One Last Time

I was tired of nights that gave me peace, and caressed me with pains. This would be the last one, I promised to myself. But do I really need the last one? Do I really wish to spend another night crying and fighting with myself? As I was walking through the street brimming with lives and loud mouths, I found myself looking up at the golden sky. It was painted behind the empty trees, like a long lost dream of the one bereft of green leaves and chirruping birds. I am not that lonely as they are, I thought to myself. Maybe, they aren’t because they still stand upright keeping their dream alive. Have I lost them while fighting too much with my own self? I cannot, I was sure of that.

Maybe, just maybe, I am just being selfish. Was I too ambitious before someone told me how worthless I am or I had this from the very day I was born? I don’t know. Perhaps, I shouldn’t know, because I don’t deserve to know an answer to this, I deserve to get out of it soon. I wanted to feel spring, blooming with freshness and seeding new lives. I just wished to get out of the web that held me hard and made me hate myself, more and more, everyday.

I waited for tomorrow as the night would fade. I waited for someone to pluck me out of that prison of emptiness and paint my empty dreams. I just kept myself in the dark and waited for some fictional miracle to come true. For God’s sake, I never knew my wild imagination was pushing me away from the reality. I felt too deeply to know that I was wrong, and feared that my own thoughts are running against my will.

This time, the golden rays, they fell upon me. I pictured myself as a tiny branch of the tree that is gearing up to live, not survive, but live with an innate hope for the colors to sprout on it and stay as it gets old and die. I couldn’t figure out how my tousled mind felt connected to it. Was it a thing of beauty or a sense of realization? I don’t know. Maybe, it was both or I was over-assuming it. It was funny, I felt, of how we forget to look around and seek answers of our poor questions that shouldn’t have even cropped up at first place. I realized of how my own voice was shouting back at me and my fear kept shutting my ears and soon, numbed all of them.

Maybe, it’s the time to start afresh. Maybe, its my chance to paint and chase a colorful dream. Maybe, I am already healing from a dried up wound.

A Lost Love

“No , don’t run, else you’ll fall. Abbu won’t pick you up again, come here and wear your shoes.”

My eyes would then be half – cupped by her tiny, little hands with a hope to wrongly guess the innocent sleight of hand. Soon, when her desperation would turn out to be true, her bubbly laughter would bring life to the dead street – “Ammi, it’s me, Sarah, I fooled you again!”

Like a silver streak on a deep blue sky, her presence would make our days livelier and cheerful. That day, she moaned, not to go again, to a place we called school and she felt trapped.

 “Ammi, we’ll play together but I don’t want to go to school today.” – her brook of innocence pulled out the laughter from me.

“Sarah jaan, we’ll play once you’re back, I promise.”  Watching her go with a burden on her back, I decided to take her out to a new play house, built in our neighborhood.

But the fate knew not how terribly it would change our lives. It seemed too selfish to take her away from a place she belonged, from all her heart. That day, the shower spilled not from the skies but from the eyes of the child-bearers.

“Ayesha, your Sarah is in trouble. Begum, save your son!” – the neighbors whined. The street was filled with ruckus and the mothers ran towards the school to save their blood. None knew the heartless crime committed by the terrorists.  The school building was nowhere to be seen. The pungent smell was hard to bear and the trash made the walk difficult.

 It left no trace of life, a dead end, all would say. The world threw spits of curses on their fates but I stayed silent. My mind flew to the places where I could meet her, touch her again, carry her on my lap or see her sleep peacefully. Among the black bricks and sticky cement, I did not try to find her out. She was gone, way before I could try. She was transient, spilled colors at once and went away all together.

I stayed there for hours or maybe days. People came to rescue us from the curfew. It was then I went back home and could feel her spirit embracing me. Her clothes, tiny shoes, dolls and bears staring at me, waiting for an answer, waiting for her to come and play with them.  But this time, I wished not to move them away, they bore her smell, joy and touch, they were never meant to be washed away.

Days have passed, her laughter still rows with the hot summer wind and her sweet baby scent doesn’t leave her abode. 

One Step Closer

Walking slowly on the bed of dry pale-green grass, coveted in the blanket of humidity, far away from the city of cacophony, drooling in the epitome silence, a bow of unruly thought struck his head, I should probably die, I am done with my life. His hands rose slowly to wipe off the drops of regret from the tired eyes and the hot loo wind dried the rest.

