Skip to main content

Posts

Showing posts from April, 2014

Strayed

Courtesy - The Mag The carefully stacked books and all the disarray leftover, Her clothes; still smelling almonds, The room - sour and bitter! A vivid screen shows smiles, Life - hidden unredeemed inside my memorial chasms, Where her body is laid to rest. Loss - dire and complete, Eats my perpetual joys, Mutilates my clarity of thoughts, And leaves me alone every time.

Lust

The repelling odor of ammonia dispersed evenly into the thick and humid air. Converging upon the public toilet were three lanes, one from the vegetable market, another from the bus stand and the third from the oblivious ardor of the 'Prostitute Street'. When Hamid zipped his pants and came out of the toilet he could have gone through any of the three lanes. But the choice to embark onto the 'Prostitute Street' was his ritual, a ritual he barely compromised on. On that day, visibly furious over an argument with his wife over some petty household mischief, he would have performed well on bed, he even would have produced the fury which his marital relationship lacked. 'I f**k her by habit', Hamid once divulged to his friend at the helm of alcohol. He said it with a derisive laugh which fit ever so naturally on his face. But today running low on money but certainly at the pinnacle of passion, Hamid walked the streets and eyed every whore with genuine yearning and...

Gracias Gabo!

A part of me bitterly dies! Solitude with Gabo was less poignant, Sunsets I shared with Aureliano Buendia Planted more revolution than my thoughts, Along the way Marquez's whores, his unrequited loves, And hi s inflaming passion became my own! Oh, when Marquez leaves behind his words, He leaves behind every deep thought, Every apt musing, every intense emotion, And every nostalgia words could bring, There is nothing that cannot be expressed in words, Certainly with Gabo you knew it was true. However I try to console myself, it just wouldn't suffice. The world has lost a legendary storyteller. And I have lost a person whom I loved deeply. I know that Gabo's words shall live on. But my universe has dropped into deep oblivion after his demise.

Convicted

This is the story of Amar, who knew, when he was just 7, the irony of his name. Like most rural Indians, sadly, he learned it the harder way. Amar in Hindi meant 'immortal'. But on that August evening, when his mother was wailing in evident pain emanating from what he later found out to be a lethal tumor, he saw his father drinking poison and vomiting blood. Two uncomfortable understandings of life would dawn upon Amar's intellect: 1. People are born to find ways to die 2. What the GOD in the attic could do was smile like he always did! Practically one wouldn't count Amar to be talked about in third person, left aside him being the theme of a story. But as you can plainly see, what happened was quite the contrary. Amar never fared well in studies, after the death of his father he needed to run the house chores while at the same time tending to his ill mother, who became more fragile each passing day. He used to say that at times he needed to handle her like a w...

Paranoia

Before hanging up the phone I remember my voice going angry and hard. If you don't know me and would have first met me at that instant, you would have been of the opinion that I'm ill tempered and naive, which surely is a pathetic combination. But to tell you the truth, I'm far from a grumpy and senseless freak. In fact there are reasons why normal men behave in an abnormal way, reasons that would seem ludicrous if you lack the desired empathy. I'm not guided by premonitions, but definitely I wouldn't bother telling that you have a certain empathy, a certain curiosity, because if either weren't the case, you wouldn't probably take the time to hear all my absurd intro into a seemingly cumbersome phone call. I won't give you apt breakthroughs into the subject, but certainly you are going to get leads. Now I'm sure many of you would be aware of Hansel and Gretel, the duo who went behind bread crumbs. Think of yourself as Hansel, and if you are read...