एक दीया जलाया है

एक दीया जलाया है मैंने,
हिम्मत और विश्वास का,
दूर तक फैले इस तमस में,
प्रेम और सौहार्द का,
एक दीया जलाया है मैंने|

लौ छोटी सी ही है,
डगमगा भी रही है,
इस भीषण आंधी में,
बुझ जाने का डर भी है,
फिर भी दीया जलाया है मैंने|

अंधेरा फ़ण फैला रहा है,
किसी स्याह काली रात सा,
कङकती बिज़लियाँ भी हैं,
डरा हुआ हर इंसान है,
फिर भी दीया जलाया है मैंने।

हथेली के ओट मे छुपाया है,
सरसराती हवाओं से बचाया है,
कमज़ोर है, पर ज़िंदा है,
जैसे किसी नादान बच्चे सी ज़िद है,
हाँ मैंने दीया जलाया है।

बिन मिट्टी के अंकुर सा है,
जिसकी दो पाती खिलखिला रही है,
जैसे झुलसती ज़मीन पर भी मुस्कुरा रही है,
निडर है, आँखों में चमक हैैै,
मैंने फिर एक दीया जलाया है।

ये दीया उस कल पर मेरा भरोसा है,
नये सूरज का एक आगाज़ है,
तूफानों के थमने का एहसास है,
कल फिर रौनक आएगी, फिर सजेंगे मेले
मैंने फिर एक संकल्प का दीया जलाया है|
- शिल्पी

Untouched

It was quarter to one. The night was laden with anxiety and excitement.

Sleep had such enmity with me tonight.

Right behind my bungalow, I had a small barn- a pottery workshop. I was a young child, a shy one, when my dad had first taken me to an art shop. Those beautiful pieces of mud, colored vibrantly, laced with stones and glass cuts had such a magnetic effect on me. My little hands wanted to touch them, feel the cold of the earthen pots.

“Don’t touch it” my dad had whispered but the child’s heart that I had, it was dancing amidst the fuchsia and magenta colored pots and vases.

I had wandered to the workshop behind, stealing away from my dad.

It smelt sweet. The moist clay around had a magnificent fragrance and I wandered stealthily towards a giant wheel. It was covered in wet clay. I sat down and touched it, it was cold. The room was damp with no-one in sight. It was pure heaven for a timid girl that I was. I tried to move the wheel. It moved! And I squeaked in joy. It was pure bliss.

Dad must have followed me. I saw him behind me as I turned around to see if there was anybody. I could see a smile on his face and he had witnessed a little clay smeared artisan.

As the sun seeped through my window early morning, I heard a few men in my back-yard. I remember I had peaked out of the window only to see my dad with a lousy looking man. They were setting something up. It was my own workshop, nothing fancy but it belonged to me. He had removed the pots of blue lilies and made room for a water outlet.

“Don’t touch it daddy, they are wet,” I had screamed as my dad had moved forward to get a better view of my first attempt at pottery. I was brimming with joy at my little turquoise bowl. It was shapeless and dull. I had painted the wet clay. But daddy was proud. He had wanted to hold it. “Go away”- I had screamed at the top of my voice.

It was a sunny day, I clearly remember. I was alone. I was painting by the window when I felt a little weird. I saw her for the first time. She had made faces at me. The smile pasted on her face was not welcoming. As I looked around for daddy, she had said- “dad’s not here”. I ran out to my cottage. My world of ecstasy, my fairyland. It smelt of the same dampness. Dad had said that the pots I made were beautiful but I knew they were crooked. I had never let him touch them.

It was raining heavily as I walked slowly to the school. Aunt had offered to walk me and she waved me a goodbye as I walked ahead to the classroom and sat down silently on the 5^th bench near the window. I loved the little view of expressway with the big cars wheezing past. “Ria, can you concentrate on the board please, I am not standing outside the window.” The class had burst into a laughter. I looked around teary eyed and there she was- looking sheepishly at me- dad’s not here! She had mocked!

