Archive for the ‘Stories’ Category

23
Apr
2010

Stuck in a moment

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Me and you are stuck in a moment.

It’s like a movie, where there is a co-centric movement to a specific scene. You might go to and fro, I might move around in circles, but we have to come back to the moment-again and again.

There is lot more to this moment, which our eyes can see or our minds can make out of it; a lot more that our hearts know and feel. We might not even feel the same about this, ironically, but it is inseparable now. We rather depend on it-this moment-more or so. It is one thing that connects me and you. One thing, the only, that is and shall always be common between us. Like a pact, its mutual and its silence is more than comforting. You watch it-replay this moment, muted, while I give in to the blaring sounds, deafening every other thought.

It’s like a pause, if not a full stop. It gives us our space, like a breather, it lets us accommodate better; it leads to a decision- a better one at that. We do and we shall remember each other, for this moment.

We would always remain, forever, in our lives stuck in a moment.


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Posted in Autobiographical, General, Just like that, Stories

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07
Apr
2010

that moment…

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it’s a moment but it is one. The moment when the whole world closes in, the floor sinks into gravity like never before, your world just crashes, collapses, torn apart, flooded and sunk.

The heart’s broken, soul withered, mind disillusioned. Happiness is pretence like the smile, to mask people away, to wall you in. Soon, the moss takes over the wall, thick in nature; it grows until the walls are no longer visible. But you always know, you always feel, you always remember that this wasn’t what you wanted.

Another moment, it’s the bloodshot eyes and you cry-everything you had even longed for, ever known, your emotions now fragile, your love now forgotten, your dreams now crushed, you cry. So much comes out at that moment that you feel your stomach being empty churned by the dread of loneliness, nausea drives you weak along with memories, and the vacuum is created.

it’s that one, but it is that moment.

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Posted in Autobiographical, Stories

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28
Mar
2010

Quagmire

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‘I wish I’d spent more time with you’

I keep on thinking about what you said to me. Even tonight I fail to believe you could have done any more than you already did. I told you so.

I, on the other hand, would not trade anything, not even a moment, even in exchange of more. The future does give a better perspective of things in the past. Every thing we did, everything we said, everything we didn’t say, has a justified reason somewhere, however, small, minute it may sound, the fact is-it was just.

At times, even your return does only qualify for redemption. Redemption of things which you thought went ugly, correction of facts which otherwise shouldn’t have existed, more time, more attention, more pleasure. And wouldn’t the ‘more’ lead to ‘much’ pain? On whose side, has never been the argument between us.

The whole process of erasing and rewriting seems to be taking place. Washing away the old names only to be written in a different handwriting; why do we forget that waves of time would anyhow swallow them! They’d be gone, again, forever.

The fact is we would never change. Only you and me will!

Posted in General, Just like that, Stories

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11
Oct
2009

Kauffee Life

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The colors were not an imagination anymore, they were all around-brown, purple, red. The heels clicked their way, and in spite of all the chatter there was a silence she found. The silence she was starving for, a kind of calm to define which she couldn’t put in words.

Friends-she mused over the word as she watched familiar yet different expressions on his face. The laugh, the aura, the style, the chivalry-all was intact yet things had changed, the world had changed, she had changed or was trying to. For good or bad, was the question she thought she heard.

Couldn’t we talk, she thought of asking him-talk about all that I’ve been through, about times I really need you, about the bitter facts of today, about you and me, when we don’t remain us anymore.

And there were things she missed-small-stupid-silly-funny-but at the same time there was nothing better than the fact that they could still share a laugh, or coffee at times…

‘And it’s satisfying, well beyond it, the realization of the fact that yes; there -was-is- a man who loved you. It is a mean thing to do, to compare the part of love you’ve got with other things in the world or love itself-to weigh it-it won’t be a good choice, I feel’…she wrote down in her diary…

The shade of the evening got darker, the silence stronger and the taste of the coffee was wearing off. She combed her hair into a bun and wished she had let them grow.

