Friday, February 28, 2014

Alley of Betrayal

The words were inaudible. His lips simply moved. Her trembled.

The busy lane had become quite quiet. The cement block that they were sitting on for hours turned cooler and cooler as the evening deepened. She got up and moved towards the trees, further down into the quiet lane. His words, still inaudible, were breaking her from within.
Only two sounds disquieted that empty alley, her gentle sobs and his heavy “I am sorry” and “I still love you”.

Amongst those sobs was an angry yet gentle “How could you do that to me?”
She was not angry at him. She was angry at the woman. Her love for him defended him against the fault of his own. Such is love.

The sun fell asleep and the night awakened.
With him saying, “Let’s go home, lets talk there..”
There was something inside her which started hating everything he said.
She began walking towards the other side of the parking lot. A way that led to nowhere.

He followed her. More like a stalker than her lover.  With few words like “Please, let us go home”, he didn’t say anything anymore that defended him for the act he had committed.

She kept walking, slower than before, feeling abused every time he spoke.
He thought, he’d get his car from the parking lot quickly to the other side of the road as this alley was reaching another road, parallel to the one they had first stopped at.
She stopped for some reason. Almost exhausted, not due to the walk but just because of the weight of things that had befallen upon her, she stopped. She did not notice his absence. She just stayed there, gazing upon the road that intersected this cold, dark alley.

She could again feel his presence. Though the coldness of air demanded her body to be hugged, she shuddered at the hand that touched her bare shoulders. The hands tried again, but the shudder was even stronger and she moved ahead, ahead along the road. The hands receded into the darkness as they saw a vehicle approaching.

The car stopped and he got down. Rushing towards her, he sought her hand and tried to convince her. She refused, as she did before.
He brought the vehicle besides her, opened the door and irritably asked her to get in.

Three men, walked towards the car. Men, who looked more like animals residing in these dark corners of the world waiting for opportunity at everything.
He stretched himself out from the passenger’s seat and pleaded her to get in.
She closed back the door of the car. And stood outside the car, oblivious of what was going around her. For her, her love and his hatred were battling.

A battle that claimed his life and brutalized her body.

Picture Story: Kingdom Of Man

It took stones and bricks
For the cities and towns to not to fall
It took mortar and cement
To build them large and tall

Wind blew. Sun shone.
Withered did they not, the cities withstood.

Then came tsunamis, and the earthquakes.
And shook the life out of these structures, with enormous shakes.
Yet he built them again, stronger and taller.

They grew bigger than him in time.
So he thought, “Must I not stand as tall?”

So he build an image of himself
A man made image of himself as The God.

The almighty furious, made him pay.
Diseases, calamities and unleashed all of that fury
Made the man rethink about the Supreme jury.

May the time come when he’d reclaim all that falls.
Even the man himself, answering the nature’s final call.

Picture Story: Morsel

The most decorated people in any given war are the victors. Dead or alive.
Civilians, however atrocities they might go through usually do not get any notable mentions.
Largely it is because they are  usually taken to be nothing more than a collateral damage.

Nazi Germany, was attacked by the allied forces. Homes and houses crumbled to the ruins.
Families, civilian families vaporized by bombs, shattered with bullets and some simple by the fact that there was a war going on right in their backyard.

One such backyard of a German family was showered with shells, scattering their field’s produce in air.

“Quick, get down to the basement.” screamed the mother of three children and the wife of a Nazi soldier.

The children aged 10, 12 and 14 ran towards the basement door. As the shells burst open the belly of mother earth, the ground trembled, making the youngest topple, while the eldest, who was the only girl amongst the three, picked him up.
The shells, did not penetrate their basement, not because it was protected in any special way, but simply because they missed it. The house however was torn into pieces.
Days flew by and so did the airplanes.
The youngest kid bothered his mother, as much as he was bothered by his stomach.
The mother who couldn't see her kids suffer, in a display of pure affection ran outside the house towards the field, the kids almost running behind her. The eldest stopped her two little brothers from following their mother into the fields for she foresaw the danger. And so such danger did come. Their mother was shot. In front of them. With that the handful of corn she could grab fell on the blood splattered field.

The shock of witnessing their mother’s death took several days to subside as the hunger regain the realms of their naive brains.
Their cries were unheard amongst the bombing and the firing.

After putting her brothers to sleep, the eldest crawled out into the fields. She kept low. As low as possible. She did not go into the parts of the field which were flattened. She undressed herself and threw herself in the mud. Looking exactly like mother earth.
She knew  where her mother lay dead. She crawled there.
What she saw was too horrific for a 14 year old to see. She broke into tears. She screamed. She screamed at the bombs. At the bullets. At everything that made a noise.
And a reply came. A shell dropped besides her.
She prepared herself to embrace her death. War makes an adult out of a kid. And that happened with her. She held the hand of her dead mother and muttered goodbye to her brothers.

The world was still. She could hear no more gunshots. or bombings.

The shell didn’t go off. She was still alive.

