Forget Me Not

Hey Guys,

First of all, let me thank you all for the mails (via the mail widget and direct). I know I have been rather AWOL.

Well, life is running at a rate faster than I can keep up with and I need all my energy to make the most of it. Also, I don’t want to blog with only half my heart in it. Moreover, I would be SOOO unfair if I just keep writing without visiting you (I am really caught up right now)..


So, please bear with me one last time.


I promise to be back with lots of new stuff, new format, new way of writing and much more with the New Year.

Yes. Look forward to this blog rising again on January 1st, 2011. That is the deadline I have given myself to get everything on track.


till, then, try to remember me sometimes.


feel free to mail me here – I will reply.


shadowy.blogger@gmail.com

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The Darklings

Angry, the wind howled

I chose the frosty moonbeam, over

the raging fire, blessed by hell

my own twin flame

Banished in death,

I wandered the weathered land

Chained, cursed by your love

as dark as my sinful soul

My heart denounced me

tormented, by your betrayed eyes

Guilt ruled by the day,

reigned, mauled me by the night

Lonely, I treaded the moor

paralysed with the avenging ice

Devil didn’t claim me, my love

He knew without me, you can’t die

So here I am, watching you wither

with the pain that I gifted

Your dark eyes burn with passion

made sweet by maddening hatred

I stand by the heath

tired, soaked, shivering

near your window,

out in the blinding rain

I came home to you, torn

by the merciless wind.

Hold me in your arms forever,

Please let me in.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

© 2008 by Chhaya. All rights reserved

PS: Those who have read the "Wuthering Heights" will know that this poem is a dedication to Heathcliff and Catherine. For me, they define the word "Soul-mate".

I am re-posting this poem as most of my current readers have not read it... its always kind of embarrassing to read something you wrote years ago... but its one of my favourite.. so here goes :)

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Summer Night

The cotton t-shirt sticks to my back like a second skin. The heat is almost unbearable. Slightest hint of a breeze gives me goose bumps... making me feel alive, even for that fraction of a second. Like love. Ever been in love with someone who didn’t even know that you existed? Waiting for that one look, waiting for that one time when they would actually have a notion about your true feelings?

Just an observation.... before you jump to conclusions.

Being a writer has its perks... and at the same time, you are living 24x7 with a mind that simply won’t stop. Talking to you in your head. Making you look for undercurrents in relationships... and warning you of dangers that might exist just in your head.

And not to forget being judged when you write about the dark abyss of human mind. People wondering if you are a raging lunatic. Getting unwanted sympathies when you try to explore the realms of heartbreaks and what makes us hurt the people we care the most for...

Words and characters dance around in my head while I watch the city rush past. My fear of heights under control as I sit in the dark, perched on the banister of the nth floor. The roads are flooded with lights. somehow looking more alive in the night than it does during the day.

I think about the last two stories still floating around in my head... and I wonder... why do happy endings seem incomplete to me?

Is this the reason I haven’t been able to write them down?

they say things always become happy in the end... but do they?

Does a fairytale princess wake up one morning to realize that she didn’t actually intend to live in the castle. Or be a princess. Or be with Prince Charming?

What if all she wanted was to roam the moor...

what if she didn’t want to have pearls on her neck?

What if she wanted to go barefoot...

What if she didn’t like glass slippers?

Will the story still be worth telling? Or even more so?

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©2010 by Chhaya. All Rights Reserved

PS: as usual, I request you to read it as just a piece of writing. the image is googled.

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Tick-Tock

"The Forensic tests have confirmed that the decomposed body found in the ravines is indeed of the renowned industrialist William Spencer. He was reported missing almost a year ago"

Danny turned off the TV and leaned back into his chair. A frown marred his usual good looks at the moment.

'There is no way they can prove it.' He told himself the thousandth time. He had made sure that William didn’t tell anyone about their hiking trip.

"It will be like our childhood. No cell phones, no work, no commitments. Just two brothers having fun!" Danny had made Will promise him.

His alibi for the day was rock solid. He had made sure of it.

Taking over his company looked like bailing a brother's widow out. What with all the phony debts.

Danny took out the old pocket watch from the table's drawer.

