Rocky love

 A Rock once fell in love with a little Boy. 

He was a naughty little Boy, with an impish smile. An endless list of things that made him happy. A kiss on the forehead. A smile given in secret. A touch of the fingertips. 

A Rock. Yes, strangely, even a Rock made him happy. He had no other rocks in his life. Nothing to lean against when he was tired. No one to hug when he needed one. No presence that would be with him, any day, any time. No one to tuck him in at night, or soothe him when he was sick. And as a little Boy, he sure fell sick a lot. 

So Rock decided to be there for him. Sometimes, it would try to make him happy. Other times, it would simply exist, watching him struggle as he climbed up, slipped down, and climbed up again. Sometimes Boy wouldn't climb up and Rock would wait to see him. Boy made Rock happy. Boy made Rock want to be a girl sometimes, to giggle and cry and throw a tantrum like other girls. So once in a rare while, Rock would put on a dress and some makeup, and turn into a little girl with a big smile. 

Rock was happy. Boy was happy. Until one day, Boy started climbing up less and less. "Why?", wondered Rock. Had Boy become bored with it? Was Boy busy with other things in life? Sometimes Rock even wondered if Boy had found other rocks to play with. But, no, that couldn't be true. Boy would tell Rock if that happened... right?

Less and less. Less and less. Rock would sometimes tremble in fear, alone. No one else knew Rock existed, and no one acknowledged Rock's existence. Except Boy. Only Boy saw Rock, and the little girl it sometimes turned into. Only Boy understood Rock's silly jokes and laughed with it. Only Boy deserved Rock's full attention, if only he would give one of his impish smiles in return. Rock would sometimes try to talk to Boy, but Boy was always tired and turned away to sleep. Rock would smile at Boy in his sleep, because even then Boy looked like an angel sent from heaven just to make Rock happy too. 

But Rock grew lonely again. Sometimes other tourists would pass by, and sit on Rock. Sometimes they would kick it for fun. It was a strange & serious looking rock when it was not with Boy. So sometimes poeple would make fun of it and call it names. One rude man once came with a hammer and started to chip away at Rock, to make space for his own rocks to settle. So Rock moved a few inches to the side, just a bit. Now it was closer to the edge of the mountain, but it knew that Boy would protect it from falling off. All they needed to do was work together, right? Then both Boy and Rock would be safe, and maybe they'd even find a better place to rest and play together. 

Boy climbed up the hill the next day, and came to a stop at the place where Rock used to be. Without a care, as he always did, Boy leaned on Rock to share the news of his day. But Rock wasn't there in its usual place. There it was, a few inches to the side. Boy looked at Rock, and looked and looked. He stared at the spot where Rock used to be, and at the new spot where it was. And in that moment, Boy decided he hated Rock. 

Rock was supposed to be HIS rock. Right where he wanted it, and only there. No changes allowed, unless Boy wanted them. And Boy did not want this change, and did not like it. Now Boy would have a walk a few extra steps every day, and even catch a glimpse of that scary space down the mountain from so high up, just to see stupid Rock. Boy wanted Rock to come back to it's usual spot, right now! He'd never seen anyone kicking Rock, so why was it making up stupid stories? It should just stop changing things and making it harder for Boy. Rock wasn't even that pretty when it was a girl. Why should Boy have to do things he didn't want to, just to be with Rock? It wasn't fair!

Rock grew lonelier and lonelier. It understood Boy's pain. No one had ever tried to be there for Boy, before he found Rock. No one had ever tried to make things better for him. And now Rock had failed at it too. It had hurt Boy, without ever meaning to. When Boy started looking around for other rocks to play with, Rock was hurt, but it understood. When Boy stopped wanting to play with little girl Rock, it understood. Little girl Rock was plainer than other little girls. 

When Boy one day pushed Rock away and rolled it down the mountain... it understood. It saw Boy's pain, even though Rock was now breaking up itself. That push had hurt, so much. There were cracks all over, and Rock's pain threatened to drown out its understanding. No longer could it turn into a little girl again, no longer could it laugh and hug and kiss again. Rock was now a broken rock. But still, deep inside, Rock understood that Boy was hurt too. Hurt Boy, hurt Rock. 

Boy would look over, down at where he had pushed Rock, and cry for it sometimes. He missed Rock and the comfort it offered him. Not enough to go and bring Rock back, just to see it from afar and wish that Rock hadn't changed things. For what use was Rock if it couldn't be where it was supposed to be, and comfort Boy the way he wanted? No, Rock was useless to Boy, and now it was even more broken. But maybe, maybe, Boy could one day stop hurting, and bring Rock back? Maybe it would be worth it? Rock certainly hoped so. Sometimes, even Boy dreamed about it.

Soon, Boy replaced Rock. Boy was tired of waiting to feel better. He wanted to feel better, NOW! Rock kept watching the mountaintop, whatever little it could see from down there. And it saw that Boy had stopped looking for it. That Boy had stopped thinking about it. That Boy had started clearing away the place where Rock used to be, and throwing the trash down the mountain too where Rock was. And one day, Boy brought another rock, one with veins of gold running through it and beautiful murals drawn around it, and put it in the place where Rock used to be. Boy took admiring steps around his new rock, slept against it in peace, and made sure it was right where he wanted it to be. Not too close, and not too far. 

As Rock looked on, it cried out for Boy. 

"Boy! Have you forgotten me now?"

Boy looked back at Rock one last time, and said, "Yes. I have a new rock now. And I don't want to be distracted by my past anymore." 

He threw those words down at Rock, where it was struck! STRUCK!

And having nothing else to hold onto, Rock rolled further down the mountain, fell in the canyon, and vanished into the abyss. 

Be Mine

Be someone's moon on a hopeless night
Be someone's star and guiding light
When rain won't wash away their tears
Be someone's helping hand in a fight
Be on the side of a struggling man
Of the underdog, of a fighting chance
Be on the side of the good and right
Be honest, true, be strong tonight
Be someone's hope, believe in them
Be someone's fire, someone's reason
Be their desire, their guiding light,
Be someone's moon on a hopeless night.

Potato and the Batman

Once a dog made a new friend. His name was Batman. At least that's what Aalu thought his name was. Aalu was a strange little mutt-looking dog with floppy ears, big dark eyes, and an ever-present grin on her face. She was actually a big scary Rottweiler or something like that, but she didn't like telling anyone. Batman was a strange man with big brown eyes and an awesome poker face that never gave anything away.

Aalu met Batman when he was taking a piss outside her house one day. She was on a walk with her Mumma, who she loved more than anything in the world, when they saw Batman. Of course, she didn't know then that it was Batman. Mumma, being Mumma, told Aalu to bark at the man and scare him. Aalu, being Aalu, did as she was told, and it was fun! The man got a real fright, but then he did something unexpected. He came out and tried to be friends with Aalu. Mumma and Aalu were both taken aback - should they trust this strange man who was so unexpectedly nice?

Aalu decided to test him. She scared him some more, jumped up and licked his face, his nose, even his mouth! She barked and barked in his ear till he had a headache, then she used him as a launching pad to bark at someone else!! And yet, the strange man, now known as Batman, stayed. And he kept trying to be friends with Aalu. He made her dinner, and took her on walks, and just loved her without ever saying so. Aalu had never really loved anyone other than her Mumma, but she got a good feeling about Batman. So Aalu decided it was ok for them to be friends, and she loved her new friend very much.

One day, Batman came to meet Aalu and told her they couldn't be friends anymore. "Why?!" cried Aalu, "I love you!"

"I love you too Aalu", said Batman, who now had a new puppy to take care of back home and give her more time. His mom and dad had just bought him a beautiful new puppy, and had strictly told him it was his responsibility now to take care of her. He just didn't have space in his life to love Aalu too anymore.

But Aalu didn't understand what she did wrong. She was angry and bit Batman in his shins and even on his butt. Her only other friend was leaving her and she was so sad, she didn't know what to do. She asked Mumma, "Mumma why did Batman go away?? Why did he get a new puppy? He could just stay with me forever." Mumma was sad, for she had trusted Batman too. She couldn't tell Aalu that the world was sometimes cruel, that beautiful new puppies were more valued than old sick dogs, that people disguise their choices under the guise of responsibility if it suits them. So she protected Aalu for the rest of her days, and never let her meet Batman or any other stranger again.

Too Little for Big

Little balloon and Big balloon lived on different sides of the track. Little belonged to a simple balloon seller with a small cart, who sold his wares to the few children passing by. They didn't make much money but were happy. Big belonged to a big shopkeeper who sold balloons, toys, collectibles, and many other exciting things to children and adults alike. Little and Big met by accident for sure; nothing but chance could have brought them together in the middle of the tracks one day. They didn't know each other, had never heard of the other, in fact. Wary, the balloons floated around each other for a bit. "You're shaped funny and have a little dent", said Big to Little. "You're shaped funny too. And have a little dent in the same place", replied Little. "Our dents match!", they exclaimed, surprised.