Residing on the land of Kangaroos for past two years and working in an exhaustive environment for the sake of some pennies had made him figuratively lifeless. His health was deteriorating, crying the early signs of old-age that poked his brain to surrender. Like birds’ hunt for worms, his head swiftly ferreted to chase a curse that would end his mortality then and there. The red eyes bore guilt of not knowing the purpose of life, holding back the sea of despair that would blur his search. Something at the back of his head or a part of his heart, he couldn’t decide, told him to go back home and look after his beautiful wife and kids. Akanksha is already earning well. She will take a good care of the kids, I am not required anymore – blatantly ignoring the solution that diluted the conflict with himself.

The sky-blue shade of sky was getting deeper and darker, paving a way for the sparrows to fly back to their abode. The hot wind, getting hoarser at every sway, acquainted with dust and dry-sand particles. They pushed him hard to send him back to his place but his senses were coaxed with the illusion of cynicism. His eyes narrowed to a distant strip of road, affixed to the luminescent figure arriving at a fast pace. The strode of his steps were preparing to catch up the fast and instantaneous death by being the victim of tonight’s mistake, someone else’s mistake.

Just another moment and I’ll untangle myself from the web of futility. O’God! Take care of my loved ones.

And the car pushed its wheels harder to stop before pulling off a mistake, screeching to a halt, breaking the monotony of desolate silence. The grey Jaguar stood still before him and the eyebrows slanted upwards owing to an unfulfilled desire.

A blink and the turtle reversed. The man unlocked the door, stepped outside with a casual pair of slippers and waved lightly with a smartphone grabbed in his hand.

“Hey Ronnie, what are you up to? You don’t wish to go back home? I just met your mother, she has reached your place two hours back”, a flicker of tension passed through his face.

His nose scrunched up, forehead squeezed and a brow raised slightly higher “Umm, Mom? Yeah, she must have reached by now. Thanks Sharon, I’ll go back home.”

“Are you sure you’ll reach home? Or shall I drop you to your place?”- said Sharon with a reassuring smile.

“Yeah, I’ll surely.” trying to get diverted from what happened a minute ago.

“By the way, your mom bakes amazing cakes. She told me how you taught her to bake.”  - blurted Sharon with a pleasantry gesture.

Ronnie was amazed by how a cherished past took over a tangled present. A slight curve at the end of his lips bought freshet redness on his cheeks, eyes wide open and then narrowed down to left, “She told you about his? Yeah, it was long time back.”

“Ah! Not so long though, you can still bake me a cake for the next time”- said Sharon with a jovial tone and passed a mischievous wink.

“Anyways, I have to go now, will surely meet you next week, don’t forget about the cake.” And the mellow voice dissolved in the warm wind as he went back to his car.

Ronnie took a step aside, waved him with a porcelain smile and took his way towards his car. It stood on the green bed of nascent dry grass locks. With every step he took towards the car, the trail of self-talk ushered the auld lang syne. How learning was so easy back then, baking, I completely forgot about its existence in my life. I can still try my hand on bakery at home. He swiveled the keys to unlock the door and there he was, sitting uprightly on the Volkswagen seat, his fingertips prodding at the music system. He combed for a soothing song that would enliven his mood and drove back home.

It took him not more than twenty minutes to reach back to a place where he had started off with a disparate motive. He saw the children standing at the gate and their faces cheering up with his visit. It took him not so long to step out from the car, embrace the kids and kiss on the foreheads of the two.

“Daddy, grandma’s here! Let’s get inside.” – Kiera squeaked in an uncontrollable excitement.

He walked inside, unprepared with what reason will he throw of what took him so long from ‘a pastime walk to his favorite park.’ They exchanged hugs and greetings and eventually, minutes after, settled in his bedroom. His mother served him the cake she had baked an hour before. “Your friend, Sharon was the first one to have it. He came an hour back to meet you but you weren’t there.”- said his mother while serving the sponge cake, cut squarely in the plastic container to the other members.

“Yeah, I met him on the way when I was about to suicide”- his words tumbled out like stones pelted over the heads.

Suddenly, every pair of widened eyes was drawn to him, the eyebrows stuck higher, crunching the foreheads and the breaths held back. “Why would you do this, son.”- only the mother could break the heavy rail of silence with a terrified tone.

