FACING ME

As a child, I was a …DISASTER.
I had a terrible stammer. Which made me shy, awkward, pathetic, helpless, weird and scared. My stammer was triggered by these all…but mostly by my nervousness. You actually have this classic 22…my stammer made me nervous and I stammered more when I was nervous. And phobia. I was … aniso-phobic. Scared of everyone and everything. Don’t look up the dictionary…I coined that word right now.

Girls never played with me. Rather I never played with them. I hated dolls. Was scared of them actually. Neither did I like cars. But was better off with them than with dolls.

I don’t have any childhood photographs in frocks. I never had any I guess. It was either t-shirt n jeans or jeans n t-shirt. My hair was always in a boy cut. I was bald most of the time.
My dad took me to a parlor every month and got my head shaven. Thanks to him, because of repeatedly shaving my head off, I have this great quality of hair right now. Its neither too thick, nor too light, straight till below the ears and curled after that. My friends are even envious of it. And it even shines…lol.

Anyways, after some time, boys also started repelling me when I couldn’t unzip my pants right on the road and start peeing with them.

I was isolated. I never spoke much. And there was my stammer. I even stammered in my thoughts and dreams. I spent time either on the computer or playing chess or playing chess on the computer. After some time, I discovered I liked to..and was pretty good at drawing and sketching. And I started reading. One finds so many things to do when there’s nothing else to do.
Even among chess geeks, I was considered untouchable. Stop by at a chess tournament sometime and you’ll know how scary that is.

My dad figured out that I had a lot of POTENTIAL as he said then. And since I was weird, I needed to utilize my plus points. He rushed me through European capitals, scientific inventors and discoveries, a bit of German and Latin, and higher algebra and geometry when I was four.

Dad left after that for a better job for the UAE.

We all live together now, but its never been the same between him and me. I worshipped him till I was four. At that fragile age, I interpreted his leave as betrayal. Now of course I know that’s not so. But as said...its never been the same.

Mom was another story.
The principal.
Strict.
Very strict.
When the current supply went off, and all the kids ran out to play, I sat with the candles and books.
I had to go to school in the hot sun every morning with the driver. It was considered as a good exercise.
My day ended strictly at ten in the night. But for me it only started. I never slept of course. I discovered this new, awesome world where everything happened as u wished. IMAGINATION. And the night sky proved to be the best possible background. That accounts for my love for black. I stared the nights out at the window and I was even beginning to feel happy. Actually I never felt bad before. Because I never knew how to feel good maybe…

All this accounts for my into-extro-vertish character. My so confused self. I thought a lot before publishing this on the blog. But then I guess…you all have the right to know me…without exaggerations. And it satisfies the objective of writing this. Its useless running away from the truth. Well…4get all that and read on, will you…

Mom saw me awake several times. I saw her from the corner of my eyes but wouldn’t move my head, as I was scared.
I think she seriously started worrying about me.
For after a few days, she took me to this expensive parlor and got a hair tonic that made your hair grow fast. And she let me grow my hair longer after that. I had a crash course – many to be honest – in speech therapy. She outfitted me at the gap.
Mom started being less strict and friendlier. She even told me about her day at work and asked about mine at school.
But the clay was already shaped. I remained alone. Absent. And scared.
We are good friends now. I even tell few of my secrets to mom. And she tells me almost all of them…at least that’s what I think…

We shifted towns. Thank the Lord for that.
The new people at the new school never saw me with my short hair and stammer.
It felt like being just born at nine.
I started from scratch.

My personality right now is manufactured by me. But most of my physical features, I owe dad for.
My hair as said before, my shining, white, even perfect orthodonture, my heart shaped face and my tan (some people do not think its great… but I love my tan…I look like a Xerox copy of my dad) for the plus points, and my short and petite stature for the minus ones.

I am fine now.
Even good.
According to many people.
I look pretty much… well…totally like a girl.
I am even considered cute and pretty at times.
My eyes and hair are commented and complemented on.
I am outgoing, smart, friendly, intelligent, helpful and even fun.
People actually laugh at my jokes.
There are people who are even envious of me.
I’d show you my slam book if I could…you would gape at it after reading about my past.
I know how to dress. I’m even a fashion freak at times.
I am a good public speaker… WITHOUT A STAMMER.
And even so, I’m still good at painting, chess and literature.

I masquerade as one of the blessed.
One of the normal, effortless joiners who believe, without thinking deeply about it, that the world is for people like us. It’s a lie of course. A few of my friends have witnessed my state when I go back to where I belong. And its hideous, without exaggeration. I come from the other side. I know how its like over there.

There are still vestiges of…dorkdom (is that the right word…dorkessdom maybe?…)
In me. Look at my use of the word vestiges for instance. They keep popping up all the time. They keep reminding me… if I were born in another century…say pre-history, before the times of hairstyles and speech therapies, I would be the dorkiest cavegirl who ever lived. And the person I was probably meant to be.

THE SAME OLD STORY...

It’s the same, old, tired sun
Crawling up the horizon again…
It’s the same you and me,
Running past emotions again…

It’s the same, old, hectic, tiring,
Spine-stressing day again…
Only around hundred more kids
May learn never to smile again…

Someone out there, helplessly
Running away from the thundering rain…
Some other one out there, silently
Crying in immense, merciless pain…

Someone patting his shoulders
Smiling at his bill of gain…
Somewhere nearby, another life,
In hunger and thirst, gone down the drain…

That old guy there, hobbling along,
Cannot do without his cane…
Someone out there, with all his life
Awaiting the moon to wane…

The fanatic crowd, crashing down
On a dead kid, beside a paper plane…
His enormous trials, to fly away
All crumpled, gone in vain…

Do they ever sit and wonder..
What the hell is the loss and gain…

Bullshit…
We don’t have time…
It’s the same, old, tired sun
Crawling up the horizon again…

TANHA

DEKHIYE TOH LAGTA HAI
ZINDGI KI RAAHO ME...
EK BHEED CHALTI HAI...
SOCHIYE TO LAGTA HAI
BHEED ME HAI SAB TANHA...