And so Little and Big started meeting more often. Less on Big's side and mostly on Little's side. Big explained to Little, "my owner, he is a very strict man. He loves me but worries about my flyaway nature. You had best not meet him." Little agreed, Big's owner sounded like an awfully strict man and Little was scared of strict men. So she would hang out outside Big's shop till he saw her, and quietly signal him to meet her outside and away they would fly again. They were full of life, beautiful, happy, and free. Big would fly alongside Little all day and never grow bored; neither would Little. Funny shaped and dented both, they found out they were even coloured alike, cut from the same rubber sheet and filled with the same dreams as each other. And so they soared.

One day Big's owner finally saw him flying around with Little. What on earth was Big thinking, flying from someone from the other side of the tracks? What would their customers think of them, what if they lost sales?! Big's owner had to put a stop to this immediately and for good. Off he went in search of the perfect shiny long cylindrical balloon to tie Big to. And he found It! It was Pink and pretty and very expensive too. His friend from the next shop sold it to him for a bargain though, so he took it and called Big home to tie him to it.

Big didn't like the idea; how would he ever fly with Little again if he was tied to Pink? He was miserable and lost air over it, but what could he do? He couldn't leave his shop or his owner or his side of the tracks, this was his life and he liked it here. He was the very first balloon in the shop and dreamed of someday being it's mascot even. This was his dream and priority. So he went and saw Little and told her the news. "Little, I love flying with you very much, but i have to go and get tied to Pink now".

Little grew littler, deflating. Big felt pity for her and said, "don't worry Little, I'll still wave hi whenever I see you from the other side of the tracks. You are my best friend!" On hearing that, Little felt like a pin had pricked her and she deflated rapidly, flying far away to her side and hiding. For Little had other dreams - of flying with Big forever and ever. But Big had other priorities, so he went to his owner and was tied to pretty Pink. "I look nice!", thought Big, looking at his picture with Pink. So he put it up on a big banner outside the shop, so big that everyone could see it. Including Little. Poor Little, who was desperately trying to pour life and precious air back into herself, felt another pinprick go through her. "Please God, let this stop", she prayed as she stayed close to her owner hoping the pricking would stop. But Big, silly oblivious Big, waved to her from across the tracks sometimes, said hi sometimes, and Little would forget everything and want to fly with him again like old times - until she saw Pink tied to him and felt the pinpricks again.

Because Little was not Pink. She never could be. She was just a loose end from the wrong place. And when she finally realised that, she stopped waving back and blew away.

A kite named Heart

There was once a little girl with a big beautiful kite named Heart. She made Heart herself, with her two little hands, paper in every colour of the rainbow, a little glue, some sticks and some love. Whatever she had, she put into that kite. Then she tied Heart on a long long string and sent it out to fly into the world. That way it would always be with her.

Heart glowed in every colour of the rainbow. It moved with the little girl in this direction and that, going where the wind took it. It saw beautiful sights and soared. It saw some sad ones too and cried. But it had it's little girl keeping it safe and so it was happy and alive and free.

But Heart and the girl did not go unobserved. There were little boys in the neighbourhood who watched with envy as Heart touched the skies and glowed brightly. "Why should she have Heart to herself?", they thought. And so the race began to see who could steal it.

The girl, though she had made Heart beautifully, was sadly not skilled in the ways of flying it. She lost Heart, not once, not twice, but many times. The boys would steal it for fun, keep it as a trophy, and sometimes even play with it like it was a ball. Each time she would manage to get it back from the cruel little boys, a little beat up, a little broken, a little more torn.  Heart grew weaker and weaker and didn't soar as high anymore,  so thankfully most boys left it alone now. A few nasty ones still tried but the girl had by now learned how to fly it better and keep it safe.

One day, a new boy moved into the house next door. His kite was called Heart too, he said. "Let's fly it together? I don't want to steal or break yours, I just want a friend." Girl listened to him carefully and asked Heart what she should do.  Heart gave her some advice - "keep me close, and put two strings on me this time so he can't steal it even if he tried". Girl agreed. Together the Hearts flew, spinning around and around each other until it was impossible to see where his Heart ended and hers began. So close did their Hearts stay together that both strings on hers were cut and she didn't even notice. Her Heart cried out in despair! But the foolish girl saw it too late, and her neighbour boy smiled and walked away with both his Heart and her own.

She begged and begged him to give it back. "Tonight", he said. So she waited outside his house all night to get it and he didn't come out. She begged him again. "Tonight, for sure", he said again. He never came and she spent another hopeless night waiting. "This evening, I promise", he swore. Evening came and she waited with bated breath at their spot. The stars came out and the moon shone. A few hours later, midnight struck, and the girl gave up and went home.

"Hey I looked for you last night", said the boy the next day. "I was right here, every night, but you never gave me back my Heart", replied the girl, knowing he was a liar and that he never came. "Haha!", laughed the boy then, "made you cry, didn't I! This is so much fun!!", and grinning, he took her Heart out from behind him, broke it in half, threw it at her feet, "there, take it now!" She looked at it sadly, and shook her head. "Keep it. I'm better off without it."

Off she went and explored the world on her own after that. She missed her Heart sometimes. She missed the happiness it used to give her. But she never missed the sadness again.

Arranged marriage

I'm not looking for love  anymore
I'm looking for a lie
To keep me warm on snowy days
And hold my hand when I die
A lie that lasts from now to never
To make me laugh or cry
To kiss away my loneliness
To ease the occasional sigh
In warm climes and cold nights
A lie is good company
It can talk to you and walk along
And never know its not true
It sings your songs or writes your words
Without knowing why
We will act oblivious both
Me and my little lie.

Survivor

No. Don't obey the rules of the world.
Never bow down in shame for the choices you made.
Have they walked in your shoes? No they've not.
They don't think you're good enough for them.
Yes, it's true, maybe you are not.
Never shall you be.
But know this
You survived where many others did not.
They gave up. You didn't.
You thrived.
You earned.
You built.
You learned.
And you'll keep building while they wither and die
Because they don't know how to live in deserts
Or through storms.

Lightning strikes

Something happened that night
When rain fell hard from the skies
So quiet, save the sounds of our voice
It never ceases to amaze me
What solitude can do to two minds
With stolen kisses and lightning bright
Made beautiful by your hand in mine
My heart in yours.

Luck. Fate.

All my life
I got what I wanted,
But never what I needed.

Now perhaps my luck is changing
And I am getting what I need
But nothing I want.
It makes me sad to see what I perceive as happiness
Slipping away from my hands;
It makes me sad to understand
That I may never have what I want again,
That my happiness will never make me smile for a minute or two,
But my laughter may perhaps last a lifetime?

Is that a dream?
Do people know they stand at the edge of a precipice if all they can see around them is darkness?
It has to be a sixth sense that warns you of your demise
If you take a step forward instead of backwards,
For sometimes...
It is better to step back than surge ahead,
Step back from that cliff,
Take what you need and not what you want.

Echoes

When time stops
And the world sighs
You hit reset
And your heart cries
You have regrets
Mistakes you've made
Remember
The echoes fade.

It seems to grow
Overwhelm your mind
It hounds your feet
Until you hide
The sounds of hate
The tears you've cried
Remember
The echoes fade.

Then joy creeps in
Like a thief at night
It's here with you
And you lose sight
Of hurt, and pain,
The price you paid
Finally
The echoes fade.

It's only words

A line a day
Is too much anyway
A line to pen
Or a man to hen
A line a day
Keeps the fight away
A line to me
Keeps me company
A line in time
Saves a life or nine
A line to read
Like air to breathe
A line I say
Makes a better day
A line or five
Dazzles my mind
A line to live
And a line to die
A line to make me
Come or cry
A line a day
Keeps the doubts at bay
A line from you
Do you think of me too?

Bharat Bandh

Dear world, why do you burn??
Am I doing something wrong?
In mayhem and blood, you turn,
And violent endings streak the dawn
When passions stir and hopes collide
In sweaty days and stirring nights
We wake to find you burning bright
With fires raging on the streets
And children crying to make ends meet
The people starving everywhere
But no, what do we care?
We are a selfish, privileged lot
We'll kill them all before we stop
To pause for breath, to give a damn
'bout anything but this hopeless sham
We watch you darken every day
And slowly give our world away
And slowly let you burn away.
We are a people of an age
We use you as our burning stage
We will persevere and prevail
And drown the world in bawling rage.

Survivor

I waded through the wreckage, fringes of my skirt catching in the edges around me. The plane crashed, they said. We all died on the way to Bali. Ironical, then, that I'm still standing. The hollowness in my stomach tells me I'm not yet dead. The bodies around me say everyone else is.

There's a child's hand sticking out of the carnage, and I walk over to it. Hold it. Try to give it the solace it'll never have again. What happened here??  What mad hand of fate knocked a Dreamliner out of the sky like a gnat? Maybe no one knows. I say a quick prayer for the dead.

