If Words Could Kill!!

She took her seat just as he was tuning his guitar and doing a sound check. She was glad she was just in time, as she didn’t want to miss his performance. 

Theirs was a summer romance that had ended with the culmination of summer. She hoped that he had no hard feelings towards her ending it with summer.

As he began to strum, she could feel pain in her chest. The lines he sang seemed oddly familiar. And then she got the answer to what she was wondering.

He continued to strum her pain with his fingers. He was singing her life with his words. It was as if he had got hold of her diaries and read each word out loud.

She wondered if words could kill, cause at the moment, each time he strummed his guitar it felt like a dagger through her heart. He was killing her softly with his words.

She had to get out there as she was flushed with anger, embarrassed by his song. She needed to get away and let this nightmare end.

She left in a hurry, knowing that it was sweet revenge for him, but for how long would that sweetness last, she wondered.

The next morning she woke up, trying to put the events of the previous in the recesses of her memory. 

She picked up her morning paper and scanned the headlines. She saw a particular piece and smiled. She then picked a tissue to wipe off the grease stain on her fingers. She threw it in the dustbin where there  a lot greased cloth.

She grinned and took a sip of her coffee. “If only words could kill,” she thought, “but he did get killed for his song.”

The Man the World Forgot

He lived up to the name they gave him. Rip Van Winkle, that was what they used to call him. No one really knew what his real name was. He could fall a sleep a drop of hat. For sleep was important to him, but no way was he lazy as his namesake.

An inventor by profession, he lived a life of a recluse, interacting with no one, save for his assistant Igor.  He was seldomely seen, unless when he wanted to register any patent. He relied on Igor for the rest of his requirements.

Now Rip had invented a sleeping pod, in which he slept every night, with Igor’s help, of course. And who would also wake him the next morning. 

One day, when rain poured heavily, Rip decided to go into his sleeping pod a little early, cause he hated the thundering and lightning and the patter of the rain. He knew that Igor would wake him the next morning.

Due to the incessant rains, the level of the river, that flowed by the town, rose dangerously high. To prevent it from being washed out, the whole town had to be evacuated. Every member of the town were accounted.

Now the  town totally forgot about poor Rip. Not even Igor, remembered to rescue him. So Rip continued to sleep in his pod.

The river raged through the town, levelling everything in its path, except for Rip’s place. So while everything else was destroyed, it left Rips place safe and sound.

The whole town was was grateful to be saved, but they still continued to forget about  Rip. 

Minutes turned to hours, hours to days, days to months, months to year, years turned into decades. Everyone totally forgot about poor Rip, even Igor. He lay asleep in his pod, totally undisturbed.

Decades later, people returned to the now abandoned town. They rummaged through the wreckage to see if anything to could be salvaged. During one of their rummage, they came across Rips pod and managed to finally wake him up.

These people were descendants of the town’s people. Since their forefathers had totally forgotten about poor Rip, they had no knowledge of him either.

He was totally startled to see these faces. He asked for Igor, but they had no idea who. They managed to clothe him and take him to the place where they settled. They searched for any mention of him in their records, but they could find any mention of him. Nor could they find anyone by the name of Igor! It was like the world had forgotten about him.

They put out ads about him in the local newspaper, hoping someone would come forth with some information. But days went by, and no one came.

Finally, one day, a very old man came to them. When they brought Rip to him, he recognised the features, but knew it was not Igor. 

The old man looked at him up and down, in total amazement. When looked him thoroughly, he smiled. He couldn’t believe his eyes. So stories were indeed true!

He narrated how his father’s grandfather used to tell him stories of his master who lay sleeping in a pod, who the entire town and the world had forgotten, even his father’s grandfather, who’s Nickname was Igor!

The Boy Inside

Underneath it all is a boy

A little scared, a little lonely

A lot confused

Always ready to please

Perfectly imperfect 

For whom it’s a struggle to accept self

A boy wants to love and be loved

To care and be cared for

For whom everyone’s a friend

Who tries to see goodness in all

A boy who makes mistakes 

Who stumbles and fall

And has been battered and bruised by it all

Who unknowingly takes for granted

And gets hurt in the bargain

Who works hard with what he’s blessed with

Trying to never give up

Or let words and circumstances affect him

But words cut deep and lead to unwanted anxiety

A boy who struggles to sane

And stay stay positive despite the weight gain

Who’s still working to get back to where he’s been

But somehow has gotten lost in what it seems

Who’s trying hard to come to terms with his sexuality 

And reign in the desire that may destroy these

Who unfortunately has a victim complex

He’s a boy that will never give up 

Who will fight till the very end

Who still accepts his flaws

A prays that the world too would do so

He’s a boy that’s never seen

Until you see him through

This is boy that’s within me!!!

The Warmth of HER Hug

He stood by his window watching the world as it poured outside. People scurrying off in every direction, trying to find shelter from the rain. People tugging at their umbrellas, trying to position it in the direction the rain fell.  They seemed like soldiers on a battlefield, their umbrella as shield, trying desperately to protect them from the onslaught of the downpour.

He was happy he was not part of it all. He felt all snug and warm and dry in his little apartment. He smiled at the sight.