JITNE BHI YE RISHTE HAI...
KAANCH KE KHILONE HAI
PAL ME TOOT SAKTE HAI...
EK PAL ME HO JAAYE,
JAANE KOI KAB TANHA...

DIL ME LOG AATE HAI...
KHAALI KAR CHALE JATE HAI...
TANHAAI KE MELE ME...
HUM DIVAANE ROTE HAI
HOKE PAL PAL TANHA...

THE SOLITARY REAPER

WHEN WILL YOU COME HOME?

He came into this world
Just the other day...
He brought so much of happiness
And all were gay...
But there were flights to catch
And bills to pay...
He learnt to walk
While I was away...
And before i knew,
He started talking...
"When will you come home, Dad?"
"I don't know when..."
"Its okay" he smiled, "we'll have a good time then."
He smiled and said, "I'm gonna be just like him, you know."

My son turned ten
Just the other day...
And he scored high
In academics and play...
"Thanks for the ball, Dad
Come, let's play..."
"Not now.....
I have work at hand.."
He smiled, nodded
And waved a hand
"When will you come home, Dad?"
"I don't know when..."
"Its okay. We'll have a good time then."
He smiled and said, "I'm gonna be just like him, you know."

He returned from college
Just the other day...
"Will you sit for sometime?"
I smile and say...
"Would love to Dad, but what i really would want are the car keys...
Gotto go...can I have them please?"
"When will you come home son?"
"I don't know when...but we'll have a good time then..."

My son's married and lives
With his family, somewhere far away...
He's busy and he's great
And the family's happy and gay...
"Will you come over, dear?"
"Would love to dad...
But my new job's a hustle
And the kids have flu...
But it was sure nice talking to you
Dad, it was sure nice talking to you..."
I hung up and realized...
He'd turn out to be just like me...
My son was
Just like me.

DREAMS

Sometimes, I dream I’m flying. Not like those cheap coca cola commercial ads. No. I’m really flying…uhm..well..almost.

I have this feeling of excitement and anticipation as I accelerate, gaining intense, powerful speed.

Fast, fast, faster. I feel sure I’ve passed that speed you need to leave the ground.
I’m zooming past bustling outdoor cafes, overpriced little restaurants, all night delis, my favorite subterranean record shop, the parks, empty grounds, houses, fields and forests…
I’m zooming past all of it…

I can feel the cool breeze caressing my cheeks and struggling with my hair.
I’m steaming along, straight and steady.
I’m on the highway. It curves again. Now, I see signboards reading ‘Deer crossing’ and ‘Left curve’…all those you know…
It was taking too long.
I was losing patience.
Bullshit.
Why wasn’t I already above the ground?

After a while, it’s a foregone conclusion that I won’t be flying at all.
Just a plain fact.
Like so many others we learn to live with.
I sigh as the mirror reflects back the pathetic image of a helpless teenager on a wheelchair.

DRIZZLE, RAIN AND FLOOD

I was surprised. Not alarmed, but a little surprised. Amazed if you want to put it that way…
I didn’t expect this.
We had progressed in no time, to mid game, and I, had achieved almost no advantage.
The wind was blowing in sooted clouds and thunder threatened the air. And I was looking at the possibility of a complicated end game.
He wasn’t the doofus I’d imagined. I had to admit. I didn’t think it possible to have perfect orthodontics and a good haircut and also be great at chess, but then…I was only 17…some things in life must be left worth learning…
His manner had changed. His concentration on the game was so full that he let out these tiny, almost inaudible sounds every so often.
His hair had fallen on his forehead and I could not make head or tail of the expressions in his eyes.
I commanded mine own ones back to the board. They were not being cooperative today.
A fat, cold, heavy raindrop landed on my scalp.
Damn. Why couldn’t I just finish this up?

Tiny drops of sweat were collecting in his hairline, bleeding into raindrops slapping in his head. Drops dribbled down his neck…
“Look at the game, you moron.” I ordered my self silently.
I used my king’s bishop.
He closed his eyes. His face read disgust.
He defended with a knight.
His style was unorthodox. The problem was, he was not just good, but very, very, very, very good.
Raindrops stood on his bare arms and his t-shirt…
He snapped his rook into the center of action
Okay, better not to look anymore.

Yes. As I had feared. Alarming. Officially alarming.
How had I misjudged him so badly?
And my eyes. Oh no. they were roaming over his face again.
Hell.
He was older than me. Maybe twenty. Not much possibly. He had to be an international player. I was not on the circuit, but at least could tell an extraordinary player from a good one.
The skin around his fingernails was ragged from being picked at too much.
Tiny veins zigzagged under the surface of transparent skin above his wrist.
Oh God!
I suddenly had this powerful urge to touch the pale skin.
Bullshit. I almost shouted out loud.
Get ahold of yourself, girl.
Was I profoundly low on sleep, maybe? When had I eaten last?
Maybe it was the barometer? The electricity in the air?
Why was I behaving like a complete moron?

I forced my eyes to the board. I felt dizzy. And disoriented.
The crowd of pieces left on the board had gone from a thrilling, complex and significant battle in one second to a meaningless jumble, the next.
Rain blanketed the surroundings. Steam rose from the nearby pavement.
He was looking at me. Not impatiently, asking for the next move, but looking. Seeing actually.
Rain stood on his lashes like diamonds and rivers flowed down his cheeks.
Hell.
And why did I look at him then?
Oh my Godddddddd…
I couldn’t look away…
I felt something grab my chest.
What was it?
I gave a damn…
I felled my king with a flick of my index finger.
“I’m sorry…I have to go..” I murmured, stood up, fumbled with the wet leather, extracted a note of twenty and pushed it into his palm.
It fluttered down.
And none of us bent to pick it up.
“No..wait…”
I started to run. Run idiot, run. Faster.
“Please…wait…” he stammered.
Mad or what?…Wait? And then? Self destruction…you mean suicide?
I ran faster. The water in my sneakers squished around my toes.
I ran endlessly, from him and from the strange perception that a million frozen feelings were about to thaw….and flood would surely drown me in.

