Vaguely aware of the piles of thought
Inside my autumnal head;
Smelling reminiscence rot;
Feeling a little mislead.
I am somewhat cold
On the usually warm bench;
Almost missing your arms,
Making my heart wrench.
Spring cleaning was ere long due.
Clearly, while leaving leaves behind, you
Blew them really far apart,
Scattering my heart
To the wind.
Now I’m forever cluttered,
Trapped in autumn.
Photo by Autumn Mott Rodeheaver on Unsplash
Author’s note: This is the third and final instalment of my latest short-story.
You can find Par1 and 2 here: Part 1 and Part 2
A higher wave pushes us and we hold on to each other for dear life, hoping our combined weight will stop us being pushed into the rising sea. The rock is submerging too fast.
“Do you want to do a Titanic for the selfie you are sending him?” I ask. “It will be completely dark in a couple of minutes.” I don’t say we will drown in sometime. I want to hang on to hope.
The sudden smile on her face makes my heart squeeze, like I am alive again.
She quickly poses against the Sun with me behind her, one hand spread out in a flying pose with both of mine and clicks a picture with the other hand. She quickly sends it before she loses her nerve. She is giggling like a school girl, “I know it is not a making-out picture but I’m happy we sent it. Let that photo burn his retinas.”
“Okay, what else do you want to send him? I’m game.” I join in enthusiastically.
A sly smile spreads across her face for a second. I can see she is considering a really obscene photo. Since we are dying in a few minutes, I don’t mind. Honestly, I wouldn’t mind it even if we were going to stay alive. There is something about this person, which makes me feel like I would be upto anything she suggests. Like an old school-time best friend.
But then she stops, shaking her head. “No, I can’t subject him to that… or you. I’m not that person.”
I shake my head, realising I believe her words. I am not that person too. I try to change the topic, “So, is it true? Did you really hire a guy for…?”
“I tried to get one. But I lost my nerve before I could speak to him,” she admits sheepishly.
“Why did you try for one though?”
“I wanted to move on…” The pain on her face sears my heart.
A large wave pushes at us, and I hold her to my chest, lest the water might topple her into the sea before it is time. I keep hugging her after the wave is gone. With my wounds still raw, her pain is mine.
“You don’t hire men to move on, you know. You look for one who might really mean something to you and take it from there.”
“Does your advice apply to men too?” She gestures at my henna-tattooed palms for impact.
“I don’t know. It has only been three days since she eloped the night before our marriage,” I speak in a defeated tone.
It is completely dark around us, and I feel her nod against my chest, “I guess you will find out in a few years.”
Does she really believe I have a few years ahead of me? The darkness compounded by waves occasionally pushing at our knees makes me feel not so hopeful. I wonder if there are sharks around. Nerves are rattling around my insides, and I am shaking from more than just cold. We are still not inside water but we are close.
I feel her fumbling with her hands and hold her tightly afraid she is going off-balance, trying to be the anchor, at least until the sea is high enough to swallow us.
She switches on her phone torch and waves behind me, signalling. I dare not move, afraid of losing balance, but I hear voices at a distance.
The rescue team has arrived.
*****
Since the boat can’t come too close to the rock, the team passes rubber tubes to us and makes us jump in the ocean before someone pulls us on the boat. And, then to my utter mortification, I retch on the side of the boat while my fellow survivor holds me, so I wouldn’t fall off in the ocean again.
Way to make a first impression!
Once we are back on the dry land and the rescue team members are sure we are going to be okay, they drop us where we can find a ride to our respective hotels. Trying to redeem some of my lost dignity, I am the first to speak, “Now that we are still alive, where do you want to go?”
She smiles understanding my intention, “My flight for Switzerland is delayed for some years. Sigh! I’ll go to my hotel room instead. Do you have any cash for a taxi? Because my purse with my cash, card and hotel keys was washed off at the rock before I woke up. And Paytm needs a working phone. Mine is dead from all the water.”
“Mine is dead too but I do have some cash. Don’t you want to eat something first though? I’m famished.” Suddenly, after three days of being continuously queasy at the thought of food, I am ravenous. Extended periods of near-death experience and utter mortification, compounded with absolute relief, can do that to a person.
“It depends. Can I send him a picture?” She asks, unsure now that we are both on dry land, alive and free.