I had climbed the stairs to the stage like a scared puppy. “The best student award goes to Ria,” the announcement roared into the auditorium. It was the annual day at school. Everyone looked at me as I stood up to walk but there she was. I looked around for dad. “Dad’s not here,” she had ragged. She had blue glitter dust all over her. I wanted to make dad proud. I carried my shiny metal to the cottage, it smelt the same. It was damp and there was fresh clay in a box stacked neatly on the old wooden table. I never used to tell him that I needed fresh supply yet I never ran out of it.

She followed me everywhere but strangely never to the barn.

It was my first day at junior college. I saw brimming and bright faces. Everyone was full of frolic. “Hey Ria, I heard you have taken up mathematics? Why? You were always interested in arts, right?”

I smiled at her and moved over to the building towards north of the campus clutching at my Loney harder. Little did she know that my pottery had shapes, it had perspective and I suddenly had the urge to run to my cottage.

She was there, right in front of the light blue door of lecture room 5A, the glitter on her hands were shining against the sun. I tried to move through her but she held at me and yelped- Dad’s not here. I dismissed her and moved ahead but her voice echoed like thunder.

I rushed to the cottage behind and the familiar smell of clay calmed my nerves. I had been working on a model. And after many a failed attempts had I perfected the three feet tall vase inspired by the medieval era middle-east crafts. It looked ravishing in the matt gold that I had painted it with. I looked around the small workshop, my tiny paradise. It was full of small and big pots and crafts. Every piece was neatly stacked. In the corner, I saw a blue shapeless dusty piece, it looked hideous amidst all the work around. My first! I picked it up.

I had worn a crème and fuchsia saree to the farewell. As I stepped out of the car and walked to the Sir Thomas auditorium, I felt strangely lonely amongst the hundreds of students laughing and cheering, making promises to stay in touch. “Ria, you look amazing,” he had said. I smiled as he held me by my waist and we danced but there she was yet again- looking at me. She had a question on her face. I could not read the mixed expressions. “Ria, let me have a look at your little clay art. They look amazing just like you,” dad had said. “No,” I had screamed as I shut the cottage door and locked myself in!

It was quarter past nine when I returned home and went straight to the workshop. The damp air felt desirous and I chose to spend the night in the rusted chair.

“Ria- you are still awake? You have a big day tomorrow. You should be looking fresh and full of energy.”

It was already half past three in the night. Aunt had seen the lights in my room and had come to check on me. She put the lights off and went scoffing back to her room.

Yes it was my big day. My first ever exhibition but I could see those dark eyes piercing through the night. They were angry and she screamed- dad, don’t touch it!

Tears rolled down my eyes as I walked in and held the blue crooked bowl. It was ugly. I cleaned the piece and brought it to my dad’s room and placed it on his study table. The angry six year old followed me. I could have traded the world to have him hold the blue crooked piece. The shapeless blue bowl had remained untouched and so did all the beautiful bright pots and vases but I know dad would be proud.

I smiled as I left the empty room. The six year old stayed with the blue bowl.

That Gift of Goa

Twenty four years! Yes I was turning 24 and the thumbnail was; “confusion, a complete state of delirium.”

Over the period of time, I had learnt how to socialize, talk to people but the discomfort is still deep seeded in the heart.

It has always been easy for me to converse with a total stranger than somebody that I have always known.

This time it was different. I knew him, almost for 20 years of my life!

It’s 19:40 and my phone rings. It was blaring at the top of its voice in the bedroom and I was dying to know who had called because it was my birthday week and people had been calling. Few had been kind enough to send me a token of their remembrance.

“What are you doing tomorrow?”

“Nothing.”

“But why? It’s your birthday.”

“Because I have nothing to do.”

“Okay! Here’s a plan. Would you like to come to Goa with me for your birthday?”

So, here was a plan. And you can understand the excitement I would have felt. I have never been quite a loner but the idea had completely set into me that I had also never been totally accepted.

The social circle that I have had comprises of a huge number of people but the inner circle that I really have encompasses only a few. Few, who are in my heart and my mind, few who would come to me at 4 am just for a smoke, few who would always look down upon me but when I am in need they will go on a rampage, who would wake me up at night and ask me to talk, few who would try to set me up and then laugh at me.

