As The Wheel Turns

--- 1 ---

An innocuous black pebble lying in the middle of the wilderness, still... deceptively still, as if devoid of any life. Life... suddenly stirs within. A barely discernable wobble, and then another. For a few moments the forest seems to go still and silent, life is stirring. A tiny crack appears, and then another. Soon the cracks fan out and the shell falls apart, but something's amiss. Forest holds its breath as a miracle unsheathes itself. Four wings unfold in all their majesty as the young one stretches its limbs. The moist wings catch a passing ray of sunlight as a young heart pumps blood to the tip of its veins. A myriad conflux of colors paints the ground beneath its wings. The young one tries to fan them, but fails. The forest finally exhales. Life resumes. The young one is hungry, but waits for wings to dry and be strong enough to fly. For now the young one must wait, and pray, for there is always a predator lurking nearby, in hunt for an easy prey. Fear, feeds a wave of strength, and chill. The young one looks up at the sun, trying to catch more of its warmth. It flaps it wings, once, twice, faster and faster. And soon the young one takes to air for the first time. Every beat of its wings fills it with boundless joy. It surveys the world below. Sun reflects of a pond, shimmering with every single ripple. A spot of bright pink invites the young one into its embrace. Hunger, more than beauty, compels the young one to descend into the comfort of the flower. It takes a deep breath of its fragrance as it rests on the edge of the outer petal, and prepares to descend. And suddenly the world goes dark.

--- 2 ---

The young one, perched comfortably on a hyacinth, rolls its tongue over in its mouth, savoring the taste as a small tuft of color sticking out of its mouth. As it swallows the last visible sign of its prey, it stares across the pond. A multitude of its own almost-mirror-images in varying sizes and shapes that consume his attention. It draws its knees closer to its face and then leaps. For a moment, it feels as if it’s flying, its tiny hands clenched in a fist and long legs stretching to maximum. And then it lands on a lotus leaf. Its heart beats a little faster as it takes another leap towards edge of the pond. It turns back to take another look at its kin, content in the pond and all that it offers, mosquitoes and small dragonflies. A fast diminishing clan falling prey to an unknown predator, yet reluctant to leave the safe haven. For it is the only world they has ever known. And then it turns to look what lies ahead of it. The edge of the pond, world beyond and one final leap. It wonders what is the myth, the world beyond the pond, or the fears that lurk within it. The final conflict, before the final leap. And just then, its eyes catch a myriad conflux of colors in the distance with broken remnants of empty cocoons scattered on the ground. The young one smiles as its stomach croaks louder than its throat ever has, as the taste of its last meal is reborn for a fleeting moment. And then it takes the final plunge. A big leap of the predator, a small step towards its preys. The young one crawls, slowly forward, as not to alert the unsuspecting prey. Cautious indeed, for in the world beyond the pond, there is always a predator lurking nearby, in hunt for an easy prey. A bright yellow wing stirs. The young one smiles and goes very still. Just then a cognitive chill runs down its spine and the young one freezes in its tracks, but not out of fear. And gradually, its world goes dark.

--- 3 ---

From a distance it looks like a frog buried upto its stomach in the ground. But then its forearms too disappear and all that is visible is its face, with a strange expression of fearless terror frozen forever, trapped in a prison of venomous fangs. The old one opens its mouth wider and takes the final gulp before its jaws snap shut. It smiles with contentment as it pushes the young prey down towards its famished intestine. A prayer of thanks fills its eyes as it looks heavenwards, towards the pond, the moth colony and then the sun. It takes a deep breath as the small prey comes to rest and the slow process of digestion begins. Just then a patch of cloud covers the sun. The old one sighs and starts to crawl away from the shadow, chasing the sun, ever so slowly. It thinks about its final days, and how it won't have to go hungry again, now that it has found a new perennial food source and no competitors to fight with. Or so it thought. It had hardly closed its eyes to begin its 30 hour hibernation when it felt tremors in the ground, soft but heavy. Panic gripped the old one as it tried to run, but in its final days even a young frog was too heavy a meal to let it escape easily. The old one prepared to regurgitate its meal, but it had only reached the base of its jaw when a heavy blow fell on its head and the world spun into darkness.

--- 4 ---

He keeps the inverted hook shape end of the crooked branch firmly planted on the head of the curly mass of flesh. He was afraid he might have hit too hard, but not. He loosens the hold ever so lightly as he just manages to notice the tiny yellow and green paw sticking out from its jaw. He smiles to himself as suddenly the reason for the weirdly shaped bump becomes clear, an interesting co-incidence. He waits till the young frog is lying on its back, frozen rigid, not sure if by fear or venom. Straightaway he scoops the by now still snake, too tired to escape, into the backpack and seals it tight shut. His dirt brown suede shoes turn around when a thought crosses his mind. He picks up the frog, definite marks of the fangs on its back. He lets out a grunt, almost a scream, and jumps back reflexively as the frog twitches in his palm. He stares at the frog for a few minutes, wondering if it was something he just imagined, if it was just a case of nerves. He decides to let the frog go, checks the backpack... just to be sure and starts walking back towards his camp, going through the plan in his head for the umpteenth time. As he walks, sun goes lower and lower in the western sky behind him, painting the forest in a bloody red glow. By the time he reaches the camp, Venus is not alone in the skies anymore. First thing he notices is the smell of pepper salt and frogs' innards boiling in the kettle. Frog stew, again. As if catching the smell in its tongue, the old snake in the backpack stirs restlessly. He wishes he had taken the frog and let the snake go, would have been much easier and simpler. But then, he convinces himself with the argument that frog may not be having enough venom in it if it was still alive. But was it? Rigor mortis? Anyhow, too late for that. He looks around; she is nowhere to be found. He goes into the tent, keeps the backpack somewhere it can be easily found and turns, suddenly. Foot steps. He feels an all too familiar feeling crawl up his spine. He holds the crooked branch tightly in his hand, cautiously treading out of the tent. Very cautiously, he casts aside the flap covering entrance a little and pokes his head out. A moment later he is lying on ground, face covered in his own blood, sky turning a darker shade of red with every passing moment.