With the corns in her hand, she crawled faster. Bruising herself. Her body turned crimson.

She lived the day. Her brothers survived.


A celebration of the end of world war is some event.
Soldiers who we are supposed to be remembered and soldiers who we are supposed to abuse  are the prime talks of these events. Hitler gets a lot of flak. ‘But he deserved it anyway’ is what most would hear during such gatherings.
A couple in their thirties, newly married are the talk of this evening. The guy being the youngest soldier of the alliance forces. Soldier in terms of name, but his work during the war was mostly postal. Though they say that he had some inputs to crack the enigma code. He had entered the army when he was merely 16.
His fiance is a Nazi. Or so did they say. Anybody from Germany was called a nazi among such circles and celebrations.

With dancing and blabbering done, food was served.

“This tastes awful” he says it with utter reproach to his friends and tilts his plate over the dustbin. Not even looking at where it’s falling.
She slides her plate under his and collects all the food that drops off his plate.

“What are you doing!? Are you insane!?” He exclaims.
“My mother died for a morsel.” she replies calmly.

Picture Story: Closest Closet

“Hi”, he said. Almost trembling. Mostly caused by nervousness that was the remanence of fear that he had imbibed himself with towards the woman species.

“Hey!”, she replied in festivity. Not that he meant something to her. She was such a bubbly personality anyway. Him or otherwise, her response would have been similar.

“Hi, I didn’t know you reside around here…” He mumbled. Looking at her feet. And very sparingly at her.

“I don’t! My mum stays here. I visit her sometimes.” She answered disappointedly.

He did not quite get the concept of mother living separately from the rest of the family, but he let his inquisitiveness pass as he didn’t wanted to come straight up nosy.

He meant to talk to her. Confront his nervousness. But was uncomfortable with himself. 

He had seen her hanging out in his school. For some reason, he thought, she’d understand.

He simply couldn’t hold up the turmoil to himself. 

He saw her again. And again. Her visits to her mother’s home increased. 
An opportunity or a problem? 
Months passed by.

“A girl would understand.” Thought he.

Another day goes by. All he did was look out through his room’s window and sigh. 

‘No wonder he fell for her.’ He wondered. There was this aura about her. 
That amiability, friendliness. He decided to confront her.

‘All I want would be friendship. Nothing more, just being around. Just being there.’ He muttered to himself. Nights passed by. The crumbling blanket felt his palpitating heart whilst, his ceiling witnessed aimless staring.

The purring cat tried its all feline tactics to calm her master down from the inexplicable turmoil he was going through. Her meows grew softer with days. As her master thought about confronting the girl next door.

“Aparna, Hi!” he was frantic in his greetings. 
Aparna reflected the cliche of teenage girls, almost exactly.
Being in the same school and in the same class. They did acknowledge each other with smiles, though it was Aparna who did most of the smiling. He looked through her. She, being with her usual group of friends. Mostly of guys.

“I was wondering if you could hangout. Someday. I mean today. At a place. My place. I mean. Or nevermind. I mean, would you hang out? I need help. I mean. In completing my project. Since you are in my group. I mean. I am in your group. Or let it be. I’ll do it myself.” He was sweating like a pig and spitting out words.

“HeHe! Sure! Why not!, infact I was about to ask you the same. We all should hangout some place and be done with that project.” she giggled and replied in the way she knew the best. 

“We all?” he enquired.
“Yes. Rahul would be coming too na!”

“Oh, Okay.”

Before he could consider the repercussions of what he was about to get into, she intimated him with “ So today at eight! Your place! See you!” and a flying kiss as she dashed away to her mum’s.

Till he reached his already distorted room, he grasped the event that was going to take place late afternoon.
The TV was on. He mindlessly looked at it, for hours. 
A jar of nutella was emptied to soothe the mind in turmoil.

‘What excuse would I have for all these women’s books? And this flowery wallpaper?’ he panicked.
‘This was my sister’s room, My room is being renovated. I am nothing but a mere refuge.” 
He rote learned this statement again and again.

It was almost 7:30PM. 
He had to decide quickly. 

‘May be I could call her. Ask her to not bring Rahul along.  Tell her that it was her that he wanted to hangout. Tell her that it was his idea of a date. A candlelight dinner!’

‘Tell her a lie?’ He cursed himself.

A lie was smaller than the truth he was hiding.

‘But what if she actually comes over!?’

“Candles!” He screamed.

Finding two candles downstairs and placing them tactfully on the table, he exclaimed, “Aha!”

Tears rolled down his cheeks. He couldn’t bear the fact that he was getting cold feet.

“The cupboard besides the bed! All the accessories are in there!” uttering that almost aloud, he raced towards the small cupboard and hugged every bit of accessory and tried to choke it down the tiny little dustbin he possessed, littering all the lipsticks, lipbalms, eye lashes etc., around it.

