Category: Life and After

Posted in Life and After

The Secret

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

My wife’s voice wafted out from the kitchen window. She sounds pretty pleased at the wonderful smell of fresh ‘parsley’. I smile too, knowing what would come next. Tasting! My wife always tastes her seasonings before putting the dish in the oven.

She is a wonderful cook who has too many secret family recipes and a whole lot of pride. Mother hates her—their quarrels are epic, and I am always stuck in the middle. After six years of being stuck between them, I have had enough. So, a couple of weeks back, when my wife decided to hold the Christmas dinner at our home rather than Mother’s to further infuriate the old woman, I knew there was no better opportunity to end this scene forever. With eleven people coming over for the dinner and serving as witnesses, no one can hold me liable when she drops dead in the kitchen right after tasting her stuffed duck with ‘parsley’ seasoning.

Very few people can recognise the purple-spotted-hemlock that I have smuggled in the kitchen and replaced fresh parsley–it looks exactly like parsley except for the purple spots on its stem, and tastes and smells wonderful too. Also, no one is able to survive after eating it. It hits within seconds of touching the tongue, sending victim’s muscles into hyperactivity until they are twisted in unnatural angels and all their bones break one by one, ending with a twist of neck at a degree that breaks the spinal cord.

This innocent-looking and wonderful-smelling herb has been the cause of many ghost stories in the past. I wore gloves while I collected and placed it in the kitchen. I wasn’t worried about anyone else in the family touching or tasting it. My wife gets angry and mouthy if anyone touches anything in her kitchen. After so many years of dealing with the wretch, no one will be stupid enough to touch anything. And once she dies, I will quietly remove any unattended pieces of hemlock using the plastic wrap in my pocket,

Well, my wife is already done smelling. It is about time to taste the seasoning. So, I wait for the conundrum to begin…

My wife shrieks. With tremendous effort, I hide my smile. There are, of course, other voices shouting as well—Mother never leaves her alone in the kitchen, lest she makes a mess of the dinner in front of the whole family. She can’t touch anything but she sure can point. The shrieks now sound more ghastly and other-worldly. A shiver runs up my spine—I wasn’t counting on being spooked for the rest of my life.

But it was better than being stuck forever with Mrs. I-know-everything-and-you-are-a-fool.

I make a show of getting up hurriedly and falling while trying to reach her. Meanwhile, I can hear pans falling. By the time I get up, quite a few people have reached and surrounded the kitchen. There is a lot of screaming, and someone is calling the ambulance. It is too late—by the time a doctor arrives, it will all be over.

I push people aside to reach the centre of circle hurriedly to avoid suspicion.

My wife is sitting on the side, crying in the earnest, “I told her…I told her I put in dried parsley in the seasoning because the fresh one was hemlock, but the old fool threw a piece in her mouth just to prove me wrong.”

The body on the ground has stopped moving—her neck turned around towards me like a scene from a horror movie and eyes open in a silenced scream that will give me nightmares for the rest of my life.

Author’s note: I wrote this story in a hurry because I wanted to tell you about hemlock. There is no cure for hemlock poisoning and the horrendous death it brings. It looks and smells like parsley. Recognising and never touching it are the only ways to survive.

The purple-spotted stem of hemlock is the only way to recognise it, though sometimes, it is not even spotted—that evil thing!

Posted in Life and After, Love

The Subway

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

I stand at the subway gates. Her train is late. That has me worried. She is a creature of habit, always visiting the subway at the same time every day. What if she decides not to come at all because of the delay? Could I live through the eighty-six thousand seconds that pass between today and tomorrow?

When I first met her, it was in the same spot when I was called to duty by a church minister to get rid of the riffraff that riddled the enclosed space. I was one of the best guardian angels, killing all the specters at the breath of my sword. But, then, she stepped down from the midnight train, her melancholy eyes drawing me in. She walked towards the subway gate…towards me…and the world around me melted into an array of colours and nothingness.

I think the minister shouted to get rid of her but how could I?!

He called her as the most dangerous one but I couldn’t see why.

I think he sighed, “Not this one too,” but couldn’t care less.

Since then, for Almighty-knows-how-many years, I stand rooted in the same spot waiting for her to step down from the midnight train and walk towards the subway gates–towards me–like the hundreds of other specters before and after me.

(Author’s note: I saw this picture on Unsplash by Andrew Ling and it spoke to me. All I wrote is what the picture breathed into my ears.)

Posted in Life and After, Love

Yesterday

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

She stands in middle of the raucous party.

–

Do I dare?

No, I don’t.

Of course, I choose to live in the past.

It is the safest place to be.

There are no risks, no uncertainties–

just plain solid facts.

There are are a few regrets

but I can always shrug them off as past.

–

Do I dare?

No, I can’t.

Future is steeped in risk.

Can’t get there

without weathering some storms

or facing my demons!

Can’t strive, plan, fail…face fresh hurt–

Too full of blows from the past.

At least they didn’t manage to kill me…yet.

Can’t move on.

–

Do I dare?

No, I won’t.

I sneak a peek at her across the hall

while trying to ignore her.

She smiles in my direction.

I frown at the pain in my chest

in the hole filled with resignation.

Ah! I forgot to breath!

–

Do I dare?

Don’t I stand on the mountain of hurt

collected in years past?

Will I be able to get past?

She is looking here expectantly–

a smile playing on her mischievous lips.

–

Do I dare?

May be…

I smile back and step forward…

The past still hurts.

Well, one baby step at a time.

Posted in Life and After, Nature

Roots

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

Once again, it is time to pull our roots and move on. A sense of déjà vu grips me as I plan where to go and how to go unnoticed. It is even more difficult now than the last time. As per the Vampires, we will need to take the back roads to avoid being seen or captured on the numerous cameras that dot the main roads. If it was just me, I wouldn’t have bothered. Once you have lived for a thousand years, you lose the wish to struggle for life. But there are young ones to consider. They were not around the last time, and I wouldn’t wish them to have the same memories we elders do—nightmares, I would call them.