--- 5 ---

She watches as the blood pools around his head, a dark halo, his face twitches and any attempt to talk only makes him spout even more blood all over his face. She goes down on one knee, runs her hand through his blood soaked hair, then face, singing a silent lullaby. A few indistinguishable words manage to escape his throat. Smile changes to frown and she plunges the corkscrew right into his thyroid. Then she starts searching his pockets, nothing. She stands up, biting her nails, eyes maniacally pacing around, but never losing sight of his stare, dead stare. She throws her scarf over his face, unnerved by his stare which seems to mock her even in death. She walks over to the check the pot boiling over fire, the stew is almost ready. She feels a pang of hunger and wonders if there are any frog legs leftover. Frog legs. She slaps her forehead with sudden realization. She looks around, but can't find it. She scampers over to the tent, almost tearing the flap down. And there it is, lying on the ground. She checks the front pocket of the backpack, a couple of dead frogs, stabbed right through the middle. She keeps them aside, last time she'll be eating frogs now. She picks up the backpack, it is heavy. Could it be? She opens it up and peeks inside, too dark to see. She holds the bag in her left hand and shoves the right one inside, fishing for _it_ and finds _it_. Her fingers clench around it, but there is something else too, she feels it stirring against her wrist. Few moments later she lets out a terrible scream of pain. She pulls out her hand and the moment she sees the old snake hanging on to her wrist by its fangs, fear finds its way into her scream. She shakes it off and runs, but stumbles. She tires to hand on to the fragile tent for support, it collapses down on her. She tries to crawl, and with each laborious step, world goes a shade darker. And soon it’s all dark.

---*---

A tired old snake crawls over a rotting corpse, then another. A small white egg, one of the hundreds, stirs slowly. Soon it is joined by many others as small white larvae, almost translucent, break free. They all join other worms, maggots and larvae of all sorts in the unexpected feast, a whole new habitat. A dark red caterpillar, almost the color of ebony, crawls away from the wide open stomach of one of the corpses. It makes its way across the blood laden soil, leaving a small trail behind. With every passing moment, it gets slower and slower. It finally finds a tree and crawls up to finally come to rest on underside of a branch. Tired, it prepares for its long rest and starts to weave its home for next few weeks. Incapacitated inside the dark red shell, the chrysalis, the caterpillar awaits its end, while a butterfly awaits its beginning. It awaits and prays that it may not fall, and if it does, any passerby may mistake it for a pebble or a rock. Yeah, pray it does for its all it can do.

There is always a predator lurking nearby, in hunt for an easy prey.

The Constant Gardener

The Constant Gardener

aka
The Magical Gardener
aka
The Silent Gardener

The little girl squinted upwards. The roar of thunder sounded as if the skies had a bad throat and were trying to clear it. Just then a big drop of rain fell into her right eye. "Ewe..." was the groan as the little mind put two and two together and connected sore throat, thunder and raindrops together... the very thought of sky spitting on her face was gross enough. But it was the muddy brown water splashed by a boy on a bicycle that made her twist her face in weird ways.

The sky was getting darker and rains heavy. Almost everyone else had left by now. She stood on edge of her toes to peek out from under the shelter of defunct bus-stop to spot the familiar metallic silver of her daddy's car around the corner. All she found was gray and brown. It was getting cold and she rubbed her own arms to keep herself warm. The whiff of ginger flavored tea tickled her nose. She turned her head as much to right as she could.

Steaming kettle on a fiery stove, tea boiling over, sending out enchanted wafts of bewitchment, promising comfort of mother's hug in every sip.

"Good kids don’t drink tea." Mama's words rang in her ear. Suddenly a pit made its presence felt in her stomach, growing with every warm gingerly breath that victoriously fought with cold air for right to run down the her nasal hallways. She turned her back towards the tea-stall and once again turned her gaze to the corner of the road.

The sight made her smile. It wasn't her dad's car, but the very same boy who had splashed water all over her school dress, walking back, dragging his bicycle along with him. He was waist deep in water. When the boy came near, she made it a point to display her delight at his plight. The boy gave her a stupid grin and moved on. Then he stopped and turned, saw her anxiously scanning the road.

"The road is flooded for as far as I could see, and could also see a few cars floating in water." And with those words he let out a satisfying smile and pedaled off into the clear roads.

Of course, she said to herself. That's why daddy couldn't send the driver. It gave her some comfort, but cold comfort. She suddenly realized that phones will not be working and she might be stuck here for a long long time. All kinds of monstrous thoughts started poking her mind. She put up rocky walls of defiance, but monsters were relentless. Dark clouds rumbled and brandished their silver sword of lightening. It had the effect. A small breach in the walls. And resistance began to flow, ever so slowly from tired eyes. Another thunder, and lightening, and the walls came crashing down.

Tears and rain ran down her face. She stood there shivering, eyes still transfixed on the corner of the road, which was getting blurry with every moment. Initially she tried to be brave and not cry too loudly, lest she catch the attention of scary looking men in the teashop. Finally she sat on her schoolbag, buried her head in her knees and let the tears flow.

A soft touch on back of her head ruffled her hair. "You'll be alright now, I am here." said the voice in her head. Was it a dream? No, if it were, it would have sounded like dad.

She looked up. The wrinkled, tired and muddy face of Buddha Baba stared back at her. Buddha Baba, old man, that's what she always called him. She liked calling him Goonga Baba, mute old man. But her father was very strict about not calling him that. He was the gardener who lived in the servant quarters and tended the huge garden that surrounded the officers' bungalow. Her dad treated him with a respect which really irritated her. Her dad was the Sahib ji and he was just one of the many servants. Normally she would have screamed and kicked if he had even called her by name. But now, the girl just got her first lesson in perspective and how powerful it is.

He was carrying a polythene sheet to shield himself from rain. He hoisted the little girl on his shoulders and wrapped the polythene around her. And then he walked towards the corner of the road. She sat in his shoulders, stiff and straight backed, holding on to her shoulders. Soon, the hand wrapped around his forehead and chin rested on his head as her eyes gave up the fight to stay open, what was there to see but brown water and gray skies?



I am floating on a soft white cloud. It moves at the command of my thoughts and carries me across the rainbow, into the land full of warm hot chocolate. I land near the tea garden. A hug sign outside says kids not allowed. An old man is in the garden, he asks me to come over and have some tea. He has mossy teeth and long clawed hands. The tea vines from the garden start to snake towards me. I run towards my white cloud, which is struggling to get across the river of milk to me. The vines are getting near, I can’t swim. But I have to get to my cloud. I am scared of jumping into the river as I know I will drown. The vines catch up with me. The old man in garden runs up to me and smiles at me. The vines snake around my ankles. "I got you now." he says. He takes a deep breath and lets out a deep roar and I fall into the river.



He sneezed and his knees almost gave away, water splashed onto little girl’s knees and she woke up from her dream, slightly disoriented. Water was beyond her ankles now, up to his neck. The sky had gotten even darker and rain was as relentless as ever. And then, she too sneezed. The polythene protected from water, not from cold. A frail but coarse hand caressed her cheek and then pointed somewhere ahead. She could see the bungalow. She was almost home.

*******

"What is this ma?" the little girl asked, staring into the strange brew swirling in her cup. She tried to decipher the aroma, but it was a strange one, she'd never had anything like this before. Thunder roared outside, it didn't seem so threatening from the comfort of her cozy Mickey Mouse blanket.