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Posted in Autobiographical, Stories

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22
Aug
2009

Writing a story…

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I wonder when I start this story, how should I begin it? Should I bring in curiosity or switch to diastolic movement of time to picture it for you. Should the characters be as they are or should I change them for the credentials of privacy? Where should I bring in romance, is it this easy to bring in it anyways? Or should it just happen-just like that? Is it this difficult for every other person who narrates a story or writes words to make them into one?

I plan the beginning as unimaginative as it could be. Maybe, a simple exchange of phone numbers in which none was interested, or could it be an unintended festival greeting and later, a phone call in return.

Summers are too hot for anything, you just sweat. Winters get too cold to have warm feelings, rains bring in a flavor but autumn suits them the best. Autumns, when the circle begins and ends, the season in which they meet and depart.

What would the time be like? Would the time fly by when they are with each other, or they’d talk and talk of love and longing. There would be coffees, sighs, cheers, kisses, songs, mischievous ideas etc.

And then the question-how to give them a perfect happy ending?! Anyways, are happy endings for real? Or maybe a twist would do so much better, just one twist and the romance turns bitter, maybe a hideous affair, or some secrets, a lover from the past, or a fight against parents. So many reasons but I still wish somewhere to keep it plain, to keep it happy.

And that all would go into this unwritten story.

A story-a love story, a ‘short’ story!

Or maybe, some stories are as ‘endless’ as this one!

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Posted in Autobiographical, Stories

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16
Aug
2009

Partings

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If she had imagined it for a story, she would have made it a dimly lit setting, maybe the dusk-when the day ends only to leave darkness and shadows. But it wasn’t imagined, it was real, the sun wasn’t setting but it was an afternoon, though cold and misty.

There weren’t many things left to be said, by now. They were clear unlike the afternoon, in his head and in her heart. She often played with her cell phone, to distract herself from the heavy thoughts, keeping her brown eyes at it, for she was afraid a drop would steer down if she’d move them too much. He on the other hand, stared into abyss, stealing a quick glance of her face from time to time. He was afraid she would cry.

What could he say? What would she want to hear? He kept on thinking to himself about the times that had gone. She wished there were better times for them.

Soon, the silence was disrupted by the rattle of the rain drops on the red tin roof. She looked at the clock, it had been an hour.

‘Are you ever going to speak?’ she managed to keep her voice low.

‘Would it matter what I say now. It’s my fate and I’ve resigned to it’, he said looking out of the window for a change.

You’re such a coward, she said, picking up her bag.

As she made it to the exit, he rested his head in his palms. I would live with this; he thought to himself, finally feeling an uneasy comfortableness, something which he didn’t know what to name.

‘Fight for me’, she chanted the three words innumerable times under her breath and crossed the door.

A raindrop settled on her cheek bone.

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12
Aug
2009

Sunset(s)

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*I didn’t understand him much when he asked me not to judge people.

*He also told me- do good and forget it.

* He repeated- don’t expect. Not even a smile! But that shouldn’t stop you from giving one.

* He quoted people. He had his favorites too. But I never really saw him ‘dislike’.

* He read books. He gave me a few!

* He told me stories.

* He said ‘Kid, I love you’

***

He died!!!

I thought I would never meet a man like him again;

I met him…

He went away too.

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Posted in General, Stories

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04
Aug
2009

…

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She stared at her bags and then at the taxi-driver. His mustache was somewhat crooked and she was bothered by the speed at which he was driving. She was in a hurry indeed. But then she felt glad of being late and him being waiting.

She was angry at him for all the delays and being not-so-particular about things. I am tired of all this, she thought. Why should I always be ignored, why only I am making sure that everything is in place and on time? And then he calls up at the last minute only to say that he is already on his way, she built up her argument, knowing she wasn’t good at them, especially if the situation is least intended.

