Three shades of regret

There was something about her, you got to admit.

Today began like just another day. Who would have known it would end this way?

It was her eyes, I think. Or her smile. Maybe it was the way she played with her hair while she thought about something. But she definitely had something that made me want to go upto her.

I walked to the bus stop kicking the can all the way. Suddenly, there was a voice that caught my attention, it was the shopkeeper fighting with a customer. Mr. Baker was always a disgruntled man and I think I learnt most of my swear words, hearing him yell at others. Today too, I watched him with a smile. I heard the general string of cuss words and then, the customer slammed the door as he walked out. He saw me looking through the glass, raised an eyebrow and said, "Don't go in there, if you are smart. He is crazy old man." I didn't. I looked at my watch and realised I was late for work, I hurried. This here was my regret #1 - I didn't walk in.

I remember seeing her for the first time, not knowing what to say. Tongue-tied and sloppy. I dropped wine all over me. She made me do it, I say.


I ran to the bus stop and almost missed my bus but I made it. There wasn't time to wait or even catch my breath, as I reached work, a colleague said, "Let's leave. Emergency on PA Street."  I was surprised. " Dude, that's why I am coming from. Who is it?"  "A Mr. Baker, I believe. Heart attack, after he exchanged a few words with a customer. Come on."  I waited while he drove. It isn't easy being a paramedic on days like this. There is always a casualty and you always have to get there on time. Today wasn't one of those days, we couldn't save Mr. Baker. Even though, we tried. If only I had got there in time. This here was my regret #2 - I didn't get there in time.

Then she twirled her hair around her fingers and came and sat next to me. "Am I making you nervous?" she asked. "Yes" "Don't be. I don't bite." "I hope not." 


As we carried Mr. Baker's body back, I kept wondering the "What if"s of today. What if I had walked in then? What if I had got there in time?

Mr. Baker had always lived in his shop, said the newspapers the next day. He had a wife. I chuckled. Who would live with an ill tempered man as him? Since my childhood, I never seen Mr. Baker with anyone. I was told he got married the years that I was away at university. There was no picture of his wife.


Years later, I would tell her how she made me feel that day and she would smile. She would say, she knew I was looking at her, she liked the attention. She would make me feel like a fool, all over again. She always knew how.


I decided I would go to the funeral. I have no logical explanation for that decision but I decided I wanted to know more about this man. I had to call my mother and ask her for my suit (Hey, I move around a lot) and poured over the papers to find the details. There was only one church in town and that's where it would be on Saturday evening. I called Bob and asked him to cover my shift for that afternoon. He reluctantly agreed. This here was my regret #3 - I went to his funeral.

"What if I had never come to speak to you that day?" she asked. "I would have taken time but I would get there, eventually. You just had me under a spell. I would have you one way or another."  "Yeah right" she said. Yeah right, I said to myself.

Saturday came and I got ready. His family was in front and the church had a few people who seemed to know him. The priest called me a family man who had lived his life. A kind man even though he had a harsh tongue. He then called upon his wife to share a few words.

And then that's when I saw her. And I immediately thought, "There's something about her."

So if you really see, I regret nothing at all.

The master - one story, two endings

“Master, tea,” he said as he peeped inside the room. His master was in a corner fixing his tie. The master’s wife, his mistress at the dressing table, fixing her face. She glanced at him as he kept the tray with the tea pot and cups down.

He poured a cup of tea for the mistress just the way she liked it and handed it out to her. She had a scowl on her face. She took a sip of her tea and made a disgusted face. “Is there no one in the house who can make a decent cup of tea?” she asked.

He apologised for no fault of his. His master stopped her but only so that he could yell. His eyes down, he heard it all. “I will take care of it, master,” was all he could say. As he left the room, one could see the smile on his lips and the gleam in his eyes for he knew that once everyone left, the tables would turn. He would be the master of the mistress on the master’s bed.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Master, tea,” he said as he peeped inside the room. His master was in a corner fixing his tie. The master’s wife, his mistress at the dressing table, fixing her face. She glanced at him as he kept the tray with the tea pot and cups down.

He poured a cup of tea for the mistress just the way she liked it and handed it out to her. She had a scowl on her face. She took a sip of her tea and made a disgusted face. “Is there no one in the house who can make a decent cup of tea?” she asked.

He apologised for no fault of his. His master stopped her but only so that he could yell. His eyes down, he heard it all. “I will take care of it, master,” was all he could say. As he left the room, one could see the smile on his lips and the gleam in his eyes for he knew that once everyone left, the tables would turn. The master would have to pay, in kind. 

