

A birthday party at the table in front. Oh, how mushy she seems – The girl in red top and black denims. Is she going to look like her ? or Her friend in black pullover? The one with the grey bag? Oh, how I hate it ? and them. So happy .Go celebrate at your home. I still manage the unfelt smile as the birthday girl looks at me. The nod – ‘Happy Birthday, unknown girl’. She nods too – ‘Buzz off, bugger’.

And that is when I realize how different how different .. just leave it. When will she come? And goodness, it’s been just five minutes I’ve been here. And that fat woman has eaten 3 pastries. Yes, the fat lady with the cute kid. And goodness gracious me, how blue are those pastries. As if all the blues that I can feel have been baked and served cold. Cold-hearted. Will she be fat? Is there a she?

I just avoid the cuddling-cute-couple with utter disdain, again. A total ab-use of time. I mean, what are you talking about. What on earth, that you haven’t looked up in .. in .. in the five minutes that I have been here. Me and the Red-Clothed waiter, I bet the same thought runs through his head too. And he threw a smile at me. I just ducked away. The hostile look is back.
I prepare for the speech and the look, that would save me the embarrassment – what would I say ? should I even go back home? Do I have enough money to make a living in Bombay? Aunt shelly would keep me till eternity? – staring past the window into the horizon. Have I been stood-up? Is this … is this oh, just leave it.

She smiled and said Hi. I could just muster the wave, the wave of the hand that blew the blues away. The fat lady, the birthday troupe, the waiter, the couple .. all smiling. The world is wonderful.

—-

Disclaimer – The names are fictitious. Do not look them up in google. Also, if you bear one of these, do not sue me, please. Any resembelance to living or dead people or animals is coincidental and unintentional.

R and M.

M: Is there some distraction?
R: *Yes, You.* No M, All good. (Thumbs up and a Rascal’s smile)

M: See, I know you have it in you. But..
R: *Yawn. Not again.* (Thumbs going down, Rascal’s smile fading)

M: It seems you take it a little casually. You have a pretty careless image here.
R: (Eyes wide open, mouth wide open, legs wide open) It’s more of a-carefree-sort, M.

M: And how is that different?
R: *I am not so sure, mine seems soothing to the ears* It is. I do not neglect what I undertake, It’s just that I don’t undertake much.

M: Hmm, To me that’s one and the same thing. You don’t seem to take challenges.
R: *Bah* But of course, I am waiting for the right things to come along.

M: R, greatness thrives in adversity not in a nice hot-bath tub. *Smirk
R: I think otherwise. Remember Archimedes. *Self-congratulation

M: But, you ought to have goals.
R: *Yesterday is History .. Tomorrow is a Mystery .. Today is a gift.*
Yes, M.
You have yours, And I have mine.

M: Ok, so lets discuss and see if they align.
R: That is one great rhyme.

M: *Smirk* You .. You will never learn.

Turns and goes away.

R’s MindSight
M: You… you’re just a big… fat… panda!
R: I’m not a big fat panda. I’m the big fat panda.

Kung-Fu Panda – Lovely movie btw.

Disclaimer: It’s all fictional. Do not try to trace back. Or else .. Eeh Aah, Kung-Fu Punch in your face

happYness

He felt the need for a smoke .. It was 5 in the morning .. It had been a fitful night .. he felt a little limp on the left. He looked around for water .. there wasn’t any. As he stepped down from his bed, he could feel the damp, squib earth beneath his feet. He headed to the kitchen to get some water. To his dismay, the tap fetched nothing except a slushing sound. He desperately needed a puff .. and some water before that ..

He headed out. It was a strange morning .. he felt choked. A sudden sadness engulfed his entire being .. his dependence on nicotine – his inability to sleep – his skewed thought-process .. the limp on the left side was back. He was estranged in the whole world .. a solitary being with nothing to share .. he felt nothing .. no happiness no gratitude no love .. it was a numb heart ! Selfish .. !

He reached out for the lite .. aaah ! A sudden lightness crept in, he was able to think again

It was then that he saw her … She was standing bare-feet on the road … pained and thoughtful. It was a bare face .. reflecting nothingness. He just kept watching her .. awed by the resilience her face showed. He felt content and free. He went ahead after what seemed like an eternity .. and dropped a one-rupee coin in her hands

As he walked off, away from her, he reflected a thought upon his state … he felt happYness but that was not what he thought of .. what he thought of was .. the selfish base nature of happYness .. the narrow-ness of it ..

The Y-Why of it ! and then he realised why happiness was spelled with an I and not a y .. because it was unreasonable, devoid of why .. it bred on dismay of others and the selfish him … and he felt parasitic all over again !

