Wednesday, December 16, 2009

Werewolf. an introduction.

It is said that when it stares you in the face you know whats coming. It is said that when it holds you one last time as if hugging you, you draw in your final breath and wait. You wait for the blow that ends its pain and your fear. You wait for death itself in its truest form to end your misery. You wait for for the tenderness of your skin to corrode into the hide awaited by your deathbed. you wait for the end. Some believe its a soldier's death. But when you whimper and all hope seems to abide the never changing rule of change is it still heroic? A werewolf is archaic. It is not immortal and neither is it invulnerable. It is merely the messenger of death. For that matter the most brutal of its kind. Its a platonic blend of chaos and resilience, of pain and resistance, of death, bloodshed and life. Attempting escape is a mockery and defiance of the elixir it possesses. When a werewolf charges ultimately all combat ends till the shade of dawn arouses. A wolf essentially is mighty and intimidating. A human is a slower more pathetic being. But he can think. Together they induce the genuine form of haplessness in the prey. whereas face to face among each other they would fight for fear of the other, in each other they would merely fight over the methodology used. The wolf likes to stalk and play. Humans essentially prefer the hurting part, the tearing away part of flesh from bone. It is afterall his ultimate aim. To be the foremost, that is what his upbringing teaches him. To be feared and to be powerful and what better than showering death as a weapon? What better than relishing the fear in the enemys' eyes' as you prepare to harvest its ripeness? What better than waking up knowing that the nightmare was real? You are stronger than anything else. Is there anything else that matters? Does any feeling beat that? Is it not his elixir? To the venom that supremacy breathes in him?

Saturday, December 12, 2009


They say what doesn’t kill you only makes you stronger. What ‘they’ always conveniently forget to mention is that what makes you stronger can kill you too.
And when your faith lies in the qualms of an ever changing ever thinking live specimen you can merely wait for your downfall cause accept it or not someday the reign will break loose. It is as intended. It is as planned. And this planned catastrophe, this slaughter of faith is what you call life.
There was once a man who loved. No not man boy. There was once a boy who loved. He was in his late twenties with nice black hair, the kind most girls would love to ruffle. He had the sweetest eyes, ones that spoke of dreams, ones that foretold innocent intentions, one’s that trusted. He smiled a lot, to every passing individual in the corridor to work, to his assistant who owing to his premonitions never had any money problems. For some reason he always brought her a yellow rose from the street as if to say, thank you for your company and your service. And then there was girl, one with a beautiful smile and very pretty eyes like the boy but of a different colour. Her complexion was the only fault and her complexion was the only perfection that set her apart from the boy. One night they met after work. Their paths intersected at the flower shop where he out of awe handed her a red rose after filling its every petal with the desire that he possessed to unwrap her like a gift of Christmas. She dropped it not out of haste or shock but misery. A thorn had hurt her finger drawing first blood. Blood of a colour similar to that of the rose itself. That had been the first sign of the trauma they were to encounter. Unhindered he had taken a new one, one by one picked out all the thorns and then addressed it to her in the most loving fashion a boy his age could have. They were instantly in love. She smiled dearly at him and he smiled back. He sprout a few lines he had heard his brother say to his maid while practicing a proposal speech to his girlfriend and she blushed. Encouraged he made more of his own and recited in the hope of a little more applause, in the hope of a feeling nothing else could compare to. That night he walked her home and took her hand. At the door he kissed it with all the tenderness he could muster longing to stay and then taking a few steps back and running away. The next morning he was there before she woke. She smiled at him as he took a bow and they headed to work. That night, they held hands and walked along the river. As they turned towards a lane an oddly dressed man called out to them. The girl was scared, the boy was unhappy. He walked to the man and said
“Why do you call out like this? Are you insane?”
To this he replied, no my lord I am just a poet and I was wondering if I could sing the two of you a poem I wrote cause I have never seen a pair so complete and so devouring to the eyes. From behind the boy the girl peeked and nodded.
He struck his chord and started the song that would end with May you my happy couple live long and live together. The next few weeks disappeared in the blink of an eye as their love bloomed. Summer passed and the monsoon faded away into cold. The cold did not suit the boy. He got sick and he went away. Then one day he came back to her. But she was there no more. She had changed into the woman of a very rich businessman. At first he could not believe what he saw. He went home and he cried and he hoped that it had been a dream. A few days later he tried again, the man was still there standing in the garden right next to her. His carriage was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. He had money, he had a big house too most probably and he now had her. There was no point in denying it no more. She had broken his trust. His will to live had gone. All that was left was emptiness. He tried to work again. He went to the same office, had the same secretary and gave her the same yellow rose. But the glitter in his eyes had gone. The pride in his stride had gone. All that was left was the bareness of the tree that had once stood and blossomed in the summer at the same place. One night he wrote a letter. He sent it to her and disappeared forever. Some say he died. Some say he went to some foreign land. To those close to him and to her, it was no secret that he had ended his life. She had broken his trust ending his will to live. He had died thinking that. But she had always loved him. He was the one who had faltered. The rich man had been her brother who had come to take her back home. She had been unwilling for she was sure her lover would come for her. He had been frail and taken things for granted. And for that he had paid dearly. Life wasn’t what he had missed. It was her.

The beloved lies in the bed right next to me darling. She stares at the ceiling all day breathes air and regrets what cannot be changed like either of us. Just that she is half dead and you my child have just begun. So remember strangers may become friends but friends will become strangers in the face of life. So have faith. After all my love, we are all puppets pulling each other’s strings. The right strings get us what we want, the wrong ones may cause damage but more so to the friend who befriended us. So be careful my fairy tale what makes you strong can kill you at will.

