The tug

In the midst of a bustling street, already flustered on his way to the theater, he felt a tug at his kurta, and immediately grabbed the wallet in his pocket. He grabbed the kid from his already torn vest but before he could raise his hand, he was handed his Samsung Galaxy S5.

The kid ran away in fear, the man's pockets became heavier--the weight of the phone was not the culprit.

He already knew what his next playact would be about.

The checkpost

There was a checkpost within sight.

Dirt and sweat. Distances long yet falling short of pay. That was how his days could be described. as a truck driver, what else could one expect.

He drove a goods truck, and what came as a surprise to many, was not an alcoholic. Only he knew that he had seen his father succumb to the devil, when he was a child.

Travelling ran through his veins like spirit. He had always been someone who grew up on the highway. His old man used to make roads, which he liked to see as paths leading somewhere. 
After work, both of them used to sit beside the highway, planning to tour the world someday.

His occupation would tire him but came with a sense of satisfaction. He knew he deserved more. The more his hours became unpredictable, the more determined he became to take himself and his wife out of the shanty town.

There was a checkpost within sight.
Only one difference.
He was carrying arms today.

Elephants in the cottage

They hustled and bustled in the cramped room, the floorboards of which creaked but the sounds got muffled in the laughter.

The musty smell pervaded the two-room cottage but the lady in the apron shuffled around carrying an aromatic freshly baked bread with strawberry jam, avoiding the feet of the crowd.

Two sneaky teenagers exchanged looks from the far corners of the room, which were not that far if not for the people blocking the sight of the two restless young men, who jumped at the sound of a siren somewhere far in the curious little town.

A suspicious rat scuffled under the rickety dining table, sniffing away to glory.

The men with cigars in their hands were having a rather serious debate on politics and drifted from the topic every once in a while, being painfully aware of the presence of each other's wives' in the room, who could spill more than they needed at any point in time. They could not resist resting their gaze at the lady in the apron and then sharing a smirk when the wives were looking away.

The racket at home, thanks to the two families that had come to meet the lady in the apron, was a welcome change. The friends rarely met to avoid facing the elephants in the room.

The lady stuffed bits of bread in the mouths of her children and hummed away as she made her way to the kitchen garden, picking up the potted plants that needed to be packed for her journey.

She was soon to leave the town for the city with her two children.

They all thought the man of the house was out of town.

Only she and the young men knew. Some secrets were better off buried in the kitchngarden, where many weeds had made their place on the freshly dug out soil.

-x-

 

That night, it had rained.

Rain was not falling diagonally that night, she was thinking. It fell like tear drops, patient and painful yet a salve. her eyes brimmed too as this was the only time she could flee from the chaos of daily life. Otherwise, she had made a habit of fleeing from herself. Romantic or sad, she did not know such clichés. maybe that is what made it difficult for her, the realism. For her, rain was still.

A cat, cold to its bones, yowled on her windowsill, startling her out of her thoughts. Lights went out and she could no longer see the rain from her window. She did not like sounds that were not accompanied by sight. She gathered herself and shut the windows. The knock that followed was unexpected at that hour of the night.

Dark Beauty

A regular consumer and connoisseur of dark chocolate, he could smell the percentage of cocoa in every chunk. “No one understands my passion,” he said to himself as he bit into a dark beauty, staying up the entire night, high on caffeine.  

The Lucky Charm

Going from door to door, he would whistle incessantly. They called him the Whistling Messenger who would hand them the letters and cycle back to town, leaving behind a haunting tune.The letters never carried any saddening news.

He was their lucky charm until the day he delivered a postcard with news of death. The Messenger’s whistle was never heard again. All that was found on the lane drifting back to town was a bicycle, a khaki uniform, and a handbag with a skull.

Happiness sealed in the letters used to be his lucky charm. 

The Picnic

As we lay our rug beside the river and settled down, looking forward to the much-awaited Spring picnic, the sound of rustling leaves was difficult to ignore. It did not take me more than a few seconds to back up and drive away in my Jeep, before the merry group could get suspicious. I saw the sleek body of the panther, playing hide-and-seek in the vegetation. Everything was happening according to plan. 