I'm not looking for food as I continue walking, but I find it anyway. It's mostly charred and on the ground, but needy hands shove what they find into grasping mouths and clenching stomachs. We are sated now. I continue walking.

There's a radio squawking in the wreckage and my attention is drawn to it. It speaks of a rescue, it screams for survivors. People are crying over spilt milk and crashed planes. I might tell them I lived. I might ask for help. But not now. For now I must see.

From one end to the other, I make my way across the aisle. Masks strew the way and bodies litter under my feet. The occasional burning patch or sharp metal slices and hurts them. But is that any less than what I deserve? I'm humming to myself now, a childhood lullaby my nanny would sing. PTSD, the doctors would call it. I'm not sure what I'd call it anymore.

My hand skims over the burning flesh of the pilot again when I complete my tour. He was a nice man, now that I think about it. My mother certainly thought so when she married him. I wonder why she never listened to my cries for help when he 'held' me at night, though? Maybe she thought I was having nightmares. Maybe she didn't know he was my nightmare, every day, from the day I turned 11.

I pick up the radio, breathless with the tears that shine through my smile. "I'm alive... ", I whisper into it. "Come save me". They'll listen this time. 

First Date

Maybe he thought of me
Sometimes
He may even remember my name
Maybe the thought of me
Those times
Brought a smile to his face
Maybe the time was
Not right
Maybe he'll call me again
Maybe his life was on
The line
Maybe he'll still not forget
Maybe he thought of me
Sometimes
And smiled at my naivete
Maybe I was never
On his mind
Maybe it's all in my head.

My girl

Hush lil' girl
Don't make me fall
For smiles so sweet,
Don't make me call
You in the night
To hear your voice,
Don't make me think
Of you sometimes,
Don't make me laugh
At silly lines,
Don't make me want
To hold you close,
Don't make me want
To want you more.
Hush lil' girl
Don't make me smile,
But if I fall
Don't make me cry.

Public Opinion

I don't like me anymore
I don't quite know why
Everything good about me
Is likely to soon die
It's not that I'm alone
I have my thoughts and prayers
It's people I don't believe
It's people who make me fear
It's people who don't uphold
The promises they make
It's people who never care
About the hearts they break
So people hold you close
Then one day throw you away
I'm not a people person
And that is my mistake
So as I'm growing older
And as my hair turns grey
I don't like me anymore
And hear what people say
Too jaded, too hard,
Over-thinker, not smart,
Too stupid and too slow,
Too rough to be mellow.
An ocean of opinions
A castle of mistakes
I'm drowning in apathy
And sinking in your hate.

Then & Now

I was in love before
Now I'm just sad
I had some hope before
But that went bad
He made me smile before
Now I'm just mad
That I didn't leave before
He made me sad
I used to feel before
I used to cry
I wasn't sure before
I don't know why
I used to trust before
He'd come around
I prayed to God before
I figured out
There was no love before
That'll never change
I never want my heart
To break again.

Dark Power

The streets of this city are awash with power. Glittering, running through its alleys and roads like a network of veins, pumping blood and air into it, keeping it alive. Everywhere you go, there is a sense of privilege, of glamour thinning the line between what is real and what is fake. They think I’m plastic, that my face, my tits, my hair, it’s all plastic. They’re right. The best cosmetic surgeons in the city work on me regularly to make sure everything remains eternal, alive, and unchanging. I pay them well to make sure they do a good job. 

I climb out of the Bentley, my hand held gently by my date for the evening. I use the term ‘date’ loosely, he is really more of an escort hired for the purpose of looking good, but not too good. Is there anything else I can call him? Maybe a well-placed Honey or Darling can complete the illusion that we are, indeed, a beautiful, happily glowing couple in this city of lights. I don’t care though; there are illusions enough around me.

As I climb up the red carpeted staircase, my gown flows behind me in emerald glory. Little beads of green baubles, sewn together to form a canopy that fits me like a second skin, hiding everything but revealing all as I move, making my way to the grand ballroom. I can hear the people gasp around me, perhaps a split second of movement showed a nipple? I secretly smile - the gown was just as I had imagined it would be. I would make sure the designer knew I was pleased with his work.

They came to feast, these people, their eyes condemning yet seeking more titilation at the same time. I have no intention of indulging them : my body is a temple that not everyone can worship at. It takes a special kind of man to turn me on, one who matches my hunger with his greed. The skin show was for his benefit, the plastic to make me beautiful to his eyes, the escort to make me more desirable to him. He was everything I wanted and I had no intention of letting him go.

Walking in, I let my eyes roam the hallways as other eyes roamed over me. Live and let live, that is what I believe, so I let them look. I never was a shy girl, even when I was younger and still working for a living. Not to be mistaken, I should clarify that perhaps I still work for a living. It is only the nature of work that has changed… and of course, the pay scale. I can barely remember what life was like before this now. What was I doing, trudging along muddy roads going from shop to shop trying to sell my company’s products? Did I think I could make a difference to anyone doing that menial work? No. I have come a long way since then. It came at a price, but it was worth it. That is what I tell myself everyday.

Sometimes, though, I miss it. The simplicity that was life then. Work hard, party hard, though all I did was work. Where was the time to party? And if I am to be honest with myself, I had no friends to party with either. So I worked and worked myself, by myself, till I fell exhausted in my bed every night. Such was life, that I fell into the first pair of arms that found me each time, and then fell out of them as they used and threw me away. There remains a faint memory of tears shed, of blood and scars and knives. I have no use for those memories now though, so I threw them away.

There he is. My goal for the evening, standing there resplendent in his tuxedo and black bow tie. The tie is a little crooked as always, doesn’t he know by now that it makes me itch to straighten it? I can see his eyes turn towards me. Now they look over me, through me, as if taking in my dress and tearing it apart. Finally they meet my own grey irises, and I finally see the fury reflected in them. I smile coyly - was I not expected to come to his birthday party? The thoughts flit across his face. Who let me in without an invitation? Would I cause a scene if asked to leave discreetly? What was I doing wearing that ridiculous dress in his house!

“Hello Mrs.Raman, congratulations”, I said politely to our hostess for the evening. “Mr.Raman may have turned 50, but he doesn’t look a day over 35!”

“Thank you dear… I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch your name. What did you say it was?”

“I haven’t offered it yet Mrs.Raman, don’t worry”, I smiled at her while she quickly glanced at my cleavage - was a nipple showing again? - and then back to my face. “I’m an old colleague of Mr.Raman, I used to be his secretary a few years ago and we’ve been corresponding ever since.”

“Oh that’s wonderful, so nice of you to have come then. Although Mr.Raman never mentioned you before.”

“That’s only natural ma’am. You don’t talk about the people you’re fucking to your wife.”

Silence. Had he really thought he could get away with it? It’s been so many years since he’d raped me, maybe he’d forgotten why he had hired me in the first place. I never forget. I never forgive. I never give up. 

Happy Birthday Mr.Raman.

*Disclaimer - Yes it's all fiction. 

A Glimpse of Futures

15th March, 2018

Teleporting is fun. Accidents are rare and traffic jams are now a thing of the past. They don't make you wait in lines for a simple ticket because practically everybody has one these days, everybody who is anybody anyway. There are still some poor people around though who share Teleports. So strange, that, like sharing a public toilet, paying a dollar for every time you use it. You'd think people would be a little more picky about who they scrambled their molecules with! The body is split apart every time we use a Teleport. Some naysayers even say that you even leave behind some of yourself in that deep space between two ports. I don't believe in such nonsense though; it is, no doubt, invented by those oil companies who still want people to burn fossil fuels and use large SUVs and such.

No, teleports are safe and reliable, and that is all there is to it. A few molecules lost here and there are not depleting the ozone layer like the SUVs did, or forcing me to become a passive smoker while the fossil fuels burn up the world.

30th May, 2030

The world has changed. Teleporting is not an option anymore, its the rule. Even the poorest of the poor own one per family - the last government gave them away for free in a last-minute "reform", conveniently just before the great election of 2024. They won that year, but were replaced by the Democrats again this year. Now the Democrats complain that the treasury has no money for running and maintaining subways and roads, thus forcing every person to use their feet or a Teleport to travel. Factories have now been built in the vast underground tunnels that were once subways; that is where all the remaining fossil fuel is used these days. That and for electricity, although even electricity is mostly generated through the nuclear or solar plants.

Still, life is good, the air is clean, there is plenty of food and water for everyone and people visit each other almost everyday across the world. Travel from third-world countries is still limited because they don't have the monies to build Teleport factories, and use airplanes even now. Most of us have now learned to ignore those irritating naysayers of teleporting. Some scientists are even calling this decade as the "Age of the Great Loss", owing to the millions of molecules we all seem to have collectively lost while teleporting through quantam space. Some say that even the weight of the human soul seems to have decreased among those of us who teleport often. Can this even be possible?