This circle was shrinking, and I was unaware. The walls were crumbling

“Yes, yes I am game.” I wish I had never said that.

I packed up, called my boss and said that I would be on a 2 day leave for my birthday. Happy that I was, it was Goa Birthday.

We met at around 8:00 in the morning and started the drive to Goa, one of the best road trips that I had ever had.

Twelve hour ride along the meandering roads through the nature, it’s when you fall in love. Fall in love with your own self, fall in love with the lush green, fall in love with the dusty road, the blue sky, the very idea of speed. And to top the adrenaline, alcohol and nicotine were doing their best.

As I put my feet out on the deck of the car and lay back with music in the air, I felt like life was at its best. He was there sitting right beside me and I still could not understand the destiny’s laugh. 

Goa is a second home. I head for it as and when I feel the need to get into my cocoon, embrace my own self and feel the life in me. It brings me back from the world of dead to the world of me.

It was cold and probably I should have been jaded after a 3 hour sleep last night and a twelve hour journey but I felt a surge of freshness burst into me the moment I set my foot out of the car and headed for the cold sand of Anjuna. Life seemed to be at its zenith.

The fanatical trip that it was, I had never imagined that the events would turn out this way.

DAY 1: The Home Coming

It was way into the night. We say that places close to your heart are places where you find your soul mates, where you engage in all that your soul would ever wants to do. My heart was dancing; my eyes were scintillating as we held hands and walked the chilly sandy beach of Anjuna. I was fluttering like a butterfly set loose on a plateau of flowers. I was sky high in exhilaration.

As I gutted the beer, and left my companions bickering about something and everything, I was taking in the salt laden breeze atop the terrace of Janet & Jones. What more could I ask from life?

I wanted to hug him and thank him from bringing me back to my home, to let me meet people who have come in my life for a short while but worth the while, people from MY Goa, people worth the smile that I am having on my lips as I write this. I was missing someone. I was reminiscing about the last lone trip. Goa has always given me memories. Just one dance at the very same café had brought us close during that trip. Close not physically but we had struck a chord in a more sublime way. How Can I ever forget him who had brought me smiles? A total stranger from a country of love and romance, he had shown me how a smile could just take away all the apprehensions.

I felt the urge to go back and write to him.

I guess it was 4 am when we returned to our stay at the cozy shack White Negro.

DAY 2: The Rastafari

GOA morning!

After a sumptuous breakfast at a small café at Chapora, we headed for the Aguadas. Still unwary of what the trip had in store for me, I was relishing every moment.

The long drive to Morjim, Calangute, the beer, the scotch, people, colors of their dresses, the artifacts they were all giving me a different kind of high. I missed the party at Lagoona and The Little Door. I missed the very essence of being with strangers, strangers who become a part of you. Who don’t judge you, but laugh with you, who hold your hands not because they know you but because they are in love with the twinkle in your eyes, because you synced.

As we headed towards the night, we headed back to Anjuna and this time, we were a part of the crazy mad Goa at the Curlies. It was 25^th Dec and the dear me Goa celebrates Christmas with a frenzy. I could feel energy everywhere. Even the hookah that I was puffing on, seemed to be an entirely out of the world experience. He was sitting right beside me. We were colored in the radium paints as the music blared and our feet moved like unrestrained dogs. I couldn't hold back anymore and danced my heart out.

One of the most vivid re-collections that I have from that night is the search for God’s gift to humanity; the herb that brings the universe together.

The only irritation on this trip was his friend. Someone with a nose too high and one who couldn’t keep his mouth shut. I wished this pain had never been introduced to me and to this beauty. The arrogant brat was sucking away the joy, the ebullience of Rastafarianism.

As I smoked up with his friends, he went into a deep slumber and I don’t recall having any conversation thereafter that night. I slept peacefully. The world belonged to me.

DAY 3: The Last Night

Do I really need to write about every single place I went? I hope not. Goa is home. Let it be that way.

This was the last night that we were spending in Goa and I wanted to make the most of it.

As we sat on the serene beach of Ozran, I felt a connection for the first time; a connection that had aroused out of jealousy, as you may call it; jealousy of someone else being close to him. The breeze, the lights, the noise of water rumbling on to the rocks, it was just perfect to feel love, or so I thought.

