Tag Archives: loss

The Empty Envelope

“I lay there among many other envelopes at the corner of a dark room, the room which the just married couple had used for storing their glittery presents and beautiful bouquets that they had received at their reception. It was a fancy affair I must say which actually made me feel left out; I was a simple white envelope which didn’t have even a tiny glitter at its ends, so you surely can understand the inferiority I was going through.

I was cramped here in this room for both space and breath as Paisa Bhai, a healthy looking envelope, had landed over me in search for comfort. It had a smell of wealth all over it which made it harder for me to survive as I tried with all my might to retain the impressions of the tear drops and the smudges my owner had left over me. He was a sad man, who wouldn’t be, especially when he had found out that the girl he loved for the past ten years is going away from him forever. He didn’t have the courage to profess his love for her, to his best friend, but now when he had the letter ready, it was a little too late.

Still he stood adamant; he wanted her to know, at least understand what he had always felt. So when he took that teary eyed letter wrapped in me to the stage where she stood, I sensed his grip loosening while his hands started to tremble with fear. In midst of all this, I finally caught him with tears in his eyes when her eyes met his. I felt for him when he realised how happy she is, with her would-be who was standing next to her, flaunting a bright smile together. It broke my heart, my paper heart.

I could feel the tears over my body as my owner slowly removed the letter at the very last minute, and scribbled a saying over me for his best friend to read.
“Envelope is too small for me to put any gift into, after all it’s you Priya, it’s you. Only thing that would suffice would be to gift myself to you with a promise to be your side as a friend forever till my breathe would last. Keep that smile up princess, always!”

Suddenly the dark room door opened, and Priya walked in with her bridal dress still put on. She slowly searched in the flickering light, hugging me close as she found me and finally re-reading the lines with a silent tear and a smile as she ended.”

#Tara&Ryan

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His friend, Anwar

Fiction

Anwar Chacha, one of the most respected persons of Kullu; known for his charming wit and flamboyant poetry. He ran his family business of textiles while reciting poetry as a pass time; a hobby that stayed with him for over three decades now. Despite being a fifty five year old, he never looked anywhere closer to his age. His daily walks and exercises have kept him hail and hearty, thus keeping the youth alive in his eyes. He was Ram’s best friend since childhood. It was he who helped Ram and Sita get married, that to against parental wishes. It was a scene of havoc then but Anwar had managed the situation quite well, allowing everyone to adjust and return to normalcy. He stood by Ram’s side, rock steady, during the past five years, never allowing him to drift away from his sight. It was a difficult phase for everyone, especially for Anwar who was seeing his friend fade into oblivion. And the worst thing was the sheer helplessness he felt to do anything about it. Anwar would visit Ram every alternate day; most of the time during their meet would be spent in silence with a few exceptions that catered to formal courtesies.

It was the month of September, Chacha had walked in his friend’s office with a glittery card in his hand. His eldest son was getting married this fall, and Chacha was in no mood to hide his excitement. The first card, as both had promised years ago, had the name of Ram Shankar Bisht on it. Bisht took a long look at the card, closely examining every detail and finally breaking into broad smile.

“Faizal has grownup so fast. I still remember his first day at school like it was yesterday. Even Sita was there…” He stopped in middle, to finally smile again as he looked upon his friend, Anwar Sheikh.
“Ram Bhai, it’s okay. We can’t change what has happened in the past but why curse the present and spoil the future for things we can’t do a damn about. You need to move ahead, my friend. You need to.”
Ram got up from his seat and walked towards Anwar, and sat on his knees, looking Anwar right in the eye.

“I know Anwar, I know. But some people get so etched in our lives that he don’t find our existence to be true without them. After they leave, it all feels like a blur, a constant painful blur. But let’s leave that for today. It’s a time for celebration. Our boy is getting married. What more can we wish for!” He tightly hugged his long time friend, while placing his hand over his shoulder as they made their way outside for their beloved walk. It was the first time in five years that Ram had looked so cheerful, he spoke at length about the past, about memories of their children and of course Sita.

A week before the wedding, Faizal was returning back to Kullu from Aligarh, his workplace. He was the youngest professor of the university and he taught Sociology to his students. He was one of the most beloved teachers of the university; there were hardly anyone who despised him, not even by mistake. The last day at work, his students had gifted him a Sherwani for his wedding. It was richly decorated with small red stones while the design was carefully hand stitched which broke into life in patches near the chest till the waist, in short a flamboyant cream coloured sherwani. He loved it so much that he made up his mind to wear that for his wedding.

His train was stationed for arrival at 11:00 P.M at Aligarh. He waited patiently at the station, holding the sherwani carefully in his right hand while carrying his lone suitcase with the other. He looked at his watch, there were another fifteen minutes for the train to arrive. The restlessness, the feeling of excitement was catching up on him. After all he was getting married to his college sweetheart, Noor. It was the time when he wished there was a teleporting machine that existed which could teleport him home in no time. But it wasn’t the case, so he stood his ground waiting. What happened in the next ten minutes looked like a haze for everyone at the station. A few people with religious head bands and swords in hand appeared at the station and what followed next was carnage. No one was spared. The cream coloured sherwani, the flamboyant one, laid at an extreme corner with red speckles all over it. Next to it, was Faizal.

