Sweet Oblivion.

She woke up to an unrealized dream untangling itself in her sub-conscience. She decided to give it some more time and lied there for another hour, drowning herself in her furry bed covers. The alarm snoozed with a shrill noise and she lazily searched for her phone under the pillow. She called office, two long impatient rings, a silent click and she left a message informing about her sick leave.

Her purple brazierre peeked through her over-sized t-shirt, and revealed all her flaws and scars screaming in the submissive morning light, but she couldn't care any less today. She wore them with an indifferent pride. Her eyebrows looked like little sleeping worms and she woke them up in one fine sweep. The air was filled thick with such delirium; she could cut it with a knife. She looked at herself in the mirror and touched her left cheek, 'My God, I'm so fucking beautiful'. Her ears couldn’t believe what they were hearing. Her modest alter-ego never let her believe this but today was a new day. She twitched her nose and licked her dry lips. She swore she wouldn't tell anybody, but that smile in the mirror told her that it knew what she was upto. She stared at herself smiling a good long while before waking her laptop up and logging into her blog.

I’m not sick, I’m almost never sick, I don’t know why I’ve taken this leave but I have a feeling in my chest that says it’s going to be a beautiful day. Fingers crossed.

(Saved to Drafts).

She pulled her hair back and secured them in a bun, she hadn’t tied her hair this way in years. It gave her such silly joy, she could hardly contain it. She poured herself a glass of wine and sipped it like they do it in  the movies. The very taste of it burnt the inside of her mouth but that made her gulp another sip. And then another one. She put on a green maxi dotted by little flowers at the hem and walked over to the book-store. Every profile on blogosphere said they’d read and loved ‘A Thousand Splendid Suns’, it made her feel like a clown in a ballroom filled with sophisticated people. She bought the book and happily smiled at every stranger who as much as glanced at her on her way back.  

She spent the day devouring the scent of the pages and rummaging through the contents of the book. Her phone was switched off and she promised herself she wouldn’t switch it to life, no matter what happens today. She googled the recipe and baked herself little coconut cupcakes. She did not put on any slippers for the rest of the day and her dirty feet had never felt so good.

I was right. Today was such a joyful day. Niyati says I hardly return a smile to the ones I know, but today I spread it amongst sweet strangers. It was sheer pleasure. That beautiful maxi adorned my legs with such uncalled beauty, I couldn't recognize myself. The wine tasted sour but I drank some more because the real me would’ve gagged. 

I’ve been myself for too long.

I read, smiled, drank, baked, walked bare foot and called myself beautiful today.

I feel liberated.

She titled it ‘The bitter-sweet agony of being me’ and published it.

The next day fell into routine but it too felt special under the shadow of yesterday.

In Greed, They Trust.

Having grown up in a close knit joint family, I came across all the pros and cons of living with ten more people strolling around in my home. There was love in our abode all throughout the day's length. A pleasant atmosphere, younger siblings, grand parents, first cousins, lame jokes, picnics and what not. I haven't holidayed much outside north India and my home used to be my favorite place in the whole world. Meals were served, shared and eaten together, and not just happiness, sorrow too was divided amongst all so that the one it aims at doesn't feel the heat of it. My over protective parents nurtured my childhood well and I grew up to be a fine yet sensitive girl, with no clues of any dirt in this world, whatsoever. Little did I know, I was looking forward to witnessing some in my own happy paradise.

One very fine sunny morning, I heard some heated exchange of arguments between my father and my uncles. It was an unpleasant shock to me because the general ambience of our home was quiet and happy. My mother kept me glued inside the four walls of our room because I was at a very impressionable age. Within a fortnight, they became a sad routine. They might have been budding for a while but very innocently they escaped my notice. I was a kid back then and couldn't make much sense out of what my ears caught. Tension grew with each passing day and took over my heaven. Indecency crept in and there was little a girl of thirteen could do about it. A few years later, our family separated, not in a very amicable way. I have never been instructed not to talk to them if I run into them somewhere, my parents are sensible enough to let me make that decision for myself, but the way it all happened has made our bond sour. I miss being the wise elder sister to my little sister, but we never exchange calls. My older brother hasn't heard my voice since the day our families grew apart. I haven't spoken to them ever since, except once at a relative's wedding.

Things got ugly and relationships failed God's testing times.

Own your money, don't let it own you.

Money took it all away and hid it, well. It was a lesson well learnt. There are many beliefs and ideologies that are blamed for the evil present in this world, I lay mine on money. It has made humanity lose its taste and warmth, relationships have become fragile and take no time in falling like a dead leaf.

If I could change one thing around me, it'd be to start treating people for who they are, and not for how heavy their pockets weigh. I know this might give birth to a debate in your mind but money does dominate our minds and thoughts in an ineffable way now. It even spells power for some. If only human mind was capable enough to spot the difference, so to say the least. I'd prefer wearing a smile to a Prada, if that is what it takes to be the change I want to see in others. Politicians are sucking the country dry just for a few extra piles of money in their lockers, wealthy people look down upon their employees like they're alive because of their favors, sisters curse, families wish ill of each other, this whole world stinks of greed. My father is a very modest man, he always says 'Respect your sub-ordinates more than your superiors, no matter how loud your pocket shouts'. And I now realize, it speaks volumes about a person's character.

