Dim - Toast

It had rained dark grey last night. The skies had rumbled in appreciation as the drops had lashed on the glass panes. They bear scars still. Faint trails of where drops must have slid of to their deaths. I smiled slightly at a distance. Then controlled myself. The person sitting beside me on the bus was eyeing me curiously. I raised one eyebrow in an attempt to bring some seriousness back to my face and continued reading my book.

The bus was moving in a lulling pace. Most people were nodding off. The conductor was failing hard in attempting to control his temper. He had to ask everyone for the fare twice. I smiled sympathetically at him when he asked for mine. His face softened immediately. I gave myself a mental high-five before thanking him and counting the change.

I stepped off the bus and felt the ground beneath me growl a little. Must be a tram nearby. I didn't hear the bells though. Must be hallucinating. I tugged my earphones in and started walking again and kept my eyes on the ground while I took the footpath. I liked walking that way. It's a little game I like playing with myself. Predicting the movements of people around me. Try maintaining some distance from them their shadows. Before I knew, I had reached my destination. A warm smile greeted me.

"Dim-Toast", she said out loud. Smiling at me. "The rains aren't doing us any favour, are they? It's still boiling hot", she said while wiping drops of perspiration from her face using her pallu. She came from behind the little table where she was standing and started pulling a bench for me. I noticed that she was trying hard to keep it in much shade as possible. I intervened, "I am not feeling too hot. Let it be". She smiled again and went on to light the stove on the table.

Her husband appeared sheepishly a few minutes later and mumbled some apologetic words to her. She was trying to be angry with him but failing miserably. He had a playful smile on his face, he knew she would understand why he was not around. She tried saying gruffly to him, "You are never in sight whenever it's necessary, Didi is getting late for office. Hurry up." He looked at me and smiled and without a word started by picking a couple of eggs from a carton. I opened my newspaper and smiled wryly at the news on the front page.

I could hear the oil simmering and waited for the exact moment when the eggs would hit the pan and the delicious smell would waft to me. It did. Just as every time. I looked up and saw the man cutting vegetables religiously while she was washing some dishes. He put some bread on the half made egg now and I could feel my mouth water.

She handed him a dish and he deftly put the toast on the plate. He then started garnishing it with some pepper. In just the exact amount that I liked. I smiled at him widely while I took the plate for him. He spoke up finally, "You did not come for two days." I looked down. Almost guilty. She answered for me. Thankfully. "That's not a nice thing to say to anyone. Didi doesn't like eating the same thing everyday, isn't it right?", she looked at me. I nodded. "I got late the other day, so did not have time to stop by". An explanation was not exactly required of me. But I still did. Not knowing the reason why.

I wolfed down my breakfast in minimum time. They looked at me. Both of them. Satisfied that I have enjoyed the meal. I handed the plate back to them and paid them the money. Then stood up dusting my pants. It was getting late.

I sighed and started walking towards office. 

New Year!

She tried capturing me between the threads of his sleeve and her fist. If only she knew, even if I want to, I cannot stop. I must pass. I must go.

He estimated me by looking into his watch. He did not have much of me left. He cursed me. I felt bad. I always do. I can't help it, can I? I stop for none.

She thought she was successful when he dropped his bag on the floor, and enveloped his free hand around her waist. He, for a moment thought he had me. I was running out.

Somewhere a giant clock struck. I like clocks and watches. When people tend to forget me, they have their ways of reminding everyone of me again.

Both of them stood watching the sky. It was ablaze with a thousand lights. People were celebrating my passing and welcoming me again. They call it dawning of a ‘New Year’. It's weird that to suit their own selves, they have bound me in units…all so to blissfully turn a blind eye. They pretend that they don't know that I slip through the crevices of their stretched fingers even when they sleep.

He looked at his watch once again. He must go. He cursed me again and looked down at her. Her face glowed against the night. The cold breathing against her cheeks. He was determined to steal a little of me. Their lips met. For a moment even I thought that this is it, this is when I have the permission to stop.

Golden Days with Lemon Sun!

I will not deceive you and say, that
I never wished for balmy summer nights
To stay. Yet, My Love,
Golden days with lemon sun
Are what my tunes really yearn;
When your coffee skin glistens like
fresh silt, kissed by the fickle brine,
and the horizon envious of the sight
treacherously does with the real entwine!
But Oh Lovely One! I swear, I swear
I had then heard the night bird sing
Weaving tunes off salty breeze, that
once had sighed against cities at seize;
Perched up on the highest tower,
Ignorant of its beauty, as a sinful flower!
I will still not deceive you and say, that
I never wished for balmy summer nights
To stay. Yet,  My Love
Golden days with lemon sun
Are what my tunes really yearn; 

Fate of Ideas

As she stood at the edge of the parapet that evening, she was reminded of the day she first realized how beautiful the city looked at night. Back then it was less congested and the glittering city lights, an almost reflection of the night sky above. She still remembered how light the air was, and how it used to fan her baby curls, flying away with her even lighter spirit.

She pushed her coffee cup off the edge and saw it diminishing to as small as a pebble. A shiver ran down her spine as she heard it shatter against the pavement. The last bit of coffee must have trickled down its sides like blood. A sign board glowed back to life somewhere in the distance. It’s late, she thought.

