A Writer's Life

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Saturday, November 23, 2019

You Can't Get Away


Ok so, now I wanted to be free. Liberate myself of all the guilt. Determined to start my new life in this new apartment I now rented and called my own. I am having a house-warming party today. My friends are coming. I can’t wait to have more people around me. More people are equal to less loneliness and less time to think the things I don’t want to think about; to stop driving my mind to the steer clear roads of the past where there is no street light and the darkness creeps me now. The dark lanes led to this accident. The accident that not only took the life of the victim but made me a victim myself. I should have been more careful but just when that thought occurred to me, it was late. I had taken life by mistake and this mistake had cost me my own life too. I could see her wherever I went. The guilt in me made me see it. I thought about this. What about the people who murder others for their own benefits? I don’t know what happens to them inside their brains but to me, they look happy and rich. While here I am, an accident by mistake, for heaven’s sake, it was a mistake and nothing more than that. I regret to this day why and how could I take that life. But I couldn’t help. Her life was taken by me by accident. And now, I see her everywhere. Only crowds keep her away from me. I read the newspapers every day. Every day, I look into the classifieds section; where I can find some funfair in the city and go there and find a bench to sit on and see how much happiness is around me. The fun and laughter of the children and the shrieks! Yes, shrieks sure scare me but not the ones from the children in their excitement enjoying the fun thrilling rides. It’s alive! This place is alive! But I dread going home. I dread it when everybody leaves the fair for their homes. I wish someone would adopt a 40 something me. But I know that’s never going to happen. Tonight is the night when she will come for me again, for the last time. My psychologist says she is on my mind. My subconscious is playing tricks on me and I am hallucinating. Well, that’s what the science says. But karma and the universe have a language of their own. I don’t want to think about the later but the former. I have to save myself and stop this guilt button that’s always on. It was a mistake. I want to forgive myself first before asking her soul for forgiveness.

Tonight she came to me at half-past 2. I awoke, heard her call out my name, “Helen, you cannot escape me.” Saw her white chalked face and rotten teeth and her messy hair. That was enough to frighten the wits off of me, but not again. This repetition has to stop tonight. I summoned all the guts I possibly could have and asked her to stop visiting me. She blatantly said in her echo-ghost, male-female voice, “NO”. I told her she is powerless to which she responded in anger by using her telekinetic powers and destroying my new house setup. I waited for her to stop, even though I so wanted to close my ears and shut my eyes and imagine myself somewhere else. But no, not today. I looked into her red eyes and I kept looking. I told myself repeatedly I deserve her forgiveness. I said it aloud.

Time froze. There was chillness in the air. She stopped and came closer to me, so much closer to me that our noses almost touched. I was scared and couldn’t do anything to regularize my heartbeats. But I sure made up a stone face and looked at her chin, as to meet eyes at such short distance was impossible at least for the living me. I told her, yes I deserved her forgiveness because I didn’t intend to kill her. It wasn’t my fault that there were no street lights. It wasn’t my fault that she appeared before my car. It was her fault to have stood in the middle of the road, coming from nowhere in spite of seeing my headlights on, and flashing on the road. I told her, I was guilty once and shall always despise the happenings of that dreadful night but I was just a medium while in reality, it was her death calling. She was stunned, I assumed by her pin-drop silence after the loud chaos she displayed just moments before.

I sighed and was relieved to have spoken my heart and mind. I was no longer afraid of her reactions and as if I had just left a vibe of some sort, which if worded, would mean that I am superior to her, that I hold power over her and now I feel only remorse for her loss. She cried the cry of desperation…her cry meant so much more than her scary ways. It communicated much more. I almost hugged her. She got up and left. She never came back. I opened my eyes in real this time. I was at my psychologist’s and she had hypnotized me. I left the clinic very happy today, happy to be free but I did not understand the tears of sadness that accompanied my happiness. There was a vacuum in me. I felt this rush of sadness as if I lost someone my own. I told you, universe and karma has a way of its own. I left the building and was walking towards my car. For a second, I thought I saw her. I was about to turn my head sideways where I thought I had a glimpse of her seconds ago. But I didn’t. I didn’t want to give her a chance to overpower me today, even if she really was there. By now, I was good at pretending and I walked the walk of confidence and reached my car. I sat on the driver’s seat and fixed the position of my mirrors. It was then that I saw her. I knew this was real. My conscience was clear of guilt now but yet I saw her. If I went back to my psychologist, she would label me “mad” in polite, medical jargon. And if I freaked out now, she will know for sure, I am still afraid of her and would take pleasure in it. 