"LUV, HAPPY EID"

I had just finished locking my hair up in an elastic rubber band, when the phone rang.
My beloved black Nokia 3230.
How I love it.
It had been with me through so much…pain and smiles…good times and bad ones…
I sighed, smiled and answered the call.
“Eid mubarak Basanti! Kaisi hai?” my friend Sana.
“Abey Basanti ki dhanno…Eid mubarak to you too.”
“Kya planning hai? Anything special?”
“Don’t think so…wohi ghisi piti family gatherings I guess…got to ask mum. Kyun pooch rahi hai?
“Party hai. Only kids. Aaja yaar.”
“Wow. Kaha?”
“Conti school ke bacche, Paki school ke bacche, Bong school, Philip school…”
“Maine poochha kahaa idio?”
“Dorrah”
“Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa?????”
“Yup babes.”
“Hola! Count me in….nahi ruk..mum se kehkar confirm kar leti hoon.”
“You mean..kehne wali hai…not poochhne wali..ryt?”
“Absolutely.”
“Poochhke bata dena.”
“Done. Thanks honey. I got to go for shopping. See ya.”

That was teriffic. A party at Dorrah. Wo…
Everything was perfect today.
The new moon smiled back at me as I smiled at it. The stars twinkled and I could even hear their soft dazzling laughter. A cool and self satisfied breeze rushed past me, teasingly spoiling my hair style. I gave a damn.
Mom was easy. Dad wasn’t mad. Asif wasn’t irritating. Life was hell.
The earth and the heavens were in a festive mood.
And I of course, had to take full advantage of the situation.

As I said…Mom was easy.
No hassles.
Called up Sana and confirmed my presence at the party and ran off to do my shopping.
I strolled along the walk happily.
“Eeekzkioos me mum…”
I swiveled around at the soft, African accent.
“Yeah. Wha..” I couldn’t finish.
The smooth, enchanted olive face.
The flickering brown eyes.
The ever so numerous plaits dangling from the oval head.
The ragged, faded jeans and the torn, dirty t-shirt.
The gold colored nose ring.
The only one shoe…cheap, red and blue, with almost black dirty lace.
The dusty crutches.
I raised my eyes up again.
And her brown ones spilled into mine.

I gathered myself back before I lost track again in her enchanting appearance.
“Yes…” my half smile. Flirt smile…Asif says.
“A kooin mum…a kooin…for ze me. Ze phooer phooer me…iv you kaan sphayea…”
“Only a coin?…and what do you plan to do with that my lady?”
“Oh…ma iinglees theaasha tell…vun droop maayek a seaa. Aand how mash kaan I aask…”
“Where’s your family?”
“Ma fameeli? hah...” a sarcastic laughter.
I waited patiently.
“Gone…Wallahi…” she stretched her arms out heavenwards and I could see the lost look in her eyes, shaded with experience.
“Where to?” I asked softly and felt like slapping myself the immediate moment.
I started walking slowly.
I noticed, conversation made her walk with me, unconsciously.
And because I walked slowly, she found no hassles to move with her crutches.
“I not know wheer Baba gone. No see Baba eva. Maama … oh…they kill Maama. They kill her I say. They kill…” she shook her head vehemently.
“Who did?”
“Ze mean I working for ze men. They tell me Maama gone out and not cum baak. But I know…they kill her.”
“And when was that?”
“Faayeef yeerz. befoe.”
I removed a strand of hair from my face.
“Aand Baseem. Ma swweeet Baseem…they send him sumwheer. They say he work theya aand he happy. I not know.”
“Then where do you live?”
“With ma friendz…”
“Friends? From where?”
“They only. Like me. Beggin.”

I felt like some one slapped me right on my face.
This pretty girl, of around my age, was begging on Eid for survival and I here, was dancing my way to the market for buying ear rings.
Lines from the Holy Quran floated through my mind… “ …and o men and women of pious character! Offer your prayers and give your due charity to the poor, so that they may enjoy as you do…and all are equal in the eyes of the Lord. The Most Beneficient, the Most Merciful….”
How great God was…
Something clutched near my shirt pocket.
I felt like crying. What the hell…
“Umm…how much do you want?” I asked, not looking at her eyes, feeling abashed.
“As less as you kaan mum.”
I stared at her…
She answered me, reading my expression.
“Hah. You talk to me. I like you. I not want you geeve maanee to thievez. You geeve me maanee. They thievez take from me.”
“What if I give it to you? Don’t give them your money…” I suggested.
“Hah. They seearsh ma body everyday. They cut ma istomach iv maanee in daat.” She ended with a heinous laugh.
My blood was boiling.
“And what if you didn’t go back?” I was not going to give up.
“I not haav playec to sleep. And they kill me iv they see me again.” She smiled confidently…like telling me… “what do you knoe?”
Horror struck, my mind felt weak.
I knew what the phrase “Humanity bleeds” meant.
I made up my mind. I was going to give this girl something on Eid which those ass holes could not take away from her.
“And when do you have to go back?”
“Tomorrow moornin..today iiz Eid…”
“And what will you do the whole night”
“Beg!..Whaat else…” her eyes wondered with her face expression. “…beesness hi today.” She answered easily.
“No.” I replied coldly.
She questioned me with her look.
“How much do you think you’ll get if you beg the whole night?”
“About feevtee riyaalz…”
I took 50 bucks from my wallet and pushed the note into her bag.
“Wha?..”
Shocked, she stared at me.
“You don’t have to beg tonight. You are coming with me.”
“Wheer mum? Mum want me to work at home? I kaan not. I not have leg.…”
“Oh no. You are coming with me to the party.”
“Paarteee?”
“Yupz babes.”
“I..noooooo…mum…how me…” she stammered lightly.
I took her hands in mine and forced my eyes into hers.
“Look here. My heart goes out to you. I’d kill those bastards if I could. But I can’t. I can’t give you anything as they take it all. All I can do is give you some good time. Please …will you come?” I pleaded.
“I not know peepal in paartee…no dress..”
“Oh..leave all that to me. Just come. What have you had today?”
“Bread aand waater…like eevery daay..”
“Not necessarily. Come.”
I helped her to the nearby Shawerma stall and ordered two sandwiches and a coke for both of us.