How he had hated William when their father had given it to him. Danny could still feel his nerves flare at the memory of forever being humiliated by his father. Old moron always took Will's side.

Snatching the watch from his twin's dead body was the best thing Danny had ever done. Well, next to killing him.

He had gone all the way down to take it from his broken body. The old thing had survived the enormous fall without a scratch, but somehow it was broken inside and nothing could make it work. Still, it was his trophy!

"Well, you are as dead as your master, aren’t you, stupid watch?"

The watch was stuck for last one year, showing the exact time when he had...

He smirked looking at it...

The Second hand of the watch moved without warning. It's sound echoing like a gunshot in the silence.

Danny froze as he felt the hair on his neck stand up...

A whisper... a voice so familiar... No it can't be!

"Hello Brother..."

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©2010 by Chhaya. All Rights Reserved

This is my first entry for the Magpie Tales :) ... the image of the watch was the prompt.

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If I could, I would - II

Click here to read the Part - 1


"You are early today. "

He says, not exactly meaning it to be a question.

It takes all my will power in that split second, to stop myself from replying with a "It’s none of your business, is it?"

I can almost see Ma shaking her head in disapproval, annoyed to see her daughter acting so rudely.
Instead, I go on auto-pilot. My eyes meet his, I smile, nod and then, I turn back towards the road, hoping that he will get the message.

When did I become like this?

Why have I become so cynical that every unnecessary conversation seems to be a direct path to confrontations?

Having to draw a boundary so that no stranger becomes a part of the routine.

No saying "Hi" every day. No talking about weather. And certainly no explaining if and why I am early on any day. The freedom of walking away from people and relationships.

There is disappointed idealist behind every cynic, they say.

Why do I run away from even the slightest hint of a bond?

It has been ages, yet, I can still hear someone say - "when was the last time a stranger broke your heart"
Strangers indeed don’t break your heart, as long as they stay strangers. He wasn’t a stranger. And see where I am today. I wait, I will for the phone in my pocket to ring.

I wish, I pray that he would call. Just to hear that voice again. Even though ...

Have you ever had your heart broken by someone you can’t bring yourself to hate? Even when they scar you for life? make you wary of everything you get attached to?

Have you ever loved someone so much, that all you can remember is the rhythm of their heart beating as they hold you in their arms.

The actual feeling of their being? Being able to just close your eyes and trace them with your fingers? Even when years have gone since you sat next to them...

Why is it that we can’t bring ourselves to stop loving someone even when we hate them for showing us exactly how vulnerable we are, we were.

Some say love needs sacrifice. Sacrificing our wish for someone else’s.

But is there anything that can be termed as sacrifice?

All we make are choices. Sometimes we like to sugar-coat them, calling it a sacrifice.

If I am ready to give my life for someone, then obviously I would rather have them living than myself. How can it be termed a sacrifice?


You are willing to stay hungry to feed your child, because that makes you happier.

A soldier dies for his country, because his honor is dearer to him.

We are selfish to our cores.

We always do what we ultimately want to do.

Breaking someone’s heart, or getting our broken.

If I was writing a story, I would make myself shed a silent tear. But then, crying is so damn tough. Blessedly, the skies open up and rain comes lashing. I hear people scrambling to get under the meagre shades.

I stay put, feeling the heavenly droplets washing away the death off me. Death of a part that will always be mine, even when it starts festering

Still wishing for the phone to ring with that familiar tune.

Still wishing I could call.

But then, if I could, I would...



To be continued ... soon... or may be not...
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©2010 by Chhaya. All Rights Reserved

PS: kindly read this just a piece of writing. Nothing personal about this one :)... and yes, the image is googled.

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If I could, I would

Can you go back to the day when the life was going through the biggest change… yet it all used to make sense?

Can dreams be broken? Do they ever shatter, in pieces as fragile as the virgin snow? Do they melt away when you try to hold them on your fingers?

Do you ever know how the day is going to end when you leave home in the morning? Do you ever really know someone?
One word, one breath – one drop of rain can change everything.
Everything.

It’s still too hot. I have never been a fan of Delhi’s extreme winter, but the summer is something I really hate.