“I’d love one, but our phones drowned. They are dead, at least until someone looks at them.”
“Well, I see a mobile shop over there. And a restaurant. Let’s eat something and then get our phones fixed. Then, we can get an icecream photo.”
“Only if you make a kissy face!” I can feel a smile creeping in.
“Let’s both make kissy faces—you can send a copy to your fiancée too.” We both giggle at the thought.
“Let’s both pick some nice locations for full effect!”
She is full swing now, “I’ve heard this place has some pretty waterfalls. Want to go there tomorrow? And… I didn’t get your name?”
“That’s a really lame pick-up line, especially considering it’s coming from a girl.”
She swats my shoulder, and I make a face, like I was six again, sending her into a fit of giggles again. We are fellow-survivors, alive in the moment.
The rest of life can wait.
END
Photo by Kush Dwivedi on Unsplash
Author’s note: This is the second instalment of my latest short-story. You can find Part 1 here.
It is difficult to believe such a simple traditional-looking girl like her could kill anyone. But what do I know? My own traditional-looking fiancée ran away with another guy, shredding my heart into pieces, not even bothering to throw it in a landfill.
I choose to be quiet.
“Not so keen on hanging around me for eternity anymore, huh?” She looks smug.
“Let’s just say I don’t like the idea of following you to hell. I don’t even love you to risk that for you.”
I think I would have risked that for my wife–well, ex-fiancée…if not out of love, then out of sense of duty. But she chose to bestow that honour on someone else. If only she had said something during our numerous romantic phone calls after our marriage was arranged. She made me believe she wanted me as much as I wanted her and then eloped with her lover while her family was visiting mine for the Tilak ceremony.
The only reason I travelled here today was to run away from pitying eyes. They would probably think I committed suicide.
The thought of dying is looking closer to reality now since higher waves are wetting our ankles frequently and the spray of water is constantly keeping us wet. I have waited all my life working hard, believing that once I am better situated in work, I would get my chance at love.
Now, here I am at sea, dying, right after I am dumped by the woman I finally set my hopes on.
The Sun is dipping on the horizon much like our lives. The thought of never finding love hurts much more than the rejection itself. I don’t want to die but, more than that, I don’t want to give her the satisfaction that she affected me strongly enough to drive me to suicide. She chose to dump me. She doesn’t deserve the credit for my death.
The stranger on my side stands quietly and lets me have my ‘moment’. She seems to sense there is more to my story but doesn’t have the heart to tease it out of me anymore.
A phone call pierces the space around us. Her phone screen blinks.
“You get phone reception here?”
“My phone does, it seems. How else do you think I made that phone call for help?”
“Oh yes. I think you should answer the call. Your husband from the landfill might not like being ignored.” I point at her phone, smiling—”Hubby” is calling.
She huffs and accepts the phone call. I can’t help being curious enough to listen in. We are huddling too close in the center of the peak of the rock now to avoid overhearing anyway.
“What do want?”
Pause
“Why do you care where I am?”
Pause
“In middle of the sea. Probably drowning in the next few minutes.”
Pause
“Huh, you wish. I am not coming back to haunt you! Four years were more than enough. I am not wasting another minute on you. Now hang up. You are ruining my first post-divorce vacation. I don’t want to drown thinking of you.”
Pause
“Yes, she told you the truth. Yesterday, I went to a striptease bar, drank half-a-bottle of wine and hired a man to spend the night with.”
Pause
“Stop laughing. I am telling the truth!”
Pause
“Fine, I did try though. I can cheat, just like you cheated on me for so many years.”
Pause
“Okay, it’s not cheating anymore that we are not married but the thought counts. I just need a little more practice. I am alone with a man right now.”
She looks at me guiltily as I raise my eyebrow. Would I help someone take revenge for being cheated on? The fellowship rises its head within my chest, and I smile back encouragingly.
Pause
Her voice is softer this time, “No, I can’t return. I can’t forget it. I might have if I hadn’t caught you in the act; say, if someone else had told me. But I saw you both, and I keep thinking about it. Even after an year, it is all I see whenever I close my eyes. Please stop calling me and move on. Let me move on…”
Her begging tone cuts through my core–“Even after an year…“
I had been there only three days and I feel half-dead. Is there no hope?
