The Eyes


The Eyes

They had been in love for years. But in the middle, their flame had burned down. They didn’t love each other like they used to. Their talks became bland and boring. They didn’t enjoy going out anymore. Little shows of care, of love were magic; but they too had ceased to have any impact. They were caught in a rut, and they knew it. They were nostalgic, longing for a time gone by, but they were caught in a rut and didn’t know what to do.
Except one day, they started talking, and it was just like before. The magic, the love came back, and the nostalgia cracked off their lives. It was just what they had been searching for. She knew how it came back, but he was happing knowing that it was back; not caring how.
In the middle of their rut, their nostalgic frenzy for how things were, she met someone. She would talk to him, and feel all the things she did before. The excitement, the care, the spontaneity; all the things which disappeared for her and her great love. But with him, they were all there.
He helped her. She tried bringing back what she was with him, but by the time she got back to where she needed, it would all fall off her, as though washed away by the rain of life without him. Slowly, she fell in love with him. Or maybe how she felt with him. But, she felt love in some capacity.
Their time however was, brief. Before long, he died. Hit by an out of control vehicle. She met him one final time when his eyes were about to close. She saw him, looked into his eyes, let out a silent wail and let him go.
After that, she went to the rut with her great love. But somehow, she found how she was with him. The rut started going away, what they needed to find had been successfully, found.
Her great love was happy that incessant repetition of the mundane had got the, back where they were never considering the mechanics of its working. But she knew. She knew their rut always loomed when she didn’t look him straight in the eyes when talking; which he took as a sign of love.
It was those eyes which reminded her, of him. Her great love and him, both had the same eyes. When she looked into those eyes, she was transported into a private dimension where she was with him, not her great love. It was the eyes, she knew, why they were able to find what was needed to be found.


