Note: This is something I wanted to post here first, but looks like IE doesn't like Blogspot as much as Mozilla does.

Season of Goodbyes

a flash of fiction

A drunkard's laughter is choked by his barely digested dinner. Somewhere a dog smells a feast. A star falls through the sky. Somewhere a little girl makes a wish.


I stare at the ceiling. There is a dark spot up there, illuminated by moonlight. I could almost snicker at the irony of the thought, illuminated darkness. It looks like a black star in a white sky. She moans in sleep and her arm slips off my chest. I get up and sit in the bed. A heavy air hangs still around the room. I walk to the window and open it up. A cold draft barges in. She shudders. I walk back to her and tuck the soiled bed sheets under her arms. Moonlight reflected off the crusty walls barely lights up her face. Flawless marble. I run my finger down her cheek.

Cold granite.

I don't feel a thing.

I walk up to the balcony door and open it up. Moonlight shimmering off the river in the distance, like a thousand sparkling diamonds. Heartless and cold. I rest my hands on the frosty steel railing. It feels wrong. It feels, warm. I bring a cigarette to my lips. A flick of the thumb and cobalt blue shimmers. I stare at the moon through it. One cold fire to another. Sizzle of the tobacco burning up. A faint dash of orange that lightens up and then grows dim with a sigh. I take a long breath of fire. Even that turns stone cold as it drops into my lungs. Dead. I stare at the moon. Take another deep puff, hold it for a few moments and then blow the cold fire at the moon.

A cloud comes over the moon like a blanket. Somewhere a dark shadow falls. All goes silent.

Cold silence.

I close my eyes. For few moments, the city is me.

Cold. 
Silent. 
Dark.

Somewhere a bottle crashes on the pavement. A drunkard's laughter is drowned in his own bile. Somewhere a dog whimpers.

A stray car streams down the road. I see a young boy by the flickering streetlight. He has a ragged bag over his hunched shoulders. He turns around and looks at me. I take another deep puff. The light flickers, the boy turns around. The light goes out. The boy is gone. I take another deep puff. Or try to. But all that is left is ash. I let it fall down and watch as it hits the pavement.

I get back inside the room. She's still lost in the bliss of nightmares. Again I run my hand down the nape of her neck and rest it on her breast, right at the edge of the sheet. I can still see her lipstick where she bit into the sheets. And I feel nothing.

Flawless marble.

Cold granite.

I don't even wonder if she'll miss me, wish for me to walk into her life again.

I don't stop and turn around to look one last time as I walk through the door for final time. I get off the final step of the stairs and step right into a puddle. Cold water sinks into my shoes. I don't turn to look around at the balcony where I stood moments ago.

A car screams by. A streetlight flickers to life. I feel a pair of eyes watching me. I turn around. In the distance, on the balcony, I can make out a faint silhouette. And even fainter orange glow. The streetlight flickers a few more times.

A flash of tungsten. The silhouette disappears. A light comes on in the room.

Somewhere, a woman makes a wish.

A star falls through the sky.

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 ]

I Wonder... almost

I Wonder... Almost

a companion story to A Story Called Almost by supriyad... almost

I wonder... about the pass that said By invitation only, to a valentine's day dinner, candle light and your favourite Jazz band... the pass that I almost hid somewhere under a stack of clothes in a well-tended wardrobe, a surprise that almost was. But the pass was killed by two cute fluffy rabbits hugging each other tight, on a Valentine's Day card with a hallmark song shining on pink bubble hearts... a card from you, but not for me, wasn't it meant to be?

A black smudge scars the red, where first tears of a dying heart were shed.


I wonder... about the song I wrote for you, of laughter and smiles and our times together. But it drowned in the rain... waiting for you as it saw you smile and hug your friends, but you never came... and we, were never the same.

Unsung memories flush down a drain, where euphoria is another victim to pain.


I wonder... about the kiss that never came. I turned and blinked, capturing an image of you in my mind... waited for you to turn and run to me. You didn't turn, you didn't run. I saw you staring back at me, from the mirror of your pretty dresser, that look in your eyes... rusty knives and icy spears, pinned your image to back of my head.