If only it would rain. Right now.

But its here to stay. Few more months and then I will have the lesser of the two evils. Or will I? What is keeping me in this city? Did I find what I came searching for? Or did I lose whatever I already had?

If only god would give me one sign. If only he would tell me what to do. Oh! I am so tired, but the day has just begun.

If only it would rain today....

I stand and wait for the bus. The bus stop is almost deserted. Hummmm, its only 7:30 in the morning. Not everyone is too fond of starting the day so early. Oh yes, that guy is. We take the bus together every morning, but we never talk.
I don’t know him. Not at all.

But do we ever know someone? You may spend your whole life with a person, thinking that he was just an extension of your own soul, but after years, you find a side to him that makes him a complete stranger.

How long does it take to know a person?
One day?

One month?

One year?

Forever?

Do you believe in the word “soulmate”? For god’s sake.. its not even a word.. My spell check so nicely marks it with a red worm...

What do you do when you find a lie, woven into the fabric of trust?

Do you try to pull it out? Do you try to rip it off? But then, can you make yourself do it?

Destroy something that means so much to you? Or do you ignore the obscene spot, and wear it, as if you haven’t even noticed it?

What hurts more – a lie, told to keep you in dark, or the truth that was hidden by the person who means the world to you, to keep you close, save you from pain?

Aahh, forget it.

About the guy? Oh well, he will get off at the same stop as mine and then he will smile. A smile that I never bother to return. It’s too much of an effort – smiling.

Why is he looking so disturbed today? May be it’s the heat.

It’s got to be the heat…

If only it would rain. Thundering crazy rain. That is ONE sign that God can give, without disclosing his address.

The bus is here....


********

What gets you through a day? Work? Or the wait for the moment when you will be let off to go home to someone who would be waiting for you? Or someone you would wait for.

Have you ever waited for the work hours to be over just so that you can enjoy the time it takes you to reach the place you sleep at?

I must leave. Those crowded buses seem to be the place to find the perfect solitude. I look out of the glass window. The sky is getting dark. It’s not my usual time to leave… but what the heck…

The same road looks unfamiliar in the twilight. As unfamiliar as this city, even after years. The tiny cell-phone sits snugly in my back pocket.

Have you ever wondered how easy it is to talk to someone if you want to? But what do you do when all you want to share is the silence? Have you ever waited for someone to call so that you don’t look like someone who is ‘desperate’? Is it the Ego that stops you?

Or is it self-defence?

Have you ever longed to be with someone in this twilight – the time when the boundaries of the harsh day and the tranquil night are blurred? Have you ever felt your heart bursting with the desire to be with the one… just walking together on the pavement… sitting together – without having to talk?

To hold.. to be held… to hear the heartbeats …. to be able to feel?

Have you ever met someone like that? Does it hurt when you realize that they never belonged to you?

Do lies hurt you too?
Why do they hurt so bad?

Is it the shame of being a fool? Or is it the fact that you fell for your own fantasies?

Do we only see what we want to see?

Does it hurt when someone loves you so madly that they are ready to lie.. to keep you close…. but not enough to trust you with the truth?

What do you do when you stumble upon it? Do you confront? Or do you feel too scared… scared of breaking the bond that has become your life?

Do you live those lies? Do you pretend that nothing has changed? Do you start feeling guilty that you found what was supposed to be hidden forever?

Why is "Soulmate" a word with a red worm underneath it? Yeah, I am still thinking about it... it’s not even a word!!!! I feel like laughing till I get tears in my eyes.


If only I could get tears in my eyes.

Life and Love are the Four Letter Words .. created by God himself..

I smirk.

Walking to the bus stop was like a therapy.. but why do I wish that the guy was here? Yes, the same guy who takes the bus with me in the morning, well... he doesn’t return with me.

I feel so tired.. Maybe I will just sit on the steel bench.. I love them... Steel – my favorite. More dear than gold! Hah.. Stainless steel… do you know why it’s called stainless? Well, some other day.. just know that it’s “stain less” and not “stain proof” … I smile to myself.

Did I just feel a breeze on my face? Yes I did. It’s getting stronger. Clouds!