Chats-The One with myself


She was cosily asleep in her bed, wrapped in her blanket. She had a peaceful look on her face, a sleep uninterrupted by frequent alarm sneezes or the need for water or the washroom.
It was eight forty five, fifteen minutes till her alarm went off and she woke up. Her room was silent, no sound to disturb her. All the lights were switched off, only the ambient light illuminated her room. The room had a picturesque and quaint feel to itself, like out of a movie.
Another ten minute passed before a voice rose in her room. “She should wake up any second now”. There was no reaction or movement by the girl. The voice didn’t even faze her. The next five minutes till nine went the same as all the other minutes. The odd voice either had its watch set to the wrong time, or was in the wrong room.
It turned nine in her phone and it started ringing and woke the girl up. She woke up with a sudden jolt. She picked up her phone and turned it off. Her face betrayed her long, deep sleep. She looked shocked and lost; obviously troubled by the loud screeching noise. She shook her head and then readied herself to let go of the momentary shock and start the day.
“You’re getting sloppy”, the odd voice rose again. “You used to beat your alarm and turn it off before it even had a chance.”
“I know. I’m getting tired,” the girl replied nonchalantly, stretching her legs. A second passed, and all of a sudden she became shocked. “Whose voice is that?” She had gotten to the side of the bed, eyeing her room cautiously.
“Mine,” the voice responded without any sarcasm or comedy. It was straightforward.
“Oh ha ha,” the girl said. Her voice was sarcastic but worried underneath. “How funny. That’s a convenient answer, isn’t it? Isn’t our voice always our own.”
“Yes, yes it is,” the voice responded like before. “Aren’t all our voices our own?”
“Great. Now if you could tell me who you are, in proper terms.” She was eyeing her room for any weapon she could find.
“I am you,” the voice rose again.
“Oh hi me,” the girl answered sweetly. “Could you tell me just one thing,” her voice rose till she thundered. “Why are you troubling me?”
“Because you need to get out of the rut you continuously put yourself into. Where you lose all energy and excitement to beat your alarm clock. Where you wake up happily, not shocked out of your wits,” the voice thundered.
The girl was caught off guard. The outburst was the last thing she expected from the voice. She looked blankly ahead and stopped her search for a weapon.
“I’ve already answered that. “There was silence between the two. The voice was waiting for the girl to speak. The girl searching for the answer.
“Where are you?” The girl eventually broke the silence. She got up.
“Follow my voice. I’ll let out a little hum. Reach there,” the voice responded and then started emitting a light hum. The girl followed the hum to its source and reached it; her standing mirror. “Take a seat,” the voice said.”
“My mirror?” She put her hands on the mirror and moved it along.
“No, you,” the voice spoke again. “Have a seat.”
She turned around and pulled a chair. “Me, as in, my reflection?”
“No, you as in your mirror. What, do you think your reflection is you in a different world?” The mirror chuckled.
She let out a little chuckle. “So, you can also be funny. That’s good to know.” She made herself comfortable in her chair. “But what’s this whole thing, you know. You my mirror being me and all that.”
“I’ve never questioned it. It’s become a long standing tradition of ours; and I’ve become too comfortable to actually put an effort and know about it. I’ve always been looking over you; trying to help you through everything I can. I look at you going to bed and waking up every day five minutes before the alarm. And sometimes going back to sleep after shutting it off in the sanctuary of your bed; away from the world. I’ve seen you excited at wearing new clothes. And all the times when you’ve stood lost, with that look of sadness and despair, staring into the mirror while grooming yourself, before you’re suddenly jolted back into reality by some unseen stimuli. All those hours fretting, not feeling good enough, all the phone calls which make you feel happy, feel good, as well as those which steal away your peace of mind. I’ve been through all of this with you. It’s been my sole love to do, from your birth to your inevitable death. I’m always looking over you.”
“What about after when I die?”