Apparent Talent

That cobwebed easel in the corner,

The guitar that sits collecting dust,

Shears that lay abandoned in the mud,

she looks at them one by one

with eyes of want.

A talent, an apparent one,

the one to show off,

the one to celebrate,

to win laurels and all that.

She want one, one of those,

She sits on the floor,

staring at each of them,

wondering if they'll ever talk back.

She stops, picks up a pen and

writes her feelings off. 

PS : Thanks, M and Vishesh for making sure I write. 

Lucky 13 - Part 3

‘Sex, Drugs and Rock-and-Roll’ – That’s how I define the last eight years of my life. I had an introduction to alcohol at 16, drugs at 17 and women at 18. I’ve gone to the darkest places one can imagine; borrowing money I could never repay and stealing things I didn’t need just so that drugs could flow through my veins. Even during Colonel’s funeral, I was lying in some alleyway with a needle stuck in my skin. If it weren’t for my connections in the department, no one would’ve even considered giving me a try.

Jason gets off his laptop, and is met with the disapproving look in his father’s eyes. The near 25-year old didn’t wait for another moment, pleading his case to his father, who looked happy but his son knew he was anything but.

“Dad, it’s been over a year since I touched any of my vices, and I plan to never go back that route. It’s been quite a struggle but I feel like I finally have some control over my life. Of course, Becky has been helping me get through all of this. She’s the one who gave me the push I needed to join the police department. It’s where you spent your final few days working, so it’s fitting. I want you to be proud”.

As Jason plays back, in his head, what all he just said, he moves his hand towards a photograph placed on the shelf, right in front of a large group of books. He picks it up and slowly stretches his arm, so the picture is at a proper arms-length from him, and right in his eye line. Spending a brief moment staring at the picture, he murmurs – “I wish you had seen this side of me. I wanted to make you proud”.

As soon as he finished his statement, he heard a familiar voice at the foot of the room. Turning around with a bright smile on his face, he let go of the sad tone his voice had earlier. Becky was the only person who meant something to Jason. She was a neighbour, but was closer than any family he had. While everyone else had given up on him, she reminded him that his life mattered. He was in love with her since the first time he saw her, but never found himself capable of asking her out.

“Oh, you are already up, and here I was perfecting my ‘Wake Up, Poop-head’ chant”, the tall, pale, ginger figure of Becky laughed walking towards Jason. “Whom were you talking to this time – your mom or Mr. Leigh?”, she asked genuinely curious to know. This had happened numerous times before; every time Jason was in trouble or took a step ahead in life, he would talk to his parents as if they were standing alongside him.

“I will never understand why you refer to my dad as ‘Mr. Leigh’, when you are very comfortable referring to mom as ‘mom’”. Jason already knew the answer, being constantly reminded by Becky’s father to call him ‘Mr. Harvey’ because he took part in the Civil War re-enactment from time-to-time.

Becky walks into the kitchen, and Jason follows. She had been preparing breakfast for him almost everyday, so it was nothing more than a daily routine. Those two months when she was out of state were as hard on him, as they were on her. She couldn’t wait to get back to him, and he couldn’t wait for something other than McDonalds and Burger King. Out of practice, Jason is almost at his seat awaiting his food, only to be stopped in his tracks. “No, no! There’s no time. You can have your breakfast on the way, in the car. You are expected at the shooting range in twenty minutes. I'm driving you there."

The lure of alcohol

He was never a man of words. He just couldn't find himself to say what he wanted. He had lived all his life like that. His wife got him somehow. Him, his silence and his anger. Everything. He lost her. He felt dumb and trapped again.

This silence was killing him. Slowly but surely. He decided he had to take matters into his own hands or else he would lose her. He had accepted the death of his wife but losing her would be something that his conscience would not let him live with.

He picked up the phone. Put it down again. Took a sip of beer and called again. Yeah, just a sip of beer would do. Put the phone down again. One bottle down. Soon, he would be drunk. No, calling her drunk would just be wrong. He called.

She picked up, "Hey, what's up? Where are you?"

He answered, "In my hotel room"

"Where? In which city?"

"Delhi"

"Is it hot? Raining? It is crazy hot here"

"Do you drink?"

"Yes."

"What?"

"I prefer whiskey but with the pocket money I get I can only afford rum and the occasional vodka. Why do you ask?"

"Ok. Remind me to buy you a nice bottle of single malt when you are back."

