They’d hoped and prayed
through the wet week
the kids
happy are they to see this
no rain; it’s a break from the rains

Peeping from between
hues of black and gray
the skies convey
enjoy the timeout
come out and play.

Yes, they know
how to cheer
and mingle oh dear
amongst the hordes
that’s turned out gay

Sudden showers descend
as they always do
i run for cover, but
can’t miss the pain
rain, rain u spoiled their game

Give me, o skies
a breather once again
this time for all ye kids
ill be with you
in the prayer chain

Part awake and part asleep,
‘ts the fatigue laying me low
I’m lonely, says the bed. Me too
Waiting for you, Tell me, Where are you?

A story, a game and a poem for son
fast asleep he is for now
Stories i have waiting, for you too
of the day’s vials, trials, tests and reports

Over dinner i tried, but TV took you away
You got free and i was on email
When i wanted to talk, you got a call
And then the sms that took me away

This will also pass and you will be here soon
Finding me asleep won’t be a cheer i know
But i promise, I’ll make it better tomorrow
when tomorrow comes, i pray its not tomorrow again.

“Help me. Do something about this”.

The appeal seemed both earnest and desperate, an almost magical tone that stirred Das out of his stillness. It wasn’t close to anything real he’d heard in a long time. Looking up, his eyes widened to take another look. Did somebody just talk to him?

Das was a painter. He painted a variety of subjects and for days on end, almost killing himself to achieve photo quality perfection. A shaggy, bearded old man, Das was one guy you wouldn’t want to be next to in a crowd. His appearance lent him an air of eccentricity, a mangled mane of facial hair adding to a perception of worldly weariness.  There were weeks that he spent meditating over as little as a shadow sometimes, engaging in what seemed to most like a mindless chatter. Das was unusual. He never started out with a concept. To him, a concept became visible only after the delivery. Life only had meaning, if viewed in retrospect. With deep reflection thus, he often engaged in one-way conversations with his subjects.

And so, it struck him with surprise to hear Misaki stir up a chat! Misaki was the subject of a charming couple in a rose garden, his outcome after many weeks of impatient imaginative strokes. She looked so beautiful; he couldn’t get his eyes off her. Her lovely eyes were saying something that looked at once in love and in pain. It didn’t matter that she was in another man’s arms; his senses wanted to reach out and appreciate her beauty.  He could hear her through every cell of his brooding personality. Only, that she wouldn’t hear him. As much as he tried, he failed – Misaki couldn’t fathom anything. One-way conversation it was as always, but this time in reverse.

“They are closing in on us. Takahiro can’t see this beautiful world and they won’t let us live together”, she continued.

“He can’t see? And you are in love with him? Who’re they and why are they following you?” Das ranted, heartbeats pounding and sinking at the same time. Surrounded by the fragrance of lilies, roses and the trickle of the rivulet behind them, he was lost in her world.

“Maybe she loves him for his handsome looks”, he thought. “But blind, he is. Why is she so smitten? Could Takahiro be a prince in exile?” The story cleared up in Das’ mind. He felt sorry for Misaki. This was the only time; his subjects have ever been in trouble.

Even as he rued his creation, he could hear the thunderous march of approaching hooves.

“Run”, he shouted. But no, Misaki couldn’t hear him. He had to do something to save her.

And he did, in the only way he knew. Picked up and hurled the nearest can of white paint onto the canvas erasing every pixel of Misaki and Takahiro together.

In his mind, he cleaned up the mess leaving them a plain canvas to redraw their journey, again!

“I don’t want to live anymore”, the voice on the other side, sounded frustrated but not desperate.

This was not new to Raj. A trained counselor, he volunteered his time over the weekend for Atma, a suicide helpline. Most times, his calls would start as abrupt, leaving little time to gain control. But this time, he felt different. The voice on the other side sounded very familiar. A chill ran through his spine as he waited to hear the next word.

“There is absolutely no point”.

Maya, it was! How could he ever forget that voice? That husky tone, unparalleled diction and confidence would make any person go weak in the knees. And add to that, she was stunning. Dreamy green eyes, long locks casually thrown over the shoulder and a permanent brownish tan, she looked every inch a diva.

Speechless, he tried hard to control a rush of emotions. Maya had separated from him many years back for reasons he could not never fathom. Why would she dump him so abruptly? And then, vanish away from his life? It was a rejection, Raj had never overcome. For days on end, he sulked, depressed to the extent of taking his life. The violent aftermath of the event was a lesson he lived through every morning seeing the cracked tiles in the shower cubicle. Surprised, shocked, angry and happy all at once, images of Maya piled up in a heap making it impossible for him to think straight.

Would this be the redemption he was waiting for? Stop her from the mindless act as he would do with any other caller or let her take her life for what she did to him?

“Wait,” he said, masking a tone already choked with anguish.

“You are young, beautiful and just half way through your life. You’ve possibly achieved just a fraction of what God deemed to be a potential in you. If you see a reason to take your life, that reason is outside you. And if it is any person who has got you here, you don’t want to lose to that person, again!”

Raj knew deep inside that he was faltering, not sure which way he was going.

“Excuse me. What do you know about me?”

“I can imagine someone like you would be lively, a joy to behold and warmth that one should be lucky to possess. Control is not anything you will ever lose.”