“Like I said, I’m you. When you die, I go along with you.”
There was another long silence between the two. The girl hunched over her chairs, fists forming by her sides. She was breathing hard, straining her mind to move towards something.
“Why are you here all of a sudden? Talking to me like this, when you’ve never done it before. What changed all of a sudden?”
“I think I reached my limit. Looking at you go through all this; again and again, with no end to this loop till you are pulled out of it.”
She closed her eyes and thought. She took in a few deep breaths and sighed. Realising all that the mirror was talking about. Day after day of constant poison, the people whom she was with every day. Who put her down, didn’t appreciate her, made jokes about her, shouted at her; drained her energy.
“Why do you let them do that to you? Why do you let them bring you down, tell you you are a mess-up for the littlest of things? They laugh at you when you tell them about your dreams and aims. They poke fun at you, make jokes about you. Try to pull you down to where they crawl and leech. Them and all their incessant alcohol and smoke vapours, their mind numbing and boring conversation which couldn’t even stimulate a rock. Their pathetic waste of time. All you do is go along with it, hiding behind a fake smile, trying to be fine with all this. Why do you let them do that?” The voice thundered its words, except the last sentence it was about to say, which it said gently. “Most importantly, why do you stay?”
She stayed motionless throughout. She heard every word with her eyes closed, and the words played themselves out in front of her. A few seconds later, she spoke. “Maybe it’s because I feel there is good in them. That this is just a phase and they will snap out of it someday.”
“And for that you let yourself get thrown around like a ragdoll?” The mirror thundered again.
“You could be nicer you know,” the girl thundered back. “Screaming at me isn’t going to help.”
“I know. I’m sorry. I thought maybe the screening would get some sense into you,” the mirror apologized.
“I feel bad too. But it’s the hope that they will see the light. That’s why at times I feel it’s okay to be with them.”
“How’s that worked out for you?”
The girl chuckled. “Not too well.” There was more silence between the two, then the girl spoke again. “But it could have been worse.”
“Yes, surely could have been,” the mirror joked.
The girl laughed. “Imagine me, walking around like a zombie, navigating through bars with more zombies like me.”
“That would surely be horrible,” the mirror said unenthusiastically.
“Yeah. But I won’t let that happen. I won’t become a zombie, or what you fear I’m becoming.”
“I know. But it still worries me.”
“Would the worrying help?”
“In ways. It catalyses me into action for you. But not too much worrying. That leads me to anger and losing control.”
“Everyone keeps on telling me what you’re telling me. It’s not easy.”
“Doing what you believe in and standing against the ridicule of others. It’s not easy. It gets too strenuous most of the time if you go at it alone. Talking, like now, helps. Even if it is against what I feel. I let out some things and learn something as well. How to go about it better, or how to improve. And not just here, with my friends, but life as well.”
“Is all this worth it? All the feeling bad, getting up late, being drained of energy?”
“I honestly don’t know. I mean, it’s weird. Do you stay with the friends whom you’ve always been with? Or do you let it all go away? What does one do here?”
“Whatever one’s life has been up to that point.”
“I guess so. Your past dictates a good part of your future.”
“Yes, but there are exceptions. Sometimes you can do things which nobody expects you to do. We all have that in us. That’s why we have reached form sticks and stones to steel and now the internet. Who knows where we’ll go from here? Cosmic beings of pure intelligence? Or maybe beings who only communicate telepathically, or our eyes? Or maybe creatures with no bones, so we won’t have any fractures. And where will we go from there? It’s all endless. And entropic. But fascinating.”
“You watch way too much sci-fi mirror.”
“You’re bad at holding these conversations, especially given how much you loved wondering about all this in your thoughts.”
“I can’t stay the same.”
“But you shouldn’t change to the extent where you start losing all that which made you happy. Are you happy?”