20th July, 2035

I just came back from the fertility labs in South Malta, where people of the world are gathering their sperm and ova so they can be matched for the highest rates of successful fertilization. My results were disappointing, to say the least - I have been declared sterile. No doubt my partner Mia will also be saddened by this, but we'll move on and she'll find a more suitable mate, like everyone else does these days. Heartbreak is not an emotion we feel deeply any more, neither is joy or elation. Fear, now that I can still comprehend.

Fear. The one emotion that I still feel, though I wish it had been the first one to go. I feel fear at the loss of my soul, fear that more and more of us are found sterile everyday, fear at the rising shadows that now press against me when I teleport. Fear that the naysayers and the oil companies were right, that the loss of the ozone layer would have still been better than this emptiness we now feel inside.

14th Feb, 2050

They say the sea is to rise tomorrow. As I lean over my balcony and watch the horizon, I can see the shadows in the distance. They moved from the quantam realm through the portal some years ago, first a trickle that nobody noticed and slowly increasing to a tide that no one could stop. They brought us face-to-face with versions of ourselves that had somehow manifested from our own molecules, twisted insubstantial entities that were hungry to become corporeal through the bodies of the creatures they had been born from, namely, us. But even fear has left me, and now I feel nothing anymore. The government that controls us forbid the use of teleports when the shadows finally became visible to everyone. Now we walk through narrow alleyways and between towers of steel to get to the nearest convenience store or to work. But I will not relive the past, we have been instructed to only concentrate on the present. The sea may rise tomorrow and drown us all, but so what? We will have lived for nothing, just as we will die for nothing. Life's like that, we've been told. Those who did not listen took off in their spaceships for different planets, while the government was left behind to call them traitors to the race. They will live for sure, but they will live with that on their permanent record, that which replaced the human "conscience" a long time back. My record has been spotless so far, with no violations, no thoughts of treason or murder, like many of my fellow men and women resorted to after the Sterility March. I will die in the morning, but I will die with a clean record.

Don't Wait

I haven't felt in a while
Not love, not hate,
Just whispers of late
When I used to wait
For a text or a call
For a sign that he thought
Of me sometimes
That was all I'd want
But the signs never came
And the nights grew cold
He'd tell me his dreams
And the dreams grew old
Then i knew him well
His ways, his tales,
He feared me then
I knew him too well
I wished him no harm
He feared me still
I'd pray for his dreams
He tore me till
I feel no love now
No sorrow, no hate
I pray for no dreams
No call I await.

Diary of Depression

Day 1

"No no no don't leave me please!", she said.

"Everybody changes. Everybody leaves", her mind whispered.

"But I can't help being the way I am."

"Neither can they."


Day 2

Dear world,

It's been a hard day today.  Not because I had too much work in office, but because I was trying very hard not to give up and come back home. I'm proud to say I didn't give up. My hands were shaking sometimes, I wish I could've talked to someone and told them how I felt, but still.. I didn't give up. The medicines helped, not much else. Everything feels overwhelming these days - driving, walking, standing up, blinking. Any movement feels forced, like I'd rather be frozen. Why am I feeling this way? Because something broke inside my mind, again. It happens sometimes, once in a few years I guess. Hopefully it will come slower and less frequently as I grow even older. Why does it break? Because I'm overwhelmed by feeling too much about something, many somethings. It's just the way I'm built, a little broken. Everything is too bright or too dull, life is beautiful or horrible. There's so little grey. So it breaks my mind up when there's so many colours, so much darkness all at once. Why am I telling you this? Because I have no one else to talk to.

Day 3

Another day has gone, every day feels less overwhelming than the one before. But it's strange that the whole week has passed by and I don't even remember anything between Sunday and today, Friday, except my doctor's visit. And taking medicines, so many little pills, morning, noon and night. I even forget if I took them sometimes, I don't know if I've skipped some or taken it twice. It's been a week that never was.

Day 4

It's easy to hide under my blanket on the weekends and close my eyes. If only I didn't need to open them again, I'd be happy. But I do have to get up sometimes, to walk my dogs, to eat, to take a shit. And when you start getting up for the small things, you think of getting up for bigger things too once in a while. Like taking that long walk with your dog, thinking about watching a movie. It's all possible as long as the pills don't put me to sleep again. Then I'll hide and not come out till I have to.

Day 5

It's been a bad day. Even as it started out, I knew it would be. I was trying to wean off one of the meds, I didn't like how it made me feel. Like a zombie. I wanted to go to the forest and start practising with my dog for long runs. Nothing much, 7km at first to begin with. We looked forward to it. Then I just didn't get up. There was always the evening to get up and run, right? Always an easier path around my house. Always a person around to mock me. Always something to look forward to, only to have it taken away by someone's malice and pride. Always something to trigger another attack, another SOS dose, another setback. Always another day to dread.

Day 6

What do I want for this valentines day? No more horror after horror after horror. No more black and white and overwhelming feelings for everything and everyone. No more helplessness as someone pushes me down under the heel of his shoe, or punches me in the face when he feels slighted, or calls me mad and fucked up and deranged. Will there ever be a day when I'll be free?

Day 7

It feels nice to empower yourself. Strong. Self-sufficient. Until you remember the threats. Until you remember that you can't protect yourself from harm, from injury. You can't protect your dogs, your family, or your friends. Then empowerment tastes like ashes in your mouth and is just a hollow drum to beat.

Needless to say, it's getting worse. The trembling won't stop now. The meds are not helping today. I wish I had more work to do so I could forget everything, but I don't. I wish, I wish, I wish... I wish so many things were not as they are. I wish someone would see me, see beyond the smile and the small talk, and care to ask if I'm alright. But I'm not ok. How I wish I was! 

Not Love

No, I don't think love is blind,
It's just a spiny porcupine,
With needles sharp, and oh so many
That poke my heart, it's not even funny
It never lets me hold it close
Don't trust in love, it's a thorny rose

No, I don't think love is deaf,
It's just a concept in my head,
It makes me sing and dance and smile
And makes me feel so happy, so high,
But all I hear are Nevers and Nos
Don't trust in love, it's just a prose.

No, I don't think love is dumb,
It's just something that makes me numb
It steals away my hope and my joy
And make me wish for that fickle boy
Whose smile is warm and heart is cold
Don't trust in love, it'll steal your soul.

Jingle all the way

Maybe you were busy
Maybe you didn't miss me
Maybe you were weary
Or just didn't want to kiss me
The moon was just too bright
Or the stars were just too many
The sun was in your eyes
The weather was too sunny
The sky was overcast
The clouds were far too gunny
The smoke was in the air
My nose was acting funny
Maybe you were busy
Maybe you didn't miss me
Wish you'd want me more
Wish you'd want to kiss me.

Invisible

You hurt her, you hate her,
And still she cared,
She watched and she waited
Though she'd never dare
To tell you she loves you
Your lips, your smile,
She watches, she waited,
Alone she'll cry
Her friends call her crazy
And so do you
She knows she's not perfect
She knows she's mad
She knows she's forgotten
She's just so sad
She wishes you greatness
She wishes you joy
And slips into darkness
Away she flies.

Tinder

I'm drowning in faces
I'm drowning my love
I'm swiping, I'm looking
For someone who might
Look something like you
Be something like you
With only one catch
That he'd like me too
I'm swiping, I'm crying
I'm drowning my love.

Borderline

Above my heart
Below my vein
Where you kiss
Is where I cut
One slash, two,
And over again
Until I see
The blood and pain
These hands of mine
One hard, one sad,
One weilds the knife
One pays the tax.

I'm not alone
Not in my mind
I have my words
Of different kinds
Some words of love
Some words of pain
Of hurt, obsession,
And pride so vain
A word so kind
It melts your heart
And keeps you warm
In winters dark.
A word so harsh
It blows across
The dusty plains
Like winter stark.
A word of hope
A word of prayer
A word to make you
Wish you were here.
These words are mine
I give them away
And ask, in turn,
No price you pay,
But give me words
To hoard as mine
A song, a quote,
To pen my lines.
So give me magic,
Dim the lights,
Show me joy
Or steal my sight.

What is life
But pain and blood,
You knock it down,
It still gets up.
You play with it,
It fucks you up.
You make it work,
Or give it up.

How to Survive

Bits and pieces of my life,
Scattered over wind and time,
Bits and bobs and shiny things,
Mingling with broken wings,
Here a person, there a man,
Scattering like grains of sand.
Take a penny, throw a dime,
Here's a story, there's a rhyme,
Keep it close or scatter it,
Pieces falling bit by bit.
Keep it in in waning light
Let it out in darkest night
When the clock strikes midnight
Insanity will win the fight,
Insanity will hold me close,
And whisper in my deepest throes.
A story I may have to tell
A story I may have to tell,
A story not of living well,
But living on and living hard,
And living through the darkest dark,
No lanterns shining over me,
But what I could make..
Save what i could see.