The pages of her journal trembled in the warm summer breeze. She sat down beside it, her legs aware of the several feet of nothingness just a toe away. Picking it up, she leafed through it carelessly with her ink smudged fingers. Sighing, she picked up the pen again.

a heir-less billionaire, a parched rose, some forgotten words, his limitless eyes 

She struck of each of the images in her mind as she scribbled out their description. They were not images exactly. They were flashes that felt like former life. 

She could swear her life that she has almost seen that billionaire sitting in a park quietly, watch kids play, his Armani picking up a little dust from the bench, his eyes a pool of fulfilled dreams that somehow kept inching into nightmares...

Not just that, she could feel her fingers crush the parched petals of the rose, its light fragrance wafting along, while she had felt a thousand hearts cry...

Also those words that never came back no matter what, words that she had stumbled upon she didn't remember where...

And his eyes, she traced them every day, with one paint brush tucked in her bun and the other frantically stroking the canvas, those lashes were thick and more importantly, that shade of brown with a hint of caramel and honey was almost impossible to recreate, she would still toil for hours, failing, failing everyday...

Someone trampled the cup under their feet. It took its last breath. She let a lone tear slip through her lashes. It was a gift from him... on her 21^st....

Stage and Beyond

The wind strummed against the dark sky,

A faint sigh knocked at a seat near by
I shunned the voices inside my head,

and blinked at the dark stage instead.

The curtains were pulled away

Masks were discarded at bay;

Blurred movements indicated tremendous strife
Whilst dark figures somehow assured of a hopeful life!

Hiding behind all the chaos

Stood a little boy amazed and lost,

Yearning to be home again

Yet somehow not alien to the pain.

Taking a step forward, against my heart

I could hear the fight had been taken apart,

A pair of brown pools gulped me down now

The stage melted, it had taken it's last vow.

He

His voice trembled like violin notes
Floating across buried civilizations
Gliding along ancient weary brooks
Within whispers of heavy wind

His presence the essence of old earth
Of messages preserved in a bottle
By lives of cold and dark winters
That golden warm skies never knew

His scent like moonlight on my skin
Of wild flowers and turbulent tides
That lingers in autumn night air
Whispering stories of hopeful sighs

His eyes sang of shadows and light
Soaked in sorrows of delight
Drowning moments old and new
Painting my existence with a crimson hue!

The Fault in their Stars

He would sneak moments of deep breath as his sun burnt arms would break through the placid cool waters in sweltering summer afternoons, the cotton clouds would smile down on him. They still did, except he could no longer scale the river like he could when he was young, or whirl a tornado of dust on the football ground while racing with the ball towards the goal. He still enjoyed his summer, Thank God, one didn't have to be young to have mangoes!

Apu lay in front of him one her stomach, her hands resting her cheeks, she was pouring over some book. Her lips twitched in slight smile as she remained oblivious to the oppressive heat in the room. He felt proud and also jealous. That book must be something. He wished he could not have a care in the world, and could also hoist his frame aimlessly pouring over some print on the floor like his daughter did now. Her brows creased a bit, he frowned too.

Aparna? He called out with the voice he reserved just for her. She looked up. Adrija stared back at him. How could he ever forget those eyes. He remembered the very first time he had laid his eyes on them. They were angry, very angry.

They were one among the thousand pair of burning eyes in a rally protesting the encounter of some young student in the university. The police had declared him a Naxalite and that somehow gave them the permission to ruthlessly shoot him while he tried walking briskly along the same path that he crossed to reach his classes every morning. He was concerned too, but he could never bring himself to match the fervent voices of those who marched in the rally, who looked like their brother had been killed. Adrija was one them. Red with anger and the flush of walking from a long time, her olive skin glistened with sweat. He could not have helped but stared at her, she had felt his eyes on her too and had stared back. Angry first, although he could see a hint of fear creeping up in her stature, as if she was afraid of him. He had wanted to walk straight to her and reassure her. He had never wanted to protect anyone so badly.

They had married a few years later. They were different people. She had strong opinions about almost everything. She cared about the entire world. He did not like thinking about things that did not cross him. For him, what was more important was that he made the most out of what was available to him, and lead a comfortable life. But that had never stopped them from loving each other. They have found different worlds in each other. Worlds they had never thought existed. His was the blue sky, her's was it's turbulent crimson form. The day Aparna was born, their joy knew no bounds. The first thing the Doctor Dada had come out and said was, "She has her mother's eyes!"

He was brought back from the reverie with Apu tugging at his sleeve. He picked her up on his lap. She stared at him imploringly, as if she understood what he felt, which was astonishing as she was just 7. Yet all the times when he called her and said nothing in return  she had never been restless or impatient, she showed the patience of an old saint, staring at him, reassuring him. He kissed her on her cheeks, and held her lightly, he always took care while holding her, she seemed so fragile to him. Apu turned around and smiled at him. "Baba, What is the matter?", she asked innocently. "Nothing Shona", he said, reciprocating with a tired smile. "Let's go and watch the number of mangoes on the tree today? What say?", Aparna jumped out of his lap at the proposition, and almost dragged him out of the room. He looked back once before leaving the room, he always did, always with the hope that Adrija would be standing by the window, smiling at whatever enchanted her outside. She had the soul of a bird that always yearned for the sky outside. The room looked lifeless and stifling. Maybe Adrija had joined the birds, maybe she was flying somewhere with the wind, maybe she was trying to mend the fault in their stars!