Posted in Stories

Stay.

Stay. You didn’t last time.
Trust in me and us.
For a moment.

Stay. Look into my eyes.
Let me coax you to come
Closer. Closer.

Stay. Let time pause and
Hold it’s breath, waiting to see
What’ll happen.

Stay. Let your breath hitch
Your pupils dilate, your cheeks flush
With a small sigh.

Stay. This moment will
Slip into the next and leave.
If you let it go.

Stay. Don’t lower your eyes.
Don’t turn your head with just
A memory of warmth.

Stay. There’ll never be again
A moment where we’re immortal
And incomplete.

Stay. Don’t break your heart
We were born to be together.
And reborn again.

Stay. Let your soul decide
Whether it has found its partner.
Not your brain.

Stay. Because if you go
We’ll suffer again and again
Until I make you.

Stay.

Posted in Stories

Postmortem.

What went wrong?
We had stolen glances and stolen kisses.
Secret dates that went all night long.

What went wrong?
We had surprise flowers and Christmas parties.
The jealousy of an entire ballroom.

What went wrong?
We had moving trucks and swatches of paint.
We painted each other more than the living room.

What went wrong?
We had diamond rings and an expensive white dress.
Both our mothers had tears of joy that day.

What went wrong?
We had new china and a dog from the shelter.
Leo was to be our practice baby.

What went wrong?
We had worn sofa corners and remotes with teeth marks.
And a new, snuggly addition to our bed.

What went wrong?
We had weekly date nights and ‘work stuff’.
We always had more important things to do.

What went wrong?
We had coffee stains on shiny countertops.
Dirty dishes put just beside the sink, not inside.

What went wrong?
We had an unlatched gate and a moment of distraction.
And a poor puppy who didn’t see the car coming.

What went wrong?
We had tears and screams and rolled eyes,
Justification and blame melting together.

What went wrong?
We had coping routines and the incessant sound,
Of trust unremittingly chipping away.

What went wrong?
We had locked phones and ‘Sorry I’m late’,
“I’ll have to stay in the office today.”

What went wrong?
We had excuses that we didn’t have to make.
We both knew what was going on.

What went wrong?
We had couple’s therapy, we had a trial separation.
We had silence, we had defeat.

What went wrong?

Posted in Stories

Stree.

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She is beauty, she is grace.
She will punch you in the face.

She’s 34″-26″-34″
She’ll spar you till you’re sore.

Loves makeup through and through,
She’s a YouTube beauty guru.

Watch her back, her small waist,
As she beats you in the race.

She’ll raise children beyond reproach,
She’s a teacher, she’s a coach.

Her cooking, best by far
She has three Michelin stars.

She’ll bleed, not just from ‘wherever
When she takes a bullet as a favour.

She is tall, she is short.
She is plump and she’s not.

She’s a wife, she’s a mother
She’s a sister to a brother.

She’s a lover, she’s a friend
Always there to lend a hand.

It’s time that we start speaking
Of how our minds are leaking,
When we talk of any woman
As an object instead of a human.

Posted in Humour, Stories, The things I like to do.

The Original Marky Mark. ( ie: My First Literary Crush)

Mark Antony, Mark Antony
A happy man was he.
With Julius as his buddy.
He worked with honesty.

Mark Antony, Mark Antony
Then Brutus went too far.
And so Mark cried and then he lied.
Let slip the dogs of war.

Mark Antony, Mark Antony,
He stood and hatched a plan.
Looked to the crowd and said aloud
“And he is an honourable man.”

Mark Antony, Mark Antony,
He won at Phillipi.
With Augustus and Ledipus,
He ruled from o’er high.

Mark Antony, Mark Antony,
He fell in love at once.
They called her Queen of Egypt,
Whore to the Romans.

Mark Antony, Mark Antony
He was so full of sass.
And then he fought, power he sought
Kicked out Ledipus’ ass.

Mark Antony, Mark Antony
His wife was still in Rome.
She told her bro, “How sad I grow!”
“Marky’s never at home.”

Mark Antony, Mark Antony,
He caught Octavius’ ire,
He saw the armies marching in,
Felt the fat in the fire.

Mark Antony, Mark Antony
Such a great man was he.
His friend was killed for ambition.
And so was Antony.

Mark Antony, Mark Antony,
Murdered by his own hand.
There was never any better
Dictator on this land.

 

Posted in Stories

After the Funeral.