"It’s a kahwa"

"Ka---? kya?"

"Kahwa... like a tea." Those words made the little girl go wide eyed. "Yes, like a tea for kids when they catch cold."

"Why did you not give it to me before ma?" the little one asked as she took a sip of it. A strong honey flavor to it which, unknown to her masked the drab taste of a dozen herbs that went into it.

"Because...” said Ma as she pulled her into her lap, "I only got it yesterday. You know the story of the magical gardener?" Then she went on to tell her a magical story about a magician, who could harness the magic in plants and flowers.

He had a little daughter who died from a sickness, which his magic couldn't cure. He decided to spend all his life, knowing all that there was to know about magical plants and herbs. He talked to them to know what their qualities were, understood there problems and chose whom to marry to whom to ensure their kids have the magic of both of them. Slowly he found the cure of every disease known to man, and even the ones yet unknown. But the one that killed his daughter eluded him. The common cold. Then one day a little girl came to his garden. She reminded him of his own little daughter. He smiled at her, but she got scared and ran away. But unknown to little girl, there was some magic within her. Wherever her feet touched the garden's soil, it changed color. And it was from that soil that he managed to create a new plant, a new magical herb that could cure everything, even common cold.

"So you see, this kahwa is made from that magical herb that can cure everything. If it hadn't been for maali kaka, you would have been very sick. No doctor could come yesterday because of all the rains." Ma smiled at her daughter. She took a deep swig from her cup.

"Even if doctor had come, he would have given me a BIG injection." She was about to finish off the contents of her cup in one final swig when she suddenly stopped, as if spotted a fly in her soup. "Where is maali kaka ma?"

Maali kaka... this was the first time she had called him maali kaka.

"I don't know, haven't seen him since he gave the herbs yesterday. Must be in his quarters"

And in that moment mind was made. The moment mom got off the bed, she got down and ran for the door, barefooted. It was still raining outside. She sprinted across the garden.

*******

Ma ran, screaming and shouting after her errant daughter. When she reached the ajar door of servant quarters, she was panting from the exercise. She took a few deep breaths, trying to calm herself down, keep her anger in check... barely. But the moment she opened the door, all those deep breaths were knocked out in one swift stroke. She saw her little daughter's little hands wrapped around the cup as she carefully poured the not-so-steaming-anymore kahwa into mouth of the shivering old man on lying on the cot.

*******

"Then what happened ma?"

My little one asks me as she stares into the strange brew swirling in the cup in her hands.

"Then, maali kaka was cured, like magic and from that day onwards the little girl was always playing with him in the garden."

"And they lived happily ever after?"

"Ha ha ha ha..." I can't stop the laughter, "Yes they did." or the tears that sneakily follow as my eyes turn towards the window and catch the potted plant, occupying the central position in the small garden I have tried to come up with in our cramped apartment's balcony.

As I see my daughter finish up the kahwa, I think of many more tales to tell her. As everything around that little girl fell apart, one by one, over the years, he was the one constant in her life. Whether it was Ma and Daddy's divorce, Chhotu's death in a road accident, or my own failed first marriage, if one thing that was constant, it was the silent presence of maali kaka. The day I first went to college, he gave me that magical herb he had himself cultivated. He died a few weeks later, but to me he still lives. But those tales can wait, for some other day.

If he had a scientific education, he would have become a great bio-scientist. But now, he is much more. He was a magician. And he was always present, around me. Taking care of me, and my family. As I look at my daughter, am not sure of what future beholds for her, if I will be there for her or not. But there is one thing am sure of, maali kaka will always be there. He shall be hers, as he is mine...
silent,
magical,
eternal...

...Constant.

A Stranger

A Stranger

A Truth,
stranger than
A Fiction,
truer than
A Reality,
more fictitious than
An Imagination,
more real than
A Friend,
more imaginary than
A Stranger.

When truth is a stranger, real love ceases to be true, and true love is not real anymore.

When truth is a stranger, real love ceases to be true, and true love is not real anymore. This one of the many phrases that were swimming in and out of my head from the jumble of different words dropped in there like alphabet soup by fleeting glimpses of paperbacks whipped up all around me. Not that I mind it, the white noise was the perfect prelude to the deafening roar of the engines as the plane took off. Take off; the moment never fails to exhilarate me. There are very few experiences that every time thrill you like the first time, no matter how many times you've been through them before. In that moment, when your guts are almost pushed out of your back, all the chatter ceases. All you can hear is the roaring of the engines, and you're one with the plane, and everyone else in it. Try catching faces of fellow passengers, not so strangers anymore. Everyone, is holding their breath, waiting to exhale, metaphorically speaking.

As the plane prepares to land, after circling the airport umpteen times, I look out of the window. I see little matchboxes running down the highway and wonder, where they all are going to. I wonder, if anyone of them is looking up at the sky, the underbelly of the plane and wondering about the high flying strangers. I wonder, if anyone of them is wondering about me, the way I am wondering about them. Soon the plane lands and strangers come together once again, waiting to pick pieces of their lives off the belt. Unluckily, mine is first one and am on my way, unsaid goodbye to strangers I never knew. I catch a cab and as it drives down the highway, a plane passes overhead. I wonder, how many of them are coming home and how many running away from one. But most of all, I wonder, if any stranger up there is wondering about me the way I wonder about them? What if, someone in that plane right now is staring down at the top of my cab and thinking about me?

*******

"Told you, it would take at least two hours from the airport."

I try to sneak a look at the yellow post it which has become stuck to inside of my jacket before it becomes obvious I don’t even remember her name. I greet her, using her first name, which once upon a time would have surprised me. I try to locate her face, in the mail she mentioned she was in same school as me. I don’t even try to scrape away dust of all those years from her face to see if a familiar face is hidden within. Am just glad to have a place to stay for couple of days in this city.

I enter the living room of her apartment and first thing that hits me is... I haven't even exchanged any courtesies. Once upon a time would have been very unlike me, but now, I don’t even try to correct the situation. She also doesn’t mind, but goes on about the traffic problem. I look around, as she talks about the venue for my presentation and how early I will have to start to reach in time. Her demeanor is of one who is friend from a long time, or, someone who has attuned to monotony of a mechanical life and is in no mood to waste time in trifle obligations of social behavior. I am not sure which is a more comforting thought of two.

Pastel shades on the walls. Cubist paintings strive for wall space with fake Mayan relics. Tables and desks devoid of any furnishings save for a small photograph. I walk upto it, its her with a little girl, who must be her daughter... a certain memory stirs in back of my head, but not for long.