“I don’t know. It’s tough to say. I smile, I laugh here and there. So I know I’m not sad. But happy. Explain happy.”
“Not being sad I guess. We haven’t put much thought into it.”
“Wow. Before you, I never knew I was so smart,” she mocked the mirror.
“Ignorance is a gift cherished only by the complacent.”
“In this case, this line fits. You are what you say,” the girl smirked.
“And I am, in all aspects, you. With my quip, we shall get back to what we were talking about: happiness.”
“You can’t digress, can you?”
“Not by complacent people.”
“I guess I’ll have to get moving then. What do you think happiness is?”
“It’s a state of satisfaction maybe. Not having thoughts plague your mind. Your eyes have a specific shine, glint in them. They aren’t searching constantly for something, or lost deep in thought. It just, feels great.”
“But you can’t be like that all the time. What if you’re deep in thought? Or there is something stressful going on in your life? Or you’re having a particularly deep conversation which doesn’t involve a lot of smiling.”
“Happiness isn’t discrete. It doesn’t come and go from one situation to the other. It’s always there.”
“How certain are you while stating such a thing?”
“I don’t know. Maybe very, maybe not very. All I know is, we used to be happy in the past. We were better than this. Even when we had a bad day, we knew life was still happy. Somehow, I guess that hasn’t stayed.”
“Or maybe we just remember the happy parts of our past and cling onto them? Or we associate happiness with particular qualities. Which, if we stop having, we believe will also take away our happiness. Maybe we’re unhappy because of ourselves. Because we keep on searching and searching for something to make us happy rather than actually setting out sights on what’s there in front of us which we should appreciate.”
“Rightly so.”
“We constantly put so much pressure on ourselves. To be happy, to be who we were. To reach back to where we were, which in actuality moves us further away from it. Happiness is the ease with which life moves. That ease cannot be brought about by pressure. We must struggle in life, but not for happiness. Never for happiness. Happiness brought about by pressure isn’t happiness. It’s something else.”
“What what?” the girl chuckled. “I can’t know the answer to everything. Think for yourself.”
The mirror laughed.
“Given your mind, you deserve so much more than you are getting. You need to go out and get it.”
“But what if I fail? And lose what I am even above?”
“We can never let fear guide us. It takes from dimly lit to dimly lit; always in the safe comfort zone between the pitch black and the radiance. It’s a terrible waste to only look at things from one level of brightness. “
“It is. Life needs colour, lots of it. And perspective. It needs to be big, not long.”
“So, what do you make of it?”
The girl did not respond. She sat in silence, thinking about her answer. She had brought her left knee up and put her chin on it, her arms wrapped around her knee.
The air around them started to become wavy, as though fading out.
“I don’t know. I guess I’ll have to make a plan. See how much more I should stay, and where I am headed to. I think I’ll decide the path only before I set on it, not now.”
The waves became fierce, darkness started to seep into the waves, little images of a room, with light like hers an hour ago moving into the present. A noise started beeping, a high screech.
“Wait, what’s that?” The girl’s focus shifted to the beeping noise. “That’s my alarm clock,” she exclaimed.
“Why, yes it is,” the mirror smiled. “Time to wake up and put your thoughts into motion.”
“What?” She was incredulous. “I’m asleep? Is this a dream? Meaning none of this happened?”
The waves became more intense, and the room from the past mixed in with the present and became more prominent.
“Its status of having happened depends on how you felt it. If it felt real, could it not have happened just because it is not how things are not supposed to happen?”
The waves reached their maximum, and the present had all but lost itself in the past. Frantic, the girl said what she knew would likely be her last words. “Who, are you, then?”
“You,” the mirror smiled.
The waves broke upon reaching their maximum. The waves broke into a quaint, picturesque room, like out of a film, the girl wrapped in her sheet, the alarm ringing incessantly.
The girl, in one swift motion, shut off the alarm and got to her feet.
“Five minutes late,” she said, looking at the phone, which said 9:00 AM.