"Are you serious? How drunk are you?"

"Do I have to be drunk?"

"Ok. Maybe not. What do you want in return?"

"Nothing. Why do you ask so many questions you want it or not?"

"Okay. Okay. Don't act all grumpy. But don't forget this."

"Hmmm. Did you go to college today?"

"Yep. Had the most boring class but well, internship begins tomorrow so I can be busy all the time. Plans to come here soon?"

"Not for a while atleast."

"Okay. I think I need to rush for dinner now. Talk to you later?"

"Fine. But call home."

"Yep. Will do, dad. Bye."

Maybe, this wasn't so hard after all. He could do this more often and maybe without alcohol or the lure of it.

An un-ending wait

I waited. I waited. I waited. Anxiously. For the very first time in our 3-year old relationship, I had realized she was the one I wanted to spend the rest of my life with.

Today was special. Today was when I was going to ask her hand in marriage. Today we would finally be one. Realistically.
She told me she would be late. She told me we would go out for dinner. She told me she would be back. Really.

I waited. I waited. I waited. Anxiously.
I wanted her to say yes. I wanted to spend my life with her. I wanted her to be mine. Lovely.
She told me she would be late. She told me we would go out for dinner. She told me she would be back. Really.

Post-blast.

The city came to a stand-still. The city broke down. The city went boom. Literally.
I couldn’t believe her. I couldn’t contact her. I couldn’t breathe. Worried.
She told me she would be late. She told me we would go out for dinner. She told me she would be back. Really.

I was shaken. I was scared. I cried. Broken.
The phone kept ringing. The phone stopped ringing. The phone-call never came. Destroyed.
She told me she would be late. She told me we would go out for dinner. She told me she would be back. Really.

I needed a hug. I needed a kiss. I needed her. Want.
9 seconds passed. 9 minutes passed. 9 hours passed. Crazy.
She told me she would be late. She told me we would go out for dinner. She told me she would be back. Really.

..But she never came.

Lucky 13 Part 2.

Wheee. The brother returns with part 2. Time to give him atleast a new tab on the blog, I think. You can find all of his work on this blog here. 

Find part 1 here.

“You have got to be kidding me, Gwen! Seriously, why can’t you just get off the phone and answer the door for once?”

Forcing her feet to make loud thuds signaling her anger about her room-mate’s laziness, Sarah Dawson comes down the stairs. She sneaked in a quick glance at the mirror, followed by tying up the last few loose hair-strands. She didn’t know who was at the door, but that wouldn’t stop her from looking her best.

They say, for police officers, knowing justice is being served is good enough, but not for the new-age detective. It’s not only about finding the criminals, but also looking good while doing it. But today was something extra special – it was Sarah’s first day as a homicide detective. Obviously, she wasn’t the most experienced officer out there, but with a series of unsolved murders and a serial-killer out on the loose, exceptions had to be made, new recruits had to be brought in. She had traded in her faded, worn out patrol uniform for off-the-rack suits – reminiscent to a “rags to riches” story. She had never considered herself to be poor, and let’s face it, even the top detectives don’t get to have all the luxuries in the world, but this was about earning respect. Sarah had worked her way up, from the bottom. Law-enforcement seminars, self-defense classes, weapons workshops and slogging it out in the real world, she had done it all. Although she was a small fish in a very big tank, full of people telling her she was too pretty to be in the police, too nice. Surrounded by so much of negativity, there was never a moment where she gave up hope. A life-long dream was finally going to come true today.

As the door-bell rang again, her thoughts were brought to a screeching halt, and on opening the door, Sarah hoped she could just disappear of the face of the planet. Between the young, vibrant and energetic Sarah and the equally vibrant and colourful spring morning, stood her aunt - Michelle Rose. Michelle and Rose – both words have such a tender, beautiful feel to them. When you put them together, you can imagine feminine grace and the capability of painting such a pretty picture. Sarah’s aunt though, was the complete opposite. A tall, bulky woman, dressed in a black “Metallica” t-shirt and cargo shorts, Aunty Michelle was a professional wrestler in the old days, under the name ‘Monster Mama’. Hitting her early fifties, it would still take more than one Sarah to take her down – and that’s exactly why Sarah sighed loudly. If only her aunt was the petite figure that her name portrayed, she would’ve simply run over her and deal with the consequences later.