Friday, November 06, 2009

Almost Lovers - Blissful Confessions

Large droplets of water were pounding against the stone walls creating the scene of sheer romance all lovers envy. As the glass doors opened warning them of the impending danger of more than just losing the moment, eyes opened wide, he decided to paint. He got up and wore the khaki shorts she had been wearing before. They smelled different from usual he noticed. He methodically brushed his teeth and looked at himself in the mirror. Not just the regular glance he was used to but in detail as if trying to spot something. Defeated he spat water on his face and dripping wet stepped out. His eyes then caught the gold on the bed. Her hair, even in the dullness of the morning shone like a star in the sky. He admired the neckline that gradually grew into her spine and couldn’t help starring. Her skin was as fair as the snow he had never seen. She was incredible he thought. He touched her neck. It was warm and soft like Elvis just that it was different and she was pearly white and she had no hair he told himself. He let his finger run down the whole length of her back and then moved to her shoulders. They were impeccable and smooth, unlike his rough mounds of muscle. He fetched the canvas and the wooden holder and setup the whole apparatus. In the dim light of the advancing morning and the dying bulb she looked beautiful. He would tell her that he thought. As he glued his eyes to the facets which had captured his attention he went into a trauma. Where was he to start? The gleaming hair? The pretty face? The tiny shoulders?
He thought for a while and decided to do it some other time and then she woke up. He noticed the eyelid lift slowly exposing the earth brown underneath. She raised a hand and started to rub the sleep out off her eyes.
He whispered as if scared of scratching the delicateness of that moment.
“Emily don’t move.” After a little thought he added. “you look so beautiful let me draw you.”
She smiled sleepily and looked at him through the corner of her eye. He now knew where to start. It was interesting how he hadn’t noticed this before. It was perfect. He started with the tang of hair right next to her eye, a line came into being which twisted into a curve. More curves and more lines and her eye looked back at hi thorough the canvas. No he thought, he lightened it and made it again. Yes now it was perfect. Slowly he moved on to the lips that even from a distance refused to not tempt him. He wondered if it was this that he had surrendered to last night. He shaped her chin and then her neck. The rest was easy. He gave colour to her hair and then admired his own work. He looked at her and then he looked at his painting. He felt a certain pang of guilt for having drawn so poorly. He had failed miserably he thought. She was beautiful and the woman on the picture though looked a lot like her wasn’t even close to the real thing. He wanted to tear it apart but he controlled himself. Calmly he moved it into the next room and left it there to dry. But it was cold and the sun wasn’t out yet. That would take time. He switched on the ceiling fan which got into action like an old guard doing his rounds. It was slow but it was all he had. He took a deep breath and went into the bedroom again. She was sleeping merrily. He lay down next to her and looked at her. Even when she was asleep she looked amazing. He whispered in her ear and she in response inched closer to him and placed her head on his chest, he put his hand around her and rested it on her shoulder as if protecting her. Mind at peace devoid of any disturbance of thought or emotion he closed his eyes. He opened them within the minute. Elvis was feeling neglected. He hadn’t received his massage and so he had licked his hand longingly. The result had been different Elvis decided. Normally he would have woken up and taken him for a walk but today was different. This stranger was stealing him. But then his hand was on his head now massaging his ears. Damn that felt good, he could wait a little.
In a little while the wait was over. He kissed her on the forehead, freed his arm got up and whistled to him. Time for a walk. At the door he stood there holding it open and said.
He bounded outside and looked at him.
“Elvis, could you go alone today? I can’t come now.”
Elvis merely just stood there wagging his tail.
“Please Elv just today.”
He stood there urging him to come tail wagging like never before. He then came up to him, licked his hand as if saying I understand barked a little at his innocence and scampered away.
Upstairs Emily had woken up. She was sitting in the balcony bed sheet wrapped around her.
“Emily the bed sheet will get dirty.”
“Shut up and come here.”
He walked to her and stood there.
She patted her hand on the floor next to him and said “Sit down.”
“The bed sheet”
“I will wash it”
He sat down and she wrapped the bed sheet around him too one arm on his shoulder, the other on the floor next to her. He kept his arm on her waist and started caressing her rubbing her back.
“It’s too early Jake, not now.”
“You insatiable bastard”
He didn’t understand a thing but kept his hand going. She felt good.
“Let’s take a bath in the beach today.”
“Isn’t it too cold now?”
“Later then”
They were silent for a while and then they kissed.
“Emily you are beautiful.”
“Jake you are cute.” She smiled at him and he melted.
“Let me make you breakfast today” she said
“Wait a little. Don’t go now”
“I am not going I am just fixing you some breakfast.”
“Stay here” his eyes were so full of longing and loneliness that she just couldn’t go.
She kept her head on his shoulder and held his hand. Together they stared into the vastness of the sea as the waves hit the rocks and spattered. The sea was calm now and it had stopped raining. The sun was peeking at a distance not wanting to disturb but it couldn’t hold on for too long. The dawn broke and the sun shone yellow as they just sat there eyes closed existing as two people meant to be one. After a light breakfast of macaroni and cheese it was mutually decided that a walk on the beach followed by a bath would do them good.
As they started to leave, Elvis made his entry. Rather than say hello to his master, he trotted to the Miss and wagged.
She laughed and pat him on the head. Jake wasn’t happy.
He had decided that after yesterday he really didn’t want to go into the sea. The memory of the sand in the eyes, the water in his nose and salts in his mouth only added to his faintness. And then Emily started undressing. As the last garment came off his shirt landed on a happily perched Elvis’s back much to his discontent.
He needed no persuasion now after all she was one of the people who mattered the most. If fact the only one who mattered. He felt the cold water against his skin and the only thing that came to his mind now was her. She was laughing. He fought the sea to reach her. She tried to run, but then the water was on his side. He reached her as she threw water at him and held her so tight that even he couldn’t breathe.
“Emily, I love you. So much that as long as I have you everything is easy. I never quite liked this wet coldness as long as only my feet took pleasure in dipping in them. But now without your insistence I am here. I love you Emily and although I know I am a complete dumbass I want you to be around forever. Can you be my best friend? Can you care for me as I am alone and I don’t want to be alone? Can you love me? So much that you leave everything. I know all that, the life there where nothing matters no one matters but to me you are inevitable. Can you be the someone I can fight for because there is nothing else I can do? I am just a petty soldier who is tired of all this. I want you Emily. I want to marry you. But will you have me? Please don’t say no, I will improve I promise.”

Monday, September 28, 2009

Almost Lovers- catastrophe

As he starred out of the window into the many abysmally small windings of the road he wondered what life would have been in a city. In the depths of boredom that he inhabited an echo caught his ear.
“We are here.”
“The lighthouse”
“This is where you wanted to come right.”
“Oh yes of course.”
“How much will it be?”
“Seventeen dollars. Looking at how you are dressed I have to ask do you belong here?”
“No I actually live here.”
“In the lighthouse?”
“Why should I not?”
“I don’t know. Um…maybe because it’s weird.”
“I don’t like large crowds and ever since I was a boy I have been here so I don’t see the point in moving.”
“Have you never been to the real world?”
“I have in fact for a daftly long period of time I just didn’t see what was real about it.”
Aah…he said as if he understood, yet clearly he was missing the point. “I should be going now.”
He took his earning and kept a handsome amount more on his insistence and left.
As the colours spread with a swish of his brush he knew he had created a masterpiece again yet like all the rest here too was a mite, the bug being a mere spot devoid of colour.
He took a step back and watched with utmost focus trying to find out what was missing. There was a woman in red stockings, a black coat and black boots scratching her head walking on the pavement. The traffic was intense and there were a lot of cars. A very self proclaimed smart mouse of a man was driving his two wheeler on the pavement too. In another black car was the head a child who was holding something up so as to make out what it was. Yet even he had no idea as to what was that article of intrigue. In yet another long car was a bald man with a beard laughing at his own hairless fate say. He was accompanied by two women, one too old to be with him and the other too young. They seemed to be lost in their chit chat while the driver was an empty crevasse of grey. He shook his head, defeated. The picture was perfect just a little too blank on the upper right side. And he had no idea what to draw. He looked at his other pieces and chuckled at his own failure, the empty spaces. Some were perfectly alright like the one he had drawn for that lady who had come from afar and needed a little rest. After looking at the painting she had been bewildered and she had run saying she had kids and she shouldn’t have left them. He looked at the painting of the sunset with its blues and yellows appearing dull even pathetic in the light of the one bulb that was still in working order. Then there was one with the hills, the hills where he had fought a battle with his own beside his own killing his own. Whatever he had felt there he had not felt while drawing, that was definitive. These were green hills, green with mush green grass and not red with his own sins blending profusely with the exceedingly many of his brethren. He remembered every moment of his survival, with the amazing clarity of water. He sat down onto his grandfather chair and started rocking to and fro. Elvis sat n a corner near the window to the ocean enjoying his late night nap. He summoned to him and tail wagging he settled onto the carper right in front of him ready for his massage. As he tingled and tickled his only friend the retriever Labrador yawned lazily his black velvet soothing him evermore.
Hours passed as they lay motionless both lost in their won world, Elvis counting sheep and he merely just existing.
Later in the night he put out the light and lay down on his bed wondering what deadly sin his god had in store for him and his precious paintings. Fitful he fell asleep and dreamt about the day he had been rescued from the jungles of Vietnam. Unlike the many people who put out everything in their mind he drew for passion and not as a vent for expressing pain or loss or ache. It was just merely his imagery that he drew with and without thought.