That arrogant brat was right. I was probably jealous. 20 years of togetherness and someone else holds an important place, the fact was beyond my understanding or rather I didn’t want to acknowledge it.

What I was oblivious of, were the feelings that his heart was brewing.

The night unfurled its wings and we headed back to our abode.

Was it alcohol in our blood or was it real, I still don’t get it. What made us come together?

“This is your Gift!” he had said as he embraced me.

The embrace was pure. Or that I thought it was. A simple hug and things just changed. Twenty years of friendship had just found its course. A relationship was blooming over the grave of another.

What we failed to understand was that flowers on the graves do not live for long. They wither away and with time their fragrance fades giving way to weary petals. The question is, had I misjudged him? A forlorn, wretched soul that he had become, I was well aware of it. He was an unhappy soul and I had encountered this on several occasions. What pulled me towards him? It is said that ghosts are attracted to people of their kind. Was my ghost looking out for him? Or rather no, my soul wanted me to feel the pangs of melancholy.

I would accept the latter.

This trip had come to an end and with that had died the effervescence of our relationship.

It was a short lived one. Three days from now, it will die its natural death, this I had no clue of.

Why does it happen that when you start holding on to your life, the strings change into granules of ever slippery sand and pass through your fingers? I was in control of my life and then this trip had changed everything. My heart ached.

The friendship had worn out already. And what I was holding on to was a weak raw thread. I believed it was a strong rope that would bind us. God, I was wrong.

I do not blame him for embracing me, showing me love and then breaking my heart. He made his exit and for good.

We will all die. That’s inevitable. So why stop living? Actually sooner or later, it never matters; time is the empyrean, the God, the almighty. One day, when the clock of the universe stops for one of us, that day, that very day we will watch the entire picture. What will then matter; the choices that we actually made for our lives, the lies we spoke or how sacramental our lives had been?

Whatever it be, Goa has always given me love, it has given me memories, stories that I would be telling twenty years from now. This time it went one step further and cleansed my palette of the unworthy.

Goa you just bring me smiles.

The Satan Within: 2

The parched emotions are plagiarizing me now.

It’s been four days now and no sign of anybody.

But why is it not bothering me? No calls from my mom. It’s still not making me feel unwanted. I just have had a massive breakup. But the tears dried up soon.

It has become more and more evident to me that I am running away. The perfect geometry of spider web cast on to the wall made me realize the span of time that has whiffed past me. That was not me. I was used to rising from the ashes, just like the phoenix.

This is probably how you grow up. You know you are an adult when tears get covered up in the dazzle of smiles, when people can’t see the second you, when it hardly matters whether you are staying in a group or in the confines of your immaculately done walls.

“Hi, how was your day?” We talked about just everything but not what was supposed to be told.

He appeared discomposed and I felt the melancholy in his voice. The reason never occurred to me.

More than a year and I couldn’t understand him.

It’s so difficult to know the underlines of a beautiful dress. You can never tell the comfort unless you try it on.

What I had with him I had with none. It is not that I never felt this strong mesmerism for someone before. I had and it had been to the point of craziness, but this was different. I know I have this irrational fear of being fixed and not able to move. The phobia has never let me stay at one place. The thought has made me scared, damn too much that I might get caught up in the wrong room if I don’t move ahead. Mom says if you don’t take the plunge, if you don’t stabilize, how will you know if it is the wrong room? It is never about the wrong destination, it is about how well you deal with the situation. True that is!

But she doesn’t know the river that I am needs to flow, touch new soil and hit that unwavering rock, take that meandering turn, always. Someday, meet the fate but make the way. Yet I took my plunge, stopped for a while.

Never had I felt this way before, the thrill of his touch. There was something enticing about us. I was ready to cease the pursuit.

The desire to be with him and the lust for more, the never ending hunger for this game, it drives the life in me. It makes me feel alive. Like the lion that tastes the human blood, I am addicted to the hunger and the adrenaline rush that it instills in me. It is so similar to the high that I achieve every time I beat the failure.