It is difficult to believe that it has been four hundred years already. We were living in that quiet forest for thousands of years. The peace had made us complacent, and we hadn’t bothered to keep up with the world. Otherwise, we would have noticed when the river nymphs shunned the dirty waters and when the dead fishes started washing ashore. We were lulled into a false sense of safety, only to be rudely awakened by the sounds of horse carts.

There had been no warning, nor a declaration of war—they just fell on us with saws and axes. It was a massacre. They had picked the strongest and tallest of us first as we stayed limp in our places, still waking from our deep slumber. We were all stuck–our root had grown too deep, and our stems and branches were unmoving by the long disuse. It took us hours to get feeling in our roots, shake the soil around our feet and get away in the dead of night. We neither had the numbers nor the strength to retaliate.

The humans must have wondered where all the trees had all gone while they slept.   

So many of us had died that night. Many others were gravely injured not capable of moving. We had to leave them behind to be chopped to pieces the next day. That day is still branded on our hearts for eternity. It took us decades to settle down in this new place; to start a life without fear; to stop waking up waving our branches like lunatics, fighting unseen enemies.

No, I wouldn’t impose those memories on our saplings. I wouldn’t be caught napping again.

As per what the birds have told, the humans plan to cut down and flatten this space where we live–they plan to build living spaces for their never-ending progeny. Well, they can take the land, but they wouldn’t touch us again. We can fight back—we have been practicing on windy days, moving our branches around and pulling out our roots to kick. But it is pointless. Humans will keep coming back with reinforcements. It makes more sense to move away. We will leave tonight.

Yes, we will need to push the young saplings to move—they are too intelligent for their own good and too sassy to deal with. They are moaning about the new place and adjustments, quoting a thousand reasons for why they shouldn’t leave, threatening us with tears. Well, they can cry and complain all they want once they are safe and alive.

The Vampires have offered to show us the way. These good people have always been our allies. They have been quiet neighbours who have slept hanging from our branches peacefully every day, leaving at night to eat and returning at dawn. Since they know their way around the city from their nightly hunts, it is easier for them to guide us than birds. The birds and squirrels will come with us, of course. They cannot let us leave with their nests and eggs and they cannot carry them elsewhere.

As the Vampires described them, the thought of the dark, smelly alleys infested by ghouls left me shivering. The narrow spaces with tall buildings on both sides will be a tight fit for most of us. Some of us may have scratches all over, others will have to leave branches behind. At least, we will live—if we make it to the end undetected, of course.

Because ghouls wouldn’t let us pass easily. We have denied them living space for far too long. But we could not associate with someone who moans all night, throwing things around and being a pest—there wouldn’t have been any sleep at all. So, of course, they will see this moment as a chance to vindicate themselves. They would probably fill our way and throw things around to create noise. Thankfully, the Vampires have promised to stand on our side adding to our numbers if the ghouls pose a problem. Together, we might win without fighting, which is imperative to our survival.

Because fighting will ensue noise and if the humans wake up and look out of the window, they will find an entire redwood forest standing on their backroad. There will be hell to pay! 

So, we must go quietly. There is a “nature reserve” that the Vampires have told us about. They say that humans do not touch the trees over there—something about the law protecting the “nature”. It will be sad to lose the company of the Vampires eventually, though. They will have to return to the city and find new accommodations. The poor beings cannot survive too far from their habitat—as their sole source of food, an abundance of human populace is a must for their survival.

Also, they don’t fare too well around Fairies that apparently infest this nature reserve. I can already feel the little pests crawling up on my body, making home on my toadstools and throwing raucous parties all night. There will be no sleep.

Sigh! It will be a new territory and we will have to forge new alliances. Well, we will cross that bridge once we’re there. For now, we can just hope to survive.

Posted in Life and After

Safe

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

Author’s note: Based on my real-life incident. Life has a way of showing us, doesn’t it?

My father had warned me that if I didn’t crack the exam for the University-affiliated girls school, he will have no choice but to send me here. I could now see why he had warned me. I was horrified when I had to don a salwar-kurta uniform complete with white, starched dupatta rather than the smart pleated-skirt uniform I was so habitual of. But as I stepped inside the high walls of my new Inter college, my mortification was complete.

I had been blessed to be born in an upper-middle class family. My father was a Class 1 State employee who was frequently transferred to different cities. He always ensured we received the best possible education. As a result, I had studied in some of the priciest private schools around western Uttar Pradesh state of India.

But as he said, I had left him no choice this time–the private school that I had joined in the second year of high school had a very bad reputation with too many stories about drug abuse and boyfriends. (In India, boyfriends and drugs come in the same category of nasty.) With my brother out of the city, my father couldn’t have someone to ‘take care’ of me at school, so he decided to move me to a ‘safer’ school (a girls-only school, to be precise). Not many girls-only schools were available and I had failed the entrance test for the only other option. So, here I was, full of horror, thinking of what my future held in store for me.

As soon as I entered the place, a creepy sensation took over. If the place was like this during the day, I can only imagine how it felt at night. Good that they didn’t have any night classes. According to the popular legend, the place was a dharmshala (public resthouse) for around a century when it was converted into a school in 1957. Not sure if the story was true, but the place really looked the part. The place was built in a really old design with very high walls and paint that was already darkening inspite of the recent paint job, thanks to the combination of dust from main road and rainy season. The first thing that I noticed inside was an old peepal tree that served as the centre piece of the front courtyard. (In India, peepal trees are supposed to be haunted.) The entire place had a dark foreboding feeling about it, as if it was haunted. As I stepped inside the door leading to the classrooms, it felt like entering a tunnel. The said tunnel was rather short and opened, within a few feet, in a corridor around the open internal verandah. But somehow, everything felt darker, as if colour has been sucked out of my world. I wondered how I will manage two years when even two breaths felt long enough.

When I reached my classroom, all the seats still standing were taken. The rest were broken and moved to the side so a lot of girls were sitting on desks. The classrooms were built around the internal verandah and were supposed to be light and airy. But in reality, they were too dark to aid any studies. The tube-lights were all out-of-order. The only sources of light were the two doors in each classroom. Even though there were two large windows on the other wall, the net on them was coated with decades of dust. The only fan was weighed down with dust and wasn’t moving at a speed worth mentioning. The floor was made of bricks, but you couldn’t really make it out considering the amount of dust settled on it.

