Waterworks!

The black sun grew bigger in that red almond sky.
With a parallel universe right across the nose bridge.

The horizon had welled up.
The ocean was overflowing.
The world couldn't hold it all together.

Waves collected over those mascara-free shafts.
Squirting outside the basin line.

Salt-water Waterfall.

It's Customary

They winced once, just before snipping a bunch of locks right above Leela's shoulder. Thick silky black strands clumped together in a loosened plait as they lay there, defenseless, on the floor.

Maasi began sharpening the razor blade against the waterstone, looking in Leela's direction for a hint of pain. But she sat there stoically, staring at the chipped wall in front of the verandah. 

One of them came to her side, while the other parted her scalp. The vermilion in the center was still fresh.
"It'll be over before you know it," they assured her as she sat there, without blinking.
Maasi came ahead with beads in one hand and a sharpened blade in the other, like a devi in her avatar. She smeared some ash on Leela's forehead and continued to dust her scalp with more granules of burnt wood and sand. With a few crisp wrist movements in the opposite direction, the curtain of hair dropped to the floor. Maasi splattered a cup of sandalwood paste to soothe the bruises and puffy hair follicles on that unprotected skull.

The noise had tuned out. The women were retreating.

They would never have to focus on her again.

It took a while to get accustomed to her new demeanor. The sharp jawline suddenly opened into a wide barren forehead, like a delta melting into the expansive ocean. Her tired eyes had lost its soul.
All that was left of the hexagonal diamond pin was a little perforation on her nose. 

"It's for your good," Maasi whispered. 

"With so many men in the house, you're better off this way. At least you won't ask for 'it'."

"If that is the case, how does this change?" Leela questioned with no change in intonation.

She continued staring at the chipped wall. The eyes were still dry.

Her voice trailed out, hardly leaving her trembling lips. 

"They did what they had to, despite him being around. Even though I hadn't asked for 'it'." 

Plane Differences

She was your typical window-seat person.

Walk in first and move out last.

Stuck in that little corner, she loved to stare

At the street lights from up above,

And their reflections in the sky.

She’d break her head over a cryptic crossword,

Or dig her face into a thousand-leaf book,

It didn’t matter if she shivered from the air conditioning

“Who complained about such a ridiculous thing?”

She’d wait patiently for her neighbour, to call
The flight attendant for an extra bag of pretzels

And request for a blanket to avoid turning blue.

10-hour flights were a piece of cake,

For she had mastered the art of manipulating her bladder.

While the kidneys worked hard on accumulating every drop

She’d wait till she was exactly five dribbles short.

Those moments of explosive discomfort

Would nudge her to poke the walrus next to her seat.

He was your regular aisle kind-of-guy.

With his right leg dangling freely outside, he’d make

Small talk with random people in the next row.

He'd keep pressing the light above his head

So he could get another glimpse of that P.Y.T.’s rack.

When the flight purser dished out safety instructions,

Our man in shorts would take a cat nap.

He would complain about the food

The service. And the booze.

Asking if it was free for the 14^th time.

Then rise from his seat and take a little stroll,

Counting the number of vacant seats to do a little math.

He’d snort, choke and giggle on a 3:00am flight

Because Chandler Bing said a funny little thing.

But when the wheels hit the ground, he’d be the first

To unfasten his seat belt and make a dash for the door.

They obviously didn’t meet

And nothing really happened.
Cause while he was out there in ‘Baggage Claim’
She was still stuck between the Window and the Aisle.

REM Adventure

He was still in the restroom, rinsing the remains of his last meal with a minty mouthwash routine. With one last impatient gargle, he ran his tongue over the ridges of his teeth to see if he had missed a spot. Satisfied he stepped out, into the darkness of an undisturbed room.

She lay there on her left side, in the foetal position, with her toes pointing to the wrong side of the bed. Wrapping her arms around her knees she slipped into the second stage of deep sleep.

He stared at her lovingly, while her feet twitched at 30 second intervals. Her shiny black curls spread across the paisley-printed bedspread like the tangled branches of a weeping willow on a summery afternoon. Her crinkled nose and knitted eyebrows told him that she was contemplating something.

He kept his backpack at arm’s length and continued to look at her. With a quick glance over the items on his checklist, he noticed that the flashlight wasn't there. He walked towards the store-room and found an electric rechargeable torch and a can of bug spray on the table. Putting the new items into his haversack, he headed back to the bedroom, and saw her in the same crouched position.

He looked confident and was better prepared this time around.

The frequency of her twitches had increased. She jerked and winced from time to time, moving anti-clockwise again. The feet took charge while her other limbs moved slowly in perfect synchrony. She turned a whole 180 degrees around till the neck found its spot on the accustomed mound of her slightly firm pillow.