I don't understand
These foolish thoughts
This feeling bad
This feeling lost
The anger grows
I noticed that
It keeps me safe
It keeps me smart
Be silent now
My foolish heart

Random

What is touch?
A touch of time.
A hand of fate
A fate in rhyme
With feelings felt
And lessons learnt
Of freezing touch
And fire burnt.
In burning woods
We run and hide
We run in vain
Against the tide.
The ocean drowns
All happiness
It lowers hope
In hollow breasts.
No hope I see
No touch I feel
Just randomness
And empty zeal.

Dim lights & Magic

"I should take the dim lights around you and make some magic..." - Anon

Dim the lights & close the door,
Find the one you're looking for,
Shed your mask & shed your clothes,
Caress my skin and hold me close,
Move your body over mine,
Let your fingers stop my time,
Lips and tongue and hearts collide,
Make your magic, take me high.
Bring me down to earth again,
Catch my breath, then I begin,
Touching, feeling, lips and licks,
Worshipping with little tricks,
Take you high and bring you low,
Let you crash and hold you close.
Slowly as your breathing slows,
We start again, lo behold
Riding, loving, through the night
Sometimes naughty, others nice,
Salty skin and sweaty slopes,
Tracing hills with tips and toes,
Pick the pace, then slow again,
Tides of pleasure washing in,
Hold me up against the wall,
In my bed, come make me fall,
Silky tremors swallow me,
Come and keep me company.

My journey song

Give me road
Or give me sky
Give me wheels
Or wings to fly
When I'm lonely
When I'm high
I like to watch
The world go by
I travel spaces
Near and far
Both in my mind
And in my car
To watch the pretty
Flowers bloom
Or bathe in sunsets
Pink and blue
If only I could
Hit land again
My car would stop
My flight would end
My journey is
A rolling song
Come with me
And sing along
If I could take
Your flickering lights
And weave you magic
I would try
I only have
My journey song
So ride with me
And sing along.

Don't you ever promise me
Things you know that cannot be
Lines you know to never cross
Simple things I'd never ask.

Don't you look at me and say
That my beauty breaks your heart
You and I, we know you lie
Beauty never played no part.

Don't you make me laugh aloud
Make me smile, make me shout,
My emotions shatter me
Let me sleep in misery.

Don't you make me feel again
Little loss, nothing gained
Stranger's kindness makes me dream
What I know will never be.

Giving Up

I have no heart,
Only whiskey or wine
It tears me apart
To see humour die
At the hands of men
Who make poor jokes
My feet are so tiny
My tummy is huge
And dirty my toes
My dress was so new
I fell in the drain
Along with my dog
Her bath was in vain
She fell down again
We ran on the roads
Like thunder and lightning
Racing and flying
I still sweep my home
Of dust and smoke
The smell of paint
Hangs in the air
My eyes are now drying
As tears are falling
They fall on my lips
And taste of me weeping
I rattle the cages
Of people around me
Their hearts are full
Of love - it's frightening.
I don't know why or how
But I have no heart.

Hollow

We're hollow, you and I,
We're many poles apart
We'd like to think we're alike
That we were meant to last.

Someday I know that you and I
Someday we all will die
Someday perhaps the hurt will cease
Someday somewhere we'll find our peace.

Sometimes I feel the pounding rise
The love, the hate, the bloody ties,
Somehow I understand our pain,
Someday somewhere we're whole again.

When all the flaming pillars fall,
Some moment free of Misery's thrall,
The glass will break and we will see
Someday somewhere we're free to be.

Profundity

I must find
The moments of madness
In my life of love
And laughter and sadness
To express myself
Better. 

Spaces

There is a right and there is a wrong
And there is a grey in between
It's there that I want to live
For who are we to say what is right
Or what is wrong?
Let the heart write it's own song.
There is an in and there is an out
There is a scream and there is a shout
Who are we to say which is which
Without a doubt?
Let the rhythm play it's own gong.

Don't.

Accuse me not of empathy
For I don't feel at all -
Not this warped reality
Not a shred of sanity
Not a sense of  gravity
All I feel is sympathy
Just for this profanity
For all your fluff and vanity
For mine and your toxicity
But I ain't got no empathy
Not for the dying man
The dying dog or the helping hand
Not that you'd understand
That I have no humanity.

The Pigeon

You lie there with a broken wing
Fighting to live, to breathe, to fly,
If you knew you'd never fly again
Would you rather live or die? 

What men want

This is a woman,
A journey of life;
To have, to keep,
To love or despise,
To leave, to try,
For no reason why.

If she made you strong
She made you cry.
If she gave you breath
Her feet, your sky.

She isn't a dance,
She is the fire.
She isn't a song,
She is desire.

She may be your hope,
Your every wish,
Your need to rule,
To be dismissed.

Judge her not
For what she wants,
Her needs, her fonts,
For what she won't.

But what she will
Is love you well
Her body yours
Her soul as well.

How to ...

Love is but
A cancer of heart
A cancer of soul
Of mind and whole.

Love is not
A melding of minds
But melding of bones
Of wishes and stones.

Love believes
In leaving behind
Your whispers, your no's
Your dreams, your goals.

Love demands
The peace of your mind
The skin off your sole
The cells at your core.

Love will try
To take you so high
And let you go
Just let you go.

If it's fate I want to know
If it's love then make it go
I have no room for agony
My simple heart is scarred you see

It bled, it wept, it shouted loud
But no one tried to hear the sound
It cried for help, to heal itself,
But no one really cared about

It was cajoled on winter days,
In warmth it was thrown away
Now safely I have kept it sealed
And never will I let it bleed

Let's reject it

They droop, they stoop,

They flew the coop,

They won't give up,

The eyes and us.

They try, they die,

They want to cry,

They don't like dust,

The eyes and us.

They spot, they slough,

They even get tough,

They need some love,

The eyes and us.

They crack and fade,

They may even break,

They could get struck,

They eyes and us!

They work very hard, 

Shed water, take lard,

Hate veins and blood,

The eyes and us.

They get little sores,

And scars and scores,

And exposed too much,

They eyes and us.

Amoeba, bacteria, virii,

STDs to age, to fungi,

They all get fucked,

The eyes and us.

Chennai, Delhi, India - its all the same

Chennai, 25th April 2014

8.30 a.m.

I had just finished submitting my photograph and fingerprints for the US visa I was applying, at the US visa Application Center office on Cenotaph road. I called my dog's trainer saying I would be home soon, requesting him to wait for the 10-15 minutes it took me to drive the 3 kms to my home. I had to finish that and then go to office for a meeting.

I cut the call and started driving back. I passed by the Greenways road turning, forgetting to take a right. "Nevermind", I thought, "I can always take the straight road via R.A.Puram. Sure its a crowded area, but this early should be safe!"

I was wrong.

I entered the slum area in R.A.Puram. It is called Kamaraj Salai, and is just beyond the popular Sangeetha South-Indian cuisine restaurant. Some among you may object to me calling it this derogatory term. Consider this - There are encroachments on both sides of the road. Beyond that are two lines of vehicles parked on both sides again. Then there are the numerous hordes of people walking on the road, ignoring the vehicles desperately trying to drive through the place. Every car is eyed with hostility by the pedestrians, women walk around in their night clothes, and men in even less. Don't be surprised at some drunk man suddenly falling in front of your vehicle at any time. There is a distinct sense of violence hanging in the air always.

I carefully wove through the throngs crowding the road even at this early hour. Suddenly a boy, no more than 18-19, if that old, appears on a bike before me. He came from the opposite direction, heading straight for my car in the wrong lane. He seemed to notice me less than 50m away, so engrossed was he in speedily overtaking another biker in his lane. He skid, I swerved, he passed me by narrowly touching my car, he fell.

I stopped the car and rolled down the windows. Was he okay?? A crowd quickly gathered around him. But a crowd started to gather around me too. People were banging on my car, when did that happen? In my mind I saw what would happen next, this being our good ol' India - they would pull me out of the car, beat me, strip me if they could, molest me as much as they could, and it would be too late by the time the police arrived, if anyone even calls them.

I drove forward, surging through the crowd choking my way. I drove through streets and lanes, trying to get to the nearest policeman, because there was never one stationed in this area. Ever. Yes, even the police are scared of these people.

I was being followed by a few men on bikes. As I took a U-turn on R.K.Mutt road to get near the check-post on Adyar bridge, they cornered my vehicle and stopped me. I rolled down the windows, thinking I could talk some sense into them. What was I thinking?! I started saying we should all go to the police station, when the man leading the charge hit me. Once, twice, thrice, over and over again. I screamed for help, while buses and people in other vehicles passed by. No one came. The man kept calling me "thevadiya", meaning prostitute, and didn't stop hitting me. "How dare you hit our boy!", he yelled. I screamed back, "but he was coming on the wrong side!!", and he yelled back, "so what, you should have moved!" His friends surrounded him and egged him on. It turned into a fight for my car key as he kept trying to snatch it from the ignition while hitting my face and arms at the same time.