What else could you expect out of a semi-charity school. The fee was a measly Rs. 60 per year (nearly half a pound a year). My books and notebooks costed another couple of pounds–very inexpensive even from Indian standards. Naturally, 99 percent girls came from families that couldn’t afford their education anyway.

I was in shock.

All my previous friends still studied in schools where a single book costed more than my entire year’s school fee and all the books combined. I was sure, had they seen this school, they would have disowned me. Also, this school was Hindi medium. To someone whose only pride was her command on English language, it was a rather strong push down the totem-pole into nothingness.

But the alternative was missing the school year and preparing better for next, which really wasn’t an alternative at all. Cursing myself for not making a better effort at entrance exams, I took a seat on the back desk.

The first lesson was Hindi literature, and the teacher was insightful. It was impossible to take notes sitting on the desk and book in my lap, but I managed to write in page corners. Listening to those ancient verses, I could almost forget where I was. It was nothing like what I had studied in English-medium schools.

Once the teacher was gone, there was a scramble to find the next classroom, I found myself quietly following a group that seemed to know where they were going. The classroom was on the upper floor and cringe-worthy–small, no lighting, fan hardly working but the teacher was amazing. That inexpensive book worth 5 Rupees (around 5 pence) held the kind of knowledge that I could die for. And end of the period, I was talking to some of the girls while walking with them to the next class.

They were as different from my previous friends as possible. Most of them came from conservative families, seeking to keep their daughters ‘safe’. Some had very less income. They could not have afforded education without this school. Some of them had too many siblings and wore hand-me-down uniforms that they would hand down to their younger sisters someday. Some of them were even untouchables by caste. They had dealt with the lack of means early in life.

But somehow, this knowledge only rose their esteem higher in my eyes. They had been pushed in a tight corner, but they are making an effort to get out of it. They had dreams too–they were pursuing Arts because some of them wanted to join Civil Services, like my father. Others wanted to be teachers, or perhaps Professor in a college once, not if, they crack the NET exam. The school also had a Science section where students harboured dreams to become Doctors, Engineers and more. Some of the girls wanted to be housewives, but it was a choice and not submission on their part.

The best lessons I received in life come from this school, both inside and outside the classroom–about unfairness of life; non-uniformity of money distribution and life below poverty line; about creativity and ambition that cared for no obstacles; about not being defined with price tags on dresses. The teachers and classmates–a lot of them long-time friends–made it worth it.

Yes, the place is actually haunted. Once, some invisible being had locked me in the courtyard washroom at the end of the lunch period and was tickling my spine. I was scared shitless and could not even gather a scream for help. I would have been stuck for a long time with my invisible companion. But I was blessed with friends who cared and came looking. Of course, they knew about the ghost. A couple of them had been in my sitution too. That day, we all sat on the chabutara (raised dais) of the haunted peepal tree and laughed about it.

And for all my father’s effort, he shouldn’t have bothered–there were more boys stationed outside my new girls-only school than inside a co-education.

Well, at least there were no drugs!

*Disclaimer: Note that India has a lot of government schools. Most are well maintained. This one is semi-charity and an exception.

Posted in Life and After, Love

Museum

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

Not sure why I went inside museum that day. Was it boredom? Loneliness? Morbid curiosity? Or just the hope of seeing Cleo again?

It would be fair to say that he was neck deep in Egypt…or may be deeper still. He was absolutely in love with that place. In fact, the first time I had met him was inside city museum’s underground Egyptian section. I was bored with no plans and had gone alone. I was admiring the gold throne when Cleo had approached me and offered a tour of the section. He did not even introduce his friend, who had smiled and left us alone.

He seemed quite well informed on the subject of ancient Egypt and his enthusiasm was contagious. He talked like a 13-year-old on a trip to football stadium. Soon, I was skipping along his side from display to display. He had stories about each piece-the pottery and the potters; the carving and the carvers; the sacrophagus (the ancient Egyptian caskets) and the mummies hidden inside–the king and one of his slaves. He was intelligent and witty and had a quirky sense of humour. He was chivalrous but not overbearing. He treated me like a queen, and no woman can ignore that kind of attention. When at the end of visiting hours, he asked me to visit again, I could not help but promise to return the next weekend.

So, for seven weekends, we met at the museum. We laughed and talked. I told him about my life at college, my dorm room and crazy roommate. He told me about his childhood antics, crocodiles on the Nile, pyramids and Egypt. He was holding back his present life though as if he wasn’t ready to share it yet. He didn’t tell me what he did for a living and if he had a family back in Egypt.

It worried me a little, but I wasn’t the one to probe. And we had time.

His interest in me felt genuine though. When we held hands as we walked through the museum discussing different displays, I could feel that he was as reluctant to let go of my hand as I. Sometimes, he would look in my eyes with the look that made me wonder if he was going to get down on one knee and ask me to marry him. I would have said “Yes” without doubt, even if it meant moving to Egypt with him.

But he never asked the question in words and I didn’t know how to begin that coversation–especially since we were never alone. He wouldn’t leave the museum–he lived on campus, or so he said. He wouldn’t come out with me for dinner, lunch or even coffee. He always had something to do, something to show, something to talk about, which was not his life or our future. He didn’t even have a mobile phone number, so we couldn’t connect unless I visited the museum.

Three weeks back, he told me he was moving to Egypt; and it seems that he had known the fact for a long time. Apparently, a certain part of the Egyptian display the museum, including the mummies of the king and his slave, had come from a private collector. His family had acquired it from the black market a couple of centuries ago without the consent of Egyptian government, as was the norm in those days. But a team of Egyptian researchers had traced them back to the correct tomb a few years back. They had discussed the matter between the two countries and were moving the collection back to where it belonged. Cleo was leaving with it, back to where he belonged.