“I have been thinking about it for a pretty long time but couldn’t plan exactly of what can I do to give it a decent shape.”- said Ronnie in a hollow tone and eyes clung to the painting of bright red roses on the stark white bed sheet. “I can’t talk about it anymore, just that I have realized I should start baking again. I am resigning next week, so I’ll start it then.”- quickly wrapping up the conversation, he stood up, scratched his head lightly and went to the kids room.

A week later, he brushed off the dust from his bakery paraphernalia and geared up to revise the old lessons learnt 20 years before. A month’s practice and I’ll clear all the clouds. He took up an advanced level bakery course in a reputed institute. Working hard and heartily, there he was, stealing the show, recalling his casual dream of working in the best bakery shop of Australia. I cannot afford to lose a second. I have no time left to prove myself.

A flicker of faith would wake him up every morning, make him practice and put him back to forty winks with a sole dream. A dawn of realization arrowed that this unbeknownst path will take him to a destination defined for him. Every day seemed like a fresh plant, seeded with the same motive, watered with optimism and budding day-by-day to a beautiful tree. Miraculously, before completing the six-month course, he was called-up by his dream bakery shop as their only intern. Stupefied, he couldn’t utter a word, simply thought It’s just a beginning.

After a successful six-week internship, he ascended for a next step, risky, yet, wise. He

commenced his own business of bakery, strategized every step, every twist and turn and took a flight to a completely new phase. An year later, he looks back, pictures himself as a dead body which would have been decomposed by now, eaten up by the tiniest of the creatures, soul regretting the mistakes and pitying the horrid situation.

I never introspected the fact that I can do something creative, something which I will love to do all the time. I murdered my innocent dreams under the sandbag of job but now, I dream bravely with my eyes-wide open. I would have missed the bow which was about to hit that right place that night. I would have missed the spring at the last stage of the autumn. I would have missed the knock for a loop forever. Thank God, I stand here today, alive at a shop, at my place, bake cakes and relive a life of passion and eternal happiness.

Back and Forth

She was like a canvas painted on the mirror, drooling over her eyes, the most beautiful sight of the painting. She combed her grey hair which seemed sober yet crispier than the blonds nearby. Her wrinkles on the forehead reminded me of curtain foldings, deep yet elegant.

"What are you looking at, son?"- said Grandma.

I nearly jumped to my feet thinking how hard was I breathing that knocked her ears.

" Nothing, just wanted to ask if you are better than before?"- my voice still shaking.

Her soft voice mumbled - "Yeah son, Thankyou. Will you come here and sit next to me?"

I quietly walked in and sat next to her, thinking how bad am I in hiding.

She's an inspiration, whose beauty has never faded, despite of wrinkles and grey hair trying hard to shadow her loveliness .

This twelve-year old boy has hardly seen her moving out of this room, never since last month, but was amazed by the fact that she knew every possible event going beyond these white walls, which have grown pale over years.

"How's everything going downstairs?" - her words protruded my thoughts  running like a railway buzz.

"Mom's cooking food and Dad will be back in an hour. Aren't you getting bored up here?"

She laughed heartily and simply replied - "No, how many times will you ask this to me? It's almost everyday."

"Sharon! Where are you? Dinner's ready!" - Mom whooped, suddenly breaking the air of silent love trespassing between us.

"Yeah mom! Coming downstairs."- my mouth blurted.

I waved back to her, gave her my porcelain smile and reassured to come back with her supper. Just eight steps down the stairs and Mom stood there, holding a suspicious look on her face.

"What were you doing upstairs?"- her stern look and arms tightly folded close to her chest grabbed more attention than the aroma of salami half-cooked.

" Oh! I forgot to tell you! Just met Grandma, she wasn't well yesterday, right? She's a nice lady, why do you do this to her?" - words tumbled out like storms falling on the roof.

I swear, for the first time in my life, I saw her shrieking and crying all at once at me - "How many times have I told you not to go upstairs? You crazyhead! Don't you know your Grandma died last week? There's no one up there."

She took me by my hand, clenched my wrists tightly and took me eight steps back, upstairs.

"What do you see?" - she pointed towards the door.

I was shattered to see what my eyes were looking at, I squealed - " Ohno! I just left it open, who locked it?"

She yelled, complained, threw angry words at me, but my ears were barely listening to her, my senses had gone numb. What about her composed look on the mirror and her soft voice? What about her smile that automatically turned on mine? Oh! For how long was I fooling myself when I clearly remembered how hard I cried last week!