Marriage

He had presented her a dictionary, the page bookmarked said that marriage is the relationship that exists between a husband and a wife. The dictionary lay torn in the bin as she wrote down with pen her own definition of revenge on the divorce papers blotted with tears. In this one year of marriage, he had taught her that marrying her teacher was not a good idea.     

Heavy Baggage

Sweltering heat hit the face of the petite school girl as she dragged her feet on the red bricked lane. Steam escaped from the lid of the boiling earth from the stove of the blasphemous earth. An avalanche of heat overflowed in copious amounts from the perspiring goblet of summer.Drenched in sweat, clad in her crimson and cream school uniform, the girl whiled away the trying time by getting engrossed in humming a playful tune, not bothered about her disheveled appearance.

 An occasional thud could be heard on the hardened soil, as she was walking back home from school. The afternoon sun bit her skin and she could not help but wonder from where the sound was coming from at that time of the day in the vehement heat of July. After spotting a colossal old banyan tree, she stopped for a while in the generous shade . The sound still echoed in the silence. Out of curiosity, she started walking towards the source of the raucous sound. A poignant sight melted her heart, which had remained strong in the formidable heat. 

A pit had been dug beside a mustard field, about eight feet deep and the sound that had aroused her curiosity, was that of a rusted spade, escaping into the stillness of the air, whenever it sunk into the grumbling earth. A frail old farmer clad merely in a torn dhoti, wiped beads of sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand, enveloped in mud. His bones peeped out from behind his wrinkled skin that spread over the bones as a mesh of cobwebs woven together in place. But, hidden behind the pallor was his youth. A youth that had been forced to age into a diminutive old frame, strong physically yet weak in stature.

The girl stood absorbed in the moment, with her hands cupped  over the eyes to be able to see clearly. To her utter surprise, the farmer looked up at her wearily and smiled. He asked her gregariously if she needed any help or if she had by any chance lost her way.

A sea of pity gushed into her heart but with heaviness in her heart she politely refused. On the other hand, she inquired about the reason behind his heart wrenching plight. She came to know that the leviathan landscape was in the hands of a wretched landlord, who had hired the farmer to slog for him, only to sell of the mud dug out by the end of every week. The farmer was a prey of selfish motives. This was merely because the indignant farmer had once been unable to pay off the debts of the landlord. The story tugged at the strings of her heart and she implored him out of the pit, to sit under the shade of the banyan tree. She watched him scraped off the leftovers from her lunch box that had a slice of bread and butter left in it a few seconds back. After the meal, he told her about how the town used to be a village once and promised to delve into details about the long lost culture, some other day.

He walked back to the field but his shoulders no longer drooped as before. Even the shoulders of the girl no longer felt tired under the weight of her bulky school bag. There were heavier things to be worried about and taken care of. Today she had walked back from school from a different route but she knew that she would follow this path everyday and no longer crib about the heavy baggage upon her shoulders.

Catch you soon in your room

   

   Desperately waiting for her son, Aman’s mother waved at him through the window of his bedroom as he hopped out of his school bus beside the playground in the neighborhood, bathed in the sunlight of the summer evening .He look up to smile at her then happily strolls up to the porch of his house and starts bullying the dog tied to the postbox near the gate .The scrawny boy climbed up the stairs with heavy footsteps and was  welcomed by his mother in his room .As  she went  out ,tired he  glanced towards his wall clock only to fall flat on his bed and slept like a log .By the time he woke up the night had set in.

   On the moonlit night the moon played peek-a-boo with the clouds as the house came into view where an interesting game of hide and seek was about to be played. Aman woke up and took out his clothes from the chest of drawers and turned around looking at the clothes, He was startled to hear the noise coming from the shaking cabinet. He turned towards the drawer to see that he had accidently closed the drawer in which his shadow had gotten stuck that was now trying to escape. Exasperated, as soon as he opened the drawer, the shadow slid down on the floor and hid beneath the bed. He jumped up on the bed in fear and tried to look beneath bed and got kicked by the shadow, falling down from the bed. He frantically started searching for it after landing on the floor. In a while the shadow rose up and pressed its nose against the face of the boy. 