Sarah had a pretty simple way of behaving with people, and there were no exceptions – If you are nice to me, I’m nice to you. If you are not, I do not care. Every time she considered joining the forces as a fresh graduate, and after every promotion, it was the same ritual. Her aunt tried persuading her to find something better to do in her life. She told her how this life wasn’t for her, but coming from a successful woman in a heavily male-dominated industry, Sarah never paid heed to any of her advice. She expected another anger-filled tirade from Michelle, which usually ended with the niece demanding that her aunt leave immediately and never show her face ever again, but evidently, it didn’t ever work.

This time, the young detective was prepared. She sat through dinner last night, thinking of all that she would say to her aunt as her she bursts up into flames like every other occasion. With a curled up fist, solid as a rock, the very confident Sarah was waiting to pounce on her aunt with a barrage of her own; ready to go to war. But after a brief, yet intense stare, something unimaginable happened. As Sarah gave her eyes momentary rest with a quick blink, the near 6-foot tall Michelle was on her knees. The smirk and arrogance replaced with a meek, exhausted look.

“Please, Sarah, please don’t ruin your life. Get out while there’s still time”.

Sarah was quick to reply, without any emotion or distress, “After years of trying to force me, you’ve finally found a more innovative way, but that doesn’t mean its going to work.”

“Sarah, darling, if you keep going along this path, you’ll open doors which have to be kept closed. All those secrets have to be kept untouched. Otherwise, your life will be ruined”.

“What secrets are you talking about? How can my life be any more ruined than it is right now? I have no family – my dad’s dead, and my mother is spending the rest of her life in prison for killing him”.

long lost -2.

Find part one here

Even though, he was wide awake now, the voices were no different. They still sounded like they were coming from far away. And everything seemed to go on in slow motion. Her lips moved mouthing words but it was like the tv was on mute. Her lips. Those lips. Her hair. Nothing had changed. She hadn't.

Wait she had. They had. Nothing was the same. She had moved on. He remembered all the fights. All the mistakes. The ones he made, the ones he was hurt by. Of how she had changed. Of how she blamed him for everything and then, one day, just disappeared.

He respected her wishes. He had promised her that he would never question her.

"No questions?" he heard her ask.

"I've a few," he replied.

She looked at him and gulped. She knew the moment she had heard about his band performing that this would happen. She couldn't escape. Not like she had the last time.

She took a deep breath and said, "Go ahead."

He looked at her and asked, "Why us? And why now?"

His band mates looked at in surprise. One of them just started to protest, when she held her hand. He had to start laughing. She always hated being interrupted or protected. 'Talk to the hand' was something she always said.

Looking straight at him, she said, "Because I have always believed in you."

His heart sank and he felt the same thing he had felt years ago.

Lucky 13 Part 1.

Disclaimer : This has been written my brother, Akash. If you like this work more than mine and you tell him so, he might consider making a blog of his own. Till then, he shall leech off my space.

“Believe me, I had nothing to do with it.”, he shouted out. The bright lights make his pupils dilate, and still, the lights pierce his eyes. Moving his head up for a breath of fresh air, he can’t help but wonder whether “karma” had done him in. His lungs cannot take another dip into the icy cold water, but the San Francisco Police Department officials wanted answers. 34-year old, business tycoon, Roy Jefferson has had many visits to the SFPD office – on charges of fraud, extortion and even solicitation, but always managed to hide behind the best legal team money could buy. The large abundance of green paper in his back pocket had made him quite a few friends in the Police Department itself, but this was one deal, neither his money nor his shrewd business mind could get him out of. Found over his wife’s body, with her blond locks and blood all over his hands, he was caught red-handed. An anonymous 911 call had cost him dear. His lawyers tried their best to get their employer out of the mess he had gotten himself in, and in reality, it was extremely easy for the ‘Cutting-Edge Realty’ owner to entice the district police force with a not-so-hefty depression in his bank account, but with the global media fixated to their TV screens and gunning for Allison Jefferson’s killer, the police couldn’t afford any bribery allegations.

27-year retired veteran in the force, mother of two and regarded as the best female law enforcement officer in the country, Melinda Thomas had managed to reach her bed, after pretty much not knowing what sleep was for the three decades that went by, and as soon as she shut her eyes, her phone started ringing. “Sweet Home Alabama” was an appropriate ring-tone for Thomas as she was born, brought up and even served the force in her home state, before an obsession with a serial killer earned her a transfer twelve years ago to Illinois, from where she retired last year. This obsession had ruined her marriage, her social life, almost her career and, definitely, her life. Her daughters had no time to call an absentee mother – an absentee even when living in the same house, her mother had passed away without having her only daughter read her eulogy because she was busy running down a wild goose hunt and her ex-husband who found himself alone on all his vacation, her police years had been difficult for everyone around Melinda. With no friends and a dreadfully distant family, she spent her, now free, Saturday nights and Sunday Mornings watching Alfred Hitchcock classics or getting her old case files out of the closet and attempting to catch the one-man who got away. So, when Roy Jefferson was found over his wife’s lifeless body, the SFPD knew who to call, because of her reputation around the law enforcement circles - The woman who had dedicated her life to finding this man, and failed. Thomas had been in this same position the last time four bodies had been found in her state of Alabama, same M.O., in the span of two weeks

.