After that, we shopped out my entire pocket. We bought skirts, tops, matching shoes and earrings between the two of us.
We laughed and talked as we walked along.
Some puzzled glances thrown at us….who gives a damn…
“You name…how stupid of me..”
“Mirrium.” She smiled faintly.
“Hey Mirium…Farah here.”
We shook hands and giggled around like kids.
“Faarah…haha..Farah Fawcett…”
Astonished I asked how she knew.
“They haav poster on za wall…”

On the way back, it suddenly occurred to me, I had nothing to tall Mum and Dad. I dialed home with a silent prayer. No one answered the phone. I tried Mum’s cell to confirm. Yes. She was out. And so was everybody else. I sent a flying kiss heavenwards.
Mirium giggled beside me.
We took a cab and rushed back home.

I unplainted her hair, shampooed it and straightened it. She laughed endlessly at the image the mirror gave back. I helped her clean off the dirt from the past week that was sealed on her face and body, dressed her up and myself too. Did it an extra bit….well..it wasn’t Eid everyday.

We checked out after an hour or so, took another cab and ran into the party.
What I fearded, thankfully, did not happen. No one asked about her. No one tried to speak to her except two boys who wanted to call her, but fled as I pierced my eyes at them.
Mirium giggled again.
I think I never heard a voice sweeter and softer.
We enjoyed the food and the fun. We let the music take us wherever it wanted to. We hugged each other thrice and wished us happy Eid. And we laughed endlessly, passing comments on people we didn’t know.

“I’m not gonna let you beg anymore Mirium. I’m gonna talk to my parents and you can stay at home, help Mum n me and study with me.”
Her eyes widened, the universe a dot in front of it.
“No Faarah…nooooooooooo…they kill me. I not know work. Not study. They kill you and your Maama and Baba. Pleeees…Nooooo..”
“Mirium. How are you going to live like that?”
“Oh..i live like that only. Faarah..you veery naaice. I like you veery mush. I see your foto aand your fameeli foto in your baag…I take dat?”
I fought back tears, smiled and handed it to her.
“Your Mama like ma Maama, your baba like ma aand your braather like ma Baseem..”
Steam rose from her lips, tears trickled down her olive face.
“We’ll meet at the market again. Promise?” I forced a smile.
She took my hand in hers and kissed them in stead.
“Water…kaan I dreenk?” her voice only a whisper now.
“Just a sec…I’ll get it.” I ran to get a glass of water, got it and came back where Mirium stood, only, she wasn’t there anymore.
I stared blankly at the spot where she stood a few minutes ago.
I dashed to the cloak room.
Yes. Exactly as I feared. Her old clothes were gone and the new ones replaced them, clearly, left in a hurry.
She had returned everything else too.
The black skirt, the red top, the red shoe, the ear rings, and the 50 riyal note with it.
When I thought the packet was empty, and was about to toss it aside, something shining caught my sight.
I extracted out the gold colored nose ring and a card with it, which she must have found on the street for it was stamped on and dirty, reading the words “Luv, Happy Eid.”

ZE FIV YER PLAN

The European Union Commission have announced that an agreement has been reached to adapt English as the preferred language for European communications, rather than German, which was the other possibility.

As part of the negotiations, the British government conceded that English spelling had some room for improvement and has accepted a five year phased plan for what will be known as Euro English.

In the first year, ‘s’ will replace the soft ‘c’. Sertainly, sivil servants will resieve this news with joy. Also, the hard ‘c’ will be replaced by ‘k’. Not only will this klear up the konfusion, but typewriters kan have one less letter. In addition, the ‘c’ in ‘chair’ and ‘church’ will be replaced by ‘s’ again. So, it will not kreate any more problems and we kan all have mush time saved.

There will be growing publik enthusiasm in the second year, when the troublesome ‘ph’ will be removed and in its plase, ‘f’ will be used konveniently.
This will make words like ‘fotograf’ 20 persent shorter.

In the third year, publik akseptanse of the new spelling kan be expekted to reash the stage where more komplikated shanges are possible.
Government will enkourage the removal of double leters, whish have always ben a deterent to akurate speling.
Also, al wil agre that the horible mes of silent ‘e’ in the languag is disgrasful and it would finaly go.

By the forth yer, people wil be respektiv to steps sush as replasing ‘th’ by ‘z’ and ‘w’ by ‘v’.

During ze fifz yer, ze unesesary ‘o’ kan be droped from vords containing ‘ou’ and similar shanges vud of kours be applid to ozer kombination of leters.

After ze fifz yer, ve vil hav a reli sensibl riten styl. Zer vil be no mor trubls or difikultis and evrivun vil find it ezi to understand ech ozer.

Ze drem vil finaly kum tru.

JUST ONCE MORE

Agony claims my mind. I remember the day I first came here, wrapped in loneliness and self-loathing.
Overwhelmed by the darkness of grief, I hoped for a ray of sympathy, but was rewarded only with blank and ‘not bothered’ glances from my counterparts.
Their once beautiful and strong bodies as mangled as mine.

I was garlanded with a number and lead to a room, which had a plate on it reading, ‘Traffic fatalities’.

I still remember the beautiful day I died. Sunlight filtered through the unfurling curtain of green leaves above, showering its blessings on me.
I was least interested.

How I wish I had taken the bus. But of course, I was too cool for the bus.
I remember how I sneaked away my dad’s car keys and wheeled the Echo along the drive in utter delight.
“All kids drive, why not me?”
Overwhelmed by victory and the excitement of driving a car and being my own boss, I felt like the most carefree butterfly on its most erratic flight.
I was goofing off, going too fast, taking chances.

