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शून्यता

                                                                    I hate this feeling of Emptiness . I hate it because . . . It’s the only time I have to deal with myself. The conversations I have within myself are so stretched and dreaded that it comes to a point where I start questioning every relationship, I ever had . . .  Emptiness does this trick on you and its really a bad one. . . It stops you from blinking fast. From a Rocket to a fucking snail. You either lie down or sit on a chair or may be, if you are gutsy enough to go the terrace and stare at the blues, you’ll always find yourself at the spot where you are waving goodbyes with a hope of them coming back. Memories are pretty overrated if you ask me. They have been conditioned to only one thing and that is to knock you down and make you bleed until you ask “What would kill me?” and with an upper cut as an answer it will always whisper “ ME ”. These are the days where you’ll start looking for that comfort pillow of yo
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Ae Aaji

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                                                                                Day 1   It was her spot. The window, the little sunlight, and yesterday’s newspaper. Her chair was as old as her but still stubborn when putting pressure on. Her surroundings were quite pleasing to anyone’s eyes. The ever-burning fragrance sticks were for her  Little Lord Krishna so that he doesn’t have to breathe what we breathe. The Gold on her was minimal, with a couple of bangles on her right hand and a moonstone ring on her pinky. The spectacles and its old case almost represented her entire existence. To even imagine what all stories even her glasses would’ve wanted to tell, fascinates me.   “Aaji? Oye! Aaji”   It was her habit to never respond immediately if someone addressed her because she believed that would make her look like an idle person waiting for some attention but In her head, she was always working towards building a ladder that would end at Lord Krishna’s feet. A Stairway to heaven.   “A
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An Afternoon that lasted for 22 years

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It was hard for me to wake him up and ask for food. Dad coughed for nearly 15 minutes in the bathroom and when he came back, all he could do was lie down again and sleep, hoping to never wake up again. The cancer had won. He was wearing all white that day, a traditional kurta and pajama and that color was significant enough for anyone to understand that he had given up on life and his family. Skinny and bald with a fractured voice is what he gave me as memory of what a father looks and sounds like. But what about my hunger? Being a 7 year old, his appearance and his disease were least of my concern that particular afternoon. I needed the food and he needed his sleep. You don’t pat on a dying man’s back and ask for food when he’s busy brawling death.  The past has a bad habit of seducing you into the loop of memories, where its only objective is to make you feel vulnerable. That afternoon is where my father still breathes and I for one, won’t kill it.  “Papa . . .” “ . . .
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Old Habits Don’t Die in Ashtrays

“This smoke has killed you already. You are disrespecting death. Please stop smoking.” “It’s 4 in the morning Mam. Don’t you have a family? Your husband and kids might just be waiting for you. Go home.” *Throws away the cigarette* *Closes the window* Another Night The clock ticks to 4. “You need to stop smoking. That thing has destroyed many lives. You have no regrets even after all that happened.” The man leans a bit forward and spits on the side *Closes the window* Yet another night. The Clock ticks to 3 in the morning.  He stands in front of the mirror. “What regrets she was talking about? Who the fuck is that lady? Who the fuck roams around like that in the morning. If she comes back again, I'll have to talk some sense to her. Enough of this shit.” *opens the window* The clock hits 4.  “Please stop smoking. The kids are here as well. That thing is evil. Come with us” “That’s it. You just wait down there now.” Th
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The Masters of the House

I have seen the light, the darkness, the cries, the joys, everything and I have consumed them all within these six walls, a window and a door. Be it the cruel weather or the human noise outside asking for justice, I have always listened to my masters, when it comes to shutting down everything and anything. They all walk in here like kings and Queens but outside, they obey the rules…they are part of this world…they don’t protest…they bend the knee…but in here…the masters speak louder, for us to obey and worship them, as if they are the only breathing Gods. They kept us clean and decorated because they do not want their false reputation going down the gutter. The nights are usually calmer here and that is when I think of the glory days and rest with ease. However, one night, all these fools thought of finding a better place to live. The thought scared me. I could not sleep that night. We were all sad. The windows asked me to break the glass for them to face the heat of outside…T
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A Fallen Star In Our Heaven

“Ma... Is Daddy a star now?” “The brightest one amongst the billions” “Will he ever fall?” “What do you mean?” “I’m waiting for him to fall Ma, so I can make a wish” “And what would it be?” “To finish that bedtime story....” “What was the story about?” “About a father, who promised to come back…?” With a broken heart and a stitched faith, she said... “I know the story but it has a different ending” “Please Ma... tell me the story... please” “Look up.... What do you see?” “Stars” “Which one you want it to be your father...” “Umm... the one over there....the smallest and the brightest” “What do we do about the other stars?” “Ask them to take a good care of daddy and never to leave him alone” “What would happen if one day, he doesn’t shine?” “Then I’ll chose a different one and make him my daddy” “Will you trust him?” “I will....” “Will you love him?” “Always” “What would you do if he comes
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