“Pari..I want to tell you a secret”

“Oh..go on..what is it?”

“I am about to commit suicide”

This is not what I expected when she said she had a secret. Usually when my friends tell me they have secrets,its about those stupid boys rolling eyes at them or following them around in the quest of achieving their true love.

I slowly undangled my leg from hers inside the water filled paddy field.

“Suicide..but why didi?”

“What do you know about the hardships of life Pari? I have seen and heard enough. I am tired of this world. I just want to escape from my mother, that little devil called my brother, jaan aunty and even you.”

She is bearly a year elder to me. What is there in this world that she has seen and I have not. Something terrible must have happened to her that she has taken such a decision. I looked at her..that uncombed ugly bun of hair, tattered piece of clothing and her yellow eyes stuck in the water below deep in thoughts. This is not good. I have to do something. If she really commits suicide, tomorrow I will be responsible.

“I think we should go home didi.”

She was stuck in her thoughts and did not seem to hear what I said. I shook her, pulled her by her arm and walked her home. I let her watch whatever she wanted on the tv and kept a vigil.

Finally I saw Ragini aunty coming with a sack full of green grass for her cow. Now is the time. I slipped out without her noticing to ragini aunty, didi’s mother.

” Aunty, there is something that you should know.”

“What is it beta?”

“You should be very patient and do not take any immediate steps. We can talk to my parents as well. May be a good counselling will do the thing”

“Seems like there is an issue. Tell me.”

I closed my eyes and blurted

“Didi said to me secretly that she wants to commit suicide.”

I felt relieved. The consequences will be very harsh. How will she ever be able to take this. Widowed at an early age , she ploughs from morning till evening to make the two ends meet, to look after her children. Now her elder daughter wants to commit suicide. Poor her.

I opened my eyes ready to listen to the intense wailings of Ragini aunty. I was flabbergasted to see her rolling and laughing. She laughed so loudly that didi came out to see what was happening, switching off the tv. I stood rooted. May be she has gone mad I thought.

She said

“Kannu..did you hear what she said. She said you have decided to commit” and she laughed again and turned to me

” Beta she is a panophobic. She is so afraid of even the cockraoches and the lizards. Last day I took her for a blood test and she fainted at the sight of the needle.Do you think she will have the courage to do it. She must have said these things to act like a hero before you..this nincompoop”

Didi smiled at me idiotically

“I was just joking Amma. Who thought she would make such a big mess out of this. I just wanted to see tv for sometime without her taunting me. I thought this would keep her busy. Let us go Amma. I am really very hungry. Bye Pari. ”

I stood there looking at the mother and daughter slowly fading away with the big sack of grass.

Picture courtsey : Pexels (Sourav Mishra)


Coffee beans tales

I howled from one end of the field. My father howled back from the other end. There is my mother in between, like the medium of transference she always has been. We parted ways, father wanted to visit our small stretch of land in the other direction and we wanted to meet aunt Zarah. Descending the small patch of narrow path we reached her home still under work and the workers throwing suspicious glances at us.

They were there at the backyard among a pile of household things jumbled up here and there. She , squatting and eating food , wearing a worn out nightie , a shawl over her head. He was sitting in a chair facing her with light music playing from the small phone. Those days came to my mind , when she was always seen in colourful sarees, bangled and all laced up with her neatly dressed son. My beautiful aunt and her handsome son. Her happy face, chatting merrily about the collectibles she saved for me and my sister, how long they had been waiting for us to come. All the fun faded from her face like the tobacco stained teeth of her moron son.

I was shaken from my thoughts by the eternal gossiping of the two sisters about none other than elder brother Raghav.

“Do you know what he told me, that we have a code language, the three of us-me, you and mother. How could he say that. I hardly can pick up what mother says ”

” Thats exactly how he is. Haven’t you understood that till now jaan. He is all jealous about us being together. Don’t you remember how he praised that good for nothing family whose proposal came for Pari. He must be jealous and you know why.”

Though it is gossiping that is going on I felt really happy to see them talking and discussing as people with an equal footing though it has not been so their entire life. Look at my mother and look at her sister, you could never tell that they came from the same home. The distribution of disparities has been highly uneven.

When I look in to my aunts eyes I feel like a part of myself being absorbed in her agonies. Though she doesn’t say anything merely looking at her is tearing my heart into pieces. I never liked this place because I always felt the pain, sadness and frustration that slowly transmitted from every eye I peer into until I went blind. But there is no escape from this land now, we are so very connencted, one way or the other. Their disappointments could have been mine, my smiles could have been theirs. I will have to go back one day because every time I go the intensity of the pull only gets stronger as though a part of me yearns to stay back and embrace this wretched land…

Picture courtsey : pexels (Negative space)


When you know not

what’s inside

When you can not

fathom the outside

Lost in th labyrinth of lust

a tiny spec of dust

in your left cleft

It hurts to be there

inside the scar

bathed in your exhale

of disgust and hate

Here I sign my let go..

Picture courtsey : Pexels(Zetong Li)


To quote it in the words of Arvind Adiga and Salman Rushdie it was a beak to spittoon love affair. Her name was sundari. Sundari was unlike you or me. She was special, special in many ways. Her furtive glances let loose an air of uncertainity, the world hit by the fear of being watched, unable to distinguishly state if it was this way or that way. Her overgrown bulged lips could not conceal the protruding yellow tips. She was unspottable at night, they just got together well.