But I chose to feel for her. The genuine feeling of having lost your own life, your tomorrows, your plans, your relationships and everything you hold on to, so dearly in your living life. I felt for her these feelings but I did not leave my side too. I tried to remember how much trauma I have gone through too. So it is not that she alone is dead, a chunk of me is dead too. I don’t think too highly of myself like I used to. I have become sober. I miss her life more than she could even though that life belonged to her. But I had the responsibility. I looked at her, straight in the eye and my tears rolled out. She saw me cry for her. She came closer to me, flying on her feet it took her seconds to do so. I was scared of her, still. But I tried hard to remember that I am alive and that she isn’t. Technically, she is at the mercy of my conscience and guilt, which are the only ways of her ghost existence. She whispered in my ears, “I forgive you…only till the time, you forgive yourself.” I still see her when I am driving at my back seat, grinning and trying to overpower me. After all, I am a human and with an alive conscience. I can’t forgive myself totally. I saw her a few seconds ago again and then turned up the radio volume. A car came speeding by, and before I knew it, my car had hit the roadside tree and there was broken glass everywhere. I was lying there and I got an aerial view of myself. I knew the same instant that I am dead and that this was karma. The guy who drove the car had bruises too but he seemed fine otherwise. He was drunk and now was alert and scared. Scared he should be because I am raged. My tomorrows, my life, my plans, my relationships…my ….just now I saw her floating. I belong to her world now. We are together. 

Saturday, July 20, 2019

That rose in my dairy is the only memory I have of you. It reminds me of my painful past with you and the rose depicts the color of your betrayal.
I wish to close you within those pages too, every memory of yours. It makes me feel I am in control of my past.

Now this is where you belong...

Like the dead black rose in my dairy, and the ashes in my hand that I stole from the cremation ground. I killed you but the pain won’t go away. Not the red blood of yours can give back the rose it’s color, nor the gray of your ashes can bring the rain of joy, the gray clouds promise.

Loving you made me feel pain and ending you made me inhuman. You’ve always brought the worst in me. The only thing left of me that proves my suffering and my entire journey from innocence to crime is recorded in my journal. My timeless journal! Time may tear the pages apart but the memories of my life will remain in my heart. The heart that does not beat anymore. The heart that wanted revenge but received pain that made it go numb. I don’t know if I am alive anymore or buried with your bad memories next to you.

Saturday, May 18, 2019

My Love Story

I was jumping, metaphorically as my heart was pumping fast and I realized that I am in love. Gosh, I realized this really late, as I fell in love head over heels with the girl I've shared my room with for 2 long years, someone I knew for sure loves me unconditionally, selflessly. We have always been the best of friends but I feel its her who has always stood by me while I have been sucking the living life out of her. Always complaining, always coming up to her with my problems that she readily resolved and came up with amazing solutions. All the time! and yet, I was never there for her. Heck! I never even asked her if she has any problems at all. How is her life? what is happening in her life. Never! Always so self-absorbed me, I failed to depict my love and respect towards her. While she has been the giver, I am a taker, someone so selfish and always in need to pour out my problems, my frustrations, my depression, while she was always at the receiving end.


Today, I've realized it cannot always be about me. I have realized I care for her, too much to not tell her this. Hell, I never even paid heed to what she might be going through in her personal life, or how she looked or what is she wearing. But she never complains, she hears me out and smiles everyday when I go home. Her face uplifts my spirits. Today, I am going to make it special for her. Compliment her. Let her know what I feel for her. I am at the florist's just unable to decide what flowers she would like to receive. I never asked her. I bet she knows what my favorite flowers are. I finally decide to buy a bouquet with every flower of a different color. I write the message in a note that reads, "You're the rainbow of my life, the fragrance of a flower, the only thing beautiful in my life." I pay the florist a hefty tip and in excitement, share with him my story and how special my love is.