“How are you so confident?”

“Your voice and emotions betray that you are a 30-something, full of cheer. Probably distraught at someone for causing misery. If I were in your shoes, I wouldn’t let go of such a beautiful life for any person. I would rather go get myself a shoulder tattoo and a purple streak in my hair.”

“Eerie. I’ve always wanted to get these done. “

“Then, go do it. Trust me; I have gone through this too. And I have learnt that violence towards you takes the fun out of the challenge. We are born to fight discomfort, not give up the fight.

(Raj couldn’t believe he was saying all these. Was he the same person who contemplated revenge few minutes back?)

“My partner moved on and I know I was not the cause”

“That’s not ok, I know. But since it’s over, you can only give him a chance to realize his error of judgment”

“Do you believe in that?”

“Yes”

“Well, I don’t. But I see your point. It will be stupid to expect him to come back. And I know it won’t matter to him even if I take my life”

“It matters to someone somewhere, I am sure”.

“Yeah, possibly it does. And I hope it keeps them happy. Maybe, blinded by impulse, I have caused similar distress in the past that I now regret. What goes around, comes around I guess. I need to remember this forgive and forget lesson”

Raj hung up. Unhappy for Maya. Happy, he had saved her life. In the dark recesses, a redemption not worth anything.

Maya, smiled too. The hoax call, she hoped, would help Raj get over the past and move on…

“Check out this guy”, she remarked, excitement palpable in her voice.

Her friend turned around to see.  “Hmmm, Inviting looks”.

“Guy is loaded heavy”

“Looks fast too”

“Wouldn’t he be a fun chase? “

‘Yeah, some day maybe”, she sighed, as the jeep safari inched ahead of the cage housing the two lionesses, leaving them to appreciate their next visitor.

Sitting in the car, hand on the wheel, she let out a puff of smoke keeping watch outside. Neha was a twenty-something yuppie in her first job as an airline hostess. Her grip on the wheel tightened momentarily as anger and anxiety plied on at the same time, the increasing heartbeat moistening her face and forehead.

Neha was waiting there to kill.

Unaware of the danger lurking outside, Mike was getting ready for his evening run, tying his shoes lace around the ankle. He had been released from prison only last week after a court found him not guilty of manslaughter.

Mike had run over his friend Sid, a year back which most on,lookers believed was deliberate and could have been avoided.

“It was not intentional” Mike had cried, “Sid was engrossed on his hand phone and didn’t realize when he strayed onto the road. Sid was my friend, I wouldn’t do this, I did not kill him”.

These words playing over and over again on TV was flashing in front of Neha. She was dead sure, Mike did it on purpose to her brother, Sid. She knew he hated Sid for cosying up with his ex-girlfriend, Yana.

“Yana was going out with Sid to make you jealous, to get back at you and you took it out on Sid”, she rued, as tears trickled down her smooth complexion.

The winter sun was going down early, the pleasant evening sea breeze turning chilly and difficult to keep the windows rolled down.

“Could that be him? Six months in custody should have made him frailer”, she thought. Mike had emerged out of his building in his running gear. Headphones strapped to the ears, he was jogging towards the road crossing.

“Training for the marathon, Mike? Run to your grave, you murderer!” Neha’s control was giving way as she revved up the engine and switched off the headlights.

The road was wide and long with trees lining either side. Falling leaves had sprinkled the road yellow and these flew up with dust as every car sped by. Four high rise apartment blocks to the right were facing a jogging track on the left. After every two buildings, came a speed breaker with zebra lines that helped people to cross over.

Looking at Sid’s picture on the ignition keychain one last time, she cried, “Sid, he’s coming”, as the car picked up speed. Dust and leaves flew up  on the road as the white SUV hurtled down.

“Five, four, three, two, one…”

“Intentional Mike, this time it’s intentional”, she exulted, powering up the headlights as the man looked towards her.

“Oh my God !”

“This is not Mike !”

“He is not Mike, Help !!” Helpless and honking, the car swerved to the left.

“Get away”

The SUV skidded, swerved wildly avoiding the oncoming traffic crashing into a tree.

And right there, sandwiched between the car and the tree was Mike, holding a phone to his ear and waiting to cross the road.

(Un)intentional it turned out, again !

Clearing the safety of the jungle resort
We venture into the stillness of the night,
for a stroll under the stars
to mull,
to reflect,
to enjoy,
and still the senses.

Dark skies have painted a million stars,
The winding road is all black and blind
Also unbelievable it is
To erase the glare of non-existent headlights

Our only light shoots out of a mobile torch
as we ruminate on the deathly silence
Captivated by the Chill, the dark, the smooth
and weirdly unsettling short steps

And then a feeble sound
Right there, next to nowhere
Was it a moan, a cry or a roar?
Real it was
Or was it imagined?

Neither can throw light, you nor the torch
Swallowing pride to silence the drumming heart
And resistance fading against the fear
We retract,
Agile enough to race a deer

This is now the warmth of the cold night
Every sound here on is amplified noise
Will the shriek then, offer its contribution?
Or will a run be the lonely night’s retribution?

Racy thoughts that come effortless never are easy, racing steps are,
Thank the dark skies, you made it home
In time before the next roar.

Oh! was there a roar?