And then if something would go wrong, I would be the only one consumed in guilt for choosing it and hurrying on it, she lined a defense when her mind drifted to the excitement of seeing him in a kurta, which he loved for traveling purpose.

It’s his job after all; she confessed to herself but managed to resort back to a calmer annoyance about how things turned up that day.

Her line of thoughts changed again. She was wearing what he had gifted on her birthday and hoping that it would be liked. The taxi stopped and the driver opened the door for her as she paid him the money.

The drift of excitement was overlapped with annoyance again and she made her way through bags and people to reach him. She found him, struggling with a blue bag in one hand and coffee in other, with a look in his eyes which she knew meant he was looking for her. She took a deep breath and they walked to sit on the available benches.

She was looking for an opening where she could rant and rave, so she let him talk.

‘And I haven’t eaten since morning; this coffee is the only thing I have touched ever since…’ he said casually, speaking of the work pressure and the days events.

Aw honey, she thought!

In an instant she found her annoyance disappeared and she was left disappointed in self for being so unreasonable and selfish.

If only she could understand him better.

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20
Jul
2009

Hope

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red desires

Least, I find you in my dreams. Then, there, it’s nothing but us. The world dissolves in the oceanic wrath, the clocks no more play and we stand on the shores of the eternal sea. And when I wake up, I feel like taking a plunge down into the hidden sea and I wish, you could have been there too. I don’t find you along those shores and the feeling is never acceptable enough.  Say, there is always a sigh close to it. A mute, expressionless sigh…

It’s a sad feeling, the way our hopes find illusions.

I could wait there forever but I know that soon we’d become past as well. Time has stained us, and left its mark upon us. I brush aside my dreams but reality is as confusing. The distorted images in my mind play havoc yet I clearly remember the way your skin smells. These memories were to serve the foundation to the new ones but they are being buried, killed, would be a better word!

And there is a thing inside me which is all calm. I am no more vulnerable, the fight seems to have disappeared, gone with the moments you’ve kept me waiting for you. There was a moment when I felt like shrinking but sooner I realized its you who had been caught off-guard. Unexpected. I want to stay as long as your wounds don’t heal, till the ache doesn’t subside for I know you can’t do it on your own.

Men are, in one way, a part of women after all!

At times, frustration soars through me and I want to disappear. But you reach for me in such times and I feel helpless. My thoughts drift on, to times when it would require courage to stay while the sky gets filled with black clouds. But your nonchalance doesn’t promise, ironically, it doesn’t leave a single word. You would often start with an ‘if’ and use a ‘but’ and I’m left looking for an answer, carefully choosing the right words to express the right feeling. Usually, I go wrong!

‘Hope’, they tell me.

It isn’t that real, I can say.

Despite that, I cling on to it alone, tired and weary.

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11
Jul
2009

in the wilderness…

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knocking on heaven's door

The mustard’s and greens of the fields are sparkling under crystal dewdrops while the sky remains overshadowed with grey. The blue isn’t to be found anywhere but only if you cross the meadow turning in like a wave in the sea and reach the cascade, where life sprawls and plays in all forms. It’s a jungle in its own, a small jungle…

You hear the old man whistling every now and then. His farm is a warm place on the other side. The forest vibrates with his tunes. His wife is long gone but he has a blue-eyed son and a daughter whose cheeks are as red as the apples in his orchard. His son often comes to fill water at the cascade while she strays off in the forest to collect pines, leaves, and twigs, to weave them together, to wear it in her hair- black as an amavasya night. You won’t find her wearing a flower ever but she would collect them all and give them to him. He doesn’t possess the beauty of his sister but his gaze is as reflective as mirror. Rabbits would often gather around him and he plays with them.

They play in the rains without a worry of spoiling their dresses; they sing to the tit-tat of rain drops while the forest echoes with sounds of their laughter and thunder of clouds. At night, usually he plays flute which even makes a nightingale to stop singing…

The night falls and there is silence as death, in the wilderness…

Posted in Just like that, Miscellaneous, Stories

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