"I'm going for my run. There is the bathroom, the refrigerator is in the kitchen over there. If you feel hungry there is some pasta that you can microwave for now. In case you need anything else, don’t call me. You're smart enough to figure out on your own"

It’s only when she leaves that the sudden silence in the living room tells me how she been talking all the time. I go to the shower, water is too cold. I play around with the knobs to set the right temperature, not warm enough. SO I turn on the water heater and wait for sound of water bubbling.

Strawberry. Apricot. Peach. Pink. Blue. Translucent. Pearly white. Black. White. Cream. Black. Black. Red. Black.

The colors and flavors that you find in a woman's bathroom. Face wash, loofah, bodywash, shampoo, lingerie, towel, face pack, moisturizers, body lotions... similar colors, similar products, but different combinations found in different bathrooms. I take a deep breath. There is always an overpowering aroma, above all others. Peaches. I smile, could never have guessed. I pick up a magazine from the rack, put it back and pick another. Time, National Geographic, Forbes. I smile again. Just when I thought I'd figure her out, another curve ball comes my way. The water heater beeps. Nothing more comforting like hug of a warm shower to make you feel home, comforted.

*******

I drop on the couch in my T-Shirt and shorts, with over baked pasta in one hand and remote in another. Somehow I can't eat without some noise around me. I flipped channels for a news channel, not for new, but coz they feel as if someone is around, talking to you. I ignore the news and stare at the Mayan spear on the wall next to it as I take first spoonful of pasta, not bad. Just then the door rings. I open it without even checking for who it is.

Her gray sweat shirt is... well, full of sweat, more so around the underarms and can also see a outline of her breasts. She is panting, number on elevator tells me she took the stairs. She starts talking about the traffic on streets and a colleague of hers who comes for walks in her car the moment she comes in. Remote is still in my hand, I switch the TV off.

I turn around; she removes her shirt and throws it on the couch. I can see the scar on her stomach, caesarian and the stretch marks on the underside of her left breast which remind me very much of a photograph of Ulluru I once saw. I head for the couch and pick up my pasta once again. As she turns I see another scar just under her right shoulder blade. Deja vu. I burnt piece of cheese almost makes me throw up, but I shove it back. She goes to the bathroom. I head for the kitchen, to grab myself some orange soda, nothing washes down taste of burnt food better. When I come out, she is in the living room, putting on another sweat shirt, rusty shade of red, her back to me. I poke the paste for any more traces of burnt cheese and the moment I look up she turns around suddenly and...

Time stands still. Inches away, my nose form her forehead. I see the bleached hair on her upper lip stand on their ends. I become aware of a shivering chill running down my arm. We both hold her breath. She is looking down, not talking anymore. We can hear our hearts beat, even as sounds of next door kids entering the elevator try to drown them. I feel my guts pushed to the very end of my back, and somehow know it’s same with her. Somehow, in that moment we're one, both of us, waiting to exhale.

And then she looks up, straight into my eyes.

Stop!

[ The End ]

Monster In The Park

Monster In The Park

"Hey shorty, go get the ball."

This was the easy way out for all the big boys. They started to grumble about the heat and how difficult it was to field and bowl in such tiring conditions.

The little boy turned to look at the garbage dump at the north western corner of the park and what looked like a pile of rags shuffling amidst the heap of filth. It was officially a park for kids to play. But its convenient location, away from most of the residential complexes, meant it was the place where decent and nice folks came in night to throw their filth, only stopping to exchange uneasy nods. There was a huge fine to pay if they were caught dumping trash, everyone caught everyone else all the time.

"Didn't you hear me?" The biggest of all pushed him hard in the chest. The little boy fell down. It made the big boys feel better, helped them hide the fear that was clouding their faces.

The lil boy got up, brushed dust and grass off his clothes and started to walk towards the northwestern corner, turning every now and then to take a look at all the big guys grinning and sneering. The lil boy took a deep gulp as he reached his destination and spotted the ball in its hands.


"Can I have..." and words froze in his mouth for a while as the thing turned around.

Underneath the dirty ragged sack was the most twisted face he'd ever seen. Fat stubby fingers shoved an almost green loaf of bread into a black gaping hole with fiery yellow claws that reached out and grabbed the green bread and shredded and ground it to dust till a long blackish tongue came and pulled the greenish yellow mass into the darkness... could almost hear a thousand little fiendish dwarves squirming inside that abyss, waiting to pounce on whatever came down that black hole, never to escape... ever.

It stared at the lil boy... sweaty and dirty, then at the big boys standing at far corner of the park who shuffled on their feet as they caught his gaze... trying to hide behind each other, and then at the yellow ball in his hands... rolling it slowly and throwing it in air and catching it. A glint, barely perceptible to normal eye, shone in its eyes every time they followed the ball’s rise in air. And a barely audible grunt of triumph gushed forth every time blackened hands took the ball in their grip, like a vice, only to hurl it up again leaving behind tell tale streaks. Tiger stripes.

And then suddenly fear took over as a stray dog waged a war over _its_ carefully assembled five course meal. The red ball found itself rolling in banana skins as there was none to break its fall. The lil boy answered its expectant stares and picked it up, as the monster was distracted by a scrawny stray. It was too late; the dog won. After staring at the dog run away till it turned a corner on the street, it turned to look for the ball.


The lil boy almost gasped in horror.


Gone were its monstrous claws and teeth. Instead there were hands blackened by bruises and dirt. The hideous face had given way to a 40 year old face twisted by pain. Eyes, red and fiery earlier, seemed have burnt too much in their own fury and ached to put out the fire, bucketful of hunger ready to douse it out and streak across the face, giving it the salty bath they hadn't had in a long time... which would be since morning.

"Hurry up bozo, we aint got all day" a voice screamed from behind him and suddenly everything seemed to change as others followed the suit.

In that one moment the lil boy felt all the big bullies shrink in size, there voices no more than squeak of mouse to his ears, fading further away into distance as they returned to comfort of their AC rooms.

In that moment the boy felt something swell inside his chest and overflow to his eyes.

And in that moment, eyes clouded by something he just discovered, the lil boy saw It, turn into Him.


Also in that moment the boy's hands discovered something inside his shorts' pockets.


"Will you play with me?"

The boy made the offer with a handful of chocolates. Chocolates… the bullies were to snatch from him later.

Hensel... Forgotten

Hensel and Gretel
Part-I

Hensel… Forgotten

Once upon a time...

Once upon a time there was a village, surrounded by a thick dark forest so old that no one really knew what its name was. The village was founded by two brothers known only as The Grimm Brothers, though if they were alive now they would tell you they are actually The Brothers Grimm. The settlers in the village were all brave souls who had once upon a time went through dark times to finally find their happily ever afters. That's why the village was named Everafter and everyone lived happily in Everafter.