Alistair Lee – 40-year old, Male, Caucasian, investment banker. Amanda Johnson – 22-year old, Female, African-American, waitress. Andrew Peterson – 8-year old, Male, Caucasian. Anna Petrov – 32-year old, Female, Russian Immigrant, Housewife. Different ages, different social circles, different ethnicities and all of them had no enemies. Then, what got all of them killed? They all couldn’t have been in the wrong place, at the wrong time & killed using the same M.O., all in a matter of ‘thirteen’ days. The figure of 13 days can easily be mistaken for 2 weeks, but not when it comes to this serial-killer. The police departments across the country have a compartment in their file cabinet dedicated to who the media termed as the ‘Lucky 13 killer’.

Naivety

The months of conversation could not have prepared him for today. She sat there in front of him. Currently absorbed in her phone, making plans with her friends. He sat there meekly waiting for her to finish but unsure if he wanted her to.

She looked at him with raised eyebrow. Different parts of his body reacted differently to just that one glance. He wondered what would happen next. She got off the phone.

"Want a cigarette?" she asked.

"I hate the smoke," he replied.

"Mind if I?"

"Well I rather that you don't."

"Say what you want, clearly, henceforth. I rarely take hints."

"Ok. Your place or mine?" he answered shedding that naivety she knew was just a charade.

Long lost

There are things about him I love that I can't really explain. The way he leaves his cigarettes for me after he says he won't. The way he looks while he is sleeping. The way he takes off my glasses when I am asleep. Oh, the way he tolerates my phobia of lizards, even though he finds it so damn irritating. The way he is cautious and weary of any guy around me. For all this and more, I love him too.

As he read this on her blog, he felt a sense of discomfort surrounding him. He didn't know who she was referring to. It most definitely couldn't be him. They hadn't spoken in over 4 years now. Was it seriously over? He wondered. All those moments they had spent together flashed in front of his eyes. Had she forgotten all of that? Could she have? Was it so easy? Moving on was never easy for him. She had forced him to move on when life seemed the bleakest. But she forgot to teach him how to move on from her. Life had moved on, yes. He had almost everything that he wanted, except the magic portion that could get rid of memories.

"Snap to the present," he said to himself. He splashed cold water on his face and lay on the bed. But memories haunted him.

At that precise moment, he got a call. A call from his band mate. He picked up phone, heard what he had to say and jumped up. Their band was going to be the opening act for one of the popular Indian bands. Was this really happening? Finally, a break.

The following 6 months were full of intense rehearsals. Work, rehearsal and craziness. And finally the day of performance arrived. Time to prove it to the world..

On stage, it was magical. Exhilarating high that only music can provide. He felt so alive that if he died tomorrow, he would have no regrets.

Part of the promotion was a band interview to be done after the show. He was almost in 2 minds to scoot away from here. But this was what he wanted, finally, after years of hard work. He sat in the interview room with his eyes closed. The interviewer entered, asked the routine questions and while he was there, he really wasn't. He felt like something was going to happen. What, he didn't know. But he kept waiting. Ah, maybe it was the fatigue, he thought.

Soon, the interview was over. All he wanted to do was crash, when suddenly, his band managed called out to them. His frustration rose. Unable to keep his eyes open or stand correctly on his 2 feet, he sat down once again.

"Boys," the manager said, " I need to discuss something with you."

"I promise it will be over  soon," he added quickly seeing the reluctance.

"I know we have been discussing about getting a PR person for a while now and this is the perfect opportunity."

"Can't this wait till tomorrow?" He asked.

"Well one of the leading PR consultants is here and she herself came to me said that she wanted to take charged of your publicity. Boys, quite frankly, it would be impossible for us to get her even if we tried. I think we should go for it. She is waiting outside. She wants to meet you."

He sighed. He was so not ready for this. He just wasn't prepared.