Slowly, after almost 5-7 minutes, a crowd of people gathered around me. Some of them were not connected to the goons who were hitting me. The main man ran away before I could come back to my senses - I know because I looked for him later in the crowd. A kind cyclist passing by lent me his phone because I just couldn't find mine. I called my dad, then found my phone and called the police (Emergency number - 100).

Another few minutes later, a traffic cop came by. He stood near my car, and did nothing to calm the crowd. He spoke to them in tamil thinking I wouldn't understand, saying that my hands were shaking and I was crying probably as an act to garner sympathy. 

Another patrol car came by with just one constable driving it. He noticed the crowd, the car with the lone woman surrounded by it with the windows rolled down, and very unhelpfully took away my car key. He advised me to not go anywhere, and drove away leaving me stranded there.

Eventually, the police squad came. 10-12 policemen in squad cars and motorbikes, armed to the teeth, quickly surrounded my car and dispersed the crowd. I'd never seen a sight so welcome to me in that moment. My dad arrived a few minutes later, having driven from Annanagar which is nearly 12 kms away.

You'd think the drama would end there. You would be wrong.

I was taken to the traffic police station first, of all things. No one cared that I was hurting, that my face and my arms had swelled up from the beating - not the policemen and certainly not the crowd of goons. We had to go to the Besant Nagar station for the accident case, while the assault case I wanted to file would have to be done at the Abiramapuram police station. I was forcibly made to wait at the Besant Nagar station till 2 in the afternoon that day, without anyone even giving me a break to go to the loo or file the assault charges or go see a doctor.

Reports came in about the biker boy being admitted in a private hospital nearby. His friends and relatives demanded insane amounts of money from my dad, plus medical expenses till the end of time. Dad refused, and an accident complaint was given by them to the police instead. The hearing is due soon. The boy suffered from some scrapes on his elbow and a minor head wound.

After being released from the traffic police station, I was asked to complete the RTO brake test for my car if I wanted it back, so I got onto that. Lunch was quickly snatched on the way at around 3 p.m. By the time we reached the Abiramapuram station to file the assault complaint, it was 5 p.m.

We waited about 30 minutes for the Inspector to return from whatever siesta he was having. I'd given up hope of seeing a doctor and had swallowed a pain killer instead to keep the hurt at bay. Still, my arm was in a sling I'd bought to support it, and I was exhausted. After narrating to the officer what happened, we waited again till 8 p.m. before our preliminary complaint was accepted. We were given what is called a CSR, which is the receipt of the complaint. This CSR, strangely, only said that I was verbally abused. No physical abuse was mentioned in it.

Chennai, 26th April
5.00 p.m.

We went back on the 26th, Saturday evening, at 5 p.m. like we'd been asked to. I'd finally managed to get my injuries checked and some painkillers prescribed. I went into the station and asked the policeman on duty what the status of my complaint was. What followed shocked me, again.

The policeman started yelling at me, saying he had conducted some enquiries in the accident area (instead of the assault location). He said that the locals there accused me of driving very fast (though it was impossible to drive above 30kmph in that crowd), and that I'd hit 3-4 more people too! So I asked him, "but what that any of that have to do with the assault case??", and he answered, "It's all connected, let the biker boy be released from the hospital first and then we'll call him and you together before filing an FIR".

Aghast, my dad and I went to our lawyer and told him what had happened. We found that the police were scared of filing the assault charges against my unknown assailant. Reason - the people from the slum area would mob their police station.

Chennai, 30th April

We set about filing a court order, ORDERING the police to file an FIR then. The court order has just come in, next in line is the FIR itself. Today is the 30th of April, 2014, Day-6 after the incident.

Night on the Train

Darkness is not a state of mind. It is a state of being.

As I sat down on my seat, on the train from Connaught Place to Gurgaon, my eyes registered two things right away - that there were hardly any people in my compartment that night, and the lights were switched off in most places. I looked closer into the dark with morbid curiosity, wondering who sat there. A couple, softly kissing each other on the lips, there, in that corner, their hands unseen and moving under each other's clothes. A man with a lit-up Kindle on another seat near the door, enjoying his book in solitude. Another man, shadowed like the night around him, looking out at the lights of Delhi's metro tunnels speeding by. And me, in my garish make-up and sparkly heels, the skimpy costume somewhat hidden under a pair of denim shorts and a white t-shirt.

Every day I took the metro at the same time, the last train of the night. Every day I saw these or other people, scattered around the compartment, some engrossed in their own pursuits, some staring at me, and some trying to do one and not the other. With my red and black shimmery bustier outlined by the flimsy shirt, and little trails of spangles peeping out from under the hem of my shorts, I was hard to ignore, and an easy target. That was the whole point of the costume under my clothes, to attract the attention of perverts and the wife-sick men of the world.

My profession had dulled my sense of modesty from its previously mild state to an almost non-existent one. There was no such thing as privacy in my world; personal space was laughed off at the front door. In that world of "Professional Dancers", as we were supposed to call ourselves, I had lost my virginity and my sense of being. So, it was fortunate for me that I felt so little anyway, that the constant leering and groping were easier for me to forget than it was for some of the other girls. If there was a place in my mind I could go to, to escape the over-bright nightmare that was my life, I would have. But my mind was numb with emptiness, with no corners to hide in that were free of the red splash of blood. Still, I was better off than the other girls, who were usually in a haze of coke and ice, passed out after dancing like mad dervishes in the hot limelight. You couldn't blame them for wanting to forget, for losing their minds rather than face their new realities. The "dance" did that to you. It took away your identity as a human, and left you a mass of quivering sweaty slicked-over flesh, bared, to be touched and fondled by would-be friends and strangers alike. Free to be pinched, slapped, branded, maimed, and ridden. Free to be used and carelessly disposed off like yesterday's leftovers and that bit of toilet paper.

Strangely, I never lost my purpose in that melee. Some would say that I was suffering from some strange dissociative disorder, but I never lost focus of what I was here for. My studies, my family, my fabulous degree in Fine Arts, my life before this, none of it mattered anymore to me. But what I was here for, that is what directed my existence now. I had been defined by that one memory, the one that had changed me forever - the face of the fiend who had raped and murdered my beautiful and sweet and so innocent! 7 year old sister Radhika. I missed her every time I thought of her, even today. Left her body in the woods, he had, to be torn apart by wolves and wild animals. We had welcomed the monster into our house as a guest, enraptured with the tales of his travels and the wondrous places he had seen and books he had read. Defiling and strangling my sister was how our hospitality had been repaid by that animal, before he disappeared into the great Indian marketplace.

If I had a brush and paints, I would draw the kaleidoscope that passed me by. Art had been my life before the monster had taken it away and replaced with nothing but cold dark hate. Still, sometimes I wondered what it had felt like to hold the wooden handle between my fingers, making melody with shades of colour and texture. Now I barely remember who I used to be.

The speaker announced the arrival of Gurgaon station in five minutes. Of all the people in the train, the couple never stood up to crowd around the exit door like the rest of us, wanting their privacy together for as long as possible. The man at the window was reluctant to turn away from the lights; perhaps he dreaded that those would be the last quiet moments of his night. The man who was reading switched off the light on his Kindle, stowed it into his knapsack and stood up to join me at the door. I slipped my sweatshirt on and pulled up the hood, tucking stray wisps of my hair under it. Slowly, the train pulled into the station, and the doors slid open. "Mind the gap!" the speakers blared in warning, as I stepped off the train and walked, head down, towards the exit.

Just then, a woman started screaming behind me. Was it the girl, from the couple on the train? "Khoon (blood)! Help! Someone!!" she shouted. A few policemen who were napping in hidden places at the station heard her cries and ran past me towards her train. They wouldn't find anything, those officers, not in the train, not on my seat and not through the CCTVs watching me even now. They wouldn't know the name of the little girl that well-read man had raped with his filthy body, and they wouldn't know that her older sister had slit his throat.

I kept walking.

Wendy and Silk ride the merry-go-round

Around the merry-go-round we go
Faster now, then we slow,
Sunlight streaming through the leaves
Misting breath and heaves.

Chapter - 1

I, Silk, and my sister, Wendy, sat on the merry-go-round in the park, hoping it will go as fast as it did the last time. We were the little kids of the bunch, not quite 3 feet tall or 10 years old yet. But that never stopped us from whooping in glee every time we rode the little circle on our wooden horse-seats, our hair blinding us and eyes wild and watery with the cold wind. Chicago was like that at this time of the year, cold as a witch's teat (we'd heard Mommy say that once, and had Googled it when she wasn't looking).

Mommy was now sitting on that bench that she liked, the one in the corner of the park under the elm tree, reading a book like she always did. We never understood why she read so many books, they were so boring! Our teacher was always ragging us to read more, but why would we when there was the internet to learn whatever we needed to, whenever we wanted to? Like I said, how boring... Still, Mommy was like that, doing boring things without any good reason, the way most grown-ups these days seemed to do. Still, atleast she made good pancakes and never scolded us for being too fat the way Amanda's mom always scolded her.