The next morning he headed out towards the beach. Elvis found his friends and went off on his own leaving him to his thoughts. As he sat on the sand, and watched the waves breaking up and caressing his feet he pictured a butterfly. It was the typical orange black that you see everywhere. He woke up to a cold leg and a wet face. Apparently Elvis had decided to leave. At heel the dog followed. It was mid afternoon and the sun was blaring down from the overhead canvas. Normally at this time of the day, he wouldn’t have had the beach to himself but the winter seemed to have befriended him and had appeared a little too early. As he walked up to his dear old lighthouse, he saw a bike parked in front. The owner was nowhere to be seen. It was a ruddy black assassin of a vehicle he thought. It had a fat petrol tank and comparatively long handles, definitely belonging to a big fat bearded guy with a sleeveless leather jacket and a tattoo on his back. He heard a whistle somewhere nearby and turned to find the owner. And behold there she was grinning like a bureaucrat who had just been awarded presidential ship.
“You the guy who my brother drove around yesterday?”
“If your brother had long golden hair, a very irritating cologne and freckles then yes.”
“Yeah that sounds just like him.”
“He told me you live here.”
“Yes I do.”
“What smooth?”
She arched her eyebrows and feasted on his innocence.
“How long since you have been here.”
“Does it matter?”
She looked to one side and exclaimed “No.”
“Can I help you in any way?”
“I wanted to see this place.”
“Go ahead. I won’t be bothering you.”
She smirked in response and for some reason was amused.
He turned to leave and almost did.
“You don’t wanna show me around?”
“Should I”?
“You could.”
“There is nothing much here of your interest I am afraid.”
“It’s just doves, sea and sand.”
“And this red and white lighthouse”
“Yes and this red and white lighthouse.”
“I am Emily.”
There was a slight pause in which he considered his options.
“Um…I am Jake.”
“You haven’t been around people for a long time have you?”
He smiled abashedly.
“Guess so.”
“You shouldn’t be so rude you know.”
“I was rude? I had no idea I am sorry.”
“So Jake, what do you do here all day.”
“I don’t know. I walk, I massage my dog, I eat.”
“That’s a lot to do.”
“I know.”
“You didn’t get the joke.”
“What joke?”
“No nothing”
“No tell me, what joke?”
She burst out laughing.
“Damn you are cute.”
“Am I?”
“And dumb”
“When you go around that tree be careful, I saw a snake there once.”
“A long time ago”
“I should leave.”
“Go ahead.”
As he opened the lock and then the door, he heard running behind him.
“Could you show me around?”
“Show me around.”
They walked around the tower and then to the beach and settled there.
She waited for nothing and ran into the water. Alone once again he sat down.
Seeing him like this something scarred her. She shouted “Jake”.
“Come here into the water.”
“No I am fine here.”
“You have been fine all your life. Now be great come on.”
“I think I will just watch from here.”
“God you are such a jerk.”
She ran up to him and all wet started pulling dragging him leg in hand.
“Stop it! What are you doing?”
“What needs to be done.”
He tried to resist and ended up getting sand in his eyes.
She pulled him into the water and left him there.
He came out coughing and groaning.
“What are you?”
“I am your enchantress.”
“I am all wet now.”
“So am I. and I don’t have a spare set of clothes either. But do I care?”
“You chose this. I didn’t.”
“I don’t care what you choose. You better stay here and try to be happy.”
“I was happy till now.”
“Tell me, close your eyes and tell me how you feel.”
“No way”
“If you don’t I will hurt you.”
“You already did.”
She sighed.
“Do it.”
“If you don’t do it I will do this to you every day.”
“Just close your eyes.”
He did. For a while the dragging and the drowning replayed in his mind and then as he felt the cold water against his skin he kind off felt good.
Now tell me how you feel.
“How good?”
“Cold and wet good”
She laughed.
“Now open your eyes.”
He stood there transfixed on the spot dumbfounded.
“Something is wrong.”
“What is?”
“Really? You think so?”
“Without a word he started walking out of the water.”
She ran to him and held his elbow.
“Wait. Don’t leave just yet.”
Let’s sit here for a while.
They sat down in the sand, water up to their stomachs.
“You are so lost.”
“I don’t get what you mean. You will, soon.”
They looked out into the sea sharing the same thoughts, how cold they were.
“Jake. Let’s go now.”
He got up instantly and offered his hand.
“Now you are being a gentleman.”
They walked towards the lighthouse shoes in hand Emily joking and Jake enjoying the company. They were like water and fire. One was a zestful extrovert and the other a mislaid shy introvert. They went in clinging to their wet clothes holding the soft fabric against their cold skin.
As they climbed the steps to his room she slipped. Luckily he was behind her and caught her.
“Jake my legs are kind off numb, could you help me.”
He picked her up and led her to his room like a groom would take his bride just in a very innocently unearthly fashion.
Without her asking, he offered her a clean and dry set of clothes and a towel. Then he went into the balcony and changed himself.
“Jake, I hate to interrupt you but, have you thought about dinner?”
“There are cans in the kitchen. But I am not hungry now, you take what you want.”
“You eat canned food every day?”
“Yes, but sometimes Jenny gets me home made food. I love it.”
“Why don’t you live with her?”
“I don’t wanna be a pain in the ass. She is married.”
“Was that foul language? God Jake you got lots to tell me.”
“How do you know her?”
“We went to the same school.”
“And she kissed me once.”
“Did anyone kiss you after that?”
“Yes but I don’t remember who it was.”
“I should be going Jake.”
“It is late. You sleep on the bed I will sleep on the chair.”
“It’s a double bed.”
“I can’t tell Elvis to stay of it.”
“Who is Elvis? Your roommate?”
“No him.”
He pointed at the dog wagging his tail.
“Jake. He is a dog.”
“So one day not sleeping on the bed will not be a big deal for him.”
“It’s all right. You sleep. I have to paint today.”
“You paint?”
“Yes I paint in the other room on the right.”
I am gonna have to see it someday, just not today. Now I am hungry. She found teabags in the cupboard along with a loaf of bread and opened a couple of cans marked potatoes and peas.
She laid it on the table and sat down to eat.
“Jake you should come here and eat with me.”
“I am not hungry.”
“Well I am. So do.”
He obliged like an old servant and joined her.
They ate peacefully while she did most of the talking.
In between she moved her close to his.
He listened to every word intent on being not useless for some reason he couldn’t quite place.
She stopped talking after a while.
“Say something. I like your voice.”
“Jake that’s a complement?”
“She smiled. Damn you seem to be getting better every minute.”
He smiled and for a moment of indiscreetness brought his lips close to hers and made contact.
“He broke up almost immediately and apologized. I am sorry I don’t know what I was thinking.”
“I do.”
Saying this she kissed him again and this time it was longer and much much better now that their hearts were into it.