He assumed the lady came in. He was too tired to even open his eyes to look at her. He could voices of his band mates like they were coming from far away.

Suddenly he heard a voice, " Let him be."

He jolted up. Sleep drifting away like after a frightening nightmare. Only, this was real. The voice was hers. It was her. His eyes popping out like the ones in cartoon. She smiled at him. That serene smile. And slowly came toward him and said, "Hi  V."

That was it. He felt his world coming crashing down.

...Might be continued!

Fool

This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 9; the ninth edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.

I know it and yet,

I choose to be me.

I know that rainbows

and unicorns exist.

And you may laugh

at me for thinking so.

I know it and yet, 

I choose to believe

in myself and my beliefs.

I know it and yet,

I choose to be me.

I know that life 

is lovely and easy.

And you may scoff

at me for thinking so.

I know it and yet,

I choose to live

like I would live, forever.

I know it and yet,

I choose to be me.

I know of the world

and of it's crooked ways.

And yet, I choose to be.

I know of you

and your devious mind,

the cruel intentions,

And yet, I choose to be

Just another fool.

The knack of defiance,

The norms that I shun,

With my heart on my sleeve

and head on my shoulders,

I proclaim, myself to be,

Just another fool!

The fellow Blog-a-Tonics who took part in this Blog-a-Ton and links to their respective posts can be checked here. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.

Caustic words

It was his caustic tone that broke me down completely. Did I always know? Did I have a hunch? A woman always knows. I hadn’t sacrificed myself for him. But he was a part of my life. We had a life together. Now it was over. It was over when he said, “I love her.”

Submitted for 3 Word Wednesday

Random story

Do you know how difficult it is to tie your laces when your hand is in a sling? Let me tell you. VERY. Being the accident prone that I am, I had my hand in a sling yet again. While I was tying them, bent down. This random guy bumped into me and walked ahead. I looked up and realised it was the same guy who had asked me for a lighter for a smoke. After exchanging a smile and lighting his cigarette, I had left.

Now, he passed by me and mumbled a sorry. He hailed a cab and as it turned out, his destination was the same. What came over me, I would never know, I asked him if could car pool as I was going to the same place. He smiled and let me get in first.

The 5 minutes, total awkward silence. Then,

Boy : May I ask something?
Me: Go ahead.
Boy: You a United fan?
Me: Oh yeah. How did you know?
Boy: Rooney on your back. (referring to the Rooney keychain on my bag)
Me: Oh. Yes. Red Devil. You too?
(Thought in my head - Oh lord. Please please)
Boy: Can I guess what you are thinking?
Me (surprised but): Ok, sure. (shrug)
Boy: You are thinking. Oh God, please let him not be a scouser please please. He is too cute to be a scouser.
Me (laugh): You got everything except the cute part right.
Boy: Are you single?
Me: I rather not get personal.
Boy: Oh sorry. I don't know what came over me.

Awkward silence.

Boy: Oh you have a Blackberry?
Me: Yes.
Boy: I am really sorry about earlier. I mean it.
Me: Yeah. It is ok. Whatever.
Boy: No. I aint a scouser.
Me: Great.
Boy: Heard Rooney is back from injury.
Me: Yeah. He is going to be playing today.

... Loads of Jibber jabber about football and the darn Arsenal 5-0 win the previous night.

When we were almost reaching my place,
Boy: Hey, should we keep in touch?
Me: I am not sure.
Boy: Do you blog?
Me: Yes.
Boy: Will you blog about this?
Me: Maybe.
Boy: May I have the link?
Me: Bhaiya, yahin ruka do. (Stop the cab here.)

*Give the driver 100 rs and turn towards him*
Me: Thanks a lot. The drive would have been boring without your company. *wink*

(Thought in my head- This will make a good blog post)

Time Travel

This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 8; the eighth edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.

She walked on the beach she liked to believe was her own. Beautiful clean sand and deep clear water. She walked on the horizon where the waters silently kissed the sands. She walked thinking of days to come and the days gone by. Of all the people she had met, those who had made a difference in her life. Mostly she thought of him. It was 10 years she had heard his voice. The voice without which she could sleep, once upon a time. She wondered where he was now. Whether all the dreams they had shared had come true for him. Of all the worries they had spent nights thinking about and how the worst among them had come true. They truly had grown apart.


Suddenly, she saw something cold hit her foot. It was a bottle. There was something in it. A message in a bottle? She smiled. It was letter dated 12th April, 1916. The World War-I. Her curiosity grew. She sat down on the warm sand and opened it slowly. Afraid she would tear it. She read. It seemed like a leaf of a diary.