The man in the blue shirt made little bugs crawl up my sleeves. No, not real ones silly, but he made me FEEL like I had them crawling all over me. He was there at the fence again, on the other side of the merry-go-round. He stood there staring at us like he was really hungry and we were lunch. I once pointed him out to Mommy but when she'd looked his way, he had disappeared like the Devil! Mommy told us never to speak to him if we ever saw him again, and had told me to look after Wendy extra extra carefully when we went to the park now. So here he was again, making me very itchy, and I had to become extra extra careful now that he was here.

I wanted to fetch Mommy so she could ask that man why he was so hungry all the time and why he gave me bugs with his eyes. So I shouted over the wind, LOUDLY, "Wendy, let's go get Mommy!" But the circle was spinning so fast and we were laughing so loud, she did not want to ever get off. So here's what I thought - What if I jumped off the moving carousel and ran over the fetch Mommy, while Wendy could ride out the wind before we came back? I quite adored my little sister, you know, even though she could be annoying at times, like when she wore my neatly ironed clothes to school instead of her own crumpled uniform. ANYWAY... I had this neat trick where I could easily jump off a moving swing on my own, without even a single scratch. Yes, I was very proud of it, it was my signature move! I made up my mind, yelled out again to Wendy, saying "I'm going to fetch Mommy!", took a deep breath... and jumped.

Perfect landing! Yes, I know I'm awesome!

If only my story had ended there...



Chapter - 2

If only my story had ended there.

I ran, ran at full tilt, almost stumbling over the little roots & clumps of grass sticking out of the ground, and finally reached her. "Mommy!", I shouted, "That creepy man is back!"
"What creepy man luv?"
"That man I told you about ma, the one who gives me bugs."
"You mean the one who gives you the creeps darling", she said, smiling. "So, he's back, is he? Let's go see what business he thinks he has around little kids at the park. Where did you see him Silk? And why isn't Wendy with you?", she asked, noticing that I was alone for the first time.
"He's standing by the fence Mommy. I left Wendy there to keep an eye on him", I said, feeling quite proud of having come up with that little fib.
"You what?!!"

Mommy ran, like I had a few minutes ago, at full tilt, stumbling over everything in the way. She ran towards Wendy, book fallen on the ground and forgotten.

I froze in surprise; didn't she believe me? Wendy was keeping an eye on him, he wouldn't get away this time! As Mommy's book fell, I watched it flutter to the ground for a bit and thought about it picking up so the pages don't get dirty. Then I watched Mommy run farther away from me, and forgot about the book as I ran after her.

I reached the merry-go-round and looked around. It was still turning slowly, but there was no one on it. The place was empty. No Mommy, no sign of Wendy either. Had Mommy got lost? Nah, the park is not that big! Maybe Wendy had wandered off and Mommy went to look for her? They wouldn't have both gone home and left me along, would they have? They wouldn't forget about me like that, no way. Mommy loves me too, she said so many times, even today morning!

I sat down on the now still merry-go-round, and thought hard. Had I made Mommy angry today? Yesterday? Except for when I'd tracked mud on the carpet last evening, I hadn't done one bad thing till now. Maybe Mommy and Wendy had gone to search for that creepy man? Yeah, that must be it. After they find him and Mommy scolds him for giving me the creeps, they'd come back here and we could go home. It was getting cold after all, and a little dark too. I pulled my knees close and rested my head on them, feeling alone and a not just a little miserable. Mommy wouldn't forget about me, she would come back for me, wouldn't she?

Would she?


Epilogue

Running can be fun. If you close your eyes even for a second, you feel like you're flying. When its cold, the tips of your ears and nose freeze up until you can't feel them anymore. The blood rushes to your head and your heart beats double time, as the world moves by you in slow motion.

As I wake up, I remember the running more than anything else, more than memories of Wendy or Mommy or the man in the blue shirt. That feeling of freedom and and being completely carefree is something I've never experienced since, except in my dreams. Because dreams are all that an orphan and a cripple can have.

I am Woman

I am wind,
I am wave,
I am fire,
I am hail.

I am what you want to feel,
I am what  you need to heal.

I am the caress in your hair.
I am the memory in your tear.

I am your future, and your past;
I am your freedom, and your cast.

I am the solitude you choose,
I am the emptiness up close.

I am the promises you made.

I am sunlight, I am shade.

I am the siren in your dream,
I am the horror in your scream.

The wounds that run so deep in me,
Far too many for you to see,
Leave me but a gaping wound;
Won't you come and heal me too?

Paradise lost, paradise found

There is no word for what I feel
The deep and dark and rushing zeal
This love and hope, my shining world,
Embracing life and what is real.

Remember when my life went wrong,
There was no love nor hope nor song,
Whenever I recall that day
When I but took my life away
If there was ever such a time
I pray it never does me find
I try to take these baby steps
Softer, slower than the rest
With faith I find my winding way
With hope I live another day
Without my ruminations sweet
I doubt my life would be complete
Whether I will or I endure
My baptization will be pure
I will be cleansed in raging fire
I will survive to reach higher
Through every error I have made
I'll find the knowledge to be saved.

I want to walk through summer's heat
I wish to dance to every beat
I want to hear 'most every call
I'll fly to fail, I'll rise to fall
I'll wave my arms like wildebeest
I'll gorge myself on every feast
And fall asleep at mother's feet.

My take on dogs

Rottweiler - Loyal, loving, lovable. Everything a guy should be, but usually isn't.
German Shepherd - Underestimated. Viciousness camouflaged with fur. Like that SOB who wants your promotion
Great Dane - the saint. Not the Val Kilmer type either.
Golden Retriever - Furry fusspot. Remember the popular girl in high-school? Now imagine she's nice too. Ugh.
Labrador - Chupa rustum. Fat furball. As bitchy as its human.
Pomeranian - Think of a wailing baby. With fur. A snout & beady eyes. And teeth. And attitude.

We, the Rapists.

There's no nice way of saying this, so here goes - We're all responsible for the rape of women around us.

Yes. WE men and women and mothers and fathers and brothers and sisters and teachers and relatives and well-wishers. We moral upstanding modern educated citizens of Indian society.

We parents who encourage a girl to like the color pink even in her crib, preferring the boy to like blue. The little girl gets anorexic barbie dolls and the little boys get guns and GI Joes.

We sisters who tie a rakhi on the wrists of our brothers, expecting them to 'protect us'.

We brothers who vow to 'protect' our sisters from all that 'evil' outside.

We mothers who lament when our daughters go out to play without sunscreen, who teach us that its ok for dad to beat us and our children to 'take the edge of their frustration with life'.

We fathers who frown if our daughters wear frocks and skirts.

We teachers & principals who impose 'dress-code' for girls to preserve their 'modesty'.

We, the 'well-wishers', who advice parents on 'how its a bad world out there, not safe anymore'.

We, the relatives, who gossip 'beti badi ho gayi hai, ab shaadi karaa do'.

We women who try so hard to please the men around us that we forget who we are.

We men who try so hard to hide the women in their houses, in their clothes, in their 'modesty' that we forget who they are.

Why is every action, every thought in our sad little worlds led by an unconscious (and sometimes conscious) need to separate men from women? Don't the women know they're different? Come on, we can see our breasts too. That does not mean we can't like blue, is it? Or that we can't see its a dangerous world out there, thanks to people doing their best to keep us apart? Putting us on a pedestal or throwing us in the whorehouse, its all the same because it means you are making us to be someone we're not. We're human. We deserve to be treated no better, and certainly no worse than you. If we're fucked without our consent, give us an iron rod teach us to fuck them back. If we're slapped, teach us to slap 'em back. If we're teased, teach us to tease them back.

Give women the dignity, the respect, the choices, the FREEDOM, that every human being deserves. Maybe then, over time, the rapes will stop.

Don't Stop

Run
Till the road runs out
Run
Till you muscles shout
Run
Your time is NOW
Run
Till you survive.

Sing
Till your voice runs dry
Sing
Till you forget the why
Sing
Till you learn life's song
Sing
To feel alive.

Dance
Till you can't think (even if you try)
Dance
Till you forget to cry
Dance
Till the music stops
Dance
Till you learn to fly.

Laugh
Till the tears fall
Laugh
Till you forget it all
Laugh
Till the bums join you
Laugh
Till you learn to smile.

You, Me and 'Meri Tanhaayee'

When there is no one,
I hide away, I cry.
I watch the world go by,
Just me and my tanhaayee.

In a life no good,
With a simple mind
I listen to the sounds
Of a place gone mad,
It mutters, it laughs
It stutters, it gawfs
The dark side of my coin
Anonymous to reason, the why,
That's me in my tanhaayee.