   He reached out to catch hold of the shadow but it slid from his hands so he rushed to the doorway to check if there was anyone around. But as soon as he opened the door his mother called him for dinner and frightened he closed the door behind him as he ran back into the room. As his mother called him for dinner he was baffled but before he could complete his reply he was dragged mercilessly by the shadow back into the room. As he tried to hold the shadow with both his hands, it happily ran across the entire room. Aman could not tolerate it any longer when his head hit the lamp and he was blinded by the lampshade that had made its way to his head.

   Boiling with anger due to the atrocious behaviour of the shadow, with the lampshade on his head, he stomped towards the lamp and with a sly smile switched it off. He let few moments of silence pass by in the darkness of the bedroom before switching on the light to notice a trembling shadow sitting in a corner of the room. He started walking away with sarcasm in his body language and was soon followed by the shadow that slid upon him and became a part of him again. Contented, he patted his stomach and went outside from the room whistling. The sound of his mother screaming could be heard as the shadow was stuck in his room door behind him to end the old game and begin a new one.

Mystery of the Magical Words

     As my pen moves across the ordinary ruled sheets of my spiral notebook, my mind drifts back to the golden period of my life that made me believe in the beauty of miracles and strengthened my belief in the power of words. As a tiny tot I used to be in awe of the charm that the world of fairytales offered but unlike most of the other kids of my age I had never allowed myself to be lost in the enthralling accounts of the lives of the supernatural. Having grown up in a mansion where the library constituted of half the square feet of the house it will not be wrong in case I am labelled as a bookworm that I am. Even my room is occupied by books and huge windows open up my room to the beauty of nature that guides me through the process of writing and acts as fuel for my imagination. The prime reason of the establishment of the library was the passion that my father had as an author for books or any written medium of expression. He used to tell me quite often that words define us and mould our life. They open up the windows to our imagination and the day we learn the art of expression, we create a magical world of words for ourselves where nothing is within ordinary realms and nothing is impossible. I did not believe in a higher power but believed in myself. In spite of being a cripple my parents never made me feel so. I have been taught and mentally prepared to take charge of myself and my life but I am emotionally dependant on my parents who are my biggest strength as well as weakness. I also picked up the habit of writing from him and writing along with reading had become an inseparable part of life. I could let go of my crutches that were the only reason of my dismay, whenever I took flight in the world of words. The pea in the peapod used to be my all time favourite storybook and whenever father used to go for attending seminars and promotion of his latest piece of works, I used to keep the book beneath my pillow to drive away my fear of darkness and surrender to deep slumber in the arms of the night and dream away. Dreaming and recalling the dreams that I had had during the previous night was something I used to relish and await every single day.

     One fine day back then father had taken leave of me and mother and gone on an expedition for the promotion of his book for a day. As always I kept my favourite book under my pillow and slept within a few moments. In my dream that night I sneaked out of the mansion through the window of my room and ran to the nearby village where the farmers who used to work in our fields resided. The thought of the village had always fascinated me and I had been inclined to visit the village many a times but to my dismay I had never been allowed to because of my upbringing in a place where playing in mud inviting minor bruises was unacceptable.

     

     My dream was like a dream come true for me where I made my way through paths amidst trees and bushes to run to the fields abounding in peapods. The fields bathed in the purity of dewdrops, was truly an example of serenity at its best. I gasped with joy and bent down to embrace the fragrance of the white buds of the pods but was engulfed in darkness as soon as I felt the fragrance take over my senses. In the fraction of a second I felt as if my mother had tucked me in within a warm blanket in my bed on an unusually cold night. But after a few moments itself the thought that had struck me had been replaced by the realisation that my human body had been replaced by the body of a miniature pea that was huddled along with five other peas within a peapod that were actually whispering to each other. The pod opened as if the warm blanket had been taken away and moonlight made its way within my new arena. The sudden shock diminished soon as my companions made me aware of the fact that the ones that are enveloped in the fragrance of the flowers sprouting on the plants when clock struck twelve, were made their companion for the night when they come alive. 