I call for an uber and hop into the cab, all smiling, looking at the bouquet again and again, fixing the position of the flowers. Nothing seems perfect, nothing seems alright when in comparison with her. The only thing perfect is her smile, her warmth, her selflessness, her love, her admiration for me.
I yet again talk about my love to the uber driver and he is happy for me. He wishes me luck as I reach my destination and am about to leave. I thank him, all too grateful for the ride and for hearing me out.


This is what love does. Bring out the best in you and make you smile and spread smiles. I love love and this feeling of love because my love is perfect. I rush to the elevator and then on the corridor of my floor, almost sliding. I want to surprise her, so I fiddle into my pockets and get my hands on the jingling keys, not getting it right in the first attempt as I am elated. I open the door, racing with time and almost seeing her smile right in front of me, even before the door is completely open. And yes, there she is smiling. I hug her and then bend on my knees, gift her with the bouquet, apologise for not being a good friend, or a listener even. I tell her how beautiful she is and she touches my head, ruffles my hair and with her smiling face, kisses my forehead. I will never be able to forget what she said after that..."of course, you love me and I love you as I am none other than you."


At first, I thought its some romantic line and half-confused and yet pleased, I respond with exactly the same: a confused smile. She then corrects me, as she understands me so well to know what that I didn't understand what she meant by that. She further continues to tell me, "I am just a figment of your imagination. When you were depressed and stressed, and found fault in people. When no one was there to understand you, you created me as your friend, and today, when you have earned back your self-respect and love for yourself, you love me. You finally have started loving yourself. My job is over. Now your subconscious doesn't need me. Now you're self-sufficient. You always have been. But today, you realize it."


I wasn't sure what I was hearing was right. My mind refused to believe but then images from the past played in my mind...in fragments, not a movie reel. and I remembered just how broken I was, shattered. I had become a cribber. And then, there was no memory of this girl coming into my life, let alone the apartment. She was my mind's creation, yes its true. I created her to fill the gaps in my life, the vacuum that existed due to lack of friends, lack of love life. everyone who left me during my bad times. Yes, I love her. I love God for giving me the capability to create this person in my mind, whom I hallucinated in real. But the doctors wont understand. They say, I have multiple personality disorder. They say this because my neighbors and colleagues got me help, when they saw me talking in different voices, one of my sweetheart and one mine. I feel happy and so complete that I don't need anybody else in my life. And here my therapist says, its not normal. She says I have to eat my meds daily without fail. I say I do but I don't. Am I wrong?

Monday, April 15, 2019

A Short Story (Paranormal/Horror)