But hell! I was having fun!!

The last thing I my mind can recollect from memories of that lost world was passing an old lady who seemed to be frozen on the street.
I heard a crash and felt a terrific jolt.
Glass and steel rained and stormed on me.
I felt my body turn inside out.
I heard myself scream.

Suddenly, I awakened.
Silence mastered my surroundings.
I saw the cops over my head. A doctor shook his head sorrowfully beside me.
My body was hardly a body anymore.
Drenched in blood, embedded with glass.
Hey don’t pull that sheet over my head!
I can’t be dead…
I’m only seventeen…
I have a date tonight! I am supposed to have a wonderful life ahead. I haven’t lived yet!
I can’t be dead!
In spite of all the silent rebelling, I was placed in a drawer. My folks came to identify me. Why did I have to look at mom’s eyes when she encountered the most terrible ordeal of her life?
Dad suddenly looked very old. I had never seen him cry before.
“Yes, he’s our son.”

The funeral was weird. My friends and relatives sobbed and floated towards the grave. Some of my buddies were crying. My girl friend touched my face and closed her eyes as she sobbed.
Please! I can’t take it anymore... somebody wake me up! Get me out of here. I can’t see my loved ones in so much of pain. My siblings are walking like zombies. Why don’t they fight me anymore? Why doesn’t mom shout any more? Why doesn’t dad get angry anymore?

I want to feel the sun through the trees, the rain slapping me lovingly. A party with my friends. A date with my girl. I want to pull the strings of my guitar once more. I want to feed the swans in the lake, once more. I want to be punished by the principal once more. I want to run, I want to laugh, I want to cry… once more.
Please God!
Once more.
I promise I’ll be the most careful driver on earth.
I’m only seventeen…
God, just one more chance…
Just once more…

FLOOD

A fortress of memories,
with doors shut tight...

Shrunk leaves
still hoping for light...

Beating rain that
flooded all away...

A pair of papier mache birds
that sang all day...

A leafless tree...
It's soul un-free...


The lonely moon
at the night sky fete...

Weeping dew drops
it eternal wait...

Painted window panes where someone
with eyes so strained stood...

Un-penned letters
and unlit wood...


Broken windchime,
The frozen time...


Flooding eyes...
but the rain dries.

TWO AND A HALF LIVES

The wind blew past me. Stealing away time with it. I closed my tired eyes for a moment.

“Patience, Noor, patience…” a voice I suppose belonged to God said.

My head felt too heavy for my shoulders.

Umbrage and tired, I raked my eyes over again. “I’m trying.” I replied unconsciously.
No. No empty seat.
My shanks and ankles rebelled uncompromisingly.
Standing near one of the numerous entrances to the Rajdhani, I couldn’t blame them.
I stole a glance at my ticket. “Seat no. 089” it screamed back. I directed my eyes to the myth. No. He hadn’t recovered yet. I had kindly given (I wonder how…) my seat to an elderly gentleman, suffering from an un-timed attack of asthma, whose seat was right beside mine. Being an asthma patient myself, I understood of course, that the old guy needed space.
Were these few flickering moments of sympathy and empathy that kindled and rekindled the fire of humanity and made sure it never got put off?
Well. Shit to humanity, my legs ached like hell.

A student’s life wasn’t just all the fun and game. Especially when you are granted a week off, have to travel for 2 and a half days across a country to go home and are loaded with assignments and projects that took a solemn oath, never to leave you … be it wherever you go, except the grave.
The icing on the cake, being a fight with friends before encountering the mini vacation, resulting into cans of beer and no sleep whole night.

Lovely. As life is.

I wanted to take a stroll. At this turn of time, I envied the gods and goddesses more than anyone else, who could stand so still and so gracefully for as long as their devotees wanted them to. I moved my right foot. No chance. Electrically induced. I waited for a minute, and then tried again --- in vain.

“Aashiq banayaa , aashiq banayaa, aashiq banayaa..aapne… tere bin suni suni hai raahein, tere bin pyaasi pyaasi nigaahein, tere bin chain mujhko …”
I recalled back the craze I had for this song when I installed the particular real tone on my beloved black Nokia 3230.
How situations mastered emotions.
“Hell..” and how some cell phones manage to remain on earth, even in the middle of nowhere, I really did not understand ( being a lazy physics student altogether).
Before I could rip open the adamant zip of my canvas hand bag, I hear it all again.
Hell. Only, this time it wasn’t the cell. No. I could see a group of hooligans faggoting in the boggy joining mine.

Four of them. All weirdly dressed up. Red, orange, blue, purple, you could find the complete VIBGYOR in them. And they all seemed to have a hell of a time laughing at me.
“Yaar Suraj, mausam bada beimaan hai…right?”
Obviously hilarious to them.
I gaped at them. Knowing the expression portraying all the to fro emotions—anger, pain, frustration, helplessness, etc, etc, I am not surprised at the way they made some lame joke about the whether being too hot and too cold at the same time, and practically scurrying off, except one.

And do you need a special invitation, sir?
Was it the dim light or the fast wind, I do not yet understand, but he seemed to be morphed into an entirely different being than when with the others.