Ahhhh. Let me just untie my hair… let me ‘feel the wind in my hair’ as they say it. Let it fall on my face.

what a used to death cliché!


No, I won’t try to tuck it behind my ears like I always do. Most people compliment me for my long hair.. then why do I try to hide it? Why do I keep it tied up? What am I scared of?

The bus is here….
Should I catch it?

Let it go… another one will come.. let me just sit here…


Have you ever been lost, looking at something that does not exist. just sitting somewhere, your eyes unfocused, your mind in a trance..? Thinking about something that never was… something make-believe


Lies… all lies….


I feel someone’s presence before I turn my head to find that he is sitting right next to me. His face is still disturbed but he manages to give me a smile.


This is the first time that I notice that he smells great.
And this is the first time that I smile back…



Click here to read more ...


© 2009 by Chhaya. All Rights Reserved


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The Hurt Locker : A Review

It’s an honour to review The Hurt Locker as the first at this blog.

Before I get going with it, I just want to say that I am not an authority on Cinema or art of any kind. I am just someone who is giving her opinion. And the opinion is my own PoV. You may not agree with my interpretation of the movie. I have a distinct like/dislike when it comes to art, so be ready for some unexpected reviews in future :)

Genre : War
Director : Kathryn Bigelow
Cast : Jeremy Renner, Anthony Mackie, Brian Geraghty

Tagline (my favs) :
You’ll know when you are in it.
You don't have to be a hero to do this job. But it helps.


The movie is based on the best selling novel - War Is a Force That Gives Us Meaning by Chris Hedges. The opening screen of the movie has a line from the same novel.

My take on the movie :
If you are looking for something in the line of Saving Private Ryan, then this is not the one who should watch. Both are war movies, but The Hurt Locker is very different. And for the sake of comparing, even though Saving Private Ryan didn’t win the Best Pic Oscar (can u blv it?) and Hurt Locker did, SPR is miles ahead of Hurt Locker.

The movie is not 100% right in its portrayal of how the army works in a war zone like Iraq. There are instances when it becomes almost absurd. But an average guy watching the movie won’t notice. Simply because he won’t know how the real thing works. Folks close to army might feel some discomfort. Still, giving the screenplay writer and director some benefit of artistic liberty is totally justified.

There are not too many war movies that are directed by women. At the first sight, you are going to be amazed at the rawness of the images. The movie is in-your-face. It has a no nonsense approach. Still, when you look carefully, you can see a woman’s touch.

I don’t wanna sound sexist, but women handle vulnerability a bit better than most men. Hurt Locker, in its heart, as its name signifies, is all about the devastation caused by war. More to the soul than to the body. It makes a killer out of a reluctant soldier. Scares the one who was dedicated... and worst of all, makes a nice human addicted to the carnage.

Hurt Locker makes you pause and think... makes you wonder if we are really looking for an excuse to kill ourselves.

Warning : Here be Spoilers.

The movie is basically about an EOD (Explosive Ordnance Disposal) team working under the Bravo Company in present day Iraq, on its one year rotation. The movie is shot in almost a documentary style in the start. It’s unbelievable to imagine that they actually shot 100 minutes of footage for each minute they used in the movie. Guys, that’s more than even Apocalypse Now! You see what war and inhuman stress of dealing with death does to these guys.

The movie has a cold start (direct into action, without any preamble). It opens in a meat market in Iraq where the Original EOD Team has been called to diffuse and IED (Improvised explosive Device). It’s a symbol of cheapness of human life and sets the mood for the movie. The Bomb expert of the team is killed while trying to diffuse the IED

The new guy who joins as the bomb expert is a hero but a rather reckless man. He takes unnecessary risks. Yet, he has another side to his personality. He is not a brutal warmonger. War is just something that he is addicted to. He lives on raw adrenaline rushing through his blood.

The movie is built mostly around him and his two team-mates. They constantly fight death and live in a world where every step can be their last.

Scenes to watch for : The original Bomb expert of the EOD team, Matt Thompson, is played by Guy Pearce (yes, the Memento guy). The explosion of the same IED kills him. The scene of explosion is awesomely captured in super slo-mo. You can see the rust and dirt coming off the car, gravel rise up defying gravity and then the full force of the blast simply rips the air around.