With no alternate perspective in mind, I enjoy the various luxuries money provides, I love my cellphone, my jewellery, my clothes, but devouring them at the cost of losing my loved ones and my dignity is something that will never make sense in my world. I don't reserve the greatest praise for the saint who has attained spiritual blessedness and abandoned all worldly pleasures, that would be a hypocrite act because I myself will never do so. Indulging in a little pleasure every now and then doesn't hurt, but doing so by robbing somebody else off their hard-earned income and stabbing your brother in the back might. I'm no preacher and I'm not perfect but a little sense and love can give you all that greed and money can't. A good night's sleep blesses only those who earn it, not those who steal it.

I am not saying its easy to walk away from lusting over money, but not letting it get to your head would be the key, and even if it does go to your head, have the nerve to fight it away.

Closure

She could not operate machines. Not then. Not now. She always alleged Technology eats away the little joys that make me happy. Squinting into the wide screen with eye brows meeting in the middle and typing around the haphazard arrangement of alphabets gave her liquid pain across her cheeks and an acute sting in her skull.  She preferred pens, ink pens, for their sheer simplicity and beauty. She loved filling them with ink when they ran out of it.

She took out her aged diary, dotted with tiny speckles of her daughter's mischief, picked up her pen and started doodling little hearts in red ink at the torn corners of the page. It brought back memories. Memories of happier times. Memories of innocent smiles. Memories of him, and them. One abstract thought, and she tore the page off. That painting hung in her living room for a very long time now but ironically it was a metaphor today. The sky had stopped pouring. The dew drops wanted to fall off the frail stem, demanded closure, but something kept them desperately dangling.

A tear fell, hot as acid, and scarred the flimsy white.

Nostalgia won. Again.

She wrote. And then, some more.

She could not find it in her heart to forgive him for dying on her. She felt cheated. He promised to grow old with her and watch bad TV throughout the day's length. Why did he have to break it ? Time moved too fast for her to keep up with its pace. They said it'll be painful for a few months and then her life would adapt itself to this subtle change. Why hadn't her pain subsided ? Four long, wistful years had rolled by. Hadn't she suffered enough ? These questions itched her fate and she couldn't scratch it. Once again, there were no answers. She didn't know what to feel anymore. It was a tiring task. Right and wrong agreed with each other. Her face broke into infrequent tremors of grief, pain and wishful longing.

She too needed closure and somehow it hid itself well.

A sudden squeak of wood against the floorboards and a barely audible thud. Her husband was home. She could hear him hang his trench coat behind the door. She had been a faithful, loving wife to her husband all these years yet somehow she cursed herself for betrayal, a part of her cried for a different destiny, mourned the irreparable loss, everyday.

She got up and hid the brown diary back into its place.  

Life is a Dance [55Fiction #4]

They said 'Dance isn't your cup of tea'.
I retorted 'Life is a dance and I will live it gracefully'.

The eager reporter left and she waltzed around the room with her last performance, glimpses of her first ran inside her head.
The woman in the mirror was proud of her and nothing else mattered.

***

-- Dedicated to Tao Porchon-Lynch. A dancing star at 94.

From Bother To Brother.

What would life be without a meager frivolous bickering with your baby-brother every other day ? A little squabble over who gets to keep the warmer of the two blankets ? My day wouldn't be complete. All these years, I've grown up to witness this fact creep under my skin that I love my brother more than I'd ever love anything else.

I went to the city market with my sister today. Two little kids frolicked their way around the multifarious variety of chocolates present there, while their mother roamed about collecting groceries in her red basket. I loved eavesdropping on them. The girl must have been around four and the boy seemed a couple of years elder to her. Her little ponytail swayed with concealed pride and its blue band kept it firmly in place. They looked at those candies and chocolates as if they were to make the decision of their life and one wrong pick would rob the universe of all its happiness. Their eyes were smiling with an argosy of elation. Their manner forced me to think what was wrong with the way I've been brought up ? I've never been turned on by the shine of that naked brown bar. They looked at the chocolates as if they were speaking to them in some other world language that only kids below 10 could comprehend. I felt cheated. Deep Down. Those bars never spoke to me.

But what caught my attention the most was the way that kid took care of his little sister. He was gripping her hand really tight. she even asked him to leave her hand once, he said a few simple words and they went back to their big decision 'I will not come looking for you if you get lost'. She gave an angry shrug and those tiny eyes started searching for her mother. I couldn't help but smile. I tried making small talk by saying hello but all I got in return was 'Papa has told us not to talk to strangers'. I chuckled and went on with my business.

Memories of our old house and my childhood came rushing in. I remember being jealous of my brother just because mom would carry him in her arms more than me. Suddenly one day I was no more the youngest pet, everybody wanted to smother him with kisses and not me. Everyone brought gifts for the new baby because he was cuter. I won't lie, that phase too had a beauty of its own. That little midget has grown up to be a handsome young man who also happens to be my best friend and my most trusted confidante today. I have seen my friends living oblivious to the presence of their younger siblings at home, it aches my heart to see such love lost between them.

My baby-brother :P

Having a sibling is a blessing, sometimes in disguise, of course :P

Make this day a happy one, go and tell yours how much they mean to you :)