I can never forget that radiating and ever so angelic and at the same time, astonishingly devilish face, belonging to the lanky physique, strained and athelietic (now I know, due to the numerous mountain climbing and trekking) build.
My knight on the white horse?
Gurl, your brain sucks. Get a grip. Look at him. Inspiration for Waltz Disney.
Yes. How slumber anaesthetizes the senses…

“What are you gaping at me for?” I shot at him.
“What if I ask you the same?” he fired back.
“Look here…I don’t have the energy…”
“I know. Why don’t you sit? Surely, you have a ticket.”
I showed him mine and nodded towards my virtual seat. “He’s not well…”
“So aren’t you.” His voice seemed to be floating away to a far off foggy land.
I don’t remember what I murmured.
My knees gave in.
I think it is human nature to stop struggling when there is a better option.
Swiftly he ran forward and stopped me from falling down.
Hell. He was strong.
“Leave me, you asshole.” Please don’t. I can’t stand anymore.
“Sure I will…” he muttered under his breadth as he easily won over the fake fight I had put up.
His face was so close to mine. Even in that frustrating moment, I could not help noticing the wrinkles on his forehead. What was he thinking?
His black shining eyes hinted tints of care and compassion.
To hell with you.
I closed my eyes slowly but firmly, hoping not to open them for a long time.
I listened quietly to the steady rhythm of his breadth.
Slowly, he took me to the next boggy. Plenty of space. I wouldn’t mind lying down on the floor though.
He made me sit on the edge of a seat. I almost fell on my side but for the strong arm put forward just in time.
Someone whistled. Some others giggled.
A moment and they all silenced.
I fought between opening my eyes to see what was going on and keeping them shut to not lose any more energy, finally settling for the latter.
I felt him sit down beside me.
Sleep.
See.
The fight again.
No energy.
I drooped until my skull rested on something hard.
I thankfully slept away everything else.


I woke up to a cloudless and pleasant blue sly.
The intoxicating air draped around me.
The lush green blanket beneath me whispered something.
What? I didn’t bother.
I looked around. Where was I?
The waterfalls. I stared at the fierce fall of the angry water on the ever so modest and welcoming smooth edged rocks.
The hilly area around me screamed green.
But no signs of human life. I thought I knew how Adam or Eve must have felt when kicked out from heaven.
How such beautiful paradises could mean nothing without company…
Life was never fair.

I looked down. My dress.... what was I wearing?
My jeans and kurti were replaced by an elegant beige silk dress.
Who was I supposed to be?
Dust. Flying dust. Moving towards me. Horses’ hooves. The white horse. The guy riding it…oops!..the knight riding it…
My knight on the white horse?
Why are you so obsessed with your knight tonight?
How am I supposed to know…
Why did knights mask their faces?
Could it be a more intelligent question?

Got morphed. Not me…my clothes. I was wearing my jeans and kurti back. The horse flew away and a bike was racing towards me. And on it sat my masked knight, in red sleeve less t-shirt and blue jeans.
I looked around.
“Have Fun At Khandala!!” a cheerful sign board read.
KHANDALA!!!???KNIGHT????!!!!

Now ‘knight’ for me wasn’t the same as knight for other girls. I, as a girl, was (abnormal, if u like to put it that way) never interested in boy friends and such dull trends. It all seemed so fake to me. So I never pictured my hero to come and kiss me and me, being sleeping beauty or snow white, kissing him back. No.
What I always wanted was a best friend to come and hold my hand, to give a shoulder for support whenever I needed…
But it all never happened…
Anyways, I’ll spare u the sad story of my life long wait.
“…NISHIKAANT…”
“Mhmm…too long a name…” I murmured.
Loud laughter.
“O hello madam..uthiye..aapka bedroom nahi hai..”
“What the hell…its so beautiful…” some embarrassing habits eat you up in unconscious situations and you cant help it.
Laughter again. Louder this time.
I opened one eye reluctantly and immediately squinted it back.
Sunlight poured in through the window behind my head.
The train!! My dream…I was dreaming?
What other possible explanation do you have?

The ass hole Suraj from last night was sitting on the seat opposite to mine.
“Uth gayee madam? Bana diya na hamare dost ka bharta?”
“Yaar please..sone do..” I could have slapped myself.
“Yaar Nishikaant..tune is Kumbhkaran ki behen ko kaha se utha laya?”
Yeah right. Kiss my ass.
Nishikaant…familiar..yet..
“Yaar mujhe uthna hai…” a familiar voice. What was going on again?
“ Usko utha pehle.” Definitely, Suraj.
“So rahi hai…” the familiar voice.
“Phir tu bhi so ja.” Ass hole.
I sat up reluctantly.
Where was the ‘familiar’ guy?
I looked around.
Nowhere.
I turned to look at the window.
And he’s sitting right beside me…the guy who brought me to this seat..but…I was sleeping on this seat till now……..on his lap???????????????
BULLSHIT.
Get a grip, girl. The eternal voice. Act as if you never realized.
What would I have done without you?

Coolly, I asked, “What date is it?”
“25th, the Sunday.” He replied.
“Huh….excuse me!…I’m sure you are mistaken…”
“Madam, aap pichhle bees ghanto se so rahi thi.” Suraj.
I gaped at him.
Oh come on!
Don’t go for that.
He’s an ass.
I looked at my wrist watch, which, I felt stuck out its tongue at me and witnessed in favor of Suraj.
I suddenly felt the pangs of hunger. No food for more than 24 hours!…and my bowels…
I stood up and made a dash for the toilet.

When I came back, thankfully, Suraj was not to be seen in the premises.
Mr. Familiar was staring out at the window.
I sat down beside him.
“Where are you going?”
“Wherever the train is taking me to…kolkata..” he smiled… “why you thought California?”
Courtesy and gratefulness prevented me from punching him right on the face.

I got up and moved towards my supposedly seat number 089.
The elderly gentleman’s wrinkled face clearly expressed worry and disturbance as his small black eyes ran through the newspaper.
“Good afternoon, sir. How are you feeling now?” I asked.
Startled, he looked up at me. “My dear! Where have you been? I was worried to death. Your seat…”
“Its alright sir. There are a few empty seats scattered here and there. I was with a few friends of mine.”
Astonished at my own words, I listened to him talking about his youth. Clearly he cherished the golden days.
“Go ahead. Have fun but do come back whenever you feel like…” he murmured, still drowned in his own thoughts.

Damn it. Clearly, I was supposed to go back to the VIBGYOR.