Sepia withdrew and red has gone, where colors go to die alone.


I wonder... about lost moments. If you ever noticed who I really was... past who you thought, I was, always there. Hopeful, you'll be greedy for more, for all you were yet to find... that it can never be enough, when love is all you want. But we lost, each other somewhere on the way, for I turned around, but you were not there... anywhere.

In the middle of nowhere... lost, where forgotten ways come to a crossroad.


I wonder... about the times I felt, driving away from home, your touch, as wind ran through my hair. A sad smile lingers, at the whiff of whispers of a ghost in my ear, revealing your secrets, that I never hear.

Stuck in throat a laughter that chokes, where flagging dreams strangulate all hopes.


I wonder... about the day I almost told you, how I lost everything and owned nothing at all, nothing, but you... ? But before the words could rise up my throat... they choked, they crackled in the dry cold... aching for a drop of promise that never came.

Ruthless mirages of a barren land, where the oasis are nothing but castles of sand.


I wonder... about the stories I found, written words scrawny, crawled in haste... stories of love, unrequited... gone to waste.

Undead love's memory departs, where zombies bleed from broken hearts.


I wonder... about the things I said, about real feelings in your imaginary head. Was it a lie meant to deceive, times when you said you believe??? Believe in me, and my love... kissing under mistletoes and turtledoves? Believe in love, beyond distance and time, logic and reason... a higher faith for every season?

Angels and demons are all the same, where love is condemned in God's name.


I wonder... about the home I built, where we could be together and never leave. Our most beautiful dream come true, a labour of love, for me and you. I'd kiss you everytime we fight... a kiss that would set all right. For that was the dream we always had, but dreams of imaginary kind, were all you wanted... and left me alone in an empty house, cold, blue and haunted.

Delusions take the guise of dreams, where cries of help are terrifying screams.




I wonder... about the fortune teller's lies. It wasn't a dream... almost.

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.

The Golden Astronaut

***DO you believe, in... Innocence? ***

"Bhaiya..."

"Uhh..?"

"What is that one called?"

Young eyes followed the chubby lil fingers, pointing at the night sky. The young head tilted a lil to its right, then to left... trying to get the alignment right.

"It’s Orion, the hunter. You see, those three stars are its belt..." a belt of dusty brown leather filled up the gaps in the boy's eyes, "...three faint ones below it are the hunting knife..." with a rust brown handle, in a black leather sheath, "...and that's where his head is", fingers made the outline of a rough triangle and imagination filled in the head with long hair tied with a brown headband.

"Looks more like a butterfly to me..." the lil girl said, too sure to be apologetic, yet... her eyes seeking confirmation in her brother's eyes.

The young boy looked at her sister, lying down on her back on the tiled roof. She had her head turned at an awkward angle to the right. He smiled and turned to look at the dots he had always connected to find the hunter, only this time choosing to look the way his lil sister had just taught him.

"You're right... it IS a butterfly... like you." he couldn't hide the amazement in his voice. She couldn't hide the joy of triumph in her laughter, she always wanted to be a butterfly. He turned to look at her, her eyes brighter than any star shined back at him. But they were extinguished by the furious noises coming from downstairs, mom and dad fighting, again. He knew they were heading for divorce, and this might be last time... he shrugged the thought away from his mind as he saw her eyes well up and her shiver in the cold of the winter night.

He crawled up to her, and threw his arms around her, and hugged her... real tight. He could feel the sobs aching to break out.

"You know why we can't see stars during the day?" he tried to distract her.

"Yes." she said, wiping away tears that never came, smiling.

"Tell me." he sounded a bit surprised.

"You know, how you pull back curtains to wake me up in the morning, because is difficult to sleep with light on your eyes? So, earth's bhaiya also puts a blanket over her eyes every evening so that his lil sister can go to sleep. But you know, the blanket has all those tiny holes in it. What we call stars, are nothing but light sneaking through those tiny little holes in the blanket called night."