A Paranormal Experience

I entered the building on a bet. I was down on cash and didn't buy into the old legends of the old building, to begin with, so fifty bucks were more than enough to get me to do it. The legend more like a rumor was that no living person could reach the 45th floor and that it was haunted. Now the task sounded simple. Just reach the 45th floor, shine my flashlight from a window. The building was old and broken, including the elevator, so that meant hiking up the stairs. So up the stairs, I went. As I reached each platform, I noted the paint displaying the floor numbers. 15, 16, 17, 18. I felt a little tired as I crept higher, but so far, no ghosts, no cannibals, no demons. Piece of cake!
I can't tell you how happy I was as I entered that last stretch of numbers. I joyfully counted them aloud at each platform.
40, 41, 42, 43, 44, 44…
Puzzled, I stopped and looked back down the stairs. I must have miscounted, so I continued up. 44. One more flight. 44. another 44. Yet again. 44!
And so it's been for as long as I can remember. So really, insanity isn't doing something repeatedly and expecting different results. It's knowing that the results will never ever change; that each door leads to the same staircase, to the same number. It’s realizing you no longer are asleep and dreaming but the reality is bizarre, beyond your comprehension. It's when the confusion makes you sob and the sobbing slowly turns into laughter. For a second, I thought I am not leaving this building alive.
But just to win this stupid stupid bet, I flash the light from the 44th floor, assuming my friends won't realize its 44 or 45. I went down. I felt some footsteps following me. The thump thump sound slowly turned indistinguishable. I couldn't differentiate it from the loud heartbeats within me. I was scared. So I raced down the steps. I heard the footsteps now speeding up to match my pace. I think I even heard a loud gasping breath right behind me, but I chose to not look behind and resisted the urge that is so reflexive in nature. I don't want to die, I remind myself time and again, repeating in my head like a loud bang. And then when I finally couldn't handle the fear, fearing my heart would explode, I spoke out loud. I DONT WANT TO DIE in a loud, fearful yet less affirmative, more authoritative tone. I heard the footsteps backing off but with a small evil laugh, more like a giggle. It was creepy. I wasn't sure if my mind was playing tricks or was this real. Did someone laugh or was I just overthinking? At times like these, everything is mixed up in your head: the panic, the fear, the unknown, the known, and most importantly, the thoughts and reality.
I still did not succumb to my reflexes and didn’t turn around for confirmation of my fear was the last thing I ever wanted. I reached the bottom of the stairs and I left the building. I met my friends outside who were relieved to find out that the 45th-floor rumor was actually a rumor, or so I made them believe with my flashlight. They were not much worried about the money they lost in betting with me. But only God knows how petrified I was. There was something not completely normal about me. There never was. I was always on the look-out for bets and life-threatening stuff. My curiosity always got the better of me and not on a normal level. Normally, in this situation, someone else would have totally tried to erase this whole episode out of their mind and taken to religious beliefs or start being a God-fearing, a good man. But me, no! I really wanted to know who dared scared me. Also, to be honest, I was scared like hell but not shattered yet. That would happen only to my ashes once I was dead and gone and why did that entity leave me alone, without doing anything to me? Just a laugh, really! What must have the entity thought of me? Let this scared fool run away and spread more fear among people with his tell-tale stories? That's not going to happen. I was hell-bent on going there again and finding the truth for myself and not be one-in-many to just sit back and let the ghost think they had the better of me.
But how? And what should I do to make sure no harm befalls me. I was not the one to believe in taaveez (an object to protect you from evil) and all and if I did get it to protect me, my whole purpose of bravery was lost. Nobody wants death and I too feared for my life but I wanted to confront it and get it over with, once and for all. That's how I prefer to end things. Now I needed a plan! I spend endless sleepless nights not just in thinking of how to end things with that ghost but mainly because that giggle, that whole experience haunted me enough to scare me. But as I said, my curiosity had the better of me. So I thought of an idea finally.