Pause
“No, I am done with repeating myself. I am moving on.” She looks back at me in apologising manner, “I am going to make out with this guy here. And I will send you a photo as proof. May be then you will stop calling me.”
With those words, she hangs up. I can feel my eyebrows reach my hairline. She just shrugs, “It felt good to say it out loud and hear him squirm one last time before I die.”
To be continued
Read part 3 here: At Sea: Part 3 of 3
Photo by Kush Dwivedi on Unsplash
Author’s note: This is the first instalments of my latest short-story.
She is shivering violently and blabbering, “I am flying to Switzerland tonight.”
“You mean if we are rescued?” I try a gentle tone. I am scared stiff too, so I can understand her denial.
She manages a smile, though the strain of the effort is clearly visible on her face. “No. If they rescue me, I have a crap job to go back to in three days and a mean manager to hate. But if they don’t find us in time, well, I am no mermaid. It is all well to see one sunset at the sea. An eternity of sunset view is too much! If I die, I am going to travel—there are so many places I want to see—”
If she is trying to make light of our impending demise to avoid a meltdown, two could play at this game. “Aren’t ghosts supposed to stay and haunt a single place?” I shiver at my own ill-timed joke. If only I could turn back time a couple of hours.
*****
It was a bad idea to seek out a stranded place on the shore to sleep in when I had never been to the sea before. All I wanted was a couple of hours of peace from the continuous phone calls—people offering sympathies or advice to move on. I didn’t want to switch-off my phone. It felt wrong to turn my back on my well-wishers. Going out of network coverage area for a bit had seemed like a good excuse at that time. So, I had walked until the network bars had stopped showing.
Then I saw a road sign of what seemed like sun setting in the sea and found this large rock rising gradually from the sand. The highest point was nearly two-metres high providing an amazing view of the sea ahead. It seemed like an ideal spot to sit down and settle my thoughts. There was enough room for me and one other person here on the other side of the rock, sleeping in the sun. I had walked up on the slowly rising rock to this highest point. Then, exhausted after three sleepless nights, I had closed my eyes to rest them for a few moments…
An urgent voice woke me up, “Hey, do you know how to swim?”
My eyes wanted to stay glued together but the fear in the voice made me sit up, “Why? What happened?”
The stranger’s face looked scared, “If you can swim, I think you should leave now. My travel agent told me this rock gets submerged during high tide.”
The high tide was in. The rock that had been so far away from the sea earlier during the day was now almost-submerged. The lower part from where I had walked up here were now under at least five feet of water. Waves were rolling in and there was half a mile of sea in the direction I had come from.
There was no way we could walk back.
“I don’t know how to swim. Do you?”
“No.” She sighed, “I have called my travel agent. He said he will contact the local rescue team. Let’s hope they find us real soon. He said locals usually avoid this rock since the area is lower than others. He said there is a danger sign on the main road, but tourists seem to be ignoring it.”
“Danger sign? So that sign showed the rock getting submerged?”
“You saw the sign too? It looks so much like the sun setting in the sea.” She shook her head in a mocking way, but her voice was shaky.
I sent a quick prayer to the skies. Yes, I was heart-broken, but I wasn’t ready to die yet.
*****
Returning to this moment, I can see she is considering how to answer my ‘haunting the place’ question without having a meltdown, “I think it depends on personal preferences, whether a ghost wants to stay put or drift. I want to travel. What about you? Are you planning to haunt this rock?”
“Well, I haven’t decided yet. Do you want company on your journey to Switzerland?” I smile, joining in this crazy one-on-one. I am tired of fuming for the past three days.
I want to cry but I was raised being told that guys don’t. My eyes are hurting from the effort of keeping tears at bay and I don’t remember the last time I ate. I think it was three days back during my Tilak ceremony. The thought of the happiness of that moment makes my eyes tear up.
I look away at the rising water around us.
She seems to have sensed my mood, “Naah, I’m good. I don’t want to give my shoulder to a drunk guy to cry on.”
The salt spray from a high wave hits me on the face and I stagger, “Seriously? I don’t think ghosts can drink. Moreover, you don’t even know if I do drink at all! You only met me five minutes ago.”