The scene right after has Thompson's things being packed in a box. A solder asks – Is that everything? The line has profound meaning. A life packed in a small box.

There is a scene where the new bomb expert (William James, played by Jeremy Renner) first goes with the Bravo Company. The moment he pulls out 6 interlinked IEDs from the rubble is something that makes your heart stop (check the image attached to this review).

Another hard hitting scene is the one where he risks his life trying to diffuse a bomb implanted inside the dead body of a child.

watch out for the a special appearance by Ralph Fiennes.

My rating : 4 out of 5

The Hurt Locker Trivia

PS: I know its bit long. But I wanted to be honest with an honest movie :) I have kept the plotline shorter to stop it from becoming too long!

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The Fallen

I don’t like men wearing gloves. White gloves. Especially not when they are standing in a perfect row, near a freshly dug hole.

It has always meant a death. Mostly, someone not much older than me. Sometimes younger.

I watch their unreadable faces. I watch their full ceremonial uniforms, rifles held high, perfectly clasped between the palms, ready to be raised... and then arch downwards, with the mourning tune, the business end facing the earth.

The thousand yard look in their eyes... trained to ignore their own mortality. Trained to look, not to see.

They don’t blink when another set of young men bring the flag covered coffin with in-sync steps.
The not so old woman next to me whimpers, trying to muffle her sobs. How old would you be when you lose your 24 year old son? Not much.

The detail leader shouts familiar commands. Familiar to me because I have lost my share... some would say more than my fair share of lives.

Six men march out a few steps and fold the flag with mechanical movements. Completely aware of the fact that it can be their own turn the very next time. Their turn to lie in the coffin.

A plain military issue coffin.

It was sealed, obviously.

Everyone loves to see a young man in uniform, fighting for his country. It makes your heart swell with pride. Makes you wanna run and enlist. Or wonder how your son would look in the fatigues.

No one wants to see his dead body wrapped in anonymous white sheet, its face torn apart with bullets. You can’t imagine what a high calibre bullet does to human body. You have to see it to believe it...

No one wants to hear... no one wants to know that he died because his gun had failed him after he barged into a bunch of terrorist, sure of the weapon he held in his hands.

No one wants to realize that someone somewhere had made some moolah by passing on faulty guns and ammunition...

No one really cares that the same terrorists were at large simply because someone somewhere had decided to swap them for a handful of civilians kept hostage in a plane.

After all, he did sign on that blank cheque as they say it. Amounting up to and including life.
I watch them lower the coffin in the grave. I hear the TV guy telling the story of a young Muslim Captain who died fighting Islamic terrorists.

I feel bile rise in my throat. I think about the guy now buried in that grave. I know he would have laughed such things off. I am not as generous as him. Not as big hearted as he was. I want to do something really horrible to the TV guy.

Instead, I take the hand of that not so old lady and walk away. She seems to have aged decades in last one hour. I wonder, if I keep really quiet, can I hear people switching channels? Impatient to get the next exciting story?

Already forgetting about the guy in the grave.

Just another dead soldier.

Who cares for dead soldiers?

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©2010 by Chhaya. All rights reserved

PS: the image is from movie Letters from Iwo Jima

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Adventure/Comedy : Under 100 words

We must escape.


But how? I think it’s our fate to be trodden by him.


And live in these stinking holes?


Least he could do is to let us bath every day. We are nothing but disposable slaves for him.


Bath, you say! I think that is the only time we can escape. The time when we are pushed from washing chambers


I am scared. errrrr, it’s not so bad here.


Ok. You stay here. I won’t!


A few days later

“Honey! Have you seen my other blue sock? I can find just half the pair.”

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©2010 by Chhaya. All rights Reserved

PS: sorry for not being around.. I m back now and gonna be regular @ writing and reading ur blog :)

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Tragedy: Under 100 words

The knife is sinking in her chest like she is made of butter.

Blood splashing on me with each flailing beat of her heart, in rhythm with the clock.

She always said that there has never been another man in her life.

Splash

It’s not so warm now.