I needed a scape-goat. Now that I had already told my friends there was nothing up there, I was sure they believed me as I came back alive and according to my flashlight story, I was on the 45th floor. So I got my camera pen and gifted it to my friend Sunil. Then after a few days of pretending everything is normal, challenged him to go see for himself and get rid of that little bit of fear he may still have in his heart, all thanks to the rumors. Sunil rejected my idea, upfront. I peer pressured him by letting him down in front of our other friends and mocking at him. Now, this is the problem with men, who live by their egos. Question his manhood, and he will do anything to prove you wrong. So finally my plan worked and he went up there. I told him to carry the pen that I gifted him and gave him a paper to write down all’s well here and throw it from the 45th floor. That way, he would take the pen with him and the camera would capture everything that happens to him. The events started recording on my phone.
Sunil started climbing and with my heart thumping hard and my conscience questioning my actions, I was filled with guilt and remorse, already. In my heart, I felt like running behind him and stopping him from entering up there. But I wanted to know. The knowledge of the place was more important to me than the life of my friend. As much as I felt bad about it, I was trying to convince my conscience by thinking if I could come alive, so would he. And also I’d know what is lurking there. Time was ticking, Sunil was climbing. The most awaited moment arrived. Sunil left the 44th floor and was climbing towards the 45th or the expected 45th floor. Soon, he reached and the paint on the wall read 45th. I was puzzled. How come Sunil didn’t have to go through the recurring, endless 44th-floor climb. How did he happen to escape that? Meanwhile, Sunil wrote something on the paper and threw it down from the 45th floor. I kept looking up at the paper and waited impatiently for it to fall off. And the paper flew, following no directions of gravity and slowly landed; when it wanted to, where it wanted to. I picked it up in an instant, so what if it landed on the graveyard right next to the building. The reason for the rumors began in the first place. I picked it up and read, Sunil had simply written, “...ALL IS WELL HERE.” I turned the paper hoping to find something more written on it but no, nothing. And I know for sure he did manage to climb on the 45th floor, which I couldn’t. This mystery just refused to resolve itself. Dejected, I put my head down and started walking towards the entrance of the building, where all my friends awaited Sunil’s victorious arrival. Sunil came back, in glee, all happy and excited and screaming, “I did it, I did it, I did it.” Everyone hugged him and he most certainly erased the blot on his manhood. But I was worried.
We went to a nearby restaurant to celebrate his victory. I wasn’t an active participant in all that chatter and started questioning my sanity. Just then my phone rang and it was my mom on the other end, just inquiring the usual, concerned on my whereabouts. After the usual answers I give her, I disconnected the call and it’s then that it struck me to check the recording as I was busy looking at the paper drop, forgetting all about the recording. I forwarded to the part where I left off and there lied all my answers. The 45th-floor entry had the 5 written afresh, with fresh paint. The 4 was erased. I still didn’t quite get it, I was thinking that Sunil had prepared for this beforehand. But just then, Rajiv put his hand on my shoulder. I turned around and Sahil too was there. I fumbled and tried to hide away my phone in vain. Rajiv and Sahil then laughed aloud. It was them all the while. It was they who planted this plot. It was they, who had told me about the rumor and had gone up the flight of stairs to this under-construction, legally disputed and dilapidated building. They went up the stairs and changed the numbers from 45 to 50 floors to 44. Obviously, someone who would climb so high would be so tired to try climbing more than 5 flight of stairs to confirm this belief. This would suffice. The truth behind that scary giggle had been caught had I the guts to turn around, I would find Rajiv standing there, said Rajiv gleefully on the success of his plot. But something still didn't seem right. However, I was the laughing stock for them. Disappointed and guilty for putting Sunil through this, I went and apologized to Sunil for being too inquisitive and inhuman to try the experiment on him. But he, in turn, sympathized with my situation and insisted I see the paper again. I took the paper in hand to find out what I had missed. As soon as I took the paper in hand, a sudden waft of wind blew and the paper was blown away from my hands. I rushed after the paper only to find it landing finally at the same place in the cemetery, where I had picked it up from. I opened it to found traces of blood on it. Not possible, how could I ever miss something so obvious. I started thinking and just then, my eyes fell on the tombstone that read the name ‘Manyata’ on it.