     It dawned upon me that the series of events that were taking place were the same as those mentioned in my favourite storybook of the peapods. I had a fascination for peapods when I was a child as the peas looked so adorable and innocent within their cover that provided them with a comfortable cot to thrive in. The peas persuaded me to jump outside the peapod. All of us did so and bounced our way into different fields and flowerbeds. My sole desire at that moment was to freeze the time forever but I was mortified when informed that the peas come alive only at midnight and have to return to their peapods as stationery miniscule elements of the nature as soon as the sun rises.

     The daybreak was near and I was rushed back home by the peas. As soon as I jumped back inside my room through the window, the sun rose and at that moment my I came out of my dream when sunrays cast a glow upon my face. I woke up with a smile and was taken aback to notice two tiny peas on my windowsill. At that moment my father came into the room and after being a patient listener to my entire story that would have seemed like a piece of my imagination to others, he unravelled the mystery behind the entire incident. That day I came to know that the children who believe in the power of words are bestowed upon the privilege of visiting the world of words once. Today I am a children's author and with every word written by my quill I cross my fingers with the realisation that while I pour my passion into my books somewhere the magic of words would be coming alive for a hopeful heart. 

Chocolate Fantasy

    

     The pitter-patter from the cabinet did not do much to disrupt the quiet of the kitchen bustling with activity. Whether it was the ringing sound of laughter or the clattering of pots and pans or the kitchen shelves lined with cheesecakes and sorbets, the sprawling red bricked bungalow was overflowing with festive spirit.

     The muffled voices from within the cabinet went unnoticed and scheming going on inside the packet of chocolate cream biscuits went on with feverish fervour. With pastries and pancakes adorning the tables, the biscuits felt sidelined and wished to be placed atop the ceramic quarter plates held in beautifully manicured hands. They tried to pull themselves backward with full force and then catapulted forward. But, that made them move even backward. Biscotti, a biscuit amidst them with a heart of chocolate eagerly agreed to offer its help. He was the last in the queue and started pushing the one in front and the one in front started pushing the one before it and so on.

     The thumping continued for some time and the packet moved forward to fall out of the cabinet, on the head of the baker. He readily opened the packet and the biscuits rolled onto a ceramic plate as they had desired. The house maid carried them to the living room. They were passed from one hand to the other and savoured by one and all. The chocolate cream melted with appreciation and everyone was all smiles. To get noticed we need to make efforts rather than merely relying upon the prevalent circumstances.

Preserving Life

     The village was the silent witness as the night welcomed the dusk with open arms. The birds chirped merrily in the azure morning sky in the appreciation of the sun that had risen in a hopeful heart. Every day marked a  new journey towards a new mission to pay the debt of humanity. Many roads and many a paths led to the darkness that symbolised the cluster of souls engulfed in despair. But eventuallythey were all the options to be chosen from and embarked upon in order to begin the quest to enlighten lives.


     Aastha opened her eyes embracing the new day and embodied the sunrise. She looked around to adjust to the unfamiliar surroundings. Her smile gave way to a frown as she reflected upon the consequences that had brought her into the tiny dilapadated shack.


    Today was the day to lend a helping hand to the opressed once again. Many such events in her life had left scars in her memory that she knew would never take her leave. But she could not deny the fact that that such encounters with  the stark reality of life had made her a better person and had brought out the courage in her that had been hidden behind her composed and fragile demeanour.


    She was a social worker who had devoted herself completely to the cause of humanity. Obstacles never used to intimidate her as she had always believed in taking the bull by its horns. The upbringing in an orphanage where she had been brought up by nuns had instilled in her the values that had compelled her to serve the distressed. She had the courage to stand up against the malpractices clutching the nation and the in the cross around her neck she felt the presence of her late parents' blessings.The news of female foeticide in a nearby village had reached her through an article that she had come across in the newspaper a month back.But in the next publication the editor in charge had profusely apologized to the Sarpanch of the village and this was followed by the reporter being sacked. Aastha tried to contact the publications but the authorities bluntly refused to cooperate inspite of many trials. Then she struggled to find out the residential address of the reporter and went in search of the reporter himself but was distressed when the realisation dawned upon her that he was missing. This raised her suspicion and she started for the village immediately taking lodging in a small guesthouse.