Wednesday, August 19, 2009

A Spite of Venom

Two lovers blinded by the four letter foul word they completely defined just for one another were making love. As they kissed and cuddled a stray spirit filled with jealousy cast a spell on them hoping to break them apart. As his eyes looked through the wooden walls past the many trees and the flora in the thick of the jungle he silently muttered a curse that would slowly, tantalizingly rip their hearts out and then as they lost their spirit, their imperviousness he would seep through one and kill the other. As the chant reached its apex, the dark magic worked its art and the wood caught fire. To the passerby who would never come, it would be just another forest fire probably caused by a stray spark or a lit cigarette butt. Such was their passion, such was their love that even after the darkest of desires had unleashed their wrath, it could not kill their faith, hurt their bond. As the fire raged on, and the flames danced with the ecstasy of their makers venture it was as if, they were alive again. As the overheated segments of wood not burnt yet started joining in the festival, the depths of the inferno wrapped around each other as if embracing the sacred soul. The Dybbuk was still not satisfied. He wanted to break them away so as to gain control of one, to re enter the world of the live and he wouldn’t have that. He released a poison so strong that if anyone would even scent it, he would die within the split second. This he injected into the beloveds soul so that now they could be not be near, the close proximity of the intense tenderness had to die. But the lovers will was strong. He would not have it this way. They would be together no matter how. As he left her hand so that he may live to come back, he took an oath to never stay far. At this the angels smiled and he was blessed with smoke. As it unfurled around the winding tone he took flight and came back an eagle, an eagle of smoke. Now she was the spite of venom, the snake. As the eagle swung low and flew right around it, the beloved engaged in a dance of trance. Apparently the angels weren’t strong enough and the Dybbuk had control again. He took over the adored, his darling and prepared to attack as he turned around to come cuddle. The eagle of smoke took flight the fire snake poised to attack. For a second he saw her, deep inside controlled, bound and he could contain himself no more. As he got close, before the venom could be spat, before he could be bitten, he wrapped his feet around her and touched the peak of the sky. As he flew hard, hoping to throw it out, the Dybbuk, now inside the snake fought and fought. There was a certain drop in the wind and the eagle being light swayed. The venom oozing from the sinister y of the snake got close enough. It hissed and stung. Now hapless, at the mercy of its dying carrier, the Dybbuk realized what he had done. He had inhabited a soul only to die again. As the bird struggled for breath her hold faltered and the killer fell into the crevasses below. As the night ended all that remained of the three was ash. The bird had died on venom, the reptile of its fall and the Dybbuk of its own hastiness and disrespect of love and attachment.

Wednesday, July 15, 2009

The Scarlett Letter Sentence

The music was loud. A boisterous fetish of frenzy was running around. Ear drums strained everywhere as the barricade played uselessly into the night. The dance floor was overflowing with the species of average morons whose pockets dwindled at night. Human bodies brimming with lust and desire shadowed the greys of the floor. About 5 feet above them sprinklers merry go rounded endlessly quenching the one of many thirsts that out and out plagued the atmosphere around them. The atmosphere was filled with electricity as the blend of the five elements swayed uncontrollably to the haunting tunes that had been the theme of the night. Rain dance is a strange thing. The wet bodies intertwined with each other are a strange sight not only to the ones outside but to the ones inside as well. Right at the edge of the springy veil stood a man, a millionaire in his own right but soon to be officially made one. He paced to the farthest table and took in all there was to see. Right in the middle of a commotion was Victoria his wife. They had married out of love but like her other toys; she had lost interest in him too. He on the other hand wanted everything back. He could clearly make out that vicious figure draped in blood red as wet as the water itself. Underneath the gown that now was her second skin lay a body that had once been his. Even at this distance only a dead man could miss those waves of ecstasy she aroused at mere sight. She was the light of the night to every hound, the magnet to the iron. Sexiness oozed from her like sweetness from sugar. Even today as normal she sizzled as if she was like a twenty something, young and vibrant, naked underneath that light material. As the play of colours and luminescence continued he waited patiently for his beloved Victoria. When she finally stepped out, it was as if the life of the party had just been snatched. More heads turned as she started the long walk to the table. He knew she was enjoying it and that was precisely why he had chosen this spot. She didn’t deserve or demand any kind of attention, she just received it. Gravity is a strange thing. Even now after all that had happened he was drawn to her and regardless of anything he knew he would always be. A silence ensued as she settled onto the chair that now became a throne.
“What happened to all those moves?”
“You know what happens when I move don’t you?”
“Yeah sure, the bed starts shaking.”
“And you prefer that. You like the attention you get here.”
“You have your own set of women eying you, you know.”
“It’s not bigger than your collection of men.”
“That it is a mere possibility darling, no more.”
“You coming home anytime soon?”
“And leave this?”
“I have work tomorrow.”
“What work? You have only me to tend to.”
“And even that isn’t enough.”
“Why is the music so slow?”
“Because they are waiting for you to go tell them it is?”
“I will see you tomorrow.”
“I hope you don’t.”
“You will sweetie. I am your wife. And may I remind you, you are forgetting something.”
“Oh I haven’t forgotten. Who would I? It was the worst day of my life.”
“Happy anniversary darling”
“That’s how you are gonna say it?”
“I have to leave.”
He stood up in a moment of awkwardness. His insides were killing him. She joined him as they were just starting to make their way towards the parking lot. The temptation was irresistible. Halfway through, he turned and with everyone watching kissed her full on the mouth. He felt her smile and then add to his vigour as they stood there lost to the beasts, the centre of attention, the silent objects of fantasy of every man and woman there. How they wished they could have been there, been them for just the one day. The power couple of the city were still the most envied even after all these years. They broke up aware of the stares burning into their back but of course not because of them. He looked into those bright blue eyes and he could swear on hell they changed colours. How he loved that woman. That face, those sharp features those luscious lips he couldn’t get enough off, that cocky air and those breathtaking curves who left him wanting more each time. He would miss her if only for a little while.
In the drive way they kissed again less excitedly of course but it felt the same.
“You thought I would leave you without a gift?”
“What is it this time?”
“That red Porsche right there down to the left.”
“That is just a souvenir. And the keys are where they are supposed to be. The real thing is right here.”
He was on her again one arm around her back, the other feeling through and then to the shoulder where it closed the loop.
“You can still take my breath away.”
“Oh God! What is this?”
“Just a token of my love”
“You love me too much.”
“This must have cost a fortune.”
“It’s your money. You just don’t know how to spend it.”
“Is this a kind of rock?”
“One that is very rare.”
“What is it?”
“Had you had those kind off brains…”
She smiled at him that million dollar smile and for the last time he left her. It was funny how the tiniest of moments could rekindle a romance long dead. She watched him drive off and walked back, a new gleam around her neck that still wasn’t enough to outshine her.
There in the crowd, she got drunk again and again the dance floor was on fire. The beats were up now, the bass out of control. Out of the corner of her eye she saw him. He belonged at her side but in the real world, the side was the other side of the edge. He winked as she met his gaze and slid into the pool of dancers. She followed him from a distance. And just when she thought she had lost him she heard him. He was whispering behind her and when she turned he was gone again. And then she heard the sound of someone getting into the pool. She walked towards it and there he was in the pool, his clothes lying neatly in a corner.
“No.” she exclaimed.
“You got to know I am completely naked.”
“Ok then leave. Let me enjoy the swim.”
“This can’t go on for too long.”
“It has been till now and it will till the fire dies out.”
“I have to leave.”
“This is wrong.”
“One last time”
“But what about Arthur?”
“You married him right? Isn’t that enough?”
“But this seems wrong.”
“This only seems wrong because you are too high.”
“Come on. Come inside. It is fun. You will see.”
Slowly hesitatingly she entered the water. They said nothing as she slowly waded towards him and he coolly looked on.
“What is with the dress?”
“It will come off soon but you will have to earn it.”
She neared him and they locked together in a long soft kiss.
“I never thought you would actually be drunk enough to keep your clothes on.”
“Let’s just say I am not intoxicated enough.”
“Leave him.”
“Because this is not me. I should go.”
She turned to leave but he pulled her back and held her close.
So close that it hurt. She felt a searing pain in her abdomen and looked below to see the water coloured in her own blood. The pain was unbearable and his mouth was on hers as she struggled slowly and then gradually all resistance faded and her nails now dug deep into his back became motionless.
Victoria was dead.
He stared at those closed eyes and kissed them goodbye.
“I would have spared you, but you wanted to be with him.”
“And look where it has got you.”
“We could have lived happily, but then this Arthur was too much of a temptation for you.”
He dressed casually smiling at the dreams of luxuries. His life was set now. He just needed to go take the money.
He took her Porsche (after a year with that woman, he knew where she kept everything, even the keys to an unused car)and headed towards the Mary mansion. The place where Victoria lived. Had lived. He raced his spirits and let the car run at the highest gear. Man this was fun he thought to himself. He closed his eyes for just one moment of leisure, enjoying the picture of Victoria dead in the pool, that big necklace still alive around her neck. She still looked pretty, even when she was dead.