But that was long ago. There was a severe drought and food was hard to come by. No one dared venture into the forest. It was believed that in the forest dwelled the dark soul of every evil stepmother and witch and wolves that they had vanquished at one time or another. Some said in the forest lived a great red dragon, others believed it to be a demon from hell while most believed it was just an evil witch. No one knew for sure and none in the village were as brave as the fairy tales made them out to be, except for two. Hensel and Gretel.

Hensel was the son of the woodcutter. The woodcutter was the only one who dared venture into the woods, though even he went only as far as from where he could still see the white cat perched on the roof of his house. Gretel was the daughter of... no one really knew. She was found in the forest and brought up by the last surviving of the seven dwarves. Hensel and Gretel had something in them that all others had long forgotten, an innocence that knows no fear. It was that innocent fearlessness that made them an outcast amongst other kids, and brought them together.

But this is not story about how they found each other, but how they lost.

Gretel, The Goddess

"Hensel, I am scared."

Hensel looked at her, there were tears in her eyes. She was really scared.

"Don't be. I'll be there with you. There is nothing to be afraid of. I'll never let you go." With these words he took Gretel's hand in his and gave them a tight squeeze. Final drops of tears left her eyes and they were wet no more. She felt a reassuring calm surround her in its protection. It was first time ever she had felt need for such a calm and it had overwhelmed her to find it in him. She slept peacefully that night, not worrying about the perils that lay ahead.

Gretel had been chosen as the Goddess for a ritual to reverse fortunes of the village. The sacrifice required someone pure enough to be worthy of being called a goddess. Gretel was that, but mainly she got selected because she was the only girl who had no elder to speak for her. Cinderella, Rapunzel and Snow White all ensured that their daughters didn't get selected. The fact that Gretel was a couple of years too young was also conveniently overlooked.

That evening Gretel was dressed like a Goddess and taken to the heart of the forest in a sombre procession. Once they reached the Marshes of Forgetfulness she was stripped of all her jewels, made to sit in a small boat and the boat was pushed away. At that very moment the Mist of Lost Memories begin to form on the surface of the marshes. Many screamed with fear as they swore they saw a claw reaching out for them through the mist. The sun was setting and the forest took on an eerie red hue. The entire forest seemed to bleed. A shrill scream rang through the forest and all ran as fast as their legs would carry them.

A Walk in the Woods

Gretel looked around at the mist, it seemed to say something to her, something she couldn't decipher. The boat was drifting aimlessly in the marshes. She was careful enough to not touch the water. Suddenly she heard a shrill scream, it had a familiar ring to it.

"Hensel!"

She suddenly stood up to look for him and the boat begin to rock. She sat down again, her heart beating wildly as she frantically looked around. Suddenly she felt the boat jerk. It started to move in a particular direction, the direction where the mist was much more dense. The thought of a monster in the marshes reeling her in ran through her mind. She wondered if it would be a good idea to jump into the marshes. The mist grew heavy and she found it even more difficult to breathe. The boat begin to move faster and faster and then...

THUD!

It suddenly stopped. Gretel closed her eyes tight, afraid to see.

"Gretel. Gretel"

She thought she heard someone call her name. The voice seemed familiar. She opened her eyes.

"Hensel..." she jumped in joy the moment she saw him, almost falling into the marshes. In fact would have if Hensel hadn't caught her arm.

"Be careful girl. If you fall in there you won't remember anything, not even me."

"I was so afraid, I thought you'd never come"

"I had to, promised you I would, didn't I?"

Gretel smiled at those words. Hensel wound the rope he had tied to the boat when no one was looking.

"Now, how do we go back?" asked Gretel.

"Easy. When we were coming to the forest, I made a trail of silver coins so that we could find our way back." He noticed the questioning look on her face and said, "Silver shines brightly in moonlight, that’s why."

So they started to walk around the marshes. Every now and then some wolf howled in the distance. Every now and then Gretel held on to Hensel's arm, nails digging deep. The marshes and the mist and the dark forest suddenly seemed very beautiful in the moonlight. The mist shone like silver and looked as if the marshes held a silver moon within them, was beautiful. They found a spot under the trees, decked up a bed of leaves and lay on their backs, staring at the sky. Soon they fell asleep. A pair of eyes watched them.

Hensel, The Forgotten

"Hensel. HENSEL!"

Hensel slowly opened his eyes. A scared Gretel stared back at her, fear all over her face.

"We must leave now, there is... something."

Hensel got up on his elbows, ears straining to hear. A faint rustle of the leaves, a cold rush of the wind and then...

"What was that? Rustle of wings? What is it? Some beast?"

A pair of glowing red eyes shone in the distance, then another and another.

"Wolves. RUN!"

They both started to run. The wolves followed them. Gretel turned to... "DONT LOOK BACK. Keep running." screamed Hensel. He stopped and turned around to face the wolves. A couple of them ran past him. The rest stopped. He reached for the ground and picked up a thick branch. The wolves started to circle him. The silver mist went back to the depths of marshes as the moon covered its eyes with a dark cloud. Another pair of eyes watched from above, silently.

Meanwhile Gretel kept running till she couldn't hear the wolves follow her. She stopped to catch her breath. Sun was about to rise. Gretel looked towards the horizon and could see Hensel's house and a pigeon perched on the roof.

"Somebody help." She ran towards the house. First rays of sun swept through Everafter, first rays of a new beginning.

The woodcutter came out the moment he heard Gretel's voice. Soon others also came running.

"Somebody help. He's in there, wolves are after him. Somebody has to save him."

"Save who?" asked the woodcutter.

"Save He.." Gretel felt a severe pain in her head as she tried to say his name. "Your son."

"Gretel, I have no son." the woodcutter laughed, so did others.

"No you do, his name is..." No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't remember his name. Her head throbbed with a severe pain everytime she tried to remember. Everything around her seemed to go dark, last thing she heard in her head was a distant echo of someone calling out her name, a voice that once sounded so familiar.

Gretel slept through the whole day and night. Villagers kept coming to check on her, she was always everyone's favourite. Cinderella brought pumpkin pudding, Rapunzel a scarf woven from her own silver hair and Snow White brought the magic mirror for her. All others also brought gifts for her.

Next morning when first rays of sun shone on her window, Gretel woke up. She had a vague memory of a dream she had last night. It was of a boy she couldn't recall name or even face of, though he had a very familiar ring to him. And when she tried to remember, she felt severe pain in her head.

From that day onwards prosperity returned to Everafter and all lived very happily. All but one. Gretel. From that day onwards she started to have dreams that won't let her rest. Every time she stared towards the forest she felt a voice call out to her. A voice that gnawed at her mind, a memory she couldn't place, that won't let her rest and be happy.

And she was lonely in Everafter.