The Changing Man-2


I walked into Clancy’s Bar, like I have every day for god, even though I don’t technically believe in him, knows how long. It seemed more a habit than a tradition or happenstance to walk in this hole of the world and waste away.

I was simply another variable in this cog equation which refused to change, hence I was a constant, and however, I could change at any time, which meant I wasn’t. I could be differentiated, we all could be from each other. We all exist, differently. We were pseudo-constants.

We’re all pseudo-constants by virtue of habits, slowly, parasitically latching onto our existence. And that is the most fascinating thing about habits. They come too easy, but they don’t change as easily and don’t let us change. For example, coming to Clancy’s after a long day at the lab is a habit I maybe exercise too regularly. And another example, the good man I chit chat with always stays sober and available for various pseudo-intellectual musings. He never drinks. Not even under pressure or duress. He cannot be flapped.

Like I said, I walked into this hole again and to say the least, I was unfazed. Cheap country music, lethal tobacco and alcohol in the air, mindless drones dancing and drinking, lobotomised. The owner could have remodelled the walls, but even his businessman mind knows all of us will walk in here and not look the cheap wallpapered walls.

One question that I ponder over, while I search for my good man with whom I could continue my chat with how to be not so asocial. Is living by habit truly living? They say seize the moment, but working in a lab for seventeen years, you learn to plan ahead and not be caught off guard. It slowly becomes a part of you to make it a habit to be aware, no matter how monotonous it feels. If I stop living by this habit, I could maybe start enjoying more but could also kill a few people. And this habit makes my brain analysing what could go wrong rather than the person I’m talking currently.

The good man seems like he knows just what to say. His sobriety is his strongest gift.

I reach beside him, and in a rare moment, I’m caught off guard. My good man has broken all boundaries and turned into a full-fledged variable, though I don’t approve of it. It’s taken away his strongest gift.

“My good man, I though you didn’t drink”, I spoke.
“I don’t”, he responded, he looked shabby. Uncouth hair, a cheap whiskey in his hand and an equally unpleasant smell from his mouth. “But he does”, he said, pointing to the man he was turning into.

He turned back to his drink. And I couldn’t believe it. Of all the variables to change the equation, my good man chose to be it. Whether by his internal mechanisms or by some external stimuli, he believed change was a bit due. And this change in the equation, will lead to some more change in the variables. Which means I might have to change to make it right once again. I find this, well I don’t really know. To be honest, I’ve been caught off guard.

“The usual, professor?” the bartender asked me.

“It’s scientist, hell with it. I don’t know.” I really hadn’t thought of what I would do next. Correcting that I’m a scientist seems much too mundane right now.