He was nearing the mansion. This was the last bridge to cross. As he accelerated, a stationary truck standing in the middle of the empty road suddenly switched on its headlights and for an instant he was blinded. As a reflex he swerved and braked. The first thing happened, the other didn’t. The brakes had apparently been tampered with. He fell right off the bridge into the mass below.
Inside the truck, Lance Malcolm phoned his boss. He prided himself of being more brains than bully.
“Red Porsche down into the river. Job done”
The reply came instantly “You will be paid soon.”
At the Mary mansion, Arthur was having a drink. He received the phone call replied and terminated. He looked up and heaved a sigh of relief.
“She is finally dead.”
“Who is?”
“Your sister”
“Who else?”
“You got to be kidding me.”
“Believe it. And prepare yourself, it will be all over the papers tomorrow.”
The woman in the purple robe finally turned and shook her head.
“You really loved her didn’t you?”
“Not enough to let her live after cheating on me.”
She sat down on his lap and kissed him on the cheek.
“I am surprised. How did you manage it?”
“Everyman has a cost. A label that says how much he will do anything for.”
“I paid her lover to kill her and her driver to kill him.”
“And the driver?”
“I will take care of him.”
“So what now?”
“Nothing. It is just you and me and the money.”
“Let me fix you a drink.”
“Take your robe off too. I don’t like purple too much.”
She went to the bar and poured him a drink. Quietly she muttered to herself.
“I am sorry darling. It’s just me and the money.”

Tuesday, June 02, 2009


She was 19. He was 23. He was standing there in front of her, his mind racing, his gothic self fuming. This had never happened before. It could not happen. He was in control. He was in control of his emotions, his future he told himself. He had done this before, to many beings and even to the same girl and yet somehow, he found himself questioning his priorities, the morals he had followed for the past ten years without derision. The naked woman no, the naked girl lying in front of him was no longer the object of speculation of his desire. She no longer appealed to him. He could do anything he wanted to do, anything at all, anything his deepest heart blades willed him too. And he could not even face her. He turned around, wobbly and shaken. How could this be happening? How could everything that had mattered to him for so long go against him? The stars on his chest and on his knees, the stars he had been so proud of the four stars that flaunted his mafia status had lost their plea. For the first time in nine years the night of 17th December flashed in his mind. It had been a cold summer night. He had witnessed his mother being killed by his father. And with the same dagger he had killed the demon of the man. He had thrust it in his heart with all his might and it had worked. That night his father’s friends whom he had betrayed, impressed by his endeavor had awarded him the stars. The blood on his hand was still fresh, his wounds still salting and his memory still raw. Thinking of his father infuriated him. He had been weak and so he had been slain by his own son. He wasn’t weak. He wasn’t like his father. He was strong. He could not be weak. He was next in line for the throne. He would not allow it. Such an act of immorality, of unmanliness would not go unnoticed and he did not intend to lose nine years of his hard work, of meticulous planning to a woman. He turned ready to face her, to uncurtain every realm of her body to explore her every facet, to conquer every realm of her life. She was unmoving, in a state of shock apparently. He checked her pulse. She was breathing. He stared into those dead lifeless eyes and saw nothing. The pain of last night, the fear when he had abducted her was all gone. All that remained was a lifeless mass of grey. Those smiling eyes had disappeared. He had done this to her. He was this strong. This powerful. Everything about her that had haunted his dreams was gone. All that remained was a mere tranquility. She was breathing softly, for a while he only looked at her, his eyes moving with her stomach as she inhaled life and exhaled bereavement. She was beautiful. Everything about her, her walk, her talk, her laugh, her smile was perfect. He had to have her. But he didn’t want this. He had wanted the girl in the alley that night. The girl with those smiling eyes, that broken front tooth, those long slender fingers, those shapely legs. How could this have happened? He had killed what he had admired. She did not deserve it and neither did he deserve her. There was a knock on the door. It was Krillin, his right hand man.

“Exhausted aye?”

“No I was just admiring her beauty.”

“Ha acceptable. Every man loves a naked woman. I get a feeling in my genitals just looking at her.”

“You should know you wouldn’t have her.”

“Oh she is yours senor`. I am just a driver. ” saying this he bowed out and smiled.

His position was in danger. She wasn’t important. He had been seen with her now. He looked into the mirror and realized how dark it was. The dim greys of the night had enveloped the cream walls to give a blend of brown as dull as the morning sky without the sun. She wasn’t bound. He had not wanted to destroy that beautiful body. He had never wanted to annihilate her in the way he already had. He had always achieved what he had desired, taken without grant what he deserved and he wouldn’t stop now. He climbed the table. Once again he was captivated by the eyes, he couldn’t keep from looking. He couldn’t resist the serenity they shrouded to his life like the clouds to the earth. He kissed her on the lips. She did not flinch. She did not move. She did not blink. She did not take a heavy breath. She just existed. Even after all he had done, they tasted sweet. They were soft, a little dry and mushy. He kissed her on the eyes. On the nose. On the ears. Kissed those fingers. He wanted her to love him like all the other women in his life. She couldn’t. She wouldn’t. He slowly, excruciatingly, longingly made love to her. He raped her.

The next morning dawned cloudy. The gods had anticipated well. It was gonna rain. He stepped out into the wind and closed his eyes. He had thought about it all night. He had been wrong. With the one card he had left, he would go for the kill. A single tear glided down his juvenile face and fell to the ground. It reminded him of himself. Alone. Lonely. He went inside. She was still there rooted on the table, eyes closed, unconscious. He clothed her with what he had and took out his dagger and waited. She was awake now. He showed it to her and put it in her right pocket. She passed out. If he died and she wished to protect herself…He picked her up and took her outside to his car. He was about to drive out when Krillin showed up. Senor I am afraid I am gonna have to stop you. I am your boss. Go. Tell them you saw nothing. No senor, stop what you are doing. Krillin, I request you. Leave now and we will remain friends till both of us live. Senor, you broke my friendship the moment you decided to go against the law. I made them Krillin. You are not above them. I am gonna…he couldn’t complete the sentence; there was a bullet in his head. As it is he knew what he was going to say. He drove through the gates as if nothing had happened. A few miles on, he trashed the car and burnt it. He stole a truck, settled her in the back and drove west heading out of Russia. He stopped at a gas pump to refuel. There was a supermarket nearby. She would be hungry. She hadn’t had proper food in a week. He bought as much as could be required and headed back. He opened the back door and went close to her. Here I brought you food. She was sitting up, trying to cover herself with the blanket that had been lying there. He took another step closer, bent down and put his hand on her shoulder. In the blink of an eye shining metal pierced his heart dragging the life out of him.