“Well, you are a man, and men take to drinking when they need to tell their wives on their honeymoon that they are into men? How else would they gather enough courage?”
“Into men? Who said that?”
“Really? What are you doing alone, sleeping on random rocks, in the country’s most hyped honeymoon spot while on honeymoon (gesturing at the mehendi tattoos on my palm)? Why did you agree to go to Switzerland with me? Why aren’t you calling your wife to tell her you are dying and that you love her?”
“May be because I don’t have a wife to call? May be because I never got around to getting married!” Some of the higher waves have started to push at our ankles. My nerves are getting at me and I am cranky.
“So, is it because you’re gay?”
“No. Why would you presume so?” She is getting on my nerves worse than the waves.
“If I had presumed, I wouldn’t have asked!” She is smiling. Now, I can see she is trying to make light of my non-existent marriage as well as our impending demise, while trying not to freak out by the water being so close.
I challenge her back, “Well, what if I am. Do you have a problem with me?”
“No. I will still not be the shoulder you cry on, and I will still not carry you when you are drunk.”
“Fine. I promise not to cry or drink once I am dead. By the way, why aren’t you calling your husband to tell him you are into girls, huh? From what I remember, you are also alone in the country’s most hyped honeymoon spot and sleeping on the same random rock as I.”
“I am not parading around with mehendi tattoos on my palms, am I? And may be, I am not calling him because I killed him, cut him into pieces and threw them in a landfill? May be, I came here to hide from the Police?”
The reply makes me do a once over.
Is she telling the truth? Or is she trying to scare me so I wouldn’t try anything funny while we are alone?
To be continued
Read Part 2 here: At Sea: Part 2 of 3
Photo by Kush Dwivedi on Unsplash
Author’s note: I wrote this story within 5 minutes for a Talent Show at my office. I hope it lives up to your expectations.
A quiet house at the end of the driveway;
Too quiet…
Windows shuttered;
No one mutters inside;
No life stirs within.
Long forgotten—clean but stale;
A house no one loves.
Koshisho me kasar na thi, faqat yaqeen be-asar tha;
Me tinke beenane gaya, wo ghonsla chhod kar gaya.
Translation
It was never for the want
Of effort–just trust;
I just left to gather straws;
He left the nest.
Author’s note: This is a Science Fiction story from my fourth book, 7D: Tales from the Future.
We can’t afford to miss this flight—literally. I urge the taxi driver to go faster but he is helpless too. Half the air route is filled with taxis. The other half is filled with protestors with huge placards on their vehicles levitating in the air with demands to prepare more spaceships so everyone can reach to safety. I check my four‑year‑old daughter if she has picked up the panic around her. But she is licking a lollypop contently as she hugs her favourite doll.
I would have been out there as one of the protestors too if I hadn’t got the ticket. I had to sell everything I had but, somehow, I was able to scrounge just enough. Of course, that was only possible because I had a head start. One of my close friends received inside information from his government connections before the impending apocalypse became public knowledge.
*****
While thousands of meteorites enter Earth’s atmosphere every year, Oxygen burns most of them down to ashes. However, this one hurtling through the space towards Earth is the size of Russia. The one that made the entire dinosaur species extinct was nothing in comparison.
The seas are already rising slowly, thanks to the new gravitational pull, beginning to drown the sea‑side cities. And once the meteorite enters the Earth’s atmosphere, it will catch fire, raising heat to unbearable levels, burning oxygen and filling atmosphere with poisonous gases. And then, it will make impact, turning Earth to pieces. Is there are any survivors from the impact, they will find that these pieces will not have enough gravitational pull to contain air. But before asphyxiation kills them, lack of air pressure will burst all the inhabitants apart like balloons.
Of course, the event will have a larger impact on the galaxy—not that any of us would be alive to study it.
A lump constricts my throat as I pull my daughter closer at the thought, glad that she is too young to understand the horrors she is leaving behind.
The governments of all countries on Earth had known about it for years, of course. But they had been hiding the information from public to avoid widespread panic. They had been lying through the teeth that they had weapons to break the meteorite down before it enters Earth’s orbit. It was only last year when a famous e‑news channel sniffed out the truth—even with the strength of all the space weapons we own, it is impossible to break down a meteorite of this size in space. And even if we somehow manage to do it outside Earth’s atmosphere, the residual motion, abetted by Earth’s gravity, will pull most of the pieces inside Earth’s atmosphere anyway. Too many of these pieces will be too huge. The result will still be almost the same.