And I wanted to go with him. Though I knew nothing about him, his job, his life back in Egypt or his family but I knew it wasn’t just a holiday romance. We had barely touched each-other and yet, I could feel my heart breaking over the news.

That day, the love in his eyes said everything, even if he wouldn’t. Even as he spoke of different layers in society, of commoners, of priests, of nobles, of princes and kings of divine origin and of slaves who worked under them and were buried alongside their master to serve them in afterlife, I saw in his eyes something akin of a desperation–a burning question, as if he was seeking permission to say something. I had asked him what it was, but he had simply shrugged. I could see he was holding back.

I couldn’t bear his silence now because we were running out of time. He would leave for Egypt, and I would never see him again. I wondered if I should propose him instead but so far I had only guessed his intentions. I had no clarity. What if I was wrong and I didn’t mean as much to him as he did to me? What if he had a wife waiting on the other side of the sea?

He still wouldn’t talk about his family and friends or what he thought of our future together. He wouldn’t even come out of the damned museum for a short walk with me.

Angry, I had walked out that day. He had stood at the gate looking at me with desolate eyes, but he hadn’t stopped me.

It was a difficult fortnight. I couldn’t eat or drink. Sleep defied me, no matter what I did. I even went on a date to take my mind off the matter, but it felt like cheating, even though, logically speaking, we had never been together–just a few friendly meetings at the museum. But all I could think of was of Cleo’s fingers wrapped around mine; and how I would lose him forever.

The eve of the movement day arrived with announcement of the big news on Television and Newspapers. They had called it an act of international goodwill; an Egyptian king and his treasure being returned to his people. It would bring a lot of tourism and, in turn, employment to the cities around the tomb where he will be placed back. Cleo will probably play the tour guide there or whatever he did for a living. The thought alleviated the ache in my heart so much that I could scarcely breath.

He was leaving…

Without me…

I sat huddled in my bed all day, not eating, not sleeping, not responding when my roommate asked if I wanted to go out and grab lunch. I just wanted to be left alone, so she complied. But loneliness pricked more than ever. He didn’t have a phone but he had my number. He could have called. He chose not to.

He was leaving…

Without me…

May be it is better his way. I wouldn’t be able to afford the tickets, passport and visa to Egypt. God knows whether Cleo has enough money for the two of us. May be that’s why he…

He was leaving…

Without me…

I am not sure how I reached museum. I don’t remember making a decision to. But my feet ached as if I had walked all the way. I only realised I was there when the guard at the main gate stopped me. Apparently, the museum was closed earlier than usual because there were certain Egyptian rites to re-coronate the mummified king before the big movement the next day. The coronation was obviously a marketing strategy to raise the excitement and, in turn, tourism to his tomb. The museum staff has been given the day off and only select few Egyptians were allowed. A dread settled in my gut along with hope–Dread that I wouldn’t be able to meet Cleo. Hope that he must be here. He wouldn’t miss such a rare Egyptian event. He must have found a way to get in. I had to get in too, somehow. When begging for an entry got me nowhere, I decided to change tactics.

I had noticed a small hole in the wall on the other side of the museum on my walks with Cleo around the place. It can serve as a foothold to jump in. There was also an emergency exit, which is always open.

So, I walked around the wall and used the foothold. It was too small, and I could only get a toe in, so I left my shoes behind and jumped in barefoot. The emergency exit was open. With all staff out, I was free to explore.

The place felt weird and darker, probably because of the lack of the usual staff. And once the adrenaline wore off, I was slightly scared to be alone. I could smell incense in the air along with many other smells I could not understand. A different sense of dread clutched my heart–I shouldn’t be here. I should have waited outside along with the guard. I wished Cleo was here alongside me to fill the silence with his chatter.

As I walked to the Egyptian display room, I wondered if I should go back and wait outside but I couldn’t make myself give up. Cleo was so close, I could almost smell him, or was it the insense? The fragrance was stronger closer to the Egyptian display and so was the sense of dread. I opened the door just a sliver and peeped in.

The room had a pile of large shopping boxes packed on one side. Two sacrophagus lay open.

It seemed they were play-acting. Cleo’s friend was sitting on the throne in a regal dress. A fire burned in the middle of the room. Another man was reading a book aloud. I shifted a little and saw several people sitting on one knee, head down, listening. Cleo was there too, not hiding like me but out front. His clothes resembled that of a slave as he had once shown me in a display. His face was just as desolate as the last time.

The sound of the book closing with a low thump drew my eyes to the reading man. He was now walking to the throne with a crown. Once he placed it on the man’s head, everyone bowed with their noses on the floor. Cleo did too.

Nothing made sense.

The man with the book spoke a few versus again and looked expectantly at the “king”. He nodded regally.

And his face and hands started to shrivel. Horrified, I wanted to tear my eyes off him, but fear held me still. Before my very eyes, bandages replaced his royal garb and he went limp. One of the men in the congregation picked him up gingerly and lay him in his sacrophagus. Unable to comprehend, I looked at Cleo for some kind of explanation but someone had picked him up too and placed him in the other sacrophagus.

Posted in Life and After

Tired

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

Tired, arms aching, I push myself further in water.

“Stop struggling,” my brain reminds me, “Just float, would you?”

I can not!

Around me, bodies lie supine, floating, listless, un-dead;

Staring at the stars, waiting for them to move; waiting…

Just waiting…

What stars would do once they do move, they wouldn’t know that.

Eyes glazed out; their smile is one of memory not hope

of future…

Waves push around un-struggling wherever, whenever.

They float along, no questions asked, no dreams to nurture.

Just wait till…

I should give up swimming too; easier to float away.

Water is heavier on my arms with each passing day.

I would not!

Lost and tired and nowhere now, I choose my own course.

Drown soon I might, that would be my choice, no star decides

my life’s shore!

Posted in Life and After

Status Quo

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

Author’s note: Thank you, Stevie Turner for providing the fist line to help break my writer’s block. I hope Pete enjoys it.

Pete would never have thought it could happen to him.