Wednesday, May 27, 2009

The Last local to Lahore

In the beautiful valleys of Kashmir a war was raging. Children were dying, women were being raped and men were being slaughtered. The state of P.O.K was in tatters. The perfect abattoir as the journalists had termed it. The clock struck nine. The last local to Lahore was at heels. His taxi had delayed him. The train started moving denying him his last outburst of freedom. He caught up to it just before it was too late. He was huffing and puffing like the wolf in the pig story. Life was taking its toll on him. He was forty three and growing older every day. He wasn’t really fat but yes he sported a few extra pounds in a display of health and wealth though he had neither. What he did have though, was the unmistakable air of a journalist. A satisfied journalist, one with a coup and rightly so, his hard work had finally paid off. His name was going to be on the first page the day he reached Lahore. The schedule promised him his destiny the next afternoon but in Pakistan you never know. You could be snatched from your doorstep and discarded to the same deadly spot beheaded. You could lie down to sleep and never wake up. You could be a millionaire today and broke tomorrow. This is Pakistan, the refuge to all militants, even those too old to know their own tricks. But he wasn’t afraid. He was old, chubby and Muslim. He was safe all right. His name was Khaled, Khaled Mahmud and within a couple of days the whole world would know his name. It was going to be a long night. The coach was almost empty bar a teenage girl and her husband or maybe boyfriend, most probably the latter; he hadn’t seen a ring on the girl’s finger. The man on the other hand, had rings on every finger except the one that really mattered. Then there were a couple of uniformed adults playing cards. He could think of them as soldiers as well but half the country was in uniforms. He could do with company so he joined them. They talked for a while one of them a self esteemed war hero as he declared, who couldn’t keep his mouth shut and the other a comparatively silent type who put in a couple of words here and there. The war hero drunk as he droned on about the prostitutes they had met.
He got bored pretty soon so called in a night and went under the blankets. In a couple of hours the soldiers were dead to the world snoring like sick horses. Being a proper full-fledged journalist he never slept. Even when his eyes were closed his ears were open and that was what finally ruined him. Poor thing he was going to pay dearly…
At about two his ears cocked up again someone was weeping, not really loudly but in the silent glow of the night the sound was unmistakable the agony undeniable, you just couldn’t miss it.
For a while he ignored it, crying infants and women, even men were not new to him. But then you can’t really restrain a roving eye and a journalist always wants answers.
He left the supple and warm shelter of his bedding heading towards the source of the pain. The teenage girl was the culprit, obviously she had been dumped. The man was no where around. This was his chance to use to girl. But then what if the man was still there? He didn’t want to pick a random fight with that giant of a man. He kept walking and checked the bathrooms and slowly the whole train all the time stealthy without such as a sound. It was a mere three coaches and there were no other occupants bar a filthy old rag tramp. When he finally returned to the girl with growing fantasies she wasn’t there. He checked his own coach. He couldn’t really see anything, it was pitch dark but he could make out their bodies. The snoring was gone though. Where could the girl go?
His lustful interior was giving way and fear enveloped him, anxiety finally revealed its presence and now the true journalist was alive again. If something was going on here, it could be his second coup; he would demand a raise, a Mercedes and of course promotion. He started walking opposite to the side he came from. His journalist mind told him to lie low but the thought of a double coup he lavished, just a little more spoofing, a little more work, just a little. The temptation was too great.
He was on the last coach and had lost hope. She was nowhere to be found. He had almost given up when the sniveling started again. It was very close to him, definitely in the same compartment. He found her hiding beneath a berth. He tried to talk to her, but she wouldn’t listen. Whatever he said, she just cried and ignored him as if he just wasn’t there. When she had finally stopped crying, he was stunned at her reaction. Instead of being relieved as he had hoped for, her eyes had nearly popped out of her head. She had been shocked, had stared at him with her eyes wide open and then without a word broken down again. He tried again to console her, tried real hard to get her to give but nothing worked.
He left her to her being and walked away annoyed and irritated. She could cry as much as she wanted, why should he care? He opened one of the doors and tried smoking a cigarette; it was his last so he intended to enjoy it. The dark sceneries trailed across, a hint of solitude and abandonment filling them with different shades of greys rather than the customary yellows that normally haunt a night. He could finally retire, if he wished, he would come back again, but not before he had tasted the colours and contours of the life he thought he deserved. His last cigarette finally ran out as the train was curving over a bridge. Time to get a wink of sleep, he had to be fresh the next morning, he had to write the prologue of his new found happy life. As he turned around, thinking of the beaches he had never been to, the scantily clad women, the beers and the money, he was amazed to find the slut behind her again.
She was smiling.
“Done with your crying?”
“Not yet.”
“Then leave I need to sleep.”
“Kiss me.”
In a matter of seconds she was onto him, her craving erasing his every thought, her warmth sealing his fears, he had wanted this for so long; it had been a long time…as he felt her wet lips on his own he gave way to the rising need in him…
The next day the morning newspaper had a small corner for him on the second page. His newspaper read
“Bloodshed on Lahore Local ….”
Early last morning four bodies were found on the Lahore local in what appeared to be a killing spree. One of the victims was identified as Khaled Mahmud, a famous reporter who was due to be retired this spring. Two other dead were identified as junior army infantry. The reporter had died due to multiple stab wounds in the chest and stomach. Another body with the same pattern of stabs was found hidden in the same compartment. The victim is yet to be identified. The other two had slashed necks and had apparently been killed in their sleep. The police have no clue what so ever regarding the killer. For now militants are being held responsible for the cruel act…