At the senior citizen community cafe, it was officially tea time. The residents had come down from their afternoon naps for chai and gossip till it was time for their daily soaps. Today’s charcha was the death of one of their neighbours.
“Heart attack, the doctor said.”
“And no surprise! I always told Lata not to let her husband have so many biscuits with his chai. It’s not healthy, especially at our time of life-”
“Joshi Kaka never did listen to anyone. Not even his poor wife.”
“Poor Lata. 40 years of marriage, and now what? Left alone, no children, nobody to take care of her. No company in her old age.”
“We should go and visit her. Ask her to come down for tea. The poor bird will lock herself up in misery otherwise.”
“I’ve never seen a wife more devoted to her husband. Not one fight in 40 years! How is that possible? My Lord! Shirish and I fight almost everyday, and we’ve been married for 50 years!” Mrs. Kulkarni cackled.
“I’ll tell you what. I’ll ask her to accompany me on my morning walk and see if she’s interested in the laughter club. Get her out of her funk.”

The gathering nodded, very pleased with themselves and their good-natured plans to help the widow and supplement their gossip.

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Lata was sitting at her dining table in their small little condo. It had become difficult for them to climb the four flights of stairs to their old apartment, so they’d moved here 3 years ago.
She liked this place much better. She’d retired as a bank clerk last year after 35 years of steady service, and her pension was quite comfortable. An old woman like her did not need much.

The kettle whistled and Lata got up to make herself some tea. It was so quiet now. Just the sound of her shuffling feet and the bubbling water.
The death hadn’t hit her immediately; there had been so many arrangements to make and people to call. But twelve days later, she felt hollow. Like a mango that had rotted on the inside, gruesome, wrinkled and lifeless.

She shook her head at herself.

“It’s much the same.”, she told herself. “I’m sitting here on this chair, with my dinner, switching on the TV at 7:30 PM. Exactly like I’ve done for the past decade. Nothing at all has changed.”

Nothing had changed the last time either. It was oh, so long ago now. She was younger then. Her darling Pramila had been 4 years old. Such a wonderful child. So sweet, so smart, so beautiful! And then God had taken her away. Snatched her up to heaven. They never talked about her after that. They’d both carried on living their lives like nothing had happened, like nothing had changed. The same routine.

Lata was a very devout person. She’d known it was God’s plan that Pramila should be in heaven, in His lap. She trusted in His plan.

They’d both wanted more children. When she had Parag, they were so overjoyed! A fine, healthy baby he’d been. So full of life and vigour! God had a plan for him too.

Lata wiped a tear from her eye. She shouldn’t be ruminating. Not after so many years. What was the use?

God has a plan for all of us, she kept telling herself. He always has a plan.

She’d known his plan for her husband too. God had come to her in her dreams, as He’d done so many years ago, and told her. She was His humble servant. She’d merely carried it out.

Lata sometimes wondered what God’s plan for her was. He’d sent her to earth as His messenger. It was her sacred duty to execute His word. First her mother, then her father, then her brother. Then dear Pramila and Parag. And now her husband. Would He ask her to dispatch herself to Heaven next?

“Not yet.”, she murmured, a she poured herself another cup of tea. “Not yet.”

Posted in Stories

What Are You Afraid Of?

What is your deepest, darkest fear?
That there is light shining inside of me.
That I will look inside and find the universe.
That I will see limitless, endless space;
Waiting to be filled and stretched and filled again.
I am afraid that I will see an infinite; take away everything and it still remains.
I am afraid that I will see a whole, a complete thing, without bonds or wants or needs.
I am afraid to see what is possible, because then I will never be satisfied.
I am afraid of seeing potential; of knowing that it will remain just that.
That I will convince myself that I am limited, because limits are comfortable.
That my flesh will warp the reach of my mind, simply because it does not wish to try.
That I will be capable of everything, but accomplishing nothing.
That I will hear ‘could do better’ over and over and over again.
I am afraid to see the immeasurable power of my soul,
And then fritter it away on magpie treasures.
What is my deepest, darkest fear?
That there is light shining inside of me.
And that I will snuff it into blackness.

Posted in Stories

Perfect. – Part 3.

As the groom helped the bride into the car, I walked over to the best man. Nathan looked a little glum. Maybe he was just tired. It had been a long day.

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“Well, it’s finally over.” I rubbed his arm absentmindedly as I stared my fill of George before he left for his honeymoon.

“Yes it is, isn’t it?”

Something in his voice compelled me to look at him. He was still staring at the newlyweds. No, not the newlyweds. He was looking at Ella. I recognised the longing in his eyes.

How could I have been so blind? I was so wrapped up in self pity that I’d never noticed that my friend was suffering as I was.

I linked my arm in his and forced a smile.

“Don’t worry, we’ll get through it.”

I think Nathan understood what I said, and why I said it.

As we watched the car drive into the sunset, my heart felt lighter. Other people experienced heartache too. If they could try and move on, I could too. I would move on.

It had been a perfect wedding.