Manyata is the name of the ghost they had mentioned in the rumor. I was so confused. This name is not that common for my friends to use when planning the story for the rumor. And the blood, what did that have to say? Why did Sunil point it out to me? What is his role in this story? I thought of clarifying it with my friends and I turned to go back to them. I was thinking about brainstorming them with the questions on my mind, just then, I felt the same aura around me, an inexplicable uneasiness. I heard the same breath right behind me, not so warm like normal, and then the giggle. This time around, I turned to look, letting my reflexes take over me and then I see her there...with Sunil. Their eyes had the glint. They were smiling at me and then looking at the paper in my hand. I unfolded it yet again and the mystery was finally solved. The paper read, “Dare to try the 45th floor again?”


Monday, January 21, 2019

A Horrifying Experience!!!

I was sitting in the park watching children play. I was looking at the bare branches on the tree, under which, I was relaxing and thinking of a horrifying tale to send chills to my readers. 

I always heard our astrologer back home in India say; I am a very sensitive person and every emotion around me finds a home within me. I always felt something spooky in the air towards dark, in an isolated place and I feared but cried too, for I could sense the fear of the still-breathing dead on my shoulder, right behind me. Wasnt sure though and I don't wish to confirm on that feeling as I don’t know if I am ready to accept that I've experienced it yet, The paranormal!!! 



Now while I am writing this, suddenly a message pops up and the weather forecast predicts rain beginning at 8. It’s 7.38 now and as you can see in this screenshot, my phone is running out of battery too.
I don’t know why I do this? Every time I create probs for me.
I am wired weird. 

Very soon, I won’t have any battery left to call an Uber and yet I write. Suddenly the clouds have turned grayer and people are leaving from the park... all the sane ones. There are woods behind me.
Not dark, yet, so am waiting. I don’t know why but I want to get stuck up in the dark, lonely park, while it rains and the thunderstorms scare the shit out of me. Maybe, I want the adrenaline rush to feel alive. See, nobody in the park. I like to sit here. Now I have shifted to this bench where I am sitting all alone. The benches are all empty too.
I can hear the swing somewhere and it’s the deed of the strong winds that precede the thunderstorms, um..well... I suppose so. Now I am waiting. Waiting for every dead end to meet and greet me. Shit! My phone’s battery is only 1% now... and it’s dark already. The clouds and the greens above me are making it seem even darker than it is.
The park lights are still not on and I.... I like to... you know... wander around. I am scared but want to call for trouble. I am just walking now. My hair is drenched in rain and my front layers are sticking to my head. I don’t want to move them. I like the dripping of water from the ends of my hair on the forehead. I like everything about this rain. I like how my clothes are sticking to me. I like everything. I like getting scared in this dark. I want to experience being here all night, alone. Is there something that would try to communicate with me? Just when I am thinking this, I see a figure in dark clothes standing afar. I can see the whitish face. Could be a human face only. I don’t trust my imagination. It usually deceives me. I just want to test. I like this feeling, this unsettling one... this scary one. I wave. And the figure waves back. The relief I feel is disappointing. Oh so it’s not actually a supernatural being but a being after all. I don’t know what I am expecting exactly. And then the figure standing there with the black hoodie points to himself... indicating if he’s the one I am waving at. Well, yes, but I am not sure if he can see me nod from this distance. So I gesture him to come. I thought let’s befriend another weirdo like me, who’d like to stay out all alone in this dark park. Just to be sure, he was waving at me, I instinctively look behind and almost expecting to see nobody, I again look ahead only then I realize I missed seeing someone. I looked behind again and this time it was right behind me. It was... well, another guy with the same black hoodie and he was scared of seeing me. At first, I thought he is scared because of my drenched self and my hair sticking to my face. So I want to tell him it’s okay, it’s just me, another human. 

But when I lift my fingers to slide off the hair on my forehead... I notice my fingers are ... well... rotten. I am terrified. I look at myself. I am... I am not writing anymore. I am... I am just a... a white, pale figure with no blood within me. I am this someone whom no one wants to meet. But before I react to this self-discovery, I instinctively pounce on this person who was scared and the next thing I know is I am this blood-thirsty beast, relishing metal-like taste and the warmth of his neck. It was ecstatic and I... well, I was.. No, I am... just behind you. 

Wednesday, September 20, 2017

You Know Me, Don't You?

You Know Me!

Whats right? Whats fair? Nobody knows...yet everybody says. We all know whats right for someone else. Yet when we are in trouble, we forget whats right. This is my story. A story where I was stuck between right and wrong. I wouldn't say wrong because for me that wrong was desirable. So the fight in my head was between right and the wrong desire. I made a choice. Right or wrong, it was my choice and my choice alone. Can we say that what we do is what we wanted to do? Not really! Coz, believe it or not, there are so many factors influencing our right and wrong.