I read the letter yet again.

Mrs. Patel,
Congratulations on your wedding.
Your child has already been adopted.
We can’t disclose any other information...

And she wouldn’t let me touch her before marriage.

Splash

I wipe the blood off the date-stamp.

Feb,1976

What? Wait a second!

The clock ticks away.
Solo

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©2010 by Chhaya. All rights reserved

Inspired by a crazy phone that delivers a text, hours/days after it’s sent

image is googled

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10 things about me – Honestly

This is the toughest possible tag for me. I mean, me telling 10 things about myself!

Errrr.... it goes against all my instincts. I find it rather narcissist to talk about myself.. It would have been bit easier if there were set Qs...

I almost never get tagged.. and this one is from sweet Tanu, so now I gotta rant.. so here I go.

The Rules –

1. You must thank the person who gave you the tag/award and list their blog and link it

Tanu tagged me

You will be putting mine ;)

2. You must list 10 honest things about yourself
yeah yeah...

3. You must put a copy of Honest Scrap logo on your blog
putting in this post

4. You must select at least 7-8 other worthy bloggers and list their links
done at the end of this post

5. You must notify the bloggers of the award and hopefully they will follow the above three requirements also.
will do once I am done with this post

10 things about me – Honestly


1. Commitment phobic
Strings scare me. It has always been insanely difficult for me to commit myself to anything, be it a relationship or even something I love to do, like writing. When I do make a commitment, I have to fight the urge to break-free.
I must have an escape route. A way out. This is why I tend to stay aloof... But then, there are a few exceptions to this rule :)

2. Claustrophobic
I think it’s just an extension of me being very possessive about my personal space. I absolutely hate being in a confined space. I can’t travel in fully closed elevator and can’t work in windowless offices. When I go to a restaurant, I must sit somewhere near an exit.

3. Addicted to reading
I can give up on watching movies.. or even sports.. But I can’t live if I don’t have access to books. I am always reading two books .. One thriller, to be read in breaks/travelling etc.. and one Classic, to be read before sleeping or when I have a few hours alone at home.
Right now I am reading The Brothers Karamazov (a Classic) and Bad Luck and Trouble (thriller – Jack Reacher series)
My 3 fav literary characters are Yevgeny Bazarov (Fathers and Sons), Howard Roark (The Fountainhead) and Heathcliff (Wuthering Heights)
I don’t read romance novels.

4. Can’t stand profanity
Being a writer (at least in my heart), words are precious to me. Words that have to be replaced with special characters annoy me. I can understand when someone is very agitated, but making them a part of your everyday language, using them like an adjective (or adverb) in every other sentence just shows that you lack in vocabulary. Sorry. It isn’t cool. Not to me.

5. Movie themes
I don’t watch Rom-Coms. I can watch an out and out comedy, but love stories or chick-flicks, I can’t. I prefer movies that are intense, with a dark twist to it. Martin Scorsese was and remains my favourite director, followed by Tarantino and Chris Nolan. In Hindi (my mother tongue) I prefer Gulzar as his movies are based on basic human psyche.

6. Favourite Superhero
I am in love with Batman! I can actually write a full length post on it. A man who is a superhero without any superpowers. He fought his biggest fear and made it the icon of his own strength. He has genius level intelligence and a ruthless nature to go with it. I especially like Batman because he is not perfect. He has his weaknesses; he has his own dark side to fight. He does not mind being worse with bad people. Basically, I love Batman, and I know I am repeating myself :D

7. Fascinated with firearms
I don’t know how I got this fascination with firearms. I am not a violent person. Perhaps it’s from being almost an army brat. I have got too many combat soldiers in my family and then a few friends. I love the way a gun smells.


8. Rather tough
I am the elder child with no brother. I guess this is the reason that I have always been rather tough. I was never a tomboy. I never dressed like guys, climbed trees or beat other kids etc but I have no problem with blood or injuries and I can take care of the chores generally assigned to the male members of a family.
I almost never cry. (I can sense Pete coming up with his line :D ) and its not a false bravado. Its just rather difficult to drive me to tears. I can handle a lot.