Just a bad day


It was a long day for him. All he wanted to do was sit on his bed, throw himself back first on his bed, after having removed his sweaty clothes. But he couldn’t, not just yet. He was still metaphorically far away from his house. Even though he was right outside his house, he couldn’t seem to get in. He tried his keys again and again, but the lock wouldn’t click and open. He took it out, then put it back again, each time with increasing desolation, the one a traveller feels trying to find his way out of a desert.
He tried it a couple times more, and then sat down, next to the door, against the wall. He put his knees up to his chest and put his palms on his face. His key was still in the lock, slightly bent.
He mumbled a few words, cursing his situation. All he wanted to do was to get back home and lay down, and he can’t even do that. His face turned a mix of helpless and indifferent, not knowing what to do, and being too tired to care about it.
He couldn’t get a locksmith to repair the locks at this hour. And he couldn’t break his own lock. How would he be safe at night and how would he leave it when he had gone off to work? Nor could he go to his parent’s house this late. As it is, the house is too far. This is the perfect culmination of all the things which took place today. Everything going wrong with no ray of light at the end of the tunnel.
He had put his face back into his hands and nodded. It all started the previous night, when he got caught up reading an interesting book. He went way past his routine bedtime. He was acutely aware of what was going to happen he next morning, but he still couldn’t keep the book down. He eventually did, two hours later, after having read hundred extra pages and leaving the remaining eighty for the next metro next morning.
Consequentially, he woke up at the right time feeling tired. His eyes were paining, his head ached a bit and a sort of warmness, irritation spread through his body. He thought of calling an off, but he wanted to save his holidays. He got up, heavy with sleep, nowhere a man refreshed after sleep (like so many of us) and went through with his routine. He yawned and walked tiredly to the metro station, his thought of completing the book far beneath his brain’s constant buzz of tiredness. The metro, was uncharacteristically full. The crowd in the metro irritated him even further. Usually, he could take out his book to pass the time, but he couldn’t today. He was extra-ordinarily clumsy and uncoordinated as well, ever since his irritation spiked in the metro. He bumped into two people while getting off, tipped on the stairs out the metro station, bumped into his office’s glass door and put his bag down at his table so forcefully, it made a loud noise throughout the office, startling all those who were there.
Next thing he knew, the entire day had started to fly by because of the monotony and mundanity of office. He had to trudge through it all, bumping into people by accident, one of whom was his senior who gave him an earful, all the while trying to keep awake. Come lunch, he realised he had not brought his own. The next flashing thought was his table, where he left it packed as he walked out his house in a sleepy and tied haze. He went out for lunch at a nearby restaurant. It was a self-service restaurant. He ordered the food and eventually forgot to collect it, sitting at his table with his head in his right fist on his cheek. He had a miniscule falling sensation and fell awake. He realised he had to collect his food. For a fleeting moment, his fear of getting to office late galvanised his brain into action as he brought back his food to the table.
In the time he walked back, his brain again fell into sleep. He ate slowly, dropping some food on his shirt unknowingly. He completed lunch but left some of the food. In a feat of special extra-ordinary clumsiness and incoordination, he put his hand down on the tray rather than the table. All the remaining food splashed onto his shirt. He took a moment for it to register, then ran to the washroom, wetting the stain trying to clean it. At the end, the shirt was a multi coloured mess. He looked at his tie, still somehow left spotless. He came back out of the washroom and looked at his table. It was empty and clean. The tray of food had been taken away and the dropped food had been cleared. Startled, he ran towards the table. He checked the floor around the table but couldn’t see it. His company ID card had been taken away to.
He ran to the management for information, but they knew nothing about it. Tired and baffled by himself now he walked back to the office, well after lunch time. The guard made no fuss about his entry. Perks of working at the office for years, he thought. He sat back in his disk and tried to minimize his movements as much as he could. Everyone commented or quipped about his shirt. Usually, he would go along, but today it tired him further. He made it through the remaining day rather uneventfully, which he felt relived about.
Just when he was about to leave office, his senior told him to stay back for a discussion. He wanted to say no, but the discussion was important. So he thought better of it. The discussion went on for about an hour and fifteen minutes past his routine leaving time. He was uncharacteristically quiet the entire discussion, rather than giving his opinions like every other discussion. He couldn’t register a single point the entire discussion. His head was low, and he kept falling asleep, woken up only by the falling sensation.
The discussion too ended without much event. Luckily, since he didn’t talk much, not a lot of attention was paid to him. He packed his things and decided he would call a cab instead of the metro. He sat in it and set home. He wanted to just reach home and put his tired self on his bed. But not even half way through, the cab got stuck in traffic due to the construction of a bridge and a religious festival parade taking up a lot of the road and moving slowly. He was exasperated by all the things which happened and asked the cab driver of there was a better way. The cab driver said no.
His eyes were closing and he could only just keep himself awake all throughout the arduous journey. He eventually reached a very exasperated himself home, eager to get into bed. He tried his key and the lock wouldn’t click. He tried his key again and again, but the lock wouldn’t click and open. All his exasperation turned into desolation as he continued with the lock and nothing happened. He eventually sat down on the wall next to the door, his head on his hands.
He had started sweating now, helpless and tired at his door not opening, this late in the night. He tried to relax himself, but the hall had no fan and his sweat troubled him. Every time he tried to relax, a bead of sweat went over his eyes or nose and disturbed him. He looked at his palms, which were full of sweat. His legs felt uncomfortable in his wet pants now. Had it not been so hot, he wouldn’t have minded sleeping out here. His shirt had become even more of a mess, the shirt started sticking to his chest, adding to his discomfort. He put his head on the wall behind. He couldn’t think of what to do, and sat uncomfortably in his own sweat.
Some more time passed as he simply stared at the ceiling, acutely aware the tragedy the day had been and how much he would want to be comfortable. The salty sweat to stop, the shirt to stop sticking, and legs to not feel so wet. In the course of this, he beam ever thirsty. He opened his bad and saw his bottle completely empty. He had forgotten to refill it before leaving office. At rock bottom, he decided to get up and at least get some water.
He raised his hand and pulled the door handle for support to get himself up. His sweaty palm slipped from the door handle and hit the key. The key turned in the lock and the lock clicked open. His door nudged in a bit, opening. He stood up all of a sudden, marvelling at what just happened. All his thoughts of feeling helpless dispersed in a moment. He picked up his bag and ran inside the house, closing the door behind him.
He was ecstatic. Finally, something had gone right in the terrible day. He switched on the lights and kept his bag beside the door, which he proceeded to lock. He saw his tiffin box kept on a corner of the dining table. Encircling it, his company ID card. Looking at it, he felt foolish. But it didn’t matter to him. He went to the kitchen to get a drink of water and then he sprinted to his bed. He took off his tie, shirt, vest and pants and threw himself on the bed. Feeling the fluff of his mattress and the bedsheet on his skin, he felt happy. This is perfect, he thought as he made himself comfortable. This is all I wanted today. Without another care in the world, he drifted off to sleep happily.
All was perfect for him. After a terrible day, this was all he had wanted. Wanted so badly, that he jumped at it so eagerly, he forgot to pull his key out of the front door lock and it never ever once crossed his mind as he went to sleep.