But then felt this longing in him, a longing for her. This feeling always got more intense, on days like today, when he missed her even more.

He remembered the warm tea and her garma garm  pakoda that she made, whenever it rained. On special occasion she used to make him his favourite choco chip cookies. He sleep on her lap, nibbling at his cookies (cause he never quite like the oiliness of the of them pakoda). She would read him a story, taking of her tea in between lines, while he stared at the rains outside. 

He loved the warm, snuggly feeling on a cold rainy day. But didn’t all mothers have this natural warmth about them? He so missed that warmth on this cold rainy day. Actually he missed her warmth everyday.

Why did he even move from home?  In fact it  wasn’t his decision! It was she who convinced him, who encouraged him to take the opportunity, to move out from the nest and spread his Wong. He wouldn’t be self-reliant staying home. 

So he finally gave in and moved out of the house. 

But he was feeling very low at the moment , cause he missed the warmth of his home, but most importantly he missed the first warmth of her love for him.

As he sat there brooding, he remembered the chocolate chip cookies she had packed for him. 

He immediately ran to his room, and searched for the packet in the pile of clothes  that he had just unpacked.

He looked high, he looked low, but the packet was nowhere to be found. With each passing moment, he grew more anxious.

Where did the packet go, he wondered. It couldn’t just vanish into thin air!

Just when he was ready to give up, he noticed a packet in the corner of the room.  He quickly retrieved the packet.

On top of it was a note that said “For whenever you miss home!”

He took the note and carefully placed it  in his cupboard. He then ran to the kitchen, and poured a cup of warm milk, and warmed a cookie.

When it was warm enough, he took a bite of it. Immediately he felt a warmth spread through his body. It calmed him down, like a warm hug it enveloped him. In that moment he knew that she was with him. He felt lonely no more.

How wish you could see me now!

Oh how I wished they could see me now

But I wonder what they would say

For all the names they called me

Left an indelible impression on me

They mocked me and teased 

And called me all sort of names

About the way I walked

About the way I talked

About the way I behaved

They even said I had tongue like a woman

That left me hurt instead

Especially when you aren’t picked to read

At your own communion 

Because you have a speech problem

Sometimes you just wanted hide

Block your ears and shut your eyes

The taunting you couldn’t take more

You wish it all would end

But i am glad I braved through it all

Otherwise I wouldn’t be able 

To stand proud an tall

Cause the boy you made fun of

Is now a handsome strapping man

And though I may not be rich

Or even married with kids

I am happy to be who I am 

Even I am almost 42 years 

There’s so much I’ve achieved

But that’s just the tip of the iceberg 

There’s no telling what I can achieve

I got health and decent look

Someone to love me

I know that I am the better man

To the ones who’ve overlooked me

How I you could see me right now

And how happy I can be 

But then it would be burn you heart

And make you jealous of me!

A Letter to Dad

He sat there sipping his morning tea, staring blankly outside his window. The house was all quiet and empty, and the silence was eating. There were no card to write, or bouquets to send. He didn’t quite care the significance of all these days, but still, with Father’s Day around the corner, he felt an emptiness, a kind of loneliness, gnawing at him. 

“This is all a commercial ploy to entice gullible shoppers”, he tried to tell himself, but somehow he was buying his own words. And even if he wanted to partake in this day, who would he send it to? But he missed his dad, and this feeling kept building in him, as he kept it all bottled up, and filled with a sorrow.

He finally got up, and walked to the drawer where all the stationary was kept. He pulled a pen and a writing pad, and returned to the table.

In this day and age, if felt unusual to have a pen in his hand, with everything going digital. He began to write down his feelings, something that helped him many a time before.

Dear Dadda, he wrote. I hope you are doing well, wherever you may be. I am sure you’re in good health l, and free of the pain that afflicted.

I have been dreaming about you a lot, the past few days, and I don’t know if it was because I missed you, or if there were so many things that remained unsaid, or there was something you were trying to communicate to me. These dreams have left confused and unsettled, and therefore I thought I should write a letter to you , though not sure whether you would read it, or how should I send it to you.

I know I was never your favourite child, I know I didn’t always live up to your expectations, cause you made it known, from time-to-time in your actions and in your words. But then maybe it’s a misunderstanding, an illusion, a wrong perception, cause you also did show me love and tenderness, and that’s what I miss most.

I hate the fact that the last timei saw you in the living flesh, it was one of our disagreements. I so wished I knew it would the last time, I would try and make a more pleasant memory, cause the next time I saw you was when thy opened thr crate with your mortal remains.

I know you would not have been happy about the life that and who I choose live with it. You may not have accepted my truth, cause in a joke you told me so. But I wished you were hear to see how happy I am, and whom I am with. I am sure you would love out little family.

There’s so much I want to say to you, there’s so much I want to show you. But the most important thing I want to ask you, is that, did I make you proud?

I do hope you get to read this letter, though I don’t how I can send it to you?

But all I want to say to you is that I love you, I always have and I always your will.

As he wrote these words he felt a heaviness lift off his shoulder. His heart felt unburdened. 

He folded the letter and put it in an envelope. He drove to the cemetery and placed it on the final resting place of his father, along with a long stem rose. Hoping that his father would read it, his own way.