Had I found my destiny in him? Had I reached my destination? It seemed beautiful if this is it.

But I knew that this would not last, the river that I am. But the war, it was crumbling me day in and day out. I guess when you start getting sure about things; its then that fate plays the silent bitch.

I thought he must be fretting over something so chose to disconnect the call. Never did I contemplate that the next call would change everything.

The text from one of my closest confidante read, “Call me as soon as possible.”

I called and I was swept off my feet.

I called him back and tried to make him speak the truth but in vain. He just said that he was tired and that’s it. The lie was killing me. I can stand anything but the lie.

I confronted and he broke the silence.

The ex had ruined it. He had been with her and I had no idea.  No remorse on his part. I cried like a baby. It had been ages that I had cried so badly.

But then, why was I?

Had the river concluded the journey? Are the destinations that look so tempting illusionary?

They say if it is not beautiful it is not the end.

The broken strings, the lost conversations, the ever faded medley of people around; these hardly bring up any ounce of feeling. They were a chapter, once lively and now they have met their end.

The journey is still on. The reservoir can try to tame the flow but it is always unaware of the capabilities of its captive.

I had to clean my room. The spider webs looked so uncanny.

It was past 2 AM. I opened the window and a cool whip of breeze met my face. It was raining and as it softened the hardened earth, I felt something ooze in my heart. I felt the dryness slowly dissolve.

And I smiled. It is not the end. The expedition has begun and the fear of stability is back. The Satan in me still lives. The game is yet to be over.

The lady in the train

The train was gaining momentum and the slow rumble of the metal over metal softened. The distance was closing with each moment that passed. Clad in a black chiffon scarf, she was engrossed into the colors of nature. I saw her. She was beautiful. She must be in her late twenties. Those big black eyes seemed fascinated by the herd of goats that passed by. She sat by the window, still, and kept gazing at them till they faded away. She seemed restless. A little playful child tugged at her oblivious of her thoughts and seemed amused at something. There was a sharp honking now and then that broke her chain of thoughts.

I looked outside the rusty frame. We were moving over a river. The water shimmered under the scorching sun like little diamonds strewn all around hidden under the short green shrubs that had never grown tall. They had failed badly.

It had been raining. I had forgotten an umbrella but it didn’t matter. The scheduled time of arrival was 12:05 and I had no time to go back. I got into the taxi and headed for the airport. Drenched into the warmth of the taxi, I couldn’t smile. A serpentine, black slithering, gnawing at me, looked deep through me; it knew the darkness in me. I shuddered.

I had just woken up when you had called. I am coming.

‘Could you please shift a little?’ the lady asked. It was growing dark and we squirmed into an unknown land. The diamond on her finger sparkled.

‘You have a beautiful child.’

She smiled and her eyes dampened. She said nothing but in that very moment her eyes were screaming. She settled back to her nothingness. I stared at her with a piercing gaze, what was she thinking? She obviously should be a lot happier than she appeared.

It was 4 years back. I hadn’t seen you for quite some time now. I missed you.

There is something about the sanguine human minds. They have desires. They aspire to hold hands with their dreams and come face to face with what they once coveted.

The taxi had stopped at the signal and it had stopped raining. I saw the folder in my hand and clutched it tightly. I did not know what to tell you. But I knew you will understand. We can’t be together anymore. I needed to get away.

Does love end? Or does it just chide behind the needs and becomes a figurine of total dependency? Maybe it is just a psychological need and demands the people involved to be physically present. It cripples us and sometimes acts as a driving force. Sometimes it motivates and sometimes it just makes you feel helpless. Or are we getting too mechanical to understand the basics? It’s not just about the carnal desires, or is it? How does the human brain function?

We are but, just another organism on the earth and the sine qua non remains same for all.

Madam, we are at the airport. Should I wait or leave?

I saw you coming out. There was a smile on your face. You came rushing to me and embraced me like never before.

What’s the matter? You seem lost.

There’s something we need to talk. I need to say something. This isn’t working and I think we better get separated. Here’s the ring. I saw it in your eyes. You knew this was coming sooner or later. We loved each other no doubt about that but we had our own dreams. It had taken me 25 years to build everything and I couldn’t let it go. Neither could you.