He thought of correcting her, but her eyes shone with more stars than ever present in the night sky, making him doubt if he really knew better than her. So he turned his gaze back towards the night sky, trying to see it in a way he had never seen before.

Swoosh. A star shot by. Swoosh. Then another. A smug grin spread across boy's face and he turned to his sister, "So, what are the shooting stars then? Can the holes move?"

"They're the light of the day that sneaks in, disguised as fireflies." she said as if it was too obvious a fact to be even explained. The boy couldn't help smiling again. She had her eyes closed and hands clasped in a prayer, she was wishing on the shooting star.

"What are you wishing for?"

"I am not supposed to tell" she said, but her hand reached for his comforting touch. And when she clasped it tight, he knew she didn't want to go. He searched the sky, for another shooting star, so he could wish... wish that they won't be separated just coz mom and dad were, but he couldn't find one. Tears welled up in his eyes.

And before he knew, there was a storm of fireflies, sneaking into the blanket... a meteor shower. And in middle of it all, a comet with its icy blue tail trailing across the sky. She squealed in delight. She got up, standing on her toes, reaching for the comet, as if trying to catch it. And then, the tile under her left feet gave away.

The tile slid across the sloping roof and crashed into the concrete below. The little girl fell on her back and followed the tile. Rest of the tiles followed in succession, like feed mechanism of a machine gun, falling one after another.

The young boy's eyes clouded by fear and tears, his own screams seemed to come from too far away. He carefully went to the edge of the roof, peered down. She was staring back at him. Blood had started to spread out, staining her frock in a deep shade of crimson, it spread out on either sides of her, white tiles falling into the puddle. Through his clouded eyes, she looked like a butterfly, crimson butterfly with white dots on her wings. Her lips were moving, she had a smile on her face. He could hear her voice in his head, she was saying something, but he couldn't understand... except for one word...

"Butterfly"

*******

** DO you believe, in...Co-incidence? **

"Time to wake up."

"I want to sleep." I shut my eyes tight and sink back to my bed.

"No bhaiya, its time to go to work. You must get up." she pulls the curtain away from the windows. I look at her.

"You know what time it is?" her lips don't move, but I can hear it in my head. I look around. Am in my room, it’s bathed in a bright white light, so is she... so radiant. The room looks just the way it was when I...

A pungent light hits my eyes. I open my eyes, look around. Out of the circular window I can see the sun emerging from behind the outline of clouds hovering over Australia. I push myself to get out of bed and float to the ceiling. Someone looking in from the outside would say I fell down in slow motion. That's the thing about space, directions are so relative.

"Now that's like my bhaiya." The voice in my head says. I smile, can't help it.

I swim to the wash bay and stare myself at the mirror. Pick up the toothbrush and squeeze the paste a bit too strongly, it starts to float around. If I don't rush, it will start splitting like a unicellular life form. Thankfully, it comes to rest on the mirror, and before it can figure out which direction to take, and whether to split up or not, I scoop it up. As my brush races across my mouth, my mind tries outpacing it.

They say when people die, they... drift away. Free from bonds of flesh and gravity, they return to space... wander about like ghosts, waiting for a speck of cosmic dust to latch on to, so that they can become, a star. But they are lucky ones... most just float around in space, the vast nothingness. Some catch asteroids or meteors passing by, in hope they will carry them to a cloud of stardust. But most, just wander about in space. Space... you can call it the biggest graveyard... every thought imagined, every word spoken, every idea conceived and every soul born drifts in it, till eternity.. or till it fulfils its cosmic destiny.

"You missed a spot over there." her voice tells me.

I've been on space station for hundred and eight days, twenty three hours, and sixteen minutes... forty two of those days all alone by myself, and counting. I am supposed to tell mission control about voice in my head when I give my daily report. But she tells me I don't need to. I listen to her, coz she's always right.

It was on eighth day alone I first heard her. "Butterfly".

