Saturday, June 25, 2016


The darkness of morbid evenings! He twisted and turned in his creaking old iron chair cursing the evening, and all the sadness it brought with it. To make the curse perfect, he spat on the dirty wall next to him, and looked for a beedi. He liked a beedi between his index and middle fingers whenever he felt emasculated. And he smoked a lot!

Life was such for him. He started on a high note, but had a few hurdles from the beginning. He graduated from a good University with a first class, and found a job that paid well. But within a year, he fell sick. His backbone was giving him trouble. His company gave him a month's salary in advance and sent him away with an "all-the-best" card. Nobody wanted a liability on them.

He spent his savings in the hospital. When discharged he looked for a job, but ended up getting the smoking habit instead. He did odd jobs, ran errands, taught a few kids and earned a living.

When he looked back into his life, he saw only smoky discreet images. He was never clear about his life. The only proper job he had was sort of a joy for him, but it did not last long. He was worn out and tired of life.

There were no beedis! He felt helpless. He didn't have money. He had nothing to eat. He began wondering about his life as if it were a movie script. Where would the script writer take his life from there? There weren't many characters, there was no heroine and no villain except life itself, no twist and absolutely no beauty! This script would be a disaster. No script writer would hesitate to tear it up and throw it away. " I have reached a dead end", he said to himself with a sad smile.

He decided to go to the shop and beg for a beedi. He was hungry and felt dejected, but all he wanted was a beedi. A simple beedi could set his life alright. Walking half naked to the shop, he thought about the beedi he was going to smoke. A beedi that gave out golden smokey clouds into the despair of his lonely sadness. He could see the impending joy of his life. A beedi was all he needed.

Shop was across the road. He could see it. There were rows of Dinesh beedi packets arranged in lines behind the shopkeeper. A packet cost three Rupees. But he just wanted one beedi. "The shopkeeper would be generous", he thought to himself. "Afterall, I have given him a lot of business", he thought with a spark in his eyes.

He set his hopes high on the goodness of the shopkeeper and crossed the road with the image of a golden beedi in front of him.


THE shopkeeper had seen the half naked man coming towards his shop. He knew what he was coming for, and kept a beedi ready, along with a few words of advice and scolding. The shopkeeper always scolded him for not making the most of his education and talent. He was capable of achieving much more. He had a smile on his face imagining how he would come and beg for a beedi, and how he would refuse and pretend to be angry.


The shopkeeper saw the half naked man landing on the road, right under the tires of a lorry. He turned his eyes away in shock as the lorry ran over him mercilessly and sped away without stopping!

The beedi fell from his hand as blood spread over the road. And a few words of advice and scolding escaped his lips slowly. Those words were emasculated, as if they were craving for a beedi.

Thursday, June 23, 2016

As if There was No Tomorrow

That little dot in his heart began swelling as she disappeared from his sight. The colourless dot became big and black and globular. He felt suffocated. As he strained to follow the dust trail of her car, he realised that she was alone. "I am alone."

Why does this happen all over again breaking my heart the hundredth time into uncountable pieces! He swore as tears rushed to his still eyes and gushed down his stubborn bearded face. "She comes, she goes. I remain here like an island waiting to be inhabited."

The swell in his heart became unbearable. Rubbing his migraine infested temples he staggered back to his bed leaving the front door open. He didn't feel like eating, drinking or having a bath. He just felt dead enough to fall on to the bed. The bed still retained her scent, which saddened him even more.

Should I drink? He asked himself. Or should I have some medicine? He couldn't bother to answer his own questions. In the agony of being alone with a migraine and a blotch in the heart, he disappeared into deep deep sleep.


A few miles away, on a moving car, another migraine was pounding its way into the core of her sanity. She felt like opening the door of the car and jumping out into the heavy traffic. She held a handwritten letter in her hand. One page in black ink. She was clutching it so hard that it crumpled so badly and was wet from the sweat of her palm. He had given it to her before she boarded the car. With thumping heart she read it. She cried so loud that the driver pulled the car over. "My heart would wrench and I will die."

Every time she left him, she would decide to stay the next time. But she was never able to decide. She was sad to leave him alone, but life had to go on. And she had to leave.

She looked at the letter one last time, shredded it in her hands and threw it out the window. Then looking out at the rocky hills by the roadside, she did what she always forced herself to do- turned her heart into stone by holding her breath for a really long time. It helped.

While the tear drops on her cheek dried in the wind, she drifted into deep deep sleep.


At home, in the kitchen, a few black ants were trying to get what was left in a small glass bottle of poison. They too slowed down gradually and slept- as if there was no tomorrow.