I envisioned this as a short post, and it turned out to be 1700+ words! I guess you know something has changed in you when your short stories are this big, given they used to be 300 back in 2013! A lot has changed, and I guess it has been for the best.

Happy Reading!

Land lost somewhere in time


It was a land lost somewhere in time in the far reaches of our mind; the land we only visit in our terrible dreams. It is the land where fear and hatred twist our perception of time and place.
Time stops flowing like a river. Instead, it is discrete puddles. Specks of water here and there we experience one after the other. No starting or ending anywhere. Just experiences connected to each other by virtue of being on our path.




“The last time I saw you was a year ago, when I left. And now I’m looking at, and you’re as beautiful as ever. Nothing could ever dull it. Even though I’m only looking at your back in this hotel bar, I can’t stop thinking about you and me, as we were a year ago. Always in love. Always with each other in the backseat of your car. Pulling each other closer, never letting go. And I’m here thinking, if we could do it once more. To pull each other closer in the backseat of your car. To re-live our moments together, fall in love again. I’m here thinking whether it would be the right thing to do. How can I know? I never once checked up on you or how you were holding up, or how my going away impacted you, or anyone else for that matter. I’m here waiting for you to maybe turn around and see me once. If in your eyes I see what I’ve been looking for, I’ll stand here like a rock. But if not I’ll leave the very next second. You’ll think you saw me, and then smile and realise your mind was playing tricks on you and I’ll leave you forever. But I can’t think whether this is right or wrong, and then, all of a sudden, you turn around.”
“I saw you, standing there frozen; like the ghosts of you I’ve always imagined. I didn’t blink all of a sudden, because I knew if I blinked, you would vanish. There was so much distance between us; which I think was the metaphor for the distance between us now. I thought if walking to you and holding you the way I always held you, and pull both of us closer. It’s a hotel bar, so nobody would mind or even notice. But I know you’re waiting for something. You’re looking for something, which you don’t know if you’ve found. Just like when you went away a year ago. You wanted to find something which you felt you had to find. Looking into your unblinking eyes with mine, I don’t know how successful you were.”
They looked into each other’s eyes. It was only for a few second to the world before he moved. But to them, it was a year full of things they didn’t get to tell each other, and questions about so many things in that year.
“I don’t know why, but this feels only a bit right. Not fully. In the moment, I want to approach you. But the points after the moment scare me. What I set out to do one year ago, did I achieve it? Even if I did, would we end up like old times, or maybe worse? Or maybe even better. It feels as though the entire world is revolving at highs speeds and the path to you is the only one stationary. As though only I, me walking to you and you are the only things which make sense.”
“You’re halfway there and my heartbeat has gone haywire. Your eyes are full of doubts, I know that, but there is newfound grace and confidence with it. I guess you were successful. And as you come closer, I can feel the change in you. Have I changed in the previous year in a way which can be felt by you? But before I can see you feeling it, you put your arm around my waist and pull me closer, look into my eyes, and then we kiss.”
They kissed in the hotel bar. Since it was a hotel bar, nobody noticed. It had been less than a minute since they saw each other again, but the way they looked at each other and kissed, you couldn’t have known. They stopped for a moment and looked into each other’s eyes. There was a smile on both their faces. For a moment there, it felt serene to view them as the only people in the universe who mattered. He was an inch taller than her. He had both his arms around her waist, her waist close to his. She bent her back a bit, falling in his arms, her arms around his shoulders, both of them looking into each other’s eyes.
She brought her face to his and kissed him again for a second before she broke her hand off his shoulder and clutched his right palm with her left and led the way, grabbing her purse on the way with her left.
“I wish the Earth turned slowly when I’m with you. That way I can be with you longer, and make up for all the moments I wasn’t with you.”
“I can’t tell you how much I’ve thought of this moment in my head. All the words I want to tell you, while pulling you closer in the backseat of my car. Just like always.”
It was almost a year to this day when he left. When he woke up in his house in the morning; his head hurting from thinking too much in his sleep. He felt something amiss. Something he couldn’t quite put a finger on. As though a bad thing which happened but couldn’t remember. He pressed hard, but couldn’t come up with anything.
He threw himself back on his bed and searched his contact list to call up a friend. Then it dawned on him: All his friends, including his girlfriend had changed so much. There were all doing something they loved. A passion which engulfed them entirely. They seemed so complete. Happy in a way which he didn’t know, but wanted to.
In front of that, he felt hollow. As though he didn’t do anything in life worth doing wasting it all away in moments he could barely remember.
He got up, walked around his room and decided he had to do something. Prove to himself, something he had to find, which the universe hid conveniently from him and he never bothered seeking either.
He left a note at her door and went away, to somewhere. That was the last he was seen by anybody who knew him; till an accidental meeting in a hotel bar.
“I still remember that note of yours. Now when I look back at it, I usually laugh. You quoted Linkin Park lyrics. You wrote such an important piece of English and you quoted Linkin Park.”
“Hahahahahaha. It wasn’t funny. It was meant to be poignant. I told you to forget the wrong that I’d done; and to everyone, to forgive me, hopefully. Because I had to do this.”
“It felt weird even then, but we were too outraged to notice.”
“I’m nodding my head at all of you in disapproval. They were words from my hear which you all deemed stupid.”
“It was funny. It still is. I know that look on your face, you know it’s funny too. Do you want to read it?”
“You still have it?”
“Yup. Right here, under the backseat. I always keep it with me. It feels right.”
There was only their car in the dark parking lot, the backseat lights on; them reading and talking and laughing, hand in hand, pulling each other closer, looking at the car roof as though it didn’t exist ad they were looking at the sky, their fantasies playing out there, knowing it was the right thing which happened.

I wrote this piece after a burst of inspiration by the new Closer/Kabira mash up followed a dose of Leave out all the Rest by LP!

Happy Reading!