Was she a dream or was I dreaming?

All I could hear at the end was - "We've lost her, we don't want to lose your touch to reality, dear son." And then, she hugged me tightly, rubbing my back warmly with aromatic hands, reminding me to just stay in the web of reality. 

Song of the Rain

That artificial box, the metro was stuffed, stenching and philosophically boring. It was an ardous task to stand still, stare out of the window blankly and wait for my station to arrive. The aroma of dry chips intertwined with the hot  spices spewed out of the untied packet, the stink of sweats dried by air conditioners and the uneasy suffocation had caught my lungs. Pairs of eyes sensed my discomfort, but mine focused outside, with a hope to move out of this dingy coach.
The doors finally opened and a splash of little diamond-like droplets flew in. The cool breeze embraced my skin and I shoved myself of out that cell. The station was carpeted with dust and water. People were slithering out of that place and I was there, standing alone, cherishing the first monsoon spell.
I managed to move and walk steadily to my right and get downstairs. The windows to my left, half opened, busted some fresh air. Gradually, I checked out of the station and stepped outside. The sounds of pitter-patter on the shed above my head, the slush beneath the vehicles and criss-cross on the roads were all the euphonies of the rain. And somehow, they tuned in to one song, encompassing the other notes. The mesmeric music drew me out of the shed and drenched my body. The fresh wind hugged me tight and rejuvenated my senses. I could hear the exciting thunderous sound reminding the creatures of the fresh spell. The voices of people articulated Godly chantings and expressed gratitude of being awarded with such a blessing from the Heaven. The horns of the vehicles intruded the music played by the nature and my feet longed to dance on its beats!

Patient Nature and Busy Mortals.

The sun shone brightly, waiting for the city-dwellers to complete their errands and wait for the peaceful sunset. The trees, a small garden to the right of the road, held high and spirited, wavering on the beats of wind and glee. The leaves and cables capped the tree, the branches served as a hand for the rest, the hard trunk, scratched massively was diluted with pain with time. A gardener with a light grey hair, bowed and watered the plants in a thrill. His stable hands hurried the pace and went on with his legs to the other side of the way. The greenery was revived, despite the heavy light from above, the water on the floor displayed tiny dust particles and a clear sun on the sky. The scene was mesmeric, the birds gathered around to have a clear-sun view and simultaneously quenched their thirst.
To the left of the vegetation was a road, unpacked yet unclear, busted with two, four and six wheelers. The busy human lives, hoisted with ambitions and deadlines, neglected the beauty around and absorbed themselves to the fast-forward lives. Their hands held accessories, their shoulders leaned due to heavy bags, eyes focussing on the front and lips blurting the unbeknownst office secrets and rumours.
And, thereby stood a rickshaw-puller with hope for request and a reliance to earn a few pennies by dripping a few more sweats. The afternoon was at its peak and so his questing eyes displayed mercy, with tattered clothes on his body, and his frail legs slowly paddling the heavy vehicle. The pedestrians overlooked his needs and accelerated their walks to reach their destinations. The scent of tea and coffee smoked the air, attracting the pairs of eyes to the small stall of hot beverages. The hot wind assisted in captivating the men and women to their humble set-ups.
The nature communicated silently and the mortals enunciated loudly, suppressing the thunderous sound of vehicles. 

An account on plane trash in the Desert.

"I cannot die so early for I have lot more to achieve"- my conscience replied my mind which couldn't absorb the trauma. My body was shivering with fear and anxiety, but, my pounding heart was sure about my survival. The sun was up on our heads, drinking the energies and burning like a fireball. But, our busy hands and faith in ourselves would build a shelter to save save us from the dreary sun.
The brown land under our feets, the hot air brushing our skin with irritation and the tussle between the fear and faith in our hearts seemed unusual and scary. All 25 of us had divided our tasks; some would help in building the shelter and others were focussing on signalling the outer world of our existance.
"We can make through it" was our watchword that was trained by every mind and spoken out by every mouth who was going through such a fret. Our shelter was prepared within two hours, all we could do was just to stay calm and ear for the sound in the air. The strong loo, trespassing sand seemed so ususal now! Every drop of water was being saved, every starving stomach was ignored, minds were prepared by self-talks and our ears and eyes were all up,  hunting for a hope, happiness and a strong desire.