The day was just another rainy day that were so common in his village. It was a life of too much time on hand where weekdays felt like weekends with no deadlines in sight. Retirement was so relaxed, Pete sometimes wished for a little excitement–something…anything that would challenge status quo. The morning walk with his dog was squelchy and uneventful as usual.

They were on their way back when he saw something lying on the road–a small round surface reflecting the grey sky above him. He bent down to look at it. It seemed to be a small pocket watch, clearly an antique piece. It had too many hands and looked one of a kind.

He wondered who dropped it. They must be worried out of their mind. The piece was worth a small fortune. He mentally debated whether he should leave it there for the owner to return for it or if he should take it to the police station just in case the owner had made a complaint.

Still undecided, he bent further to get a closer look. The brass exterior was slightly worn by the years and his hands itched to pick it up and see up close if it really was as old as it looked. So, he picked it up and almost dropped it out of surprise. The piece was pulsing faintly like a state-of-art racing car ready for a ride. The glass front had a tiny latch to open the face. He wondered if it was meant for the visually impaired so they could touch the hands to read the time. Or may be it was meant to adjust the hands, when needed. None of the many hands had moved so far–may be the watch didn’t work anymore and the owner threw it out, not knowing the value of the piece.

He opened the latch to adjust the time, though it was difficult to guess which one of its many hands was the hour-hand and which one was the minute-hand. So, he just touched the most decorated hand assuming, like on all old clocks, it would denote hours.

He felt a rush of wind, but it died down as soon as it started. In fact, he would have sworn he had imagined it if the leash in his hand wasn’t still swaying in the aftermath of the wind. Suddenly gripped by a fear like he had never felt before and he let the watch fall on the road. He knew something was terribly wrong and all he wanted to do was to rush to the wife he had left behind an hour back.

So, he tugged at his dog’s leash to get going but his pet wouldn’t budge. It started barking, trying to pull away. Wondering what caught its attention, he turned to face it and found that his dog was gone and in his place was a dog of a much younger age.

He looked around and the neighborhood looked different; well, not exactly different but greener and sort of younger. The Oak tree on his right seemed to have put on much more leaves than it had in the past few years–

Maybe, he was hallucinating. Or may be it was all a weird dream, he decided. The dog was sniffing him now. Seeming satisfied with its enquiry, it gave Pete’s hand a quick lick and started tugging the leash towards Pete’s home. Pete would have liked to go back to the park where he probably switched his own dog’s leash with this dog. But he was anxious to see his wife. Something in his gut told him that he will not like what he finds there.

So, together they rushed towards his home. He didn’t meet anyone on the way which did nothing to assuage his fear. When he reached, it was difficult to believe what he was seeing. The house was brighter, as if freshly painted and the garden was a riot of colours with flowers growing all over the place. It hadn’t been like this for several years since he quit gardening because of his backache. It couldn’t be his house. He was certain he had taken the wrong lane. He moved backwards, lest he was charged for trespassing.

But before he could take more than a couple of steps away, someone ventured out. His wife? Has she done something to her hair? She didn’t have an appointment at the beauty parlour, did she? Her skin was tighter around her face and her hair were more blonde than gray, as if the several previous years didn’t happen at all.

And she was looking at him in concern, “Oh my, Pete! What happened to you?”

He pinched himself to bring himself out of this dream. When nothing happened, he swept his eyes across the yard to find something to read. He had heard that if stuck in a nightmare, trying to read brings you out. So, while his wife kept asking questions with a worried expression about his out-of-breath countenance and sudden wrinkles, he spotted the newspaper on the coffee table under the portico where he always left it. He opened it. The front cover talked about Donald Trump winning Presidential elections in the US and how he would replace the current President Obama. How was it possible? Joe Biden had become the President of the US last year. Another election wasn’t scheduled for another five years!

He checked the date on the new paper: 21 January, 2017. The paper was new though…not something that carried 7-year-old news. His wife was still asking the same question he had no answer to. The truth dawned upon him and he rushed back to where he had seen the watch, his wife in tow.

The watch was gone. He had just got his forever wish. His life’s adventure had just begun.

Posted in Life and After

Bath Time

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

Author’s note: Thank you Theo for the first line to help me break out of my writer’s block.

The clock said it was bath time, but I was not up to the struggle this evening. 

Whoever made this rule about regular bathing must be tested by a doctor. It takes days to build up the cover of mud and dirt to keep those ticks away. And once it is achieved, you wash it all off for a splash in water? Sheer madness, I say.

And who would want to sit in water and wash their face ever? I shiver at the thought.

I uncurl from my bed and sneak a peak at Becky. She is still busy on her computer. Engrossed.

May be I still have a chance…

I quietly move toward the cat flap hoping Becky wouldn’t notice. When she doesn’t move or make an attempt to stop me, I quicken my pace, covering the last few feet in a mad dash, hoping to get out through the cat flap in a single jump.

But my head in stuck in the flap and I can’t move it in or out. I mew for help. Becky replies in an exasperated tone, “Not again!”

As she pulls me out of the cat flap and off the floor, I try to scratch and bite her. Resigned, she tries to bribe me, “Come on, Mama! Be a good girl and I will give you a can of Tuna.”

What can I say? Tuna has that effect on me. I calmly follow her to the bath. As Becky settles me on my bath chair, I hear her sob.

Posted in Life and After, Nature

Demure

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

It was just out of reach. I stretched on my feet, balancing against the counter but I just couldn’t reach the damned tin. It was a tease if I ever saw one. He knows well how I crave for them, and right now, I had the mother of all cravings.

I looked at him for help but he was smiling dazedly at his laptop. The only thing I hate more than lapdogs is laptops. They are invaders who encroach into other people’s territory taking away their jobs and rightful places. Right now, I wanted to throw this one on the ground and grind it into tiny pieces. It has made my John it’s slave until he he wouldn’t remember I was in the room trying to get his attention.

I looked at that tin once again. I have to get it somehow. Either I will reach it or it will have to come to me…Having lost the battle against the former idea, I decide to go for the latter.

So, I pick myself as gracefully as I can and walk towards John like the models do on TV, making demure noises. He looks around at me and smiles. Good! I have his attention now. I walk closer, circling him, rubbing my shoulders against him.