There was a small rupture in the oxygen tank on East wing Level 2, too small to be detected by high precision sensors. Four useless hours spent in trying to locate the source of leak was driving me to the brink of insanity. It was then that I heard her voice, saying it ever so softly in my head... "Butterfly", still it seemed to have some external spatial origin. I followed the voice and it led me to the leak.

Being alone, many times I've found myself facing situations I wasn't prepared for, that being part of the experiment. Each time, she's helped me. Many times she's given me advice that seemed illogical, irrational... even life threatening. Each time, I've followed her against my own wishes. And every single time, she's been right.



But all that, is about to change today... or is it?

*******

* DO you believe, in... Destiny? *

"Don't be afraid. Everything will be alright. Trust me." she says.

I take a deep breath.

Few hours ago an asteroid shower damaged a major part of the thrust boosters on the right wing, in fact severing one of it from the main body of the station. I had instructions to fire those very boosters to steer clear of the shower's path, but she told me not to. Minutes later a huge rock went past where the station would have been if the booster had fired. Now it was upto me to spacewalk to retrieve the booster and plug it back in before the next shower came, else years and years of hard work put by many will be lost in a moment.

As I put on the suit, I don't feel its weight, maybe too tense and scared. I check the cord, it’s secure. I open the exit hatch, and jump out into the space. I fire the jetpack to steer myself towards the boosters. As I move away from the station, I suddenly realize, it looks like a giant butterfly in the sky. I reach for the boosters, inches away from it, when am suddenly pulled back.

"The station doesn't want you to let go, its pulling you back" she tells me. The chord is too short, the booster has drifted too far away. I am sweating now. "You must let go, it’s the only way."

I see in the distance, a big rock approaching, and a trail of asteroids in its wake.

"Don't be afraid. Everything will be alright. Trust me." she tells me.

I take a deep breath and severe the chord, it stands still for a few moments, as if waiting for me to reconsider my decision, and then pulls away. I fire the jetpacks to reach for the booster. A small blinking yellow meter tells me I don't have enough fuel left in the jetpack. I don't know what to do, so she tells me what to do. I relay a message to mission control, explaining what I am going to do and then disconnect.


I maneuver to the booster. From behind the booster I can see the robotic arm on the right wing, ready to 'catch' the booster, all I have to do is steer the booster towards it. I rest my feet on the booster, bend my knees and push the buttons to fire the jetpack at full throttle... exhausting all its fuel in one go.

What happens when you die in space? Arthur C Clarke once pondered over that question... rather over ghosts of astronauts who die in space. But he never had the perspective I had. I see the booster tumbling towards the robotic arm, ready to catch it. Newton's third law, pushes me further away, right into the path of the big rock. I am going to die.

It is then that I heard her whisper in my head, clearer than ever before... "Butterfly". And it is then, that I see her.

It isn't just a big asteroid, it is a comet, with an icy blue tail. My jetpack runs out of fuel, not that it matters. I stare into the comet, heading right for me. The sounds of boosters firing tells me space station is already steering clear of it.

Blinding white light is reflected off the face of my helmet and am back at the roof, staring down at my sister. This time... I can hear what she is saying.

"I wished for us to be together, always. I wished, to go to a world, where none would take me away from you. I wished, to be a butterfly. I am going, in search of such a world. And one day, I shall come back to take you with me. Remember me, whenever you see a butterfly."

And suddenly the crimson wings catch fire... and she rises up in the air, wings of fire. She herself radiates white fire, and as she flies an icy blue trail behind her.

She is rushing towards me.

The spacesuit begins to cackle and tear away... the helmet melts away... like cocoon, a pupa.

Fire rages through me as my back arches and all of me is set ablaze.

She comes and hugs me.

I feel pain, no more for I am fire itself.

A butterfly with wings of golden fire.

Red rocks whiz past us, like cosmic rose petals, falling down to earth.


Somewhere on earth, a young pair of siblings stares at the cosmic fireworks. A lil girl notices a pair of fiery butterflies in the sky, ephemeral. And when they're gone, she can see a new star near head of Orion, the hunter, and she squeals with delight as she realizes... it’s not a hunter at all, but a butterfly.

DO you believe, in... Anything?