Saturday, May 23, 2009

Whispering Statues

The early morning sun was shining brightly. The trees were swaying in the rough wind like the delicate feather of a bird new to the world fluttering in the sky trying incessantly to fly. The tiniest of bugs were still sleeping merrily, their young ones awake inside their eggs waiting for the call of Mother Nature. Somewhere in the midst of all this, sitting under the mango tree was a young boy, eyes closed, in silent prayer for his loved ones, praying for their well being, their peace of mind, dwelling in a state of constant calmness that can come only through holiness and purity of spirit and soul. He never moved and remained as constant and unchanging as the North Star, only more lifeless and yet in a weird distant way full of life.
A little girl was observing him from a distance, hoping he would move for her, only open an eye if nothing else. He never moved, just sat there forever staring at her. His eyes were closed, yet she knew he looked at her, she just did. She had shouted at him, hoping that he would move, but he never had. Now she had to know. She was the princess. Why couldn’t he move for her?
She ran to her mother, crying.
Mama he wouldn’t budge, he just won’t.
Who wouldn’t budge my darling?
That boy in the garden, I want him to dance and he won’t move.
Well he can’t do that.
Why not?
Come let me show you why.
She took her outside and stood right in front of him.
Come princess let’s make him move.
He will?
I don’t know, let’s try.
She slowly came close and hid behind her mother.
Mum tell him to run away, I am scared.
Now, now darling, don’t be scared, he only wants to be friends.
I can’t.
Why not?
He will bite me.
No he won’t, he knows you only want to be friends.
How does he know, his eyes are closed, how does he know I am me and not one of those Daakus you told me about.
Oh he does, don’t worry about that. Go on.
So he won’t bite me?
Nope…apparently he has better things to do.
Go on now be friends with him, shake his hand.
But his hands are behind his head.
Oh come on touch him anywhere.
He won’t mind?
She slowly took a step closer still fear borne, moved a finger close to his leg and brought it back in the wink of an eye.
He is cold.
He is made of something hard.
Yes my love…
How did he come here? Where did he come from?
Don’t you like him?
No…I mean yes I do but…
Then why ask? Anyways now that you have asked, I made him.
No…I am joking.
Mommie…What’s his name?
I think its Costa.
What type of a name is that?
Well different people have different names.
You knew him?
Yes, he lived next door a long time ago.
Where did he go?
Oh he left…
Mom do these statues whisper at night?
No, why do you ask?
Last night when I came here from grandpa’s house and you were a little late, I could hear them talking.
Yes and they were talking about some witch…
Yes must be the witch who takes little girls away then…she becomes their friend and then kills them right?
No…there is no such thing.
How do you know that?
Mommie you are scaring me…
It’s ok to be scared…Come I will show you around. Want to meet Rico?
Who is that?
He is in the other garden, the one you haven’t seen yet.
After an hour or so, both mother and child sat down to have breakfast.
Mom did you make all those statues?
Mom why did you make all those statues?
Well mostly because I love children and second because they wanted me too.
So you knew all of them?
Yes they were my friends.
So where are they now?
Well they are scattered all over the big garden that we live in.
So you will make one for me too?
Of course…but what do you want me to make?
One of your dolls?
No…they are childish.
Oh they are childish…
Then, you soldier?
No make me…
Don’t ask me to do that.
Why not I am your princess…please….
I can’t.
Why not?
Because then you will have to miss school tomorrow and after that and after that.
I hate it anyway. The teacher shouts and everyone cry all day.
Is it that bad? I had no idea! Ok dear I will make one, but tomorrow and not of you. Now you go to school. Your bus will be here soon…let’s get you ready.
Thank you mommy…
That night…
Mom how do you make your statues?
Oh it’s easy dear; I just add water to plaster of Paris and set it on the cast.
What’s plaster of Paris?
It’s like cement.
What’s cement?
Cement is something used to make houses.
What is cast?
Well it’s the main body. Like suppose I have to make the statue of the doll, I will take your doll, put P.O.P around it and take it out later.
Oh so you are gonna put it on me?
Mom, can I ask you something?
Yes beta you have been all day, one more won’t hurt.
How did you start making statues?
Well a long time ago, when mom was your age, maybe a little more, she used to go out with a boy called Jack.
He was your boyfriend?
Sure was.
You kissed him?
Hmm I did.
Is it ok if I kiss?

Well maybe but not now, I will tell you when you can start kissing.
Ok…what after that?
Well we grew up, and he proposed and we married.
So you lived happily ever after?
No afraid not. One day he told me he was going and then I couldn’t take it.
Where was he going?
I don’t know, he was just leaving me, he said he was tired of me and he would leave the next morning. I was going to tell him I was pregnant and then this, so I put him off to sleep. We lived near a cement factory then so I made his statue with cement itself in the night when he was sleeping.
So he didn’t leave after that?
No, he loved the statue so much he stayed.
So you are going to make a statue of me too?
For you yes, you no.
Mom but you said in the morning…
I said I will make you one…but not you.
Please make me mom.
No baby, I can make one for you that’s all. I can make one of anything you want absolutely anything but not you.
Mom…I don’t want you to make anything else, just make me.
Why you?
Mom….you promised you would never say no to me.
I will think about it little girl.
Mommy please
I don’t want to, I would love to but yet I don’t want to. You are my own daughter, not you at least.
Why not?
You are special my love.
But you love me don’t you?
I do and that is why I can’t.
I can’t love I can’t.
Mommy…you can’t make a statue for your little princess?
Love I can but…
Mommy please I beg you please…please …please…
Her eyes were wet…ok my love…I promised I won’t ever say no to you.
Mommy I love you so much.
The next morning, an old man came to her garden.
Hello there lady, I heard you sell statues?
You heard right old man.
Who is that little girl over there?
Nobody, the P.O.P is still wet on her and she is not on sale…
Is there anything I can buy?
Sure…anything but that.
Do you make them on special order?
I would like to make you to make one for me… I can pay you all you want.
You can’t pay me once I finish it.

Tuesday, April 21, 2009

Wanna Dance

I stood across the dance floor staring at her. All my friends had found girls and deserted me to the slow poison called liquor. She stared back. She too I had noticed had come with friends but there was something about the way she stared…it wasn’t right. She was smiling though, enjoying the music silently and humming the tune. I on the other hand the true sport that I was, danced alone. I had had my offers to dance for the day but I guess my heart wasn’t in for just another dance. My friends waved mockingly behind their dates’ backs. The whisky was doing its trick; I couldn’t stop, I drunk till I couldn’t drink anymore. Then in the trance of alcohol hypnotized by the music I walked up to her.
For a while I didn’t know what to say. Her smile was fading. Without a thought I said
“Wanna dance?”
Now the smile was completely gone, she wasn’t even looking at me. To say the least she was confused.
“I don’t know.”
“Come on what can possibly go wrong?”
I could see she was thinking about it.
“You sure? You seem drunk!”
“Yup I am!”
Precisely at that instant on public request (as I gathered later) pop was given a rest and a slow romantic tune started playing.
“Come on!”
Vaguely pleased she got up. That was all I needed.
Holding her hand I guided her to the dance floor. With her hands on my shoulders, mine on her hips we started dancing.
Slow and steady
She started talking but I guess I was too intoxicated to listen. I could hear her voice. It was sweet and melancholy but I couldn’t understand a word she was saying.
“I am sorry, I can’t hear you. Can we talk later?”
My eyes were on the verge of closing so I couldn’t read her face but she kept dancing so I presumed she didn’t mind.
For a while we swayed on the spot like the trees sway in the wind. I could feel her breath on my shoulder, eyes closed mind at peace, brain-dead it was one of the best moments of my solitary life. The pace of the music was raised just a little. Lazily I opened one eye just to look at her. God she was beautiful. Nice bread brown eyes sensual lips chubby cheeks ….cutie pie. She was a head shorter than me but I guess the heels made up for that. For the first time I noticed, we were alone on the dance floor. Everyone was watching mesmerized. By now my eyes were wide open I looked at everybody reading their minds. I am a master at that. Reading those momentary expressions normal people miss. So I had sensed what was happening, me dancing with a girl everyone barring my envious cursing friends surprised and her friends shock stricken. Yet I wasn’t unnerved the happiness of the being in front of me was too great. Matching the pace of the rhythm we started moving. She was a little wrong footed initially but as she got as caught up in the flow as I was our bodies moved like one single being gracefully and magnificently. In the glow of the night I whispered
“You dance quite well.”
For a tiny instant she met my eyes and I knew she was as taken by me as I was by her. Somehow she muttered thanks. Her name was Alice. When we finally broke up I can’t explain how unhappy I was as if something inside me had died. As she started walking away the only thing that came up from my heart to my mouth was
“Will you come again tomorrow?”
She turned for a moment obviously delighted and then stood there. The blissful aroma surrounding her was lost and out of the blue she was on the verge of tears. Her friends came rushing around her hugging her consoling her. I was flabbergasted. What was going on?
In my pitiable drunken state I still hadn’t realized that the girl I had shared the finest moments of my existence with was blind.

