Echoes

The echoes of pain scream in the murmuring woods of forlornness. Shouting out and expecting the recurring sound to be a semblance of elf words. But instead what hurls back are reminiscence like insane profanity. Dreams refracted through prism of reality and strewn into multitude of oblivion.  Words; like bullets, either kills or wounds. When it kills, it kills the soul. When it wounds, wounds heal. But the scars remain.

A limping desolate soul tries to pickup momentum. But the devil past will not concede. Fire of desire engulfs the mind and the cognizance burn into ghastly spiraling smoke. A depleted warrior ponders over his squandered chances. The impoverished prodigal has no mast to brace his soul. His only weapon is hope. Hope is his only hope. His lungs belch out anger and anguish that gives wings to his screams, only to collide with the mountainous reality. It is hurled back to him and fans the fire that engulfed his mind. He loves the way it hurts.

He begins to climb the mountain to reach its top and scream again.

No Mundane Magic

Like a baby, struggling to come out of its mother's womb, fighting its way out into a world of atrocities. Oblivious to its future and what it beholds. Feelings are born like this. It brings joy, it brings pain, and sometimes it brings contrivance one cannot fathom. Once born, they are here to linger and loiter. Like a child, it grows in a playground of emotions. Chaste, insouciant and blithe. Like a brash buoyant force its growth is sinewy and almost trenchant.

One cannot strife with his own Frankenstein feelings. It gladden or blacken your heart. A shroud of predilection wraps the heart in concupiscence for warmth. A fatidical fallacy.

They are here to stay with you like a non identical twin. It abandons you only in its aberrant death. Which is rather sporadic. It may abscond, but time to time it surfaces as streams of tears and laughter. A conjurer, necromancer, waving his band of wizardry, it weaves magic in our lives. However black or white it is. It is magic and is no mundane.


“Life, although it may only be an accumulation of anguish, is dear to me, and I will defend it.”
― Mary Shelley, Frankenstein

A Quantum of Solace

As the morning sun bathes my bed with its warm embraces, I happen to look at my empty morning tea-cup sans tea. Stains of dried tea embellished the rim. I run my finger to expunge the stains. Hmmm. They won't go away. I try it again without much success. So I take the cup to the wash basin. Water does not help. I apply detergent but stains just don't go away. 

So I look at the cup very closely. A beautiful morning tea-cup with blue and white florid design. But there are myriad tea stains which I have not noticed before. They blanched and hardly apparent. But they are there. Silently watching me. Me and my laconic self begin to ponder over this silly inkling which has made my mind pregnant with introspection. 

Interesting. Cogitative self begin to graze over the montage of memories. Trying to test my anamnesis. Flipping through the lifetime of perspicacity, I try to pick up the bits and pieces of it to build a cenotaph for myself. Where I will pay encomium to the experiences I had. Whence, begin my peregrination of the rest of my life. So as I chisel away unwanted bits to give shape to the cenotaph, I find there are bits which are minuscule and very bantam. The refuse to budge and thwart my progress. I strife hard with them. But they refuse to yield. Like those stains in the tea-cup. I can break the cup and throw away the pieces. But how will I do the same with my mind? My soul is now like a battle ground, and my mind is at war with my heart.

Watching them spiting each other with wares I have never known existed. Like black magic and creatures of underworld, ugly and relentless in their thirst for blood and a piece of each other. Such were the memories. Myself, a faux pas peacemaker, watching in consternation and trepidation. Truce is no longer an option. But my obstinate self refuse to capitulate. I join the carnage. 

With nothing but my chisel of prerogative, I continue my construction. I will not abdicate my sovereignty, my right to self-determination. Rivulets of pain,sorrow and happiness is red with blood now. And they agglutinate and become like a puissant river feeding the sea of melancholy. Smog and miasma all around and yet I hold on to whatever is left of me. Hope. 

The cenotaph is standing now. And as the first rays of hope, like ablution, cleanse my soul, clear my mind and release my heart. Morbid and insipid calmness envelopes me now. No Sorrow, No Pain, No Expectations, No Forgiveness, No Trust, No Ego, No Truth, No Lie, No Belief, No Dreams, No Faith. Only Hope and A Quantum of Solace.

The Coffee Shop

Vivek looked at her coffee cup and then his. He was watching her lips.
How it was slowly savoring the liquor.
He could not help but ask, "You love coffee too much don't you?".
"Yes!!! Off course! Very much. Why? Don't you like coffee?".
"Oh! Absolutely. I love coffee. At least, this thing is common between us", he grins adding this.
"o ho!!!", Maya smiles back.

13 years later.

Vivek, looks at his watch and nodded his head. Imran, one of his closest friends, was living up to his reputation. Just like the old days. He was always late as usual. He was very excited to meet Imran after almost 15 long years. The bastard didn't even attend his wedding and called maybe only a dozen times. And rest was through modern man's best friend. Facebook.

Maya was very eager to meet Imran too. She heard so much about him from Vivek. So when Imran called up and said he was coming to town, both of them got very excited. So two of them were waiting for Imran in a coffee shop. They will meet, chat for a while, pick up the kids and take Imran to their house for dinner.
But Imran was late as usual. Vivek had already warned Maya of this. Nothing to do, she inadvertently ordered coffee for both. Vivek looked at her coffee cup and then his. He was watching her lips.
How it was slowly savoring the liquor. Few things never change and he smiled to himself.

Then came Imran with a sheepish smile and looked at his watch.
"Sorry guys! Few things never change.", he grinned.

After they shared pleasantries and introductions,they started chatting like college kids. Joking, teasing and pulling legs. Time was flying by. Maya realized Vivek and Imran were sort of best friends meeting after eons.

She ordered coffee again for three. Imran snapped and corrected it to one coffee and two cups of tea. Bewildered Maya looked at Imran and shrugged. Imran, startled, noticed for the first time there were four empty coffee cups in front of them. Imran looked at Vivek in puzzlement.
Vivek smiled at said," Nothing. Few things also change".
"I don't believe this! You and coffee. It's a total scam. It's David and Goliath story!".
"What!?",Maya.
"Vivek, remember the college days dude? Me and you and cup loads of tea only. How you hated coffee!".
"Imran bhai! Few things change too.".
"But you and coffee. I don't believe this!".
For a moment the two friends looked at each others eyes. They first smiled and then grinned.
Imran said "wow"!
Vivek looked at Maya now.
Her teary eyes revealed it all. It was this very coffee shop from 13 years back.