They notice, they stare,
The peoples in their chair,
Scratching at theirs hair,
Watching as theys tear.
I run away, I hide,
I let the world slide by,
I let my crazy fly,
Bas... me and my tanhaayee.

The Breakup

The world lies
Awake, ajar
And love flies
Away, afar
You fear him
And loathe him
And believe him
And adore him
You watch him
Ignore him
Want him
Shore him
You walk away
Afraid. You tried.
The heart cries
Inside.

Sappy love letter

I've loved, and all the world is mine
I've kissed, and I have stopped all time
I've cried, and the world cries with me
I've laughed, and we're as gleeful as can be
As I feel my heart overflow
As I feel it swell and grow
I'd give up the world
I've give up on time
I'd give up on life
If only you'll be mine.

:)

My Abyss

What do you write when your heart is gone?
There's only Black, and you are alone,
Calm and still, without any life,
No more laughter, no more strife,
Just you and your sins to atone.

What you do comes back tenfold -
The hearts you broke, the promises sold.
It hits you with the force of a gale,
Tears - your rain, and Hate - your hail,
Batter you till you're torn and cold.

When on your feet you're back,
Looking at the bits of your heart hacked,
You know its better to feel no more,
Love and hate left outside your door.
Give in to the Cold, cold Black.

Thief in the Night

Its dark, alone, I steal past you.
Oh, the thrill! Dark dreams coming true.
I scare you, enthrall; come dawn, take flight -
Thieves should never court morning's sight.

Exciting! To have a thief in the house!
Beautiful, deadly, just enough to arouse.
Forbidden, desired just the same,
Never missed, once your fantasies I tame.

Who'd want a thief? No man for sure
Not one with a broken heart to cure
Nor one with a long life to bear
Why want a thief with only love to spare?

Don't even try to love me back
Don't you ever dare cut me some slack
Use me, blame me, a thief like me
Will love you still, though hurt I may be.

Ask me to leave whenever you like
To walk away, and I'll oblige
Marry, live, grow old, die, and Never!
Never again see this thief of the night.

I get the feeling this is one of my worst poems to date. Still.. The heart refuses to quiet down even when the mind cringes at the thought of publishing this :)

I give up on love
And all that it implies,
I give up on pain -
The will to survive.
There's little I have,
I give that up too.
I give up
On you.

"To women, as far as I'm concerned" - by DH Lawrence

The feelings I don't have I don't have.
The feelings I don't have, I won't say I have.
The feelings you say you have, you don't have.
The feelings you would like us both to have, we neither of us have.
The feelings people ought to have, they never have.
If people say they've got feelings, you may be pretty sure they haven't got them
So if you want either of us to feel anything at all,
You'd better abandon all idea of feelings altogether.

A Prayer of Hope

My lines, they fill my mind with hope,
It slowly slides up that slippery slope.
My love for the world, and all its ways,
Keeps me from drowning in dreary days.

The trust I place in life and luck,
A misplaced faith, seemingly stuck,
In nothing but dreams, with nothing but air;
Faith in a world that's fine and fair.

Whither the fear? Whither the hate?
Where is that frightening hand of fate?
With me I carry my Maker's mark,
Safe and away from all that's dark.

Those lives I've lost, those friends I miss,
I dream of them, their brows I kiss.
Every moment I live, I pray,
Let no more life be lost today.

I wrote this within a few minutes, on 12th Feb, at 7.30 p.m. while waiting for a taxi to take me from Pune to Mumbai. I had not been planning to go that day, just as I had not been thinking of writing any such thing. The next evening, my favorite cafe in Pune was blown to bits.

The Canary and the Crow

The French say "je t'aime"
Like the sound of phlegm
"Amore!", the Spanish shout
With considerable lovemaking clout

We all say things we mean, and some we don't,
We forget sometimes that we're not alone..
But its ok to be alone too, if that's what you want,
Because, after all the tears and the snot,
I'm sure all your memories will be gone.

I'd like it if you loved me too
I'd love it if you liked me too
But what if you can't? What if this is wrong?
What if you want a crow to sing a canary's song?
I can sing my silly rhymes till my face is blue
But I just can't stop loving you, even if you do.

So the French now, with their silly ways,
The Spanish and their bull-riding days,
Fools they are, with hearts on a string
Fools to hope its bell will ring
Fools like me, so a wise man says.

The Sine Wave

Numbing is what I know up close,
Feeling is what I wish I chose.
Smiling is what I'd like to be,
Falling, in my future I forsee;
Grief of my life, I feel thy force.

Then comes the dance in our heads, our hearts,
Glittery, washed out; then take-two starts!
Drum-beats so loud, my feet laugh out!
Music so blind, my heartbeats shout!
Piercing me so! these ecstasy's darts..

The music dies out, the drum-beats fade,
Sticky sweat trailing in its wake.
As winter goes, and flowers bloom,
The heart, the mind, are left with gloom.
The soul crawls into some loving oak's shade.

You and I

You could be me
And I could be you,
Two halves of one,
One soul in two.

I’d like the sun,
And you’d want the stars.
You’d be from Venus
And I’d be of Mars.

We’d still meet here,
We’d still be friends.
You and I, dear,
We’d still hold hands.

I’d smile your smile,
And you’d brush my hair.
You’d then have ‘them’ -
While I’d watch from far.

You’d cry your tears
And walk to Square One,
I’d walk with you
Until morning's sun.

You would need me
As now I want you.
You’d still love me.
And I’d still love you.

Books do silly things to us - they make us delve into them and they become a part of our life for the moment, just as we become narrators, observers and actors in their sagas. They make you think and drag out the memories from the deepest corners of your mind, irrespective of whether you are able to deal with those memories or not. Once, I was foolish enough to get married to a person who I did not even know well enough. I wanted to be everything - perfect wife, student, mother, daughter, executive... I can be any of these at any point of time, but I don't have to be everything at once, or I may never be able to enjoy the moment while it lasts. An innocuous little book dredged up this thought, making me remember what I fought so hard to forget; I forgot myself and who I was in that quest to forget.

I decided a long time ago that I would never be afraid of anything, ever. I sometimes forget this, but seeing someone else afraid of life always makes me remember it again. "Remember, remember, the 5th of November", said V, in his movie Vendetta. He drew inspiration from the courage of those who led the gunpowder revolt. I draw courage from the fact that I may never know when my life may end, when someone close to me may be snatched away and when the world may end. I shall never change, and I will always face my fears where they are worth facing; I will value my life and all the people who love me, and I will never, never give up on life or hope or love or trust.

March On

March on, ye world
To the tune of this song.
To right every wrong,
Rise up, march on.

March on, ye young
To the strength of this thought.
When oppressed and fraught,
Brave heart, march on.

March on, ye child
To the promise of life.
When your future is strife,
With hope, march on.

Un-Equal

"Put the pieces back together
Get a hold on life",
It’s easy to say, so hard to do;
It’s easy to get used to strife.

Oh, but if there was a god,
Would he not stop my tears?
Would he not say, “Be happy child”,
And not steal away my years?

There is no god, there is no man,
There is no one who’d understand.
There is no one who wants me as I am.

The pain is there, it’s not enough,
I need to feel some more.
I need to burn and bleed us both,
Till we're not different anymore.

Oh, but if there was a man,
Would he not cast off his doubt?
Would he not say, "All people are one",
And not leave anyone out?

There is no god, there is no man,
There is no one who’d understand,
There is no one who wants me as I am.

There is somewhere a place for me,
Somewhere there is my family,
If not this world, there is the next,
My last reward for this cruel test.

There is a god, there is a man,
There is someone who’d understand,
There has to be someone who wants me as I am.

*What happens when discrimination takes its toll on a person's soul, when society casts out someone who is considered "unequal" to the rest by virtue of his/her gender, place of birth, skin color, or ancestry? Memories accumulate in the person's psyche, memories of hatred and fear - these memories will eventually end the human race itself someday.

Rage Against The World

What I hide is my soul turned raw,
What I mourn is childhood past.
What I miss most is my own laughter.
What I cry over is innocence lost.

What I seek is one minute of joy.
Whatever I find, you destroy.
What I see here is man-eat-man,
Whatever I give, you throw away.

What is it you want of me?
I'm better than you'll ever be.
What I have, you'll never have.
What I am, you can never be.

I am no Atlas, I am no god,
I am not perfect and not complete
I will not carry your scorn or wrath
I will not slash your wrist or wipe your tears.
You can never steal my work, my life
You can never rise beyond your narrow mind
You are but a figment of my imagination
You don't exist but as a world of the past.

All nice guys come with a catch. It could be something small like a poison dart, or something huge like a drunk driver coming towards you in the opposite direction. The point is, it's there, and it's fatal in the end. You are going to be wounded by it, and you will suffer. The only thing you can do is expect it and swerve at the right time. If you're the kind of person who likes to ignore all the bad things, then the least you can do is tell yourself that you knew it was coming after taking the hit.