Shoot-out

He left his apartment with a spring in his feet – leaping with excitement. It was a big day for him, the day that brings fruit to his die hard efforts of years. He could not contain his joy. As he locked the room, a pearl of sweat … on his forehead reminded him of the sleepless nights he had put in on his work. Day in and Day out in the lab thinking-working-thinking, it had been a phase of his life when all he could see was variables floating in front of his eyes. He strolled in the garden and looked at his watch, he still had an hour and a half. He looked at the horizon wondering .. about his dream .. about his aim. This was the day it all came down to. It was his defense. The final step to his doctorate.

No, please .. tears rolled down his cheeks. At the first sight, he could not utter a word. He was stupefied .. No No please .. As he saw the gun pointed at him. He could see all his dreams shattered. All his life, he had worked for it and now a gun stood between him and his ambition, the aim of his life. He could hear his heartbeat rising .. fear took over and thoughts numbed down .. dried .. all he could now think of was .. .. ..

The young man with the gun whisked away after the shoot-out. He was left at the gate of his room .. he turned away from the road to the university … drenched .. Why Why did it have to happen .. he looked at his watch, he still had half an hour … He changed the wet shirt and briskly walked away to the university ….. The thesis in his hand.He would return a doctor today !

Smoked away ..

He puffed at the last cigarette desperate for nicotine and solace. He could not comprehend it. He should have been happy. It was the achievement of his life and yet he felt .. alone .. sad and weighed down. He should have been out, partying with friends, having the time of his life to commemorate the rise, the fulfillment of his ambition. But he was here, cowed down, cornered. He had avoided company all day, kept friends at bay, stopped life. He wished the day to pass, the day whose becoming he had wished all his life.

And yet, today he just remembered her. How different, how special this moment would have been for her. It was a dream they had watched together. It was an ambition for her as it was for him. He watched the smoke rise up … as it rose, it spread its wings, it lost the density, the cohesion, the togetherness, it lost her. He felt indifferent to all success. Nothing mattered once it had been achieved. What matters was whether it gave him the satisfaction he pined for, and it did not. This was the way he had remained alive, walked past the successes for more and more. And here he was today, at the top. The sun was setting behind the river .. a river which lost its flow to amass .. spent its steam on itself. Was it a life desired, a life that felt burdened by happiness, by success … he didn’t think so.

The blade flashed in the air and he slashed it across his wrist. The cigarette butt lay there in the dripping blood, dampened, the smoke died down and so did the spread … it was all together now. His eyes were open , his heart was closed.

Just In Time

It didn’t buzz.

12 more minutes

He is late. He grabs his toothbrush and towel. Brushes his teeth while taking a shower.

He grabs his bag. Haphazardly puts on the clothes. Keeps hankey, wallet, wristwatch.

9 more minutes

His heart is beating faster.

He is unable to lock the door. A drop of sweat trickles down his forehead. He is going to be late. He looks at his watch.

Only 8 minutes

Reaches for the lift, but unable to get a hold. Takes the stairs, two at a time, three at a time, looks at his watch, trips over the stairs. Before falling off has a look at the watch.

6 more minutes

Blames the society caretaker, shouts at labor’s kids playing outside. Runs off to parking. Spurts the engine on. Whooshes off. Desperately checks the time.

3 minutes only

Revvs up the accelerator. Speeds up to reach the stop. Overtakes rickshaw-wallah. Hurls Abuse. Checks time.

1 minute

Screeches to a halt at the stop.

She is still standing there. A breeze of fresh air … The glance is reciprocated, but she turns away. Yet he smiles, for he knows what his and her heart pines for.

He and She !

The thread of love : His and hers

It had been a hard day, exhausted and torn, he returned home. With the creak of the door she got up. He couldn’t still himself. A forlorn day without uttering a word…extending well into the dark hours..he was trembling with dread and fear. Tear swollen eyes, tired steps, heavy breath he needed her. The mind was tormented by thoughts.
Were these haunts, dreaded warnings, signs of fate? The thoughts clouded him and the slowly arose .. guilt. Was it all his fault. Had he murdered his own … had he claimed a life? How could he live with the pounding guilt in his heart? But
What else could he have done? What else … The eye lids seemed too heavy with tears. The heart had been broken, the mind clouded.

She came towards him; he could sense her smell, her touch, her feeling.
Still out of his mind, he took the glass of water she extended. It was cold.. She was cold. And that was when he realized, how it could be. How could she be… Numbed by her touch, his body went still, eyes content and relieved. He didn’t dread the end as much as the life. The broken thread hung from the wall. The police knocked open the door. He was lying there. Cold. Water spilled around him.

A dead body was found in ‘ ‘ at ‘ ‘ nagar. According to police claims, he was a labourer at ‘ ‘ factory. Doctors say that no signs of a conflict were found on his body and the cause of death has been established as heart attack.

In an unrelated incident she was found dead in the civil hospital. Her body has not been claimed. Mr. ‘ ‘, police in charge confirmed that she bore a child and a case of foeticide has been registered against the doctor.