12th April, 1916

Dear Diary,

It has been a year since he left me. He seems like just yesterday he was hugging me. Holding me close and now it is all gone. The pain too is now dull. Never will it be gone completely but now my brain is clearer. I realise that he isn't coming back.


I wish I could speak to him just once more. Talk to him. Listen to his voice. Tell him what he meant to me. My beacon. My soul. I wish I could tell him how special he was to me. All I wanted was him to be happy wherever he was. I wish I could hold him once more. I wish I could feel his strong arms around me. Telling me everything would be alright. I wish I could see his deep intoxicating eyes once again.


Most of all, I wish he knew I was all his like I was no-one else's. I wish he knew I loved him and still do and probably always will be.


I wish he knew.






She stared at the letter long. For quite some time. Then she knew what she had to do. She put it back into the bottle and tossed it back into the ocean. And ran back home. She ran like there was no tomorrow. The sun was setting but in her heart, realisation had just dawned. She picked up her phone with shivering hands. And dialled his number. Just as she was about to dial the last digit. She remembered, she remembered all the nasty things said and all the hurt she had caused.

It was like a slide show of not the good times but the bad ones. In the life they shared together, the sadness was there for around 10% of the time but those were the only times she remembered. Suddenly, she left like the hourglass had turned and the time had gone back.

Should she dial or let things be? He probably was happy wherever he was. Even if he wasn't (she gulped at that thought) what right did she have to disrupt his life? With all these thoughts, she placed the phone back.

She smiled at herself. For that brief period that she ran from the beach to home, she felt she was alive. Like she was in love once again. Like she was alive. Like she had travelled time.

PS: Thanks Vipul for the "inspiration"

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What you mean to me?

Happiness dont impress me much
Its a nice place to be
Sadness is uncomfortable
It inspires.

Yet, now, I look
Everywhere, at everything
For something, for someone
to inspire me.

I lost it, when
I lost you.
My penchant for
anything fine.

I wrote when with you,
I fought
I wrote when with you
I made sweet love.

I wrote always for you
Now, without you, there is
No-one to fight, no-one to love
There is no inspiration.

The desperation,
The frustration,
The inspiration I craved,
Numbness has been paved.

Whatever prevailed
Whatever it was
It is no longer there
Just a void that you left.

Come back to fight
Come back in sight
Come back in my life
Come back, be my wife.

I loved you, I still do.
Selfish you were, still are.
I loved you, without a care.
You loved me, just as a muse.

Your penchant is lost
Took it with me, it seems
But it is that you miss.
Coz without it, you are in a fix.

Life is incomplete
without inspiration.
Is that all I mean
To thee?

Without me,
Your words lose meaning
With you,
My existance begins waning.

Come back to fight?
Come back in sight?
If just you had asked me to
Come back to love!

Ps: Just in case I have to explain this, the first part is the guy talking and the next part is spoken by the girl!

I hope no more explanation is needed! :)

Thoughts!

Somehow my hands didn't shake while I signed those papers but then why was I crying now? It felt like it was over. Final and for sure. I did what was best for him, I thought. I could never. I can't. I just can't take care of him.

So small. So fragile. I cared for him since the first day. How could I let him go? I just had to. Rational decisions are the toughest.

I sat on the chair and stared at the setting sun. And thought of the brief but oh so beautiful days that I spent with him. His first smile. The first time he opened his eyes. Memories and images of him flooded me. How do I get rid of them?

A text message telling me I have an email. That could be a distraction. I log on. This email has an attachment. A picture. Of him. With his adoptive parents. They looked nice. Rich too. He was smiling. Maybe he was happy. He was happy.

Oh wait, didn't I ask them not to send me any updates. Damn! There must have been some goof up. Do I correct them? But then, that would mean never seeing him ever again. I had already decided that I didn't want to be a part of his life anymore but seeing his face melted me. I never wanted to be out of his life.

Yes, keeping him with me was good for him. I have to find a way to be with him without wrecking his life.

No, I wouldn't stalk him!

Title-less!

He called me one day and said, " I am in town. Meet me at the same place. Please. I need to talk. I need to talk to you." I was shocked. We hadn't spoken in ages and in the 7 years that I had known him, I had never heard him like that. I immediately left my office. There was something in his voice that made me leave work immediately.

When I reached the cafe, I was shocked to him there. That handsome face, that tidy hair, that crooked smile. Nothing. Just an empty stare.