She was in the Rapid Eye Movement phase, and he knew he had to be quick. He slipped in right next to her on the mattress and clasped her hand. Effortlessly, he placed the tips of his fingers on her fluttering eyelids and lifted them with ease. 

Astral travel is not for the weak-hearted. Holding hands they were suspended in mid air with no control over their being. He was tumbling across time and space, with his backpack flying freely behind him.

They'd committed to sharing a dream together.
The movie had just begun.

In Exchange

For the number of times that I have thought you don't exist,
I could have...


...sailed across 24,906 miles around the earth. 
And surfed on a sea of countless copper pennies.

...flipped through 478 crisp white pages in 963 old books.
And connected those shiny fragmented dots on an indigo sky.

...consumed 1,848 rich calories in every greasy meal.
And wasted endless hour-full minutes in wishful thinking.

...built five-story houses from 1,84,000 well-glazed bricks.
And installed a private salt-water lake made of tears.

But because you still dwell in the crevices of the heart.
And you survive in every gushing pulsating milli-beat.

The equations are now in perfect balance.

And I'm left with Nothing.

Who Pays?

Who drew those boundary lines on maps? Can you still see them from the sky? Who said who belonged where? How did it all begin?

If our country was born, who cut the umbilical cord?
And where is the forsaken mother?
If our country is free, who cut the shackles?
And who has had to pay the price?

Is there real freedom in democracy? Is our land in good hands?
So long as we stay unaffected, does it even matter?
Or are we making amends?

113 wounded and survived out of 134 - what do we make of them?
Have they lost a limb? Lost their jobs? Lost faith in tomorrow?
Were they bread-earners? Mothers? Only sons?
Can their families afford to look after them?
Are they treated with respect like veterans of war?
Or are we just choosing to ignore them?

With over 20 million people sprawling the city, does that small number affect anything?

Second Chances

It didn't happen very often any more.
It had been 73 days since they'd been to the home by the country-side.

Unbrushed, unkempt, it seemed like one of those 8:00 mornings when she would walk straight to the patio, opening her eyes to lush verdant liveliness.

The roof alternated slats of solid mahogany with clear glass creating a piano-like shadow in front of her feet.
She stood there in her night shirt and soaked in the morning sun like a little child in the meadow. Dull gold rays highlighted her cheek bones, revealing hints of crusty mascara and patches of unremoved make-up from the evening before.

He squinted in her direction, rubbing traces of indulgent sleep from stubborn lids, and stared at her silhouette with no guilt.

She was prettier than he could remember.

He worked his way into the kitchen and came back with two cups of piping hot coffee - Hers, 2% milk fat and his, half-and-half. Accompanying them was a tray of her favourite dark brown biscuits with sugar crystals encrusted around every edge. He put them on the patio table and carried their cups to where she stood.

"I hope this isn't awkward..." he paused looking away towards the hills. She took two steps closer and curled her fingers around his arm.

They had married each other 9 years ago.
It had been 73 days since their divorce.

Muted Thoughts

We sat there quietly in the snow,
Under the same moon of the year.
And slouched together, back to back,
Staring at the woods from two sides.

Filling conversations with muted words
We dialogued over thoughts and things.
She said I said she said I said;
Without so much as opening our lips.

Who'd break the silence?
Who'd make the first move?
She knew I couldn't
I knew she wouldn't

There were silences before.
The Sound-less silence.
The Judgment-free silence.
The I-understand-you silence.
The You're-a-bitch-but-I-love-you silence.
But the jagged edges of the How-could-you silence
Kept echoing all around the space.

We couldn't pick up from where we'd left
In five revolutions around the sun.
So we sat there tongue-tied, back to back,
Glaring at the same dark sky.

I wanted to remind her
She wanted to remember
The amazing friendship we had once shared.
But we continued sitting there, back to back
So that neither of us was cold.

ShotGlass gets a little Facelift

So I have strayed away from what you'd have expected otherwise.
*guilty as charged*
*insert an air of defiance*

But I've come to realize that my shot-stories are now beginning to look like doppelgangers of Rakhi Sawant - ill-timed, obnoxious and fake! So those little spurts of random imagination that seem to come together from la-la land have been handcuffed and thrown into the boot of the car.

What does one expect, you ask?

There will be moments of uncontrollable verbal diarrhea where I will vomit on your front porch and all over your shoes... but for the most part, I will try to keep it short.
(As Calvin {of Calvin & Hobbes fame} says:
"As far as I'm concerned, if something is so complicated that you can't explain it in 10 seconds, then it's probably not worth knowing anyway.")

Digression: What's up with squiggly brackets, huh?! Makes me think of BODMAS in math class!
*throws up again*

Coming back to our old charm - as much as you may deny it, I know you secretly love those skimpily-clad-implant-induced-item-number girls. So every once in a while when Rakhi does make an appearance on this blog, be nice and give her an applause!