*****

I wish I could tell you more, but this is where the story pauses for now. I know you have many questions, but only Gretel can find the answers. So we will have to wait, till she finds the courage to walk into the forest and search for them. Am waiting for the day she would find the courage and come to me. The day she does, you too would know. Till then, I wait and hope. And that's all you can do...

Wait and hope, and pray. Pray that she may find her Hensel, and live with him happily in Everafter.

[to be concluded in - Gretel... Remembers]

The Dark Angel, His Promise

The Dark Angel
II
His Promise

[ finale to The Dark Angel, Her Prayer ]

Give me a few dreams
without the shadows
or stifled screams
touch of tears in eyes forlorn
hollow laughter
innocence to mourn

No, these may not be her words. But these are the words that I see as I look around the walls within me, the walls that once held that lil girl. The graffiti on the walls by a lil girl clawing for an escape, an escape that almost never came.

*******

That day she was severely 'punished' for running away. She couldn't walk for next few days. Every night she sat by the window in her room, staring out into the dark forest, silently. The chilly winds reminded her of his touch and whipping of his wings. Many a times she thought she saw him rise in the night sky to catch a glimpse of her. The sudden warmth around her told her it was really him. It was only then she could go to sleep, to be woken up by nightmares. And then again she stared out towards the dark forest till she felt that warmth again, and went to sleep, again.

The day she was fit to walk again she waited for sun to set. And the moment sky turned black she slipped into the backyard. Just like that day she was aware of 'them' following her. Just like that day she ran towards the perimeter wall and went down on her knees and elbows as she made her way out through a small hole in the wall. Just like that day, she got up, brushed dust off her baby pink pyjamas and started to run again. She kept running till she could hear nothing but her own heavy breathing and a stray cricket here and there. And just like that day, she ran into the pack of wolves.

But this time 'they' were prepared, they had torches with them. The wolves of the forest versus the wolves of the civilised world. The forest wolves had no chance, they weren't savage enough. With wolves gone 'they' turned towards her, grotesque smiles in the shadows of flickering torchlight. She screamed, turned to run but tripped on a stone and fell on her head. She passed out. One of 'them' stepped towards her.

Swoosh!

One instant he was there, next he was gone. Others exchanged glances, waved torches to scare away an invisible enemy that wasn't there. An extinguished torch fell amongst them, a headless torso followed. The predator turned to prey and huddled close to each other.

Swoosh! Swoosh!

A rush of air blew out all the torches. They looked around. The hair at back of their necks stood up. Ice-cold air filled up their lungs and pinned them down to their stomachs. And then, night descended amongst them. Their hair were blown by the sudden rush of wind as he spread his wings. They couldn't see his face underneath long black hair but could make out his head was bent. They died a thousand deaths from one heartbeat to another before he took a deep breath and slowly looked up at them. All they could see were a pair of fiery red eyes, literally glowing with fire.

"Boo".

And they all ran away, falling over each other.

He turned towards her and lifted her gently in her arms. He ran his clawed hand gently over her forehead, her wound disappeared as black blood oozed from his forehead. He started to sing a melancholic lullaby, the only kind he knew, to wake her up. The wolves of the forest returned and sat in a circle around them, mesmerised, along with other animals of the woods.

She stirred in her arms and slowly opened her eyes. He smiled, surprised that he still knew how to smile. The wolves howled in joy. She threw her tiny arms around him and hugged him tight. Suddenly the wolves became very quiet, something was wrong. They all turned towards the edge of the forest. Dozens of torches coming their way.

"You must leave now." he said to her. She whined and cried but finally relented. She started to run towards the orphanage, careful to avoid the mob. She was almost at the edge of the forest when she heard a wolf howl. She could see a fire in the distance, a fire that was growing at a rapid pace. Soon she saw the mob running towards her. She got out of its way. The mob ran out of the forest, screaming. The forest was on fire.

"The light burns my wings" His words echoed in her ears. She looked at eastern sky, sun was about to rise, already the horizon was a deep shade of red. She ran towards the center of the forest, where she had left him, or so she thought.

There were blazing fires all around. Before she knew she was surrounded by fire, but she wasn't concerned about herself. A wolf writhed in agony as it got caught in flames. She looked around to find huge trees on fire all around her, and one of them falling towards her. She screamed and closed her eyes. It all went dark. She never felt a thing again.

Burn my soul
washaway their sins
make me new
just like you

Hold my hand
take me to a dream
of you and me
where we are free
Free to laugh,
free to cry
Free of joy,
free of pain
Free to die
and live again

The dark angel took her in his embrace, his wings all around her. The burning tree landed on his back. Soon fiery remains of other trees also rained fire on his wings. His hair caught fire, revealing the scarred face underneath. But the fireballs just bounced off his wings. So he stood, holding her in his arms, his wings around her till final remnants of fire prepared for the last sigh. Entire forest was reduced to ash and in middle of the smoldering ruins stood an ashen angel with lil girl in his arms.

Finally the wings moved, the ash fell off his back and he stood tall. He took a long look at her... Fortunate Asleep. He looked at the skies, first rays of sun were streaming across the sky. With the forest gone, there was no place to hide for him. And he had no more reason to hide. Clouds of ash went up in air as he flapped his wings once, twice and again and again.

Slowly he rose into the air, holding her close. As a sunbeam caught his wing and burnt a hole in it, he kissed her forehead. As he rose further his wings caught fire, yet he continued to rise with her. Soon his wings were on fire, wings of fire. The black angel turned to fire, a fire that got brighter and brighter. Soon he was white as light and so was she, a light so white that sun looked like a pale shadow of its usual bright self. And then, suddenly the light went out. There was nothing in the sky, a vanilla sky. Sun slowly regained its color. Life went on.

The little girl was gone, taken by her dark angel, never to return. In the middle of the ashen wasteland lay a woman born in the scarred body of a little girl.

*******

This is the story of the lil girl I once was, story of her end and my beginning. I am nothing but ashen remains of sins wrought upon her, my life is nothing but a penance for her. Do I miss her? Do I wish she was still around? Definitely not. Only reason I am able to sleep in the morning is the knowledge that she still lives, in a world made for her, in the only world fit enough for her. But I do wish to be that little girl, again.

So I put myself in front of wolves every night, for them to feast on my flesh and bone. Every time they rip a chunk off me, it feels like a step closer to that lil girl. I don't cry, I don't scream but I do pray and this is my prayer...

Burn my soul
washaway their sins
make me new
just like you

Hold my hand
take me to a dream
of you and me
where we are free
Free to laugh,
free to cry
Free of joy,
free of pain
Free to die
and live again

Hope sustains life, and I hope the Dark Angel remembers his promise, once again.