It was then that she fell in love with him. The drunkard of the alley who visited her every night. He spat hard and she received obediently, no other part was involved. When his mission was accomplished he left without a word. Sundari thought this was what love was like. His beak and her spittoon. When she slept during day time she always tried to imagine a life with him. Cooking and washing for him, taking care of his kids, even going out for cinema seemed possible in her dreams.

After several rounds of spitting something seemed to have changed in sundari. She could not just say what. The details when enunciated to the midwife made her realise that she was accompanied , had been so,for perhaps past three months. She was more than happy and could not wait for him to come. He was usually very punctual but something seemed to have caught him up that day.

So she set out in search of him. She walked towards the direction he always walked when he left her home. She walked in steps larger than her foot. Bored of walking , she started running and suddenly was stopped by some voices. She saw him, atop a woman, no it was not a woman, it was a girl. His hands on her mouth, to stop the screaming. She had seen the girl before, orphaned and strayed in the streets. It was her husband to be, the father of her children to be, strangling a child like a wild animal lurtching at its prey. He was trying to do the same thing he did to her. It did not seem like love anymore. Her body trembled, as she lifted the boulder and dropped it on him. She dragged the child, already unconsious and sprinted home.

Meera is fifteen now and kishan a year old. They are both hers now. Meera became her armour infront of the mean world which called her sundari. Sundary became her Amma. The three worlds united into one single cacaphony, the cacophony of an unheard version of love that did not atune to anything other than love itself.

Picture courtsey : Pexels (Steve Johnson)


Wait till I undress myself

Smiling, I stepped in

To the crowded casablanca

Their cheers crowned me

I swirled to their music

my nude body forming

fictitious curves and wrinkles

A ravaging hurricane in me

violent swirls craving more

from them and less from self

Dancing past the tik-toks

a sudden jeer hit my nerve

“Look at you,what have you

become -A perfect comedy piece”

I stopped my swirls, sank

down and looked up,

parted my lips to expose my

pearl like teeth, and jeered back

“Yes indeed, that is what I am

now, a fizzled out comedy piece

that could not just fit in…”

Picture courtsey : pexels (Gustavo Tabosa)


What is the colour of your dreams ?

I am just curious you know

Mine have always been black or grey

This constant noise just drifts me away

from all else – dreams and desires

I am afraid of being used to things

Of being too much attached to people

Coz all of us are waiting to be taken

It could be now, this very moment

Or later on today or may be I would

get a day or two more of waiting

I leave no claims to patriotism

My body will not be flagged

There won’t be any screams or tears

Coz they lie bundled and scattered

somewhere far in this wretched land

There is no surprise or awe here

I just lived my life as it should be

Because I was born at the border..

Picture courtsey :M.R.Jishnu Seshadri


War cannot bring peace. Peace cannot silence terrorism. So what is the alternative to help escape from the state of frenzy that has already been triggered by the savage strategies of a group of people who have dedicated their mud brains in dividing the already divided minds of Indians and Pakisthanis.

Wait a there actually something like Indian and Pakisthani ? When I say I am an Indian and when you say you are an American, nothing seems to be out of place and if we talk further we could even be friends. But if I say I am from India and you say, you are from Pakisthan I doubt if such terms could ever be developed and all we may be able to release would be inherent grunts and the memories of some unpleasant events.

A war like situation is stirring up between both the countries right now, all of which started from the attack of a suicide bomber employed by one of the terrorist groups of Pakisthan on the Indian military troop without any kind of temptation from Indian side. India replied by a counter air attack on the PCK terrorist training camps which went very successfully without causing any harm to the civilians.

Pakisthan has retorted back using its airforce. Now what escapes my understanding is why has the Pakisthan goverment engaged itself in attacking Indian army instead of taking necessary steps to eradicate the terrorist groups growing in their soils. What does the move from their side as a response to India’s attack on the terrorist training camp mean? Is it an indication of their great agony at the loss of some 300 or 400 terrorists who were indulged in spreading nothing but the religious vile, the good old strategy of turning Hindus and Muslims against each other. Is it not a shame that the government that is supposed to exhibit an unbiased view has taken to such actions shouldering with the same evils they were supposed to slay in the first place.

Escalation is the word the spokesperson from the Pak side used. Yes, they are indeed trying to escalate. But with an Indian air commanding officer in their custody hopefully India may not be interested in escalating things further. I completely support India’s decision to respond in the first place ,even if it was initiated as a part of increasing people’s attention on the vote bank in the upcoming elections , the steps taken by the Indian Air Force and the intelligence group in executing a well planned mission is worth appreciation, the prime reason being the target was never the army or civilians of Pakisthan.

If Pakisthan had shown the willingness to take necessary actions on the terrorists groups soon after the pulwama attack none of this aftermath would have been necessary. If all the nations around the globe stand together to pull into action a mission which eradicates terrorism from its very roots all would be over, once and for all and peace may take over once and for all.

Picture courtsey: pexels(Gladson Xavier)