Hence, the governments have been putting all their resources in quietly building spaceships to travel to Azumi‑306—the closest habitable planet in a different galaxy. They have been sending scout flights with scientists who have discovered ways to exist in the otherwise unknown territory—what food to eat, what creatures to avoid and how to see in the 280‑hours‑long moonless nights. Apparently, they are currently experimenting on growing “Earth‑food” on Azumi but haven’t really reached there yet.
*****
When the news came out last year, people went berserk. Some people with means got the tickets and were leaving Earth to start afresh. There is no guarantee as to how it will all pan out though. The two-and-half‑year flight and the life after were full of uncertainties.
I pull my daughter in my arms. I wish I could shield her from all this.
The people outside are protesting for more spaceships, which is useless. If governments could, they would have done that already. But there would never be enough spaceships for the billions of people inhabiting the Earth. So, it will be Titanic all over again—the rich go first, leaving the poor behind to die. But that was a thought for later. For now, I just had to get us through this day somehow.
*****
We reach the space centre at last. We are just in time, so I must be quick.
I tickle my four‑year‑old and am rewarded with a toothy chuckle. I hug her tight and, with trembling lips, I speak the magic words, “Remember, I love you.” And then, I hand her over to the flight attendant, “This is her first time alone.”
She tries to smile reassuringly, like she has been trying to contain tears all day, “We have a special facility for children without chaperon. She will have a fair chance at life.” I try to smile back, wish her luck for the flight and beyond, and watch as she closes the gates. Somewhere behind those gates, a spaceship is preparing to fly to a new world. A precious part of me goes away with it. With a deep shudder, I finally let the tears fall.
END
If you would rather read all the stories together in the book, 7D: Tales from the Future is available for free download here: Link
Security was called
at the local mall
to remove a man
for disturbing peace.
He was crying openly
while holding a doll,
which said,
“I love you, Mommy.”
I was expecting her at our neighbour’s wedding, being her first cousin. But still, it is a punch in the gut. Closing my eyes, I breath deeply to avoid doing something foolish–like grabbing her hand and running away before anyone can react…
It is a stupid thought though. Her brothers are on high alert. I can see them giving me dirty looks, like daring me to take a single step towards her. I am not going to, of course. She is off-limits now that she is married. She is tied to that man for seven lives–that mountain of a man with a huge chest and a large moustache…
Didn’t she tell him she hates moustache?
I sneak another look at her. She doesn’t seem to have noticed me. She doesn’t look any worse for wear anyway, like she is doing fine without me. So, it seems only I was holding out the candle for her.
She looks lovely, like a proper indian married woman sporting a red salwar suit, large traditional red bindi on her forehead, red and white chuda adorning her arms and a red embroidered dupatta covering her head…
She used to hate red. She was against girls being typecasted into reds and pinks. She had once made me swear that I would never ask her to wear red or cover her head after our marriage…
Our marriage…well, it doesn’t seem to be on her mind anymore now. She seems serene, smiling politely as she nods at something her aunt is saying…
She used joke that married women act all grown up in public and don’t laugh because they are not free to laugh anymore; that I should never expect that of her…
She used to be a wildflower, not ready to fit in the social bouquet.
I don’t know what to expect of her anymore.
But somethings never change. Anyone knowing her would see that she is already bored of the conversation. She was never the one for small talk. But she is trying to be polite. But her gaze is already drifting away from her aunt, looking for an escape.
Suddenly, her gaze falls on me and her entire being lights up. She starts to take a step towards me…
But her husband asks her something. The realisation returns and the light dies out of her eyes. She smiles a fake smile at him reserved for people she can barely tolerate and returns to acting like a grown-up..
She is one off the bouquet now.
Muskurata toh ab bhi hai,
Bhale gairo ke sath hi,
Us guldaste me ab wo
Gulistan si khushbu nhi.
Bijli giri jaha par, us zakhm se barish risti hai.
Teri bewafai mere asman ka dil cheer kar gayi.
Translation:
Rains bleed from the wounds where the lightning struck;
Your betrayal tore through the heart of my sky.
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