The windows were huge and without curtains. It didn’t go with the design of the room, as if the glass panes were added later to an extra large balcony. There wasn’t much of a view though, the window faced towards the waterfall that dried up decades ago. The media had tried to cover the news with much curiosity but the old man, the owner of the estate, threatened to sue anyone who tried to take photos of it. Continue reading
Posts in "Stories"
The Island
The pressure was unbearable. It felt as if everything will crush into nothing. I raised my head and looked around only to see thousands of heads swarming in every direction. Everyone was pushing forward. I tried to remember what happened, how I got there but couldn’t recall anything. All I had was this unexpected and unimaginable situation to deal with.
Where was everyone going? Why was everyone eager to leave? Continue reading
God of Sparrows
Summer of April is always better than the summer of May and the latter is always better than summer of June. Summer of July is worst, it burns the synthetic fabric which then melts and gets stuck to the vest and leave its colour there, like a stamp of authority, as if the vest belongs to the shirt, as if the shirt forgets who’s its master for a while in the heat of the sun.
There’s a reason why cotton is costlier than synthetic, it minds its own business, doesn’t interfere in anyone else’s business, doesn’t get attached to any other fabric. Cotton is the buddha of the fabric universe. Continue reading
Pressure
If Ranjeet had learnt one lesson in the last two years, it was that being single was better than being a single father.
What a world of difference it made to have a child to take care of. He had not foreseen it. He had imagined an easy life for himself. He fell in love, got married, they had Sejal and the family felt complete. Then it all fell apart. The arguments began to turn into dirty quarrels and once in a while one or the other had a visible proof of it.
She asked for divorce. He asked for Sejal. They contested and he won on the grounds that she had no job and hence no source of income to take care of their child. She cursed him while signing the divorce papers.
May you rot in hell. Continue reading
The Garden
The evening wind ruffled through the vineyard and blue sky appeared in patches from between the green leaves. Ashish spotted a brown leaf and clipped it off instantly. A garden is the soul of a house and a well maintained garden beautifies the exterior of a house like nothing else. It also portrays that there lives a responsible family in the house, if not a happy one. Continue reading
शिकायतें
अजीब सी है यह दुनिया,
कहते थे मुझे “तू है आने वाला कल”,
पर मैं तो कल ही ना देख सका |
घुटन सी हो रही है इस लकड़ी के डब्बे के उनदर,
अम्मी अब्बू का दिल साथ लेकर,
नाजाने क्यों गोलियाँ उतार गया मेरे अन्दर,
मैने पूछना ज़रूरी नहीं समझा |
काले जूते, मुह ढका हुआ नाजाने क्यों,
खून में इतनी आग थी तो खुलकर वार करता,
डरता है शायद अपने आप को मरने वाले की आखों में देखने से,
मैने समझना ज़रूरी नहीं समझा |
अम्मी तुमने रोका क्यों नहीं सुबह,
अब्बू के स्कूटर का टायर कहीं फसा क्यूं नहीं,
कोई एक बहाने से शायद ज़िंदा होता आज,
मौत ने रुकना ज़रूरी नहीं समझा |
उसका भी तो बेटा होगा,
गोलियों से लिखता होगा,
खून की सियाही में,
हम जैसो की तकदीर पिरोता होगा |
अम्मी तुम फिकर मत करो ना,
यह जन्नत बहुत ही हसीन है,
अल्लाह को परेशान मत करो ना,
देख रहे है वो भी अपनी रची दुनिया,
पर अभी तबाह करना ज़रूरी नहीं समझा |
Sufi
In continuation of Mystic
If you have ever been lucky enough to spend time in the company of a Sufi, you would have noticed that he keeps his eyes closed while he sings or dances. To an outsider, it seems that the Sufi has forgotten the outside world and is completely immersed in the act of enjoyment. A Sufi celebrates the entire existence. Continue reading
Mystic
In continuation of Vagabond..
A mystic is a concealer by nature. But, what does a mystic conceal? Answers. Continue reading
Vagabond
A vagabond is a person who has no fixed address.
Hmm, sounds like myself. Continue reading
The Torn Earlobe
‘I didn’t mean to tear apart his earlobe!’ I said to my cousin.
‘Oh comeon! You continuously hit him right on his ear!’ He said, reminding me that it was me who was in trouble, yet again.
‘So, what do we do now?’ I asked my cousin who was equally terrified.
‘Let’s go to Nowshera I say, without telling anyone. There would be no way for them to know we are there. Dada doesn’t have a telephone at his home’, he said.
Continue reading