Sunday, March 22, 2009

The NighT B4 mah WedD1ng

The sun blazes down at me from the sky above. It’s a very pleasant morning and I am due to be married today. And again I have a confession to make to my beloved. She is lying in front of me eyes closed sleeping merrily peacefully after who knows how long. She made a confession yesterday. It went on like this.
We had just made love but she seemed lost. After a year of her I could tell her every mood, list all her different smiles and knew her better than her herself as she liked to put it. But there was one thing about her that she hadn’t told me and that she said yesterday.
“Love I want to tell you something.”
“Hmm….I am listening, girl.”
“Promise me that you won’t be angry.”
“I won’t sugar.
“If you do get angry which I am sure you will then I won’t ask you to marry me.”
“I will marry you even if I were to die.”
“Don’t say that.”
“Then tell me what’s wrong.”
“Nothing is wrong maybe it is, and it is just that well…I don’t know how to say it but if you are to marry me which you definitely won’t, then you should know.”
“I would prefer to die rather than walk on our wedding day. Come on say it. I can guarantee it won’t be new to me.”
“It is.”
“Accepted! Guilty charged. Now spill the beans will you?”
“It is that um…uh…I am a prostitute.”
I couldn’t help laughing…but then I couldn’t help have a sinking feeling which her face confirmed.
“That isn’t funny. You are marrying me tomorrow, rather today its midnight already.”
“I am not kidding. That’s precisely why I never told you about my past.”
Silence maneuvered over us for a moment steering us to eye talk.
When she did manage to finally make me believe that what she was saying was true I wasn’t really shocked.
Maybe a bit surprised that she was telling me.
“So you are not lying.”
“Afraid not. No.”
“You want to talk about it?”
“Yeah, if you don’t want to marry me it is fine, I understand.”
“Not the marriage, the past. Let me hear you out. Tell me everything about your past, now please.”
“You aren’t angry.”
“No baby I am not but you are sad and I can see that.”
“Tell me everything right now.”
“I don’t know.”
“Lady I am marrying you tomorrow, I gotta know if I am right.”
“I don’t know, there are things that I don’t think I should tell you, my past is not exactly a future a girl can dream of.”
“You lived it. Now let me burn in it.”
“You sure?”
“Couldn’t have been surer.”
“Yup…starting the day you were born and I was posted my lover.”
A smile finally and she started what I am going to end.
“I was born on 20th April 1993.”
“It was the worst day of life for both my parents.”
“Yeah that hurts alright.”
“My mother was like me, a whore. My father was a millionaire so he made her his mistress.”
“They had met in a bar where mom had been dancing and from there on…you know…”
“My dad was in the late forties, as for my mom she was barely twenty.”
“Nine months later, I was born.”
“Shaun I am sorry I should have told you earlier.”
“You are telling me now, go on.”
“Well it went on from there. Dad paid for my studies, for mom’s designer clothes and so on…”
“They were both sorry that it had happened but for some goddamn reason they kept me.”
Saying this she started crying.
Right now she needed my touch, words of consolation. But I didn’t know whether I should tell her to stop. I was acting selfish and I was very much aware of it more than even she was but I wanted to know if she really loved me and there was only one way of doing that.
I sat impatiently waiting for the tears to stop, I didn’t know whether they were crocodile or not but I really wanted to hug her tell her I was there but what if she was going to betray me?I didn’t want to be a heart bleed drunk for the rest of my life.
It is tough painful in fact to see the one you love more than your life being tried in the court of insanity in front of you. I didn’t want to hear anything else except that she loved me but I needed to I don’t know why, something inside me was tending to squash her choke her but the bigger part was crying his voice out. An utter state of misery and torture. I think I now understand those people in the movies who watch their own die.
Eventually the tears dried out and she continued.
“I was nine when I saw my father alive for the last time. The next time I saw him an hour later he was dead. School had been closed for some reason. When his chauffeur picked me up from school he was his normal self all fixed portrait smiles and no words. When I entered the main bedroom at home it was a mess. Things were lying scattered here and there but the thing that caught my eye was his body. Mom had picked a job somewhere and would be coming home late. At the site of his body my heart fell apart however he was, good or bad he was my father. I cried all day and all night. Mom never came back from her job, god knows what it was. My mom’s friends took me in. Dad had left me nothing. Poor thing, apparently he had died without making a will. All his millions went into some charity fund. Well that’s what the lawyer who came the next day said. He knew about us of course, dad trusted him with his life. Later we came to know through the newspaper that the lawyer had played dad and all his savings, assets, property had been seized by some bloody politicians in the name of income tax. The people that took me in were bar dancers and strippers, all of them working in my mom’s bar. They managed me but didn’t have enough to take me through school. I had to drop in tenth. They called tutors whenever they could but all of them turned out to be hopeless, just trying to earn cash. I was growing into my teenage.”
“My daily expenses were increasing.”
“I don’t remember when I started but one day a guy in the bar approached me and said”
”I will pay you fifty dollars an hour”.
“The thought of that kind of money mesmerized me and won me over. I wouldn’t have agreed but the ongoing rate at that time was ten so at the thought of my aunt’s, I obliged.”
“Most of my time, my teenage had been spent in that bar so I knew how to do what. I knew what excited men. From there on I became a stripper and then slowly a prostitute.”
“Initially the money was good and I had accepted my fate but then you came and I didn’t know what to do, I started having colorful dreams again.”
“The way you looked at me that day when we first met, I could kill for that.
You didn’t make me feel like a whore. You made me feel like a woman. I love you for that and always will even if you don’t marry me.”
And of course the day you proposed, naked in bed showing me a ring.
“Shaun the time I spent with you was the best of my life and will always be. Thank you for that. I think I should leave now.”
“What now? Where will you go?”
“I don’t know. I got fifty dollars on me so that’s a start I guess.”
“What about a date?”
“Excuse me? A date?”
“Oh come on, just the one.”
“Anything for you! Even if for one last time!”
“Our last date! And yeah a pretty long one for that matter says…uh…um…forever.”
“Till forever of course…”
She was stunned to say the least.
Well I guess naked in bed again as the last time and she liked that so what the hell, I thought. I am going to propose again.
“Girlie, will you marry me?”
“Well I have already given you the ring so will a kiss do?”
“And of course one large party with lots of vodkas and beers…”
“I know everything now at least and I still wanna marry you.”
“You do?”
“Yeah and I always will.”
“And I am sorry that I doubted you.”
We made love again then and it had been the best night of our life. She has woken up smiling into the daylight streaming like the red in the rose and now it’s time for my confession.
One dreary eye opened with love…
“Shaun I love you.”
“Yeah…say it fast, I am dreaming of loving you… ”
“I have a confession to make…”
“Is it as bad as mine?”
She put a sleepy arm around me and smiled. The smile on her face will keep me alive forever.

Saturday, March 21, 2009


I wanna runaway

Somewhere far far away
Where life is not grey,
Where it doesn’t rain pain everyday
Where trouble stays at bay,
And where there is a ray
That can make me say
Everything is fine everyday

I wanna runaway

To someplace nice
Where I can eat fish and rice
Without the fear of mice,
Where love doesn’t come at a price
And where life doesn’t grip you in a vice
And where happiness will suffice
For people to be nice

I wanna runaway

To a new place
Away from this rat race
Where money is a craze,
Where people have lost their grace
And veiled even their face

I wanna runaway

To somewhere
Where I can stay bare
And yet become a pair
Where people care
But such a place is rare
So I better not dare….

I wish I could runaway….
I so wish I could runaway…