That was the last hug we had had and you just left. The iniquitous part of me wanted to run and hold you from behind and never let go. I wished I had.

Madam, ticket please. The train was moving through farmlands and I could see the petty workers guarding the fields and trying to ease the boredom by singing some folk songs.

I wanted to talk to her. She seemed to have a lot going on in the insides of her mind. Her silence was very disturbing.

Where are you headed? I tried to break the ice.

I am going to meet my husband. I saw no excitement on her face. Taking this conversation any further would definitely be vicious. I stopped.

Was getting estranged after all a selfish decision that I had made? There are so many couples out there who try to work on the long distance relationship and juggle their way forward. I looked at her. She was young and beautiful and obviously trying to fight the odds but she seemed tired. But then, is it just about survival? Just trying to keep your head above the water? Is the struggle worthwhile?

It was 5 am in the morning; the train pulled into the Delhi borders and came to a halt at the New Delhi station. Soon the clouds will give way to the morning sun and the red hue would make the city glow.

I looked at her. She mechanically collected all her stuffs, held the child and walked out. I followed suit. I walked behind her as if I was pulled by some force.

And then I saw it. The diamond was so familiar.

This lady would have been me had I not made my mind 4 years back. The light broke and the there was a huge chirping of morning birds. I got all my answers. There was a smile on my lips as I headed towards my Hotel.

Passengers-My story that began on a night

It had been raining heavily that afternoon. Dad was persistent that I should not go but I insisted.

AI-890 Ranchi- Delhi-Mumbai

Leaving home is never a good feeling even after you have been in and out for more than 6 years now. Somewhere it always aches and you can only fathom the vexation when you are away. It’s been 7 days and the warmth of my city was still not ready to leave. I wanted to stand there and look at the sky; my empyrean of my dreams, my people, my land. I wanted to take in the aroma and drown in the feeling of home-ness.

Mom please I want to take admission in Mumbai. I want to go away from home. I was 18 and I wanted liberation. That was 6 years ago.

Passengers are requested to move towards the boarding area. Boarding has begun for Flight AI-890 for Delhi. The announcement brought me back from the bi-lanes of reminiscence.

I bid goodbye to my ever teary eyed parents. Parents and their love for children!

The air was thin and there were heavy turbulence outside. The rumbling air-craft did scare many a soul. The gravity of situation was known only when we were told that the flight was being re-routed to Jaipur and suddenly we were passengers to a different destination. The weather was very uncertain and unpredictable.

Life is just like a journey through the turbulence.

There is always something good about the journeys. You make acquaintances and it’s good to see people opening up to one another. After all we are humans. I could hear little murmurs that turned into giggles and then an outcry about time. They were buoyant & innocent people around. Look deeply into every eye and there is a story; story of love, grief, triumphant, failure. It’s a different story each time.

They were passengers and I was one of them. Whatever might have been going in our lives, this was one moment when we had similar needs. One situation was binding us all together. We were united and this union was resonating the humanity that is deeply seeded in us beneath the layers of muck.

People come together in times of grief.

A 4 hour journey stretched to 11 hours. We left for Delhi and around 2 AM I reached Mumbai. It had been raining and my bed was all that I desired. I looked around. It was middle of the night and everything and everybody was in a cocoon except for the hustle of passengers who had de-planed at CSIA. They were happy faces, distressed by the turn of events. This will get antiquated soon, I know.  7 hours into the day, they will be telling stories. I smiled and moved away.

Excuse me, where do we get autos from?

The voice was humble and I looked back. Something was in that moment, in those eyes.

I showed him the way and to my surprise we were passengers to the same destination; in reality and in life. I offered him a ride and in those 15 minutes that we were together, our hearts ached. It wanted to scream with ecstasy.

It is funny, how life throws happiness in crumbs and bits, isn’t it?  I have been in relationships before. I have sailed through rough sea and smooth ripples. I have seen the horizon turn blue and orange.

Let’s meet; and thus started a new beginning. Once a co-passenger on board AI-890, was now a companion in life. Maybe my heart wanted that.