[ The End ]

The Diary

Raging fires,
Pregnant desires,
Wings of passion.
Flight to eternity,
Come...
Firewalk With Me

She turns the key in the keyhole, the levers fall into place and a dull click later the door opens inwards. A small puff of dust falls on her head as she steps in, her hand closing the door behind her. A faint creaky thud. She kicks the door with back of her left heel, without even turning, and the sound of lever locking tells her the door is finally shut. Hands on her slender waist, she surveys what lies before her.

Dull green paint desperately trying to hang on to walls like a dying leaf in autumn. Sheets of dust covered white clothes covering most of the furniture. Cobwebs on the ceiling and near the window, hanging like sinister shadows of time. A huge rat runs across the moth eaten carpet. It will take her entire weekend and Monday to turn the place around and she will have to do it all alone.

She smiles and takes a deep breath of relief. It will keep her mind occupied for entire weekend and Monday, and she isn't going to spoil it by worrying about what to do with rest of the week. All that matters is for three days she won't have to worry about... she waves off the fly buzzing around her head, it gets caught in one of the cobwebs. Another smile. She was planning to start with cobwebs in the living room, but they can wait for now. A closet in the hallway to bedroom catches her eye.

She tiptoes her way to the closet, as if the wooden floor would give away under her feet. The knob on closet's door is cold, but soon warms up to her touch. She opens the door and darkness stares back at her. She stares into the dark abyss. Words of Nietzsche flash for a moment in front of her eyes. A bit hesitant, her hand reaches out. She is almost surprised to find a wooden shelf; she expected the darkness to extend forever, hopefully into another world. She hadn't forgotten her C.S. Lewis either. Her hand grazes the shelf and she can feel the gathering dust. She withdraws her hand and is about to turn when suddenly a pair of crimson wings emerge out of darkness into her face. She panics and falls backward. Suddenly she is aware of her fear of butterflies. She slams the closet door closed with her feet.

Thud.

The door swings open and a diary with red leather cover falls near her feet.

***

Dear Diary, I got a raise at work today and a promotion is in the wings. Boss said he is impressed with my work. I wonder if it had anything to do with three of my colleagues quitting in last two weeks. Hubby called me from his hotel in Chicago. He said two days and he is missing me already. Wonder if bellboy helped him with the necktie or the maid. He also said he loved me. It was Mothers Day so called up mom. She thanked me for calling and told me how dad's schizophrenia was getting worse. It meant dad was missing me too.

Dear Diary, I wonder if anyone but you will miss me, for me, when I die...

***

She steps back, hands on her slender waist covered in overalls with paint splats all over them. She surveys her new home and smiles to herself. The setting sun reflected off the pale orange walls paints the rest of the room. For a moment she feels the embrace of the setting sun, feels as if she is in the womb of a sun. Only the crimson butterfly in the only surviving cobweb by the window adding a dash of red. She had saved it, not sure why. Maybe she was still scared of going near the butterfly, maybe it was her way of thanking the cobweb. But watching the strokes of red in pale orange gave her a different reason, it looked beautiful. It felt as if it weren't just sunbeams changing color as they passed through its wings, but as if sun was taking it in his embrace and spreading her essence all across the room. And she realised that as the sun moved in sky through the day, the butterfly's crimson shadow formed a perfect arc, kissing all her paintings hanging in the living room.

A smile spreads across her lips. She finally tugs at the piece of cloth holding back her hair and lets them frame her face. She walks to the CD player and pushes play, Dido's lament about her 'Life For Rent' soon fills every inch of space. She hums the lines of the song as she sheds her clothes, walks to the bathroom and slips into the bathtub. The water is warm, perfect. She pours herself a glass of wine, lights a smoke and reaches for the diary. Her fingers linger on the cover, feeling the red leather. It feels like dragon skin.

Dragon skin? Why so sure?

She pulls her hand back as she realises her fingers are trembling. She gulps down a glass of wine like bitter medicine. The glass rolls on its side as her shaky hand puts it down and hits the bottle of wine. Red wine starts to spill into the water in a small steady trickle, gradually clouding the clear waters.

Oblivious of it all she turns pages of the diary and starts where she left off.

***

Dear Diary, how do you think I my husband would feel if he were to come home and find me in a pool of my own blood? How long do you think it will take him to figure out what he could have done to save me? These were the questions running through my mind as I lay in the bathtub today, watching my own blood form an ever expanding crimson cloud. I swear I could see it take different shapes, just like the cotton candy clouds we used to watch in the skies as kids. I know what you are thinking, let me explain.

As the water got darker, the lights around me too seemed to go dim, as if a black shadow was growing bigger and bigger in the room. My eyes felt heavy and I found myself gradually slipping into the bathtub. It was then that I heard his voice in my head. I swear I could see a pair of blue eyes staring at me, into me. For first time in my life I felt naked. How would you feel if someone could read your pages through your thick red cover? Naked.

He said, "You don't want to do this. You don't want to go like this. You want to fly away. Come, walk the winds with me."

How did he know? Who was he?

***

She takes the bus on her way back, didn’t want to drive through all the traffic. She is listening to music on her I-Pod, Amy Lee's haunting voice pleading 'Bring Me To Life'. She stares out of the window. The bus is waiting for light to turn green, 7 seconds to go. She is staring at the counter as it counts down to 7, then 6, 5... 5... 5. It doesn't change. She looks around, everyone seems to have gone still, frozen in time. A faint cackling sound echoes in her ears. She hears someone call out her name. She looks around and there he is.

He is walking towards her, no, not walking, floating would be more like it coz she can't see his legs moving. As he gets closer she can feel... the sun. Yes, fire and light like a blazing sun. He raises his hand, as if asking her to hold her and is saying something but all she can hear is the cackling sound. She suddenly realises her I-Pod is burning and soon she too is engulfed by flames. She screams and throws the I-Pod off her lap. The earphones get yanked out of her ears.

It is then that her headphones also shoot out of her ears and she is drowned in sounds of dozens of car horns. The counter changes to 4, 3, 2... It was all a dream. And the moment she realises it was just a dream, she feels a melancholic stab in her heart. Who was he?

She stares out of the glass window, city floats by her and she catches a pale reflection of hers amongst glaring city lights. She looks away. She reaches for the diary in her bag.

***

Dear Diary, this might be my last entry. Last night I went to the terrace, could see the whole city from up there. Can't tell you how calm I felt as strong winds whipped my face. I felt so free, just as he had promised. He says he can give me wings to fly, better, he can make me wind. He says he can help me reach the skies, and even further. He says he comes from a world beyond ours. He promises all that I ever craved for. His touch offers me all that he promises me. He says all I have to do is hold his hand and he'll turn the burden on my back into wings, he'll take all of me and give me all of him. And I believe him, for he makes me believe in myself.