Heart-broken, I was still happy. Happy because I felt relieved. Some sort of relief that you feel when you get back your freedom. Now I don't need to inform her my whereabouts. Now I needn't do things to please her or convince her the things I do to get her approval. Her nod is no more important to me. I am sitting on the park bench watching lovers all around me, smilingly. I am actually laughing on their follies...on their promises to be there for each other and expecting a shoulder to cry on when actually it is they who make you cry - the lovers! Sigh! Let them enjoy this blissful moment as much as they can, for as long as they can. Coz reality will be out soon and then these moments of lies will make you heart-broken, like me.

But my faint smile disappeared as soon as I said that to myself. There was a vacuum inside of me. I missed her. I missed those irritating phone calls every now and then, that shouting of her on the phone asking me to be home early. While I used to cook up stories to tell her when in fact I was just having some time off, sitting by myself, with a bottle of alcohol in my hand. I felt futile. I felt the pain when I saw my phone screen and didn’t see her number flashing there. I felt she doesn't need me anymore. I felt the pain in her not needing me anymore, not caring about me anymore.

It was just yesterday when everything was going smoothly, or rather roughly, in my case. Everything was, as usual, her nagging and all that noise but today it is all replaced with the voices in my head. I hear her loud and clear in my head only that I cannot hear her anymore in real.
The peace that I experienced a moment ago is vanished by these disturbing thoughts. I pluck a flower and now I am walking homewards again. I reach the street and I cannot bring myself to say sorry for the last night when I had yelled back at her saying ENOUGH! The lump in my throat is hard to swallow but I do so. I felt like I feel, when the guilt in us surfaces and keeps rising high until it reaches our eyes and wells them up with what looks like water but is called tears. I guess that's because it really TEARs upon your heart and brings the reality in front of your eyes for it to be seen unmistakably. I wipe them away because I live in a society where men are supposed to be tough and not cry. But was I? Was I really that tough...probably not! That's for her to say. I walk with heavy steps and heavy heart towards home. In my mind, I am thinking what should I say and will she say something first and will it always be like it was - her nagging and all...or did this happen only to change things and that their relationship needed this jolt. Everything I was unsure of other than my love for her, other than the mistakes I made.
I guess regular life does this to regular people like me. The sight of a beautiful flower awes you but not for long, until you finally put it in a vase and then forget about it. It's only when you’re in deep thought and you watch it on your table that you see and realize the beauty it holds and how it makes your silly choice of a silly boring vase look beautiful. She is that flower in my life, I now think I ignored.

Remembering about the flower, I looked at the flower in my hand that I had plucked from the garden at the park. Its pale and has lost all its color. I smile sarcastically to myself and think it's because it is in my hand that it has lost its beauty and has withered away like my wife did. Or didn't it realize it was never a beautiful flower in the first place? Is there anything like a not-beautiful-flower? It's just me. It's always me...I end happiness. I am the reason why a beautiful flower like my wife has lost herself to age even before her old age. I am the cause of all her worries and wrinkles. Thinking so and glad that I could bring myself to think so deeply and so rightly...I open the door with keys only so that I don't alarm her and can find her sobbing too, sitting on the bed. I open the door and sure as heaven, she was perched on the bed. She was all dolled up for me in her pretty pink saree...the color of rose, the color of her cheeks. She somehow knows I am home. She turns around partially with a nod. And I can see her smiling lips, the half of it facing me. I am confused yet happy. I wanted to know why was she doing this? Last night, I told her it was over between us and yet here she was...inviting me to her, waiting for me to get back to her. I call out to her and rush towards her, bending on my knees, facing her, holding her hands and kissing them briskly. I apologise for my unfriendly, unkind, unsympathetic behavior. All she does is smile in return, plays with my hair and says her usual dialogue, “Lets start afresh!” she always does this. She always starts anew. She keeps giving me chances. I realised how lucky I am. We spent quality time together. I got a call from my workplace and had to rush to attend to some business. I came back home late in the evening. I had missed 20+ calls from her and she seemed dead worried to know my whereabouts.