It was like he was waiting. Waiting for something to occur, something to happen. I saw him at the cafe. Disheveled hair, clothes ragged. His eyes held an empty look.

I went and sat next to him. He looked up. Still no smile, no spark in the eyes, no him.

"What happened? Are you ok?" I asked.

"She is dead," came his reply.

"What? Who?"

"Her. Yesterday. There," he spoke slowly, breathing heavily like each word weight heavily on his heart.

"What happened?"

He took a deep breath and then looked at me, with tears in his eyes. I couldn't believe it.

"Why did they? How could they? Why her?"

I tried to put things together in my head.

"She called me a month back. She said she wanted to get back together. It was tough. She was there and me here. We spoke about it. A lot. You know how I can be. I never took her seriously but I was happy." He gulped.

He continued, " Yesterday, I called her. She didn't pick up. She almost never picked up when I called. She didn't call back that entire day. I saw the news. Pune blasts. She was in Pune. Something within me shifted. I don't know why. I called and kept calling her."

I was dreading the worst. I knew what was to come but I hoped that wasn't it. I was hoping that there was some other end to this story. I just didn't want rationality to win.

"That blast in Pune killed her. I am just coming back from Pune. I had to see her one last time. "

What do I tell him? How do i console him? What do I say to make it better when nothing can make it better?

(Based very loosely on true events)

Taming the lioness

There was not a sound in the house. Just the slight humming of the fan above her and the click of the keys on the keyboard when it was her chance to type. She rubbed her neck. She was tired. But she needed to stay away. This, right now, was familiar but when, it would be morning, it would start all over again. There was a tinge of pink on her cheeks. Not from blush, the natural or the made up kind. It was an allergic reaction to all the weird make up her mother was making her wear. She had to look like a bride.

She wondered what that meant. She was a would be bride and everything she did would be what a bride would do. She had never followed any rules. She raced cars in the middle of the night. She smoked like a chimney. This was the longest she had gone without a smoke. She needed a smoke. She couldn't in a house full of people. She couldnt wait to get married and get done with these shenanigans. She continued to ramble on. Then, suddenly said to him, you are the reason for all of this. You bloody had to come and ask my parents for my hand in marriage. We couldn't just run away. Like they could have caught us in my car. Damn you!

He was used to this. He just smiled and said, "I'm taming the lioness."

Them

I was so excited to meet them both finally. I had spoken to both a couple of hundred times, met them too but individually but meeting them together was something I looked forward to ever since I first noticed their chemistry.

It has been 3 yrs since he called me one morning and told me about this amazing girl he had been speaking to lately. Soon, he introduced us over the internet. One or two conversations later, I realised what he saw in her. She was this amazing girl with a great sense of humour and soon, we became very close.

He was an important person in my life. I had known him forever. He was 5 years elder to me and knew everything about me and I knew everything about him. He was my anchor and the voice of my conscience.

She was an important person in both our lives. She made him happy and that made me happy. They refused to start dating or give name to the relationship they shared. I hoped they would.

I was the one who resolved when they fought, if they ever did. When I called him and he would be talking to her, he would me on conference and I didnt get the opportunity to say even a word. I would be laughing crazy. I loved them.

Today, she was finally in our city. I was going to meet them. Sigh. I couldnt wait. He called me. I am on my way. I asked him where she was. She'll come. I havent spoken to her, he replied.

That was odd, I realised but didnt say anything.

He came in with a somber face. A face I had never seen.

"Did she call you?", he asked.

"No. Why?"

"When did you last speak to her?"

"Before she left, I guess."

"What did she say, then?"

"Why are you saying me all of this? Havent you spoken to her? Dont scare me."

"No. I havent spoken to her."

"What does that mean?"

"That means I havent spoken to her. What is so difficult to understand?" He yelled.

His eyes met mine for just a second. I saw pain in his eyes. I felt my insides churn up. I sat beside him.

"Tell me what happened," I said softly.

"Will you believe me if I said I dont know?"

"Tell me what you know."

"I know we have been fighting a lot and then, one fine day, we stopped talking. We havent in 2 weeks now. I dont know where she is or what she is doing. I dont know if she is coming today. We made this plan ages ago and I was hoping she would keep her word and come here. I was really hoping to meet her here."

I looked at my idol almost break in front of me. I was stunned and didnt know what to do. I was finding words to say something to comfort him.

Suddenly, it seemed like someone was behind us and looked behind.

"Just because we dont speak, doesnt mean this is over," she said with a smile on her face.