    She took a deep breath and set out to work. She tried to come across as a tourist and started moving around with the camera. She was startled to find that the humungous male population overshadowed the insignificant female population. She tried to get facts from the ladies but they were scared to death and therefore hesitant to share their thoughts with a stranger.She had almost lost hope when she heard sobs while walking past the local hospital.

She peeped inside through the window to witness a horrible sight. Newborn babies were being dropped into vessels of boiling hot water by burly compounders and the Sarpanch herself was supervising the brutal murders. Aastha recognised one of the compounders as the missing reporter. She was shaken by the heartwrenching crime but stopped herself to take any immediate action and restricted herself to capturing the crime scene on camera. She had a strong feeling of being followed on the way back so she rushed back to her rooom hiding the camera reel in a secure corner and replacing it in the fraction of a second.

     She was not surprised when someone started banging the door. She opened the  door gathering all her strength so as to come face to face with a few of those compounders who pushed her aside to start searching for something frantically. They found the camera and soon it was in bits. She realised that she had lost consciousness. When she came back to her senses she realised that the whole room was in shambles and blood was flowing from her head. It had dawned upon her that the survival of truth in the world of  lies is tougher than we think.

     A few days later she sneaked out agin to pry on the Sarpanch. She ended up being brutally injured but great mental strength lied beneath her composed demeanour and fragile body. She waited for a few days to recover and then left her bed with a strategy in mind. She contacted a few of her friends and requested them to help her out with the plan. Her friends visited the village and approached the arpanch as job councellors for the women. On the prospect of productive jobs that would bring income to the village, they were taken to a nearby village for a few days where councellors were appointed to counsel the traumatised and ignorant women understand the value of self reliance and self esteem. They had realised that after bearing immense pain to bring a new life into the world they cannot destroy their own flesh and blood who are the sole creators. Now they knew that we should not be afraid to open up our eyes so that we can see a better tomorrow.


     All the village women now stood up against the malpractice. the Sarpanch was afraid and tried to seek the support of the men of the village but by now they were also prepared to speak their mind. The Sarpanch was overthrown shortly and all those involved in the crime were acquitted by the court after the camera reel that had been kept safely by Aastha was presented as evidence along with the statement by the villagers.

     Aastha stood outside the hospital with open arms gazing at the sun embracing the warmth. Humanity had won as always. Faith in humanity must never be lost. In the confrontation between a stream and a rock, stream always wins through sheer persistence and not strength. Aastha's goal to liberate the oppressed was accomplished but the mission to help the world to peep inside their soul in order to discover that light lies within us and not around us, still continues. She revisited the village after a few years and a smile spread across her face as she was engulfed in the mesmerising laughter of the little girls from all around.

The play of life

   
   Shakespeare believes that the world is a stage where each and every character plays its role assigned in the act, exiting the stage thereafter.

   A classroom comes into view and the whiteboard is focused upon. A red marker and a grey duster are to be seen. The marker stars scribbling on the board and the duster erases the marks but appears to be dismal.  He notices that the marker is always full of life and then starts reflecting upon his own life. A thought bubble is drawn by the marker on the board. The duster is unhappy as it believes that the marker is used constructively but on the other hand the duster is the root cause of elimination, of destruction.It secretly wishes to take place of the marker.

   One day it notices that the marker is running low on ink. The marker closes its eyes and goes peacefully to sleep with a content smile on its face after playing its part convincingly. A green marker replaces the red marker, ecstatically. It scribbles a thought bubble on the board for the duster who realizes that construction follows destruction and vice versa. For emergence of life, end of life becomes vital.

   From that day markers keep on coming and going with different acts and the duster contentedly erases the marks for new doodles on the white board.One day it also gets worn out and has to be sent offstage so that another duster comes into play.Construction goes hand in hand with destruction and ends with beginnings. Everything and everyone is irreplaceable till it is time for them to descend the stairs from the stage where the play called life takes place.