Every friend of mine, whom she knew was worried and looking out for me. I received stares from my neighbours with a ‘tch-tch’ expression from many; nodding in despair, and the disappointing look in their eyes, made me feel so evil and villainous towards my own family. As if I am an irresponsible man who doesn't care much about my loved ones. I was so furious at my wife for putting me through this. I felt like I am in some wanted list of people. I wouldn't be surprised if the police was out looking for me. I reached home somehow trying to hide my face, as much as possible, and taking quick steps and sometimes leaps. The door was left ajar and I saw my wife standing there, wide-eyed! Staring at me! Before I could say anything, she yelled at me and created a scene. Every neighbour stood outside their home to see the tamasha.

While her eyes were frantically looking for solace, mine were looking at the popping heads of neighbours in the narrow street of my colony. I was raged. Couldn't she have waited for me inside the house? Though late, I would have come home sooner or later. But no! She has to play the victim card all the time. She could have made a few more calls and I could have missed a few more calls...so what!? I know she was worried sick but I was too furious to comfort her.

I closed the door behind me and while she continued with her ranting, walking towards the kitchen area in our small hut to fetch water for me, I ran past her and took the knife from the shelf and stabbed her 4-5 times. All of this happened in such a hurry, I didn't realise what I was doing. I was tired of the embarrassment, I wanted her to mute. I couldn't take another word from her foul mouth. It all happened in a few seconds and not even a minute ago she was ranting and her noise was getting unbearable for me. Her shrieking voice was reaching my ears like a pointed pin, piercing me and i could feel my ears bleeding. But that was just my imagination. Yes, my ears were now warm but not with blood but with guilt. My shirt was stained with actual blood - her blood, and I could never wash away these stains, my sins...not from my shirt, not from my heart. The bloodied image would haunt my mind forever. What did I just do? I had come home drunk like always.

In the spur of the moment, I had killed my wife. The wife who loved me and the wife I loved dearly. I know it's hard to believe, even for me. I am insane. I wail loudly releasing my loss. I look at her now still body, the silence outside was actually echoing my insides...I was left speechless, heartless. I was losing it. I had already lost it - the hold on me, the control on my mind. No, no, no! This is not happening. I shout out her name aloud, wanting to hear her irritating voice. For once, that voice would soothe me. For once, I was dying to hear her. She was worried about me because once in the near past, I had escaped death while I was walking on the road, all drunk. This was what worried her the most. She wanted me to come home early and then do what I desired to ensure I am safe around her. And this is her reward. I desired her end.


Who am I? I'd say you know me. I am one of the many people you see around you. I am not just a slum inhabitant, I am also a person you know who lives in the Midas land. I deserve no introduction other than an ‘alcoholic, an abuser, inhuman, undeserving and a beast’.

Saturday, September 9, 2017

Everything Short!


I am short of words to write about everything that’s short.

Not a great blog - this one, and definitely not an attempt to mock something/someone that’s short but just sharing my observation. Why this topic, suddenly? Well, just a thought...some experiences and some people in my life whom I know for sure are short but strong in every aspect of their lives.Like there is a popular saying about people who are tall have their brains in their knees, or something of that sort. Now thats for fun, right! So, what my observation is with people who are short is that they are really dominating. They want to ensure they are not brushed aside for their petite size and so have a very strong personality. They don’t just say things...they make statements. And I think they are very strong-willed, too.
Shortcuts are dangerous but definitely luring.
Short sentences, too, are more impactful. Sarcasm is short too. They are like the real punch on the face. Long sentences, on the other hand, are boring and the meaning tends to get lost.
Life, too, is too short as we realize, when nearing the end. There is always so much more left to see or experience, or learn.
Short haircuts are cool too. They make one feel more self-confident and in control.
Short-term courses are more loved too. The results are faster. ;)
The short deadlines at work...OMG! They really make you think on your toes and bring the best under pressure for most.
The short blurbs speak a lot about the contents of the book. Also, has the power to improve the sales.
Short is crisp. Short is neat. Short is noticeable. Short is simple. Short is definitely not long. And Short is “Short and Sweet”.
Having said that, I plan to shorten this blog a bit too ;)
Short summary: Think about it...when you’re short of words, you smile instead. :)