Finally, he gets the message. He moves that blasted laptop to the table, gives me a heart-melting smile and gets out of his chair.

Then he opens the tin of tuna. I run to my dish. Oh, how I love this man.

Posted in Life and After

Wherever, Whenever, Forever

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

You walk across the street

holding my hand tightly,

running slightly,

avoiding the crazed traffic

thinking about the next treat.

…

I follow as fast as I can go,

giggling all over the road,

chasing the wild plans

we cooked together, all along

knowing half of them

wouldn’t come to be.

…

Not sure

where you are steering me,

nor does it matter to me,

for my hand is in yours,

in this knowledge, I am secure,

that you are with me…

…

Wherever I go,

however far I go,

in my half-cooked plans

and crazy schemes

and far-fetched dreams,

you were…

you are…

you will be with me…

Wherever, whenever, forever!

Author’s Note: For Manpreet

(For no particular reason, missing my bestie yet again)

Posted in Life and After

Dark Alley

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

Moving in the traffic,

bodies pressed tight

in the train subway.

She returned home after

surviving another day.

…

Refusing to take from the good,

hungry in a world full of food,

wondering how she could get used

to the gnawing pain.

…

Her steps were slow

as she walked down the row

of alleys dark and dreary

in a blacked out haze.

A hand shot at her

out of a dark corner

and dragged her away.

…

The next day the priest

said last words on a grave,

“We lost a good man there.”

“Yeah, he was good,”

she smacked her lips,

looking in dark streets

for her next prey.

Posted in Life and After

Yarn

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

“There isn’t enough yarn left for him and you know it well.”

“But they have requested an extension. Maybe you could stretch a bit farther, say another six months?”

“Six months? He doesn’t have enough for six hours.”

“Then add a bit? Weave in another yarn. Jake here can help.”

“And then what? Once this one runs out, they will request an extension again.”

“Well, he’s a good man. You can’t blame them for wanting him around longer.”

“And how many times are you going to add to the yarn? And for how many of them? You know the drill, don’t you? Every time it is time for someone, everyone gets down on their knees and starts asking for an extension.”

“Well, it’s their first time and I can’t deny that. I have an image to uphold, you know. And when I say an extension is in order, you do as I say. I am supposed to be the God around here.”

“Well! You are the boss!” The Fates gave in and motioned Jake, the angel, to help them weave in the additional yarn.

An old man woke out of coma in the hospital, coughing and wheezing, as his grandchildren began shouting in celebration.

Posted in Life and After, Love

The Bell

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

First line offered by Marina Osipova

The doorbell rang with shrill urgency. I opened the door yet again. No one was there.

Of course, it would be so. My doorbell was having a day. Nothing I did or said could make her let go off her fear. With all the anxiety, she was close to having a cog attack and I wondered if I should get her checked by a professional. Of course, they wouldn’t really understand the problem. They’ll just open her up, oil her, double check her wires for any cuts and, then, return with a suggestion of buying a new, more reliable door bell. And there lay the problem.

May, my girlfriend, had suggested just the thing earlier that day insisting that my doorbell never rang whenever she pressed the button. She believed the thing had a faulty wiring. Well, in a way she was right. It is wired to my jealous dead-wife’s soul.

When alive, my wife would call my office landline under various pretexts to check I was really there and follow me in her car when I was too cheery about the weekend fishing with my friends. But it was nothing compared to now.

Ever since she died, I felt I wasn’t alone; that I was being watched. I would glance over my shoulder so frequently, I had kinks in my neck every now and then.

When a few months later, I mentioned it to a friend, he suggested that the loneliness was probably getting at me. He set up a blind date with his cousin, May.

Once I reached the venue for the date, my car door wouldn’t open. I had to get out by breaking a window. A few weeks later, when my car failed to start every time I planned a date with her, I sold it and bought a new one but the problem continued and I could see a pattern forming. I started calling May to pick me up instead. It was then that my cellphone stopped working whenever I called her or she called me.

I could clearly see the issue now. The feeling of being watched was intense. I craved being left alone. Desperate to get out of the horror show that my life had become, I requested a witch doctor for help. He was quite understanding, having once suffered similar pain (Not my story to tell). He offered to cage my late wife inside a house fixture and asked me to choose one. I didn’t want her shaking the walls or bringing down the pillars, nor did I want lampposts falling on my head or door handles getting stuck. So, I chose the doorbell, which was out of the way, believing it would cause me the least distress.

Well, so we are here now. The felling of being watched is less intense and limited to the area around the doorbell. But ever since my girlfriend’s mention of a new bell, my doorbell has been ringing frantically every five minutes, demanding my presence. All coddling and reasoning have failed. Frustrated in extreme with the constant ringing that kicks up my heart rate and bring my blood to boil, I finally chuck the doorbell out of the door to be rid of her forever. She can spend the rest of her time in a landfill or, maybe, a recycling plant until the day of judgement.

It is quiet now. The feeling of being watched is gone and I am truly alone. I had believed I would revel in the alone-ness, but weirdly enough, I miss it. I look outside and think of my erratic wife lying outside in the snow. True that she couldn’t feel the elements anymore but still…she loves me, even if a little too much. And I still love her, even if she is being insufferable now a days.

Half an hour later, I still can’t get away from the window, watching her protectively. Car headlights flash ahead. What if it crushes her? I rush outside and pick the doorbell up from the freezing road and bring her back in where it is warm. Placing her on the table, I hear her ring without the wiring; a faint call, reminding she was still there. It is time for tough decisions.

I call May one last time and break up with her. Then I pull off the enchanted rope that the witch doctor had used to tie my wife to the doorbell.

The feeling of being watched is back.

I’m not lonely anymore.

Posted in Life and After, Love

Karwachauth

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

She sat waiting for him to return home. It was Karwachauth fast, so she was thirsty, hungry and crabby. She was also annoyed that seven years after their marriage, he would choose to ignore the day. He hadn’t called all day. Neither had he come home a little early like he did in the earlier days of their marriage.