We kept meeting and life was good. I was basking into the colors of rainbow. I was exhilarated. But life kicks you when you least expect it to. I realized that we hardly spoke. And when we did, it only had him into the center. He was plagiarized by self obsession. He did not love me as an individual but the pleasures of our bodies hitting together. He was addicted and sick.

Suddenly, the humble voice that came from behind turned coarser. The pink and orange all turned grey slowly. It was all but a piece of lie. Time had unearthed the truth. It was a fine web and I was being strangled. He was a compulsive liar. And respect was a foreign language. Commitment, a farfetched dream! I was just another achievement in his life; a trophy that he could shove into the face of people who questioned him on why his first relationship did not work. I defy to be objectified.

You cannot breakup at such trivial issues. Adjust and compromise why won’t you? You know how I am.

He couldn’t accept being dumped. It was a blow to his male chauvinist heart. He felt I would never leave, he is a successful man and women need financial security. True that is to one extent but he forgot that one, who builds her security, is the women of heart that’s rock solid. The unwavering attitude that she bears keeps her alive and confident.

I am not the weakling. I will not let you hurt me.

I looked around, and I found myself aboard the same flight. Flight to uncertainty!

I looked around. Masks! Every face had a mask. Look deeper and you can see the dark tanned skin. The stories that I was reading a while ago, were stories built against lies, deceit and treachery. They were beautiful faces all masked up. Truth lay hidden.  That night had changed so much of my perspective towards life. The chain of events that had triggered had taught me lessons.

Don’t go today. Weather is not good for travelling. Wish I had taken his advice.

Life is a journey and we meet people as we cross milestones. Some tread a mile along; some are faint silhouettes fading behind. But the underline is that we have to keep moving irrespective of the hurt. And as I said, look into the eyes and it’s always a different story. This was my story of the night. My eyes will be full of suspicion.

The understatement is that we are Passengers to our own destination. 

Djinn in My Dream

The Jungle was lush green. It had rained quite a lot and each leaf was more of Kelly and harlequin. The brightness made me shudder as one ray of sun pierced through my skin through the darker canopy above.

Where was I?

I couldn’t see the mud. Lavish moss spread like a king over the dead sycamore.

A loud hiss took my fascination. I turned around to see a giant creature standing tall, overpowering everything around. It was mighty and the scales were shining as the rays fell on him as if honoring his presence.

The car honked to a stop. We had reached the destination. We crossed the lanes to reach the office premises and as I waited for him to summon the meeting, it returned.

I was tired. I had been running for miles now. The jungle seemed to close in. I could see no way out. I was scared. I ran hysterically though the woods. The spider webs had walled me with an uncertainty. There was a small cavern in the vicinity. It was dark inside and I was vacillating my choices. It seemed erroneous.

The distance was closing and I could feel the heat of the fangs. The hiss grew louder and clearer.

We have rescheduled the meeting to 1300 due to some emergency. We had 40 minutes on hand. I took a sigh and tried to relax.

I turned around; he was looking straight into my eyes. There was nowhere I could run and I could see the evident end. The jungle was unknown, ruthless with the beast. It showed no mercy. I looked into the deathly eyes, red and appalling. It was staring at me, mocking my perseverance.

Why was it following me; that ghastly creature?

It was time to confront one last time. It did not look exasperated but what could a lady as docile as me do to save herself from the horror. There was nowhere I could go.  I closed my eyes, my heart was sinking. The ship had no life-boats and land was not insight. I was in the state of acceptance. Tears rolled down my cheeks.

Your bank accounts have been frozen due to heavy debts.

It was then that I realized it wanted to say something. It was my gates to freedom. Never did it harm me or even tried to harm me. I just had to stop running away and find my answers to the riddle. I followed it to the maze and the smell of the sandal-wood was ravishing. I knew the slithering death that the woods held in its chest. I had to find a way out. He was the djinn.  I was running away from my only assuage. I smiled and moved towards it.

I handpicked every piece of my strength that had dissipated, bundled it up and went into the conference room.

My son was in the hospital. He needed treatment and this deal needs to close.