“Mmm..do you mind me sitting here?”
“Does it bother? You already slept here.” The unmistakable mockery in his voice…
“Thanks to you.” I answered back.
He moved to make place for me.
“What do you do?” I was trying to reap conversation, and I didn’t know why.
“Whatever you do…eat, sleep (not exactly like you), walk, run…” the so confident and sarcastic smile…
“Oh!…I never knew.” I rolled my eyes.
“Do you want to ask something else? Maybe you are trying to ask something but are ending up with something else…”
“Like?”
“You would know better…”
It was useless to continue.
I sought refuge in my walkman. Cold play.
“Its too loud.”
Above my head. “What’s your problem?” I shouted.
‘The sarcastic smile’. “Tch tch..poor thing. What else can she say…”
“Mazaak uda rahe ho mera?”
“Haan. Koi problem hai?”
“Nahin. Udaao. Hum dono saath me milkar hasenge.”
Hehehehe. (well)
Hahahahhaha (sick)
Hohohoho (disgusting)
“Bas bahut ho gaya…aur nahi hasna.”
I laughed out loud.

There is nothing better than a good laugh. The fog cleared off.
“IITB.”
I raised my eyebrows.
“I’m studying at , gadhi.”
“OIC. What?”
“Shoe-polishing.”
‘Wow! Our college doesn’t have that course…”
“That’s the specialty of IIT.”
“Hero hai tu bhi.”
“Haan heroine.”
Night fell quietly.
“Nishikaant?”
“Hmm.”
“NISHIKAANT?”
“My friends call me Nishi and family members Nishu.”
“I know. But I’m not going to call you all that.”
“Achha…to kya bulayengi aap? “
“Nishikaant. I love the name. But its too long…”
“You know what it means?
“Not exactly…but I guess something to do with the night…”
“The knight of the night.”
“The knight…” the knight?
“Knight… I mean Nishikaant… tomorrow early morning we are reaching Kolkata… I want to thank you…”
“For what? My lap?”
“Hell. Yes. More. Thank you for everything.”
“Keep it to yourself.”

Pause.

“What if I kneel down right now and propose…will you be my best friend?”
I laughed.
“Is that something to ask?” he smiled.
“No. I’m an asshole. You don’t even know me.”
“You know what heroine?”
“No I don’t. You tell me.”
“I’ll be frank. Please don’t take it otherwise. I don’t know you, as you said. I have not given that position of ‘best friend’ to anyone yet. For as long as I know you, I like you, I like talking to you, knowing about you, but there it is. I don’t know you.
I take time to get associated with people.
I could have said very well, yes, I’ll be your best friend. But I don’t want any myth.
But then of course I can be your best friend. No one knows tomorrow. Just wait and watch.”

Pause.

“Over?”
“Hmm.”
“My turn. Nishikaant I damn care. Neither do I know you. But as far as you portray yourself, rather, as far as I interpret you, I find in you, qualities that are so simple and so astonishing at the same time. I am puzzled and at the same time, happy, when I talk to you. In you, I find the ‘best friend’ of my fairy tale. The knight on the white horse, who never came. Maybe never will. There is such a close resemblance, that I am magnetized to you. The two and a half days spent with you, were two and a half lives for me. For years I have avoided my self questioning me. For years, I have avoided the fact that I am alone. You reminded it all. I am not in love with you, for heaven’s sake. No. I admire you. I appreciate you. I look up to you. I don’t care if you will or won’t be my friend, as you already are, in my puppet show. My fairy tale kingdom, whose empress is me. And my puppet show where I, the master of the show decides everything.
So either way, its you.”

“You are mad.”
“Can’t help. Born that way.”
“Its late. We got to get up before dawn. Go to sleep heroine. Good night. And don’t think too much.” He smiled and closed his eyes.

Yeah sure. What do you think will a nocturnal like me do in a moving train when everyone else is sleeping?
Well. Hell.

When you are sleeping in peace,
Under the magnificent and caring arms of the star studded night,
Guarded by the awake moon…
Lost in the fascinating world of involuntary imagination…
Dreaming of girls in bikinis and fairies in gowns…
I sit and wonder.
I look at you calm and closed eyelids.
The hair falling beautifully on your forehead,
The unconscious movement of your lips…
I am startled at the quiet and sudden movement of you arm, adhering me to you.
“My pillow…” you murmur.
Your face expressed confusion.
“Damn.” You wake up, startled, after you see your ‘pillow’…
a momentary stare of utter confusion.
An outburst of laughter.
“O heroine! What you doing here?”I smile and reply, “Locking you up in my kingdom, my Knight. You see, you are too precious to me. I don’t trust that moon.”

EYE TO EYE

This is not written by me.
This soul touching poem is written by a Palestinian boy whose name is Gihad Ali.
I have posted it on my blog so as to let my friends read it.


Look into my eyes, and tell me what you see
You don't see a damn thing, 'cause you can't possibly relate to me.
You're blinded by our differences.
My life makes no sense to you.
I'm the persecuted Palestinian.
You are the American red, white and blue.
Each day you wake in tranquility. No fears to cross your eyes.
Each day I wake in gratitude.Thanking God he let me rise.
You worry about your education and the bills you have to pay.
I worry about my vulnerable life and if I\'ll survive another day.
Your biggest fear is getting ticketed as you cruise your Cadillac.
My fear is the tank that just left, Will turn around and come back.
America, do you realize, That the taxes that you pay
Feed the forces that traumatize My every living day?
The bulldozers and the tanks, The gases and the guns.
Yet do you know the truth Of where your money goes?
Do you let your media deceive your mind?
Is this a truth that no one knows?
You blame me for defending myself Against the ways of Zionists
I'm terrorized in my own land And I'm the terrorist?
You think you know all about terrorism
But you don't know it the way I do.
So let me define the term for you.
And teach you what you thought you knew.
I've known terrorism for quite some time, Fifty- four years and
more.
It's the fruitless garden uprooted in my yard.
It's the bulldozer in front of my door.
Terrorism breathes the air I breathe.
It's the checkpoint on my way
to school.
It's the curfew that jails me in my own home,
And the penalties of breaking that curfew rule.
Terrorism is the robbery of my land.
And the torture of my mother.
The imprisonment of my innocent father.
The bullet in my baby brother.
So America,don't tell me you know about The things I feel and see.
I'm terrorized in my own land And the blame is put on me.
But I will not rest,I shall never settle For the injustice my
people endure.
Palestine is OUR land and here we'll remain
Until the day OUR homeland is secure.
And if that time shall never come, Then they will never see a day
of peace.
I will not be thrown from my own home, Nor will fight for justice
cease.
And if I am killed, it will be for Falasteen. It's written on my
breath.
So in your own patriotic words, Give me liberty or give me death.