He heard the doorbell ringing. He panicked once more. He couldn’t take it anymore.
It was too much for him. Throwing away his clothes on the chair, he looked around. His room reflected the state of his mind. 
It wasn’t straightened up. Neither was he.
The door of his house remained unopened just that evening. But that of his closet remained closed forever.

Picture Story: Mirror Image

Being in a pub. The fortunate or the unfortunate thing is that you meet people.
People, like you. People unlike yourself. People like your alter ego.
People who somehow dig into your inner unfulfilled desires and make you feel vulnerable.
Make you feel incomplete. And ask you to seek out happiness. Happiness as defined by them.

“Grass is greener on the other side” one of them said, “It is not always a cliche”.
So he wondered about the other side. And he loved, or at least he thought he loved what he saw. Mesmerized rather.

Persuaded by beauty and the glamour of the life on the other side, he took that left turn.

Not even the cries of his daughter could halt him, nor did the quarrels with his wife.
Apparently those were the reasons, that he was turning to the opposite direction.
He took a left. He left.

Right seemed so dull. “Why do the right thing!?” Said he. He, the family man. A father. A husband.

Few years down the left lane, the glamour waned. The beauty faded. The mundane returned.
His liquored breath became nauseous to himself. As his wallet emptied, his alter ego was hurt by those same people who had lured him in.

Alas but it was too late for he saw that the left was nothing but a mirror image of the right.

With moist eyes, he fumbled, “ I should have gone straight instead.”

Sunday, February 02, 2014

Till death make us fart

An usual day. Kidney stones et al.
Decided to get it checked up before I dismissed them as pain due to too much of jerking off.

After drinking gallons of coconut water, enough for the malyali nariyal pani seller to send his next two generations to school. Setting my bladder to hold itself at a particular pee threshold, I got myself lubricated on the belly and poked by a dildo like device which kind of vibrated.

MBBS degree wala technician (Doctor?): *Surprised* You must get it checked.
Me: So are you a doctor?
MBBS degree wala Technician: Um?
Me: Nothing.. What's wrong?
Him: I dunno.
Me: Er? Did you find a precious stone in my kidneys?
Him: Well your kidneys are full of stones, but...
Me: *Abe suspense ki aulaad jaldi bata!* But what?
Him: You must see a doctor. Liver specialist.
Me: I thought you were looking at my kidneys! Kya hua mere liver ko?
Him: Well, it doesn't seem alright. But I do not know. You must see a doctor.
Me: Bhai, Kya hua hai?
Him: You must understand that this is not certain. The device has limitations.
Me: *For some reason, I covered my groin area*
Him: It could be gas, it could be some abnormality or... a tumor.
Me: *Ma ki Ankh! Phir se bol!?* What!?
Him: I dunno.
Me: *I dunno ki dukan, kuch toh certain bol! *So whom do I see, to get this cleared up?
Him: Any hospital. but get some blood tests done. Liver functionality tests.
Me: Liver fucktionality tests?
Him: Yes, but better hurry up *writes down the name of the hospital*

It took sometime to completely comprehend the "tumor" thing  and the "better hurry up" caution. 
Unlike a practical person, I got panicked.
My mozilla firefox sported atleast 50 to 70 tabs that had everything related to Liver Functionality Tests(LFT) and cancer of liver apart from nanofluids after returning back to the lab. Envy of porn sites.

So yes, my mind was screwed up.

Over to the pathology lab, I was told in broken hindi and English and in fluent malayalam that it'd take just few minutes to get the tests done and the results reported.
So got pricked by a cute malayali aunty...
*Panic, trauma or not, cuteness of a kudi should never go unnoticed.*
Blood drawn, I spent the longest 15 minutes of my life.
"LFT should be about this value.. This should be around this value." is what I kept on
uttering to myself. Thanks to google.
20 minutes later, I went in to check on her.
She was blissfully writing something on a piece of paper.

It read LFT and the corresponding values.
They were fucking off scale.
I left the room.
My brain went chaotic. I became the most selfish animal in the world.
All I thought about was me and death.
Eyes moist, I walked up and down the isle. The breeze caused  by such a gesticulated
movement dried up the tears. The newer ones were stopped by my cerebral cortex.

In those few moments, I reasoned out my death.

Went inside. She was still writing.
Looking at me, she stopped.
She had jotted down few more values, which were even more off the scale. Like way off. My liver was screwed. Like royally screwed.  And I do not even drink.  Breezer and drakshasva (An ayurvedic concoction with 12% alcohol, yes greater than beer and most wines, easily available in any medical store, *wink wink*) doesn't count.

I tried to take the paper from her. She looked at me and said something in malayalam.
Me: Yes I know, I am fucked.
Her: Illa.. Poda... etc etc
Me: Yes yes.
Her: poda, report illa. Venda Yours.
Me: Teri Ma ki Ankh. Give it to me. >.<
Her: Report not your.
Me: -.- *Farts*

That night, I slept. Slept without any dreams. I knew that all my dreams could wait till tomorrow and I would hopefully have many more tomorrows to fulfil them.