It was almost time for the moon to rise, for her to break the fast, but she couldn’t eat or drink until he fed her with his own hands. She wondered if it was worth staying hungry for the long life of a man who didn’t give a damn anymore.

He was all work now, always at office, only returning to eat and sleep. Sometimes, he would play a little with the children but he didn’t have time for her anymore. Did it have something to do with that new pretty girl in his office, Priya? That day at the office party, she seemed too intent to please. Always hovering around him, “Sir this…”, “Sir that…”.

What would she do if he decided to ditch their marriage for this one? She worried with the lace of her red sari–one she had worn for too many years on too many Karwachauth fasts. It was the only decent red sari she had, the colour she had to wear as per the tradition. She hadn’t asked for another. It seemed weird asking for a red dress at her age. That too for just one occasion an year. Not that he noticed anymore anyway.

The bell rang, she almost ran to the door but collected herself together. She didn’t want to look desperate, so she called one of the kids to open the door.

Her husband walked in with a large package in his hand, which he handed to her with a sheepish smile. “Sorry, I’m late. You know how tailors can be. I had to sit there and wait until he finished. I could have called you but I wanted it to be a surprise. You already look lovely, but this shade suits you better.”

She opened the package. It was the perfect red sari ensemble.

Posted in Life and After

The Sadist

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

First line suggested by Lucinda E Clarke

Tomorrow I am going to kill Caroline, but I can’t decide how to take her life away.

I can always bite her head off…the thought was repulsive, so obviously, I relished it. I run through the scene in my mind where I bite off different parts of her head one-by-one, leaving the nose, of course, since she has an allergy which keeps her nose permanently runny.

But honestly, once I bite any part of her, she would snap and throw me out of the room. I need a more plausible scenario. Maybe I’ll pick up a fight with that mad dog in the backstreet to get rabies and then bite her.

But what’s the point of revenge if I don’t live to enjoy it? I rake my brains again. What if I push her overboard when she offers to take me on a flight around the place? I’ll make sure she lands on something hard.

But then, who will steer? I hardly have the physical faculties needed for a safe landing. Well, maybe I’ll just bite off the twigs from her broomstick and then decline to go with her. Then her broomstick will surely crash and Dad will never go on a date with her. And he will never forget to feed me…

How could he forget to feed me? An overwhelming sadness engulfs me that has nothing to do with food and everything to do with losing the only man I ever loved…

The soft click of the window handle startles me. Dad glides in on his broomstick. But, how? He was only gone 15 minutes. Didn’t he say he’ll be out all night? Not that I’m complaining…

He pours kibbles and fresh fish in my bowl and then he pets me, “Really sorry, darling. I just remembered. Caroline sent me right back and told me hug you for her too.” He hugs me and leaves on his broomstick again.

Maybe I’ll let Caroline live after all!

Posted in Life and After

The Stranger

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

Author’s note: The First line of the story was suggested by Webb Blogs

Why is everyone being so loud, and why is this stranger claiming to be my husband? My head hurts like there is a stampede inside it. I can’t recall where I was last night or what I did but I certainly couldn’t have married a stranger overnight!

If only Priscila was here to provide me an alibi. She had promised to meet me at my home last evening. She had something to celebrate and wanted to give me the news in person. But she never showed up. I was bored and lonely. So I decided…

This is where I came up blank. I just can’t remember what I decided or what I did after that. It shouldn’t be too difficult. I am not on drugs and I didn’t have alcohol. I also don’t have a life and have lived vicariously through Priscila since forever. Ideally, I would have had dinner and slept the night off. Only, I am not in my bed. And the owner of the bed, and the house it is in, says that we dated for six months and married a couple of days back in a small ceremony in front of the minister!

How can I date and marry someone and then forget about him?

May be he’s lying. He shows me some pretty convincing pictures of the ceremony with me as the bride. But photos can be fake. Or worse, what if he slipped something in my drink last night? An LSD? That can explain the loss of memory and the headache.

He looks genuinely confused, which unsettles me, but he can be a good actor, “I don’t understand. You were fine with our marriage until last night. You even went out to share the news with a friend! Have I done something wrong?” His eyes are honest. He doesn’t seem like a guy who would gaslight a woman but, then, what do I know? I barely met him five minutes back when I woke up in his bed.

Why isn’t Priscila picking up her phone? Is she alright? It isn’t like her to not show up. Already at the end of my nerves, I throw my phone down on the bed facing upwards.

His brows are crunched in confusion, “Honey, why are you calling yourself?”

“No, I am calling my best friend. She’ll help me figure it all out. She always does when I am not able to make sense of something.”

“Darling, the number is yours…”

“No, it n…” I look closely and beneath the name Priscila, is my own phone number. My stomach drops out of the bottom. “I must have messed up the contacts when I changed my phone. Maybe that’s why I am not able to get through to her. I’ll check the recent calls. She called me last evening.” Hastily, I scroll through the recent calls. I have several incoming calls from Priscila but all of them have my number.

The stranger looks at me with a guarded expression that I hate. Even though he is most certainly not my husband as he claims to be, I want him to know I am not insane. I hated when sometimes people assumed that about me; makes me feel like killing someone. I feel anger rising already, “I don’t understand. I swear Priscila called me last evening. She was so excited about something that she wanted to share. But she never turned up!”

“So you have a best friend named Priscilla too?”

I grit my teeth and my confusion comes out harsh, “What do you mean? Do you know a Priscila as well?”

He slowly stands up and inches towards the door as if I am a wild animal that might attack him. He clearly thinks I am a deranged lunatic. The gesture raises something wild within me. I am too hurt and too livid, and I begin to black out…

Posted in Life and After, Random Thoughts

The Axe

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

Author’s note: This is a six-line story. The first line was offered by by Sarada Gray.

It was almost dark when I realised that the four of us were suddenly five. Shivering, I quietly signaled and we cowered in the shadows trying to blend with the walls.

Hiding was the only way to survive these days. I always wanted to fix that broken door but the rest of our group felt it would give our position away.