THE MYTH OF LIFE

I am…
The rain in the desert.
The sun in the poles.
The land of heavens.
The sky of the earth.
The star unnoticed.
The music un-played.
The frozen fire.
The heat of ice.
The eternal song.
The celestial voice.
The ocean of loneliness.
The ashes of civilization.
The empress of the kingdom that never was.
The mistake of nature.
The paradox of existence.
The myth of life.

THE RAT RACE AND THE CAT WALK

Ram threw the book on the side table. They were getting late. His interview…

“It isn’t sucking..” Sandhya’s once so sweet a voice, he had fallen in love with, sounded so irritating at times.

“Why you calling him ‘it’? He isn’t a non-living matter.”
“Why don’t we name him? I don’t like calling him ‘Junior’. It sounds like a young and smart aircraft crew member. A cabin crew is a cabin crew.” Sandhya argued.
It was useless to continue. Ram sighed and turned the wheels of time back to the days of intoxicating fresh air, the extravagantly laid green sheet, the spotless lake on which the Victoria admired itself every now and then…long afternoons spent together, transformed into the silent walks in the lush green botanical gardens, then the long drives on the ever welcoming Howrah bridge…
“ Waaaahawaahuhh uhhhhhuhh” Junior’s Jukebox.
Ram liked to call it that, rather than “useless winning” as Sandhya preferred.

Ram was pulled down to earth by the gravity of his first child’s vocal cords. “We’re getting late. Are you done?”
“I haven’t started. The show is a glamorous one. I can’t let them down. Just give me some minutes…”
Sure…sum them up as u like. WOMEN!!—Ram’s eyes screamed.

One accidental glance at the wedding photograph on the right side wall of their bedroom…how he melted.

Sandhya. Beautiful, charming, intelligent Sandhya. Her scary childhood with paternal uncles and aunts in the hideous Chowdhury House. Her father’s sudden and scandalous death. Transfer of herself and her belongings and her life to her maternal grandparents’ historical and charming Sen-Gupta Mansion. Those wonderful people. Her ever wonderful life after that.
Her beauty, charm and intellect captured the hearts of well known social figures.
Sandhya the beautiful writer. Doctorate in English language. Her transfer back to Kolkata and her accidental meeting with Ram.

Sandhya the famous youth icon. The charming television host.
Ram, the young biotechnology researcher.
Miyaan biwi raazi to kya karega qaazi…

Life was heaven.

…heaven. Until slowly things changed. Sandhya was getting totally engrossed in the TV Show. Ram was running the blind rat race. Research was not an easy job. Especially when it came to earning.

Today. Today was the day he had waited eternally for. An interview, a few research papers…copied, original, whatever. A few tests, a few formalities and Voila! The United States!
Ram didn’t want to be late today. Even if the world turned upside down. It hardly mattered. The earth anyway, was somewhat spherical.
But unfortunately, Sandhya darling had been honoured as the chief guest at a monthly ramp show the very same evening.

“Ram, could we just knock at the doc’s on the way...Junior doesn’t show symptoms of being very well. He did not suck at all today.”
“Oh Sandhya. Not today. You know it…” Ram suppressed a sudden mental agony. He hated quarrels.
“Ram please…he’s burning. We are parents..”
“Okay. Hold it. Just give old Radcliff a ring and tell him what’s up with Junior. We’ll do as he says. But do it fast..”
WOMEN!!
“Ram, Radcliff asked us to take Junior immediately to him”
“Then let’s get out” HELL!!
“The car’s gone for a wash. We’ll take a cab…”
“We won’t get one at this time of the day. Lets just hit my bike.”
“Ram, Junior is not well…”
“You are his mother. Cancel your cat walk show and take your son to the doc.”
“And who’s his father?”
“I have an interview. Ok now just shut up and sit and keep Junior sandwiched between you and me.”

..what a disgrace…my evening dress…was all Sandhya could think of.

Traffic was jammed. Why it could not be buttered, Ram wonderd. Hit the high way!! To hell with the speed limits…
“Ram…please..Junior..”
“We gotto make it there Sandhya…”
“Ram, you’re too..”

The door was opened by the maid in black. Sandhya hated black. It resembled mourning and brought back scary memories from her past…she had felt death when other children bloomed with life…
Dr. Radcliff took Junior for tests.
His face changed. Got screwed up.
He stared at them with a gaping look.

Ram, impatient, his interview..
Sandhya, irritated, smoothing the wrinkles off her evening dress..

“What’s wrong with him?” Sandhya asked.
“Nothing is wrong with him.” Radcliff answere. “but yes..was.”
“He’s fine now? For all the drama on the way..thank Heavens.. I have to run. Sandhya please take him home.”
“That will not be needed. He has reached his destiny, twenty minutes ago…” Radcliff shook his head, with tears trickling down his wrinkled face.

“Junior…what..what are you saying?” Sandhya screamed.
“Junior…” Ram couldn’t find his voice.
“Junior…could not become senior. He’s no more.” Radcliff hung his head. Death had never shaken him so badly. He stared out at the window as Ram and Sandhya stared at each other.

SO HE SAID

"Whenever and wherever,there is
a decrease in religion, and
an increase in irreligion,
heed o sons of Bharata!
I manifest my self to tackle the situation.
For the benefit and upliftment of the pious
and for the destruction of evil,
as well as for the re-establishmnet of religion,
I manifest my self, millennia after millennia."

___ LORD KRISHNA