Random Piece


It was another hot day in India. The sun was up, so was the temperature. It was the wind that was down. But that never stops the youth from having fun, does it?
In a huge park somewhere in Delhi, there was a group of friends, about 17-18. Huge bottles of coke, snacks and music, the perfect plan, isn’t it? In the loud music, there was a huge boy, dancing with no care in the world. Long hair, a huge beard and extra bulky, wearing a green cargoes and a very baggy white t-shirt. As his friends either danced with him or walked away from his madness, he still didn’t care.
“Wait, guys stop the music,” shouted in his heavy voice.
“What happened?” his friends shouted in unison, surprised at the sudden change in his behavior.
“Quick, keep quiet and turn the music off.”
After a few seconds of the silence, a friend of his, short in height and a bit fat blurted out in equal parts anger and bafflement, “What the hell man?”
“Shhhh…… didn’t you hear that?”He spoke referring to a voice only he could hear.
Suddenly, the stationary hair of all the adolescents started flying in all directions.
“Uh-oh, get back now, everyone,” he shouted, having a serious expression as he performed a back flip. A figure came down at astonishing speed and kicked where the boy was standing, producing a large crack in the park.
“You know, for such a bulky person, you are quite flexible.” The figure exclaimed. He had a rather sly smile, and a not as serious tone. He was tall, but shorter than the boy. He was not nearly as bulky, but boasted a rather moderate build.
The boy only shook his head at his appearance.
“What? Not happy to see me? Last time I checked, you loved a good challenge,” he said.
“I’m out. So you leave.”
As soon as he finished, the man moved towards him with astonishing speed. As he drew his hand out for a clothesline, the boy ducked and rolled behind him. As soon as the man turned, he kicked him in the face.
The man got pushed back a bit. He then recovered and drew his left hand out for a punch, which was blocked by the boy’s right forearm. The man then punched using his right hand, which the boy blocked and then chopped. Seizing the opportunity, the boy struck by hitting his opponent in the face with his elbow.
Soon, the man’s expression started to change to an angrier one. The boy then flipped over the man, grabbing his neck and throwing him on the ground with himself.
As soon as they fell, the man loosened the grip on his neck and quickly jumped to his feet. He then tried to stomp the boy, who successfully dodged it by jumping to his feet. He then delivered a roundhouse kick, causing his opponent to hold his cheek in pain.
“Rather weak, aren’t you?’ The boy said, mocking his opponent’s skills.
The man then rushed towards the boy, his face glowing red with anger. He quickly threw a barrage of powerful punches towards the boy, some he dodged, some he blocked and some hit him hard. Soon the boy started to lose his balance, and fell down when the man pushed him. As he tried to roll away, the man delivered a punt to his head, successfully connecting.
As the boy kept on rolling, he took out a few small pearls from his cargoes and threw them on the ground. As soon as they hit the ground, they produced a lot of smoke.
The man roared, angry at his adversary’s cheap trick
“You see, while you grow tired of theatricality and deception, I am still very fond of it,” the boy smoke in a much more relaxed tone.
As the smoke settled, both of them ran towards each other and exchanged various blows. The boy efficiently released a dagger from his sleeve and proceeded to slash the man a few times.
“No space for wasted moves,” the man said.
The boy took out another dagger and ran towards his opponent. The man threw his heavy right hand at the boy, which he swiftly dodged and then proceeded to stab him with the daggers. One dagger was embedded in his wrist while the other one between his knuckles. Then in a heartbeat, he grabbed hold of the two and kicked the man backwards. The daggers moved through his skin, causing the man to writhe and curse the boy in agony.
The boy then held his daggers in his hands and assumed a battle stance. The man on the other hand, was bleeding profusely.
“I see now, peace didn’t cost you your strength. Neither has victory defeated you. But remember this, you are never out. The Assassins are back, and all the members are back too, even if you left.”
The boy ran towards the man, his daggers ready to slice him open. The man slowly raised his bloodied hand and explosions proceeded to take place. The boy got startled and stopped and a shadowy figure in a fast moving hover board grabbed the man and flew away. The boy simply looked on in bafflement, as did his friends at him and at what just happened.

This is another old piece I wrote waaaayyyy back in 2011, back in school, and it’s 2016, and I’m about to pass college in the next eight months.

This piece feels so happy and innocent to read again. I remember I had started an obsession with action pieces, to write action pieces as fluid and beautiful as the ones in movies and video games and this was an attempt at it!

Happy Reading!