I knew the ruse could only work so long, because now, with abated breath, we waited for the axe to fall. And sure as death, a teenage scream rented the air, “Aagh, Ghooooooost!”

Posted in Life and After

Giggles

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

Author’s note: Thank you, Gavin Marriott, for the first line of the story.

I had only just come indoors from the cold and wet, putting the kettle on while I was to change into something warm, yearning for that hot brew, when the phone rang. Wearily, I picked up the receiver of the old landline.

The giggle was horribly familiar. But for the first time in our three-year marriage, it gave me goosebumps.

I looked around for her cellphone. It had to be here somewhere. Wasn’t she texting on it when I struck her from behind? Gah! She had pocketed it by the time the blow made impact. Which means she still has it! And she is making calls. How did she survive? I had checked her pulse before driving her to the forest and throwing her where only animals could find her. I should have buried her! Had she called the police yet? I might still have time.

I ran to my wardrobe and threw everything of value in a bag and rushed to the door of my cabin. If I drove without stopping for food or sleep, I could make it to the next state by tomorrow. Only, the old lock on the door was stuck. I tried with all my might. But the door didn’t relent. I tried to break it down but felt like I dislocated a shoulder in stead.

I looked out of the window. I could jump out of it but I’d never survive the fall from the steep cliff. The only way to get out was through the door. I checked the storage for anything that could help me open the door. An axe, a shovel, not even a carving knife… Desperate, I threw the chair at the door but it bounced off. Not even a dent! I tried the table next. The table broke in splinters but the door stood unaffected.

I went through my options. I could wait here for the police and tell them she was lying. But with that head injury, she’d have a clear case. I could almost see the glint of cruel madness in her eyes when she knew she had me at her pity. I’d seen it too often during our marriage.

And she giggled…

She was really there, standing in the room in front of me. She had probably locked the door and had the key. I could try reasoning but had it ever worked in the past, I wouldn’t have killed her…or rather, since she was standing here, tried killing her. So, I picked the only remaining chair and swung at her. But, somehow I missed. I tried again and the chair passed through her. She giggled…

Horrified, I rushed to the door and yanked the door bolt, only managing to break the handle of the bolt. There was no way I could stay at the cabin with her. I quickly picked up my phone to call my bestie to break down the door but there was no connectivity. Only her giggles were coming out of its speakers setting my teeth on the edge.

I was shaking as I rushed to my bedroom, closed the door and opened my laptop, hoping to catch someone online. She slipped inside through the closed door and stood sentry, fixing her gaze on me with an intensity that frayed my nerves, and giggled…

After an eternity, the laptop finally booted and her grinning face filled the screen. Scared, I skittered backwards. In the process, I had upset the laptop. It fell on the floor and broke in two pieces.

I turned my eyes skywards seeking help from the almighty and found her hovering on the roof, grinning down on me.

I threw myself at the room’s door. It, too, was locked. I threw things at the door while screaming at the top my lungs for help even though I knew no one could hear me. The nearest house was a mile away. Soon I was standing in a pool of broken things with nothing left to throw at the door while she giggled from the roof.

I could not stay with her here. Anything had to be better than this.

There was only one way to go.

I opened the window and jumped off the cliff. I could hear her giggles following me all the way down. When my body made contact with the rocky floor, the pain had me blinded and, for a few seconds, all I could feel was my broken body and all I could hear was my own ragged breath as life seeped out of me until the blessed silence enveloped me. I was finally free of her…

And then, she giggled…

Posted in Life and After

60 Feet Under

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

Author’s note: This is short story based on the first line suggested by Beetleypete.

It was so hot there, much hotter than I could ever have imagined it would be. I had always expected it to be cool below the surface since the desert sun couldn’t get to you. But apparently, I was wrong.

It was stifling hot and suffocating, even though, I didn’t need to breath anymore. The casket I was lying in was rather stuffy. May be a walk in the tomb would help.

It was just as dark outside. There was no way of knowing whether it was day or night. Who would want to live for eternity stuck in a hole where you could see neither the sun, nor the moon and stars. Not that I needed light to see. My eyes adjusted to the dark just fine but it didn’t take away the claustrophobia, reminding of the one time I had been foolish enough to hide in a closet.

The paintings on the walls depicted my life in the world outside–my wife, sons and daughters, my territory and the time of my glorious reign. As if I needed a reminder of that now! I already thought of it all the time. The other paintings were decorative and I had already memorised every single line from the countless lonely walks in the past years.

The bandages on my body were making me itchy. I wished I had my wife to scratch out that itch on my back but she was still out there, alive. Sigh! I will have to wait until she is done with her time on the surface until she is lowered here with me. If she chooses to sleep in the same tomb as me…Not sure she would. I wasn’t a model husband–too many mistresses to make her jealous.

She wasn’t allowed to have another husband to get even with me but what if she took a slave? Did she do that while I was still alive? With the dark one with the tall soldier-like build–the one she had chosen to keep when we were sifting through the war prisoners? In my mind, I could see the longing in her eyes for the tall monstrosity who became her personal guard and the knowing smirk on the guard’s face when he had leaned on one knee and kissed her knuckles.

I wanted to throw my fists through the walls. If I had a heart anymore, it would have burst with the pain. You would think that, with an eternity to brood, I would accept fate but, with an eternity to brood, the thoughts kept coming back. Like the day our last child was born–the child was darker than usual. The pain of deception had cut me through. It was one thing for me to sleep with another woman but to find out that my wife was doing another man…

When I had voiced my doubt, she had cried her heart out, reminding me of my own many indiscretions and fainted in her bed. I was aghast. I knew what she had done. I should have ordered their beheading right then. But here I was sitting in her bed, holding her hand, feeling guilty, waiting for her to wake up. Not sure when I fell asleep too. The choking sensation had had me reeling.

I wondered if he helped her or she did it on her own…

I wondered if she cried for me at all…

I woke up inside the casket in the tomb. It was so hot there, much hotter than I could ever imagine. I had always expected it to be cool below the surface since the desert sun couldn’t get to you. But apparently, I was wrong. The bandages were itchy and I wished I had my wife…