I am a happy person. Really happy in my skin :)

9. Hate those who snoop
I always respect the personal space of others and expect the same in return. I can never go through someone’s cell phone etc or ask Qs I have no business asking. I firmly believe that every person has a right to his/her privacy and if someone is a rather private person, it does not mean s/he has a giant skeleton to hide. Some people just prefer to be rather aloof and their choice should be respected.

10. Can never say no to any insanely tough riddle
You might have read my post – Ecstasy. If you did then you know what I mean by this. I can spend hours solving these riddles. Logical puzzles give me almost as much pleasure as an awesome book!


I thought about touching up on me being a loner who is never lonely.. but that would mean writing a lot (yeah, even more than i have, in this post :P ).. so some other time!


I guess this is the longest I have written about myself. Still feels weird!

I am tagging – (u may skip, if u have already been tagged by someone else)
Vittal , Vidya , Sorcerer , Karthik , Underdog , Oxymoron , Yvonne , Swapnanjali

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The Last Bus

Standing barefoot.
Barren, huge crossroad.
They say it stops here,
the bus you are on.

Clutching, the doll you gave me
on my birthday the year before.
I try not to stain it –
for my hands are
bleeding from the sores.
knees skinned to the bones shake a little
cruel, lonely it was –
the road from home.

Biting my lips, to stall the pain
burying my face in the doll –
there is still that smell of you
the fragrance of safety,
the mirage of childhood.
Inhaling,
just a bit.
Too greedy to save it all.

It starts to rain
and I feel so cold.
Proud, defying – waiting.
I stand my ground
not for victory but to
hide my shame.
The tears
drown me a bit more.
There is nothing left,
even my shadow is impure.

Its getting darker
the birds are all gone.
I watch other kids, just like me but –
jumping all the way to their homes.
Some stand and stare at my rags
laughing at my doll.
Mock my dirty feet -
but my eyes, they all ignore

And then I am left alone,
at the crossroads
just like the evening before.
I am scared now–
wont you come back for me?
the last bus from heaven,
doesn’t stop here anymore?

© 2008 by Chhaya. All rights reserved
PS: the image is googled

I wrote this poem more than a year back. I didn’t have enough readers back then so I am re-posting it.

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I

It flows in the blood
the soul, within
Restlessness.
A thirst.
The need to move on
wherever, life may lead.

The moments of love
and the things unsaid.
Whispers under the
starlit sky,
lazy mornings, tender
still, I can’t stay

Wandering into the
desert, endless.
Swimming to the deeper sea.
Away from the faces,
voices and
the sepia memories

Keeping the vows,
the promises,
I cherish.
Yet move on, I must
breaking the strings

Living life
to the fullest,
happy, in my skin.
Starting something new, everyday
and sometimes, finish.

© 2010 by Chhaya. All rights reserved
PS: the image is my own.

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Vengeance: Under 100 words

Have you ever watched helplessly as your family and friends get massacred?
Right in front of your eyes?

I did.

I was just a baby... I couldn’t do anything..

He killed them all.

Gassed them.
Beat them to pulp.

I don’t know how I survived. Perhaps you are stronger when you are young.

I wasn’t going to forgive him.
I had to keep the honour of my tribe...

There was a tiny column in the local newspaper after a few days.

“Man dies of Malaria in the suburbs of Mumbai”

Remember, you don’t mess with the Anopheles.

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© 2010 by Chhaya. All rights reserved

PS: the image is obviously googled :)

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Romance : under 100 words

“Grandpa! Grandpa! ”

“Yes Kiddo! ”

“Are you going to work? ”

“No Kiddo! I am retired now! ”

“Then why are you shaving? ”

He laughs.

“Dad only shaves when he is going to office. ”

Grandpa finishes shaving and picks me up. I touch his face. He has a few nicks. Must be his shaking hands.

“You don’t have to shave now Grandpa! You don’t go to work so no one will mind! ”

“Your Grandma will, little one. ”

He smiles.

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© 2010 by Chhaya. All rights reserved

PS: this is the first instalment of a series covering various genres. I got the inspiration from Karthik’s blog! I will keep these writings less than 100 word long.

Image by Domenico Ghirlandaio (1490)

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