Goodbye diary, I have to go now. I must get to the balcony. I can hear him coming, can hear him whisper in my ears as he ruffles my hair...

"Come... ride the winds with me."

*** ***

David Gilmour is singing 'Coming Back To Life' as she lies on her stomach on the floor of the living room. She frantically turns the pages of the diary, but all the rest are empty. She stands up, feels a little uneasy in the stomach, reaches for glass of wine and gulps it down in one go. Suddenly she is aware of the cackling of a raging fire... the diary is in flames. She throws it towards the window, the one where used to be a crimson butterfly caught in a cobweb. Only the cobweb remains but for a fleeting moment the diary looks like a big crimson butterfly, its fluttering pages stoking the fire.

The fiery walls around her come alive, consuming all her paintings one by one, in the same order as the path of crimson shadow of butterfly... a perfect arc. As the final painting, Primavera by Botticelli goes up in flames, she recalls where she had seen that mysterious man in the bus. And right on cue he rises from the ashes of the painting, extends her hand towards her and turns to fire, a walking being of fire. He has come to fulfil the unsaid promise he made to her and all she has to do is keep hers. She drops on her knees and clutches her stomach as she feels the fire raging inside her belly.

Finally she understands the cackling... its the fire talking to her, its him talking to her...

Raging fires,
Pregnant desires,
Wings of passion.
Flight to eternity,
Come...
Firewalk With Me

[Visit the comments for an epilogue.]

The Curtain Call

"I hate you"



I push the key into the lock, it fits seamlessly. I turn it. A click that echoes deep within me. Resonance of a mechanical drone that my life has become. I feel the not so distant echo of huge iron gates coming up as chains of thoughts pull up the iron curtains from the existence they hold within. I plant my first foot inside and feel it engulf me like the shadowy mist of a thousand dreams left on haunted shores of reality. I step in and close the door behind me. The chains race again as the iron curtain falls. The door closes behind me with a loud thud, an explosion of darkness as last remnant of light coming from the hall is trapped out. I feel the walls, closing in to hug me, just like the darkness, to hold me in its embrace. Mechanically my right hand reaches for the light switch, but I hold it. I feel it, welling up inside me, a strange feeling I haven't felt in a long long time, not since... I flick on the switch.

I wish I could say that a blast of light hit my eyes making me put up my hands like a shield. But the eyes had resigned a long time ago, hands still flinch a few times for a rescue that is never called for. What happens next is as monotonous as the soporific droning of the answering machine that tells me no one called me as I was away, thankfully. I take off my clothes and drop them on the go as switch on the TV and pull the curtains in to avoid staring into the empty windows that reflect the nothingness within. I pull the milk carton from the refrigerator, pausing briefly to breath in the stench that is nothing but a metaphor for my life mocking at me, frozen and cold and empty. I can almost hear it laugh at me as I slam the door and turn away. I head over to the washing machine to pull out one of the many wounded nightshirts and pajamas staring back at me with expectant eyes. My eyes and nose seek one... I can almost see them jumping with hands up... finally settle on the grey ones. But the moment I pull them out my nose talks my stomach into rebelling against the torture I subjected it to on the subway. I find myself in vest and boxer shorts, for the twelth day in succession. Seven more days and it will be a new record. I am about to turn when I notice...



"What is this? This is a house, not a junkyard or garage sale. When will you learn to take care of things? Why don't you keep stuff where you pick it from? Look at this mess. I am not your servant. Are you even listening to me?"



Was I? To be honest I always was, but pretended that I wasn't. Or maybe I never was, though now I can hear you. I go around gathering my clothes and shoes off the floor, shoes into the shoe cabinet, shirt into the closet and the trouser joins the nightshirts and pajamas and the bed sheets. I pick up the laptop and place it on the table. I arrange the table just as you would have if you wer... I feel it again, welling up inside me, a feeling I haven't felt for a long long time, not since... I slam the drawer and ignore the empty spot on the table where I once used to have your picture, a picture I lost a long time ago.

I go to the fridge once again and scour for something to eat. Even the stench chooses to ignore me this time and continues to snore. A fogged plastic bag catches my eye and I pull it out. Looks like some vegetable. I slam the door and head for the kitchen. I grab a knife, rip open its belly and it regurgitates its contents. Carrots.



"Yes, carrots. I know you don't like them but doctor says they are good for you… and the baby too. What? If there is no salt then add it. Listen, I've had a very hectic day and still got lots to do. So don't push me."



The carrots are ready and I pour them into the bowl. Yeah pour… added way too much water. I carry the plate and slink into the couch in front of the TV. I take a spoonful of carrots and tears come to my eyes. No, it’s not too hot or spicy. It’s just that... there is no salt. I push the tears back. They hover at the edge for a while like kids who been told to go back into their rooms, a silent protest, only to be told in strictest of tones. Only if you... I turn attention to the TV and put it on Auto Scan. Channels flip by at rate of a channel per half second. Seventy seconds later I hit the Auto Scan again, still got lots of carrot soup to finish. Three and a half Auto Scans later am done with the saltless carrot soup, eyes fixed on a rush of colors passing by, colors reflected on my face and the dour off-white wall behind me. Thirty five seconds later a blue screen stares back at me, bathing me and the room in a blue light, as if surrounded by an ocean. A faint monotonic hum resonates in my ears, within me, like waves of that ocean. In this age of technology and communication and anytime anywhere connectivity here I am, a human island. Where are you?


"Call me."


That’s all you said as I packed my bags and left you that day. My eyes were too full of my own dreams and desires to see the tears that were saying much more than what words couldn't. I feel it again, something welling up within me, rising. Finally it rises and like a mirror reflects the tears that were in your eyes that day.

I walk up to the phone and pick it up. I can hear the faint murmurs of chains breaking somewhere, iron gates crumbling, a curtain crashing. It feels as unreal as everything else, but not mechanical. I can feel something inside me; I can see it move my hand for the phone, as if seeing myself from within me. I can feel something in my chest throbbing again; I feel it now pulsating in my veins. I am walking but it doesn't feel like walking. It feels like waltzing to the ring of the phone. With every ring I can feel my hand reach out for you, a touch I been longing for. Most of all, I can feel it... life, or something like it... something I had lost touch with long time ago... rise up in a crescendo and knock at doors of my consciousness like waves crashing against a wall...

"Hello?" A voice from so far away shatters all the walls.

"Hello it’s..."

"Finally you called. Every single breath of mine has been praying to hear your voice. What took you..."

The chains shatter and curtain falls.

"I... I..."

The remnants of all chains are washed away by the waves crashing out of my eyes as words finally find me.

"Mama, I love you. I'm coming home Ma, I'm coming home."

[The End]

[Dedicated to my mom, whose B'day is on 20th.
Originally posted at Sulekha.com]