#JourneyCalledLife
#Series 3/many

P.S. Sherwani means a type of clothing worn during marriage; Chacha means Uncle. Both words are from Hindi Language.

 

 

The beginning of our fall

“I am scared Ryan! What if..” “You must relax Tara. All will be well. We are almost there at the hospital. Try holding on for a while.”

She had asked me stay back home, she knew that she wasn’t alright. It was her last trimester and I should have been there next to her but I wasn’t. I had these dreams of building a perfect future for our kid, a world which we couldn’t receive. I never realised how carried away I would become. I never did, even then.

We luckily reached on time, and all went well. Our daughter Arya was born. She had her mothers eyes, those curious little ones which followed me wherever I went.

But now when I reminiscence the day, I could clearly sense that something broke between me and Tara. She didn’t actually confront me but I could see it in her eyes. I had let her down, and it became the beginning of our fall.

#EpisodesOfLove  #Tara&Ryan

The Separation

“I sat down, recollecting and refurbishing the details of our last encounter. The time froze as the thoughts poured in to the floating phrases that I had been left to deal with. I closed my eyes, and finally allowed them the space to regroup into a complete whole for me to understand. The play was disturbing; the first thought that sparked reminded me of the void she had left, years ago. It’s really strange that the first possible thought we get when we meet someone, who used to be close, is the one of departure, the one that actually hurts.

It was raining heavily that day; cyclone warning had been issued and the landfall was expected in the next 6 hours. I still remember the frantic calls she had made to my office and how easily I had brushed them aside. She kept telling me to come home soon but I had an important client to satisfy. The deal would have been a big boost to my company, it would have sent us to the next level and I was too ambitious to avoid that. The last call that I received from her was on 8:05 P.M. There were 12 missed calls from her in total. When I finally gave her a call an hour later, the lines were left jammed. I kept trying her phone but all I could hear was how unreachable she was. I didn’t leave hope, as I frantically called her number every other minute, but signal was nowhere to be found.

I left the office in a hurry, managed my way through the overflowing flood to finally reach home. The lights were cut off, the house door was left open. The water had seeped in and all the items were floating in the verandah. I sensed my daughter’s teddy bear near my leg, while her favourite red dress was flowing away in to the main road. I couldn’t control my anxiety any more; the endless thoughts were running amok in my head. All of them related to their safety but I couldn’t find a trace of that in the house. I enquired with the neighbours but nobody was able to answer. I leaned towards the wall and seated myself with the tears that began to flow; it even beat the rain that stopped half a day later.

Next day, I reached my friend’s place after I received a text from her about Tara and Arya.

“Is she safe? How is Arya? Where are they?”

“They are upstairs.” She replied.

As I made my way towards the stairs, my friend stopped me with words that shook my world and left me shattered in a second.

“She wants divorce Ryan. She can’t handle you anymore.”

I didn’t want to believe those words, my Tara can never do that to me. I know my selfish self was talking again, but some characters in us are really difficult to be plucked.

I went ahead with the stairs and knocked her door only to hear the same words from Tara. The only difference was that this one broke my heart to pieces which I was sure would be never fixed again. I could hear my daughter sob from a distance but I wasn’t allowed inside the room. The door remained shut despite my endless protests. I didn’t realise then that the door would be bolted for me forever.

We signed the divorce papers the next Wednesday, and the last sight I remember of my daughter was in the court where her mother took the custody from me forever.

Today after ten long years, I saw Tara again.”

#EpisodesOfLove
#Tara&Ryan

The Lady in Black

Fiction

The scorching sun kept dwelling on the open backyard with traces of it being felt on her face as she tried to turn the other way to get her perfect sleep. But the disturbance was already made and the creaking fan had now become a notice point for her. She woke up nonchalantly, trying to make peace with herself but the screeching thoughts of last night shot up in her head. She hoped it was only a dream, though knowing it did actually happen she rushed out but later realized that she had no other option left. She took a cold bath, dressed herself in her favorite black suit with her hair neatly arranged and her lips done all red, and began her long walk to the destiny she had finally chosen.

She had everything one could desire, but her instincts had driven her this way with an incident which triggered the insanity in her. Ten kills and fifteen injured that’s what her count was; she was known among the news circles as ‘The Lady in Black’ Murders. It was never the money which she was after but the sense of insanity which she drove in her victims just before they breathed their last, that’s what caught on her like an addiction which was hard to move on from. She had a careful process which she went through religiously as she laid out the scheme of things around her victims. And the victims, they weren’t normal people; they were hardened criminals who were so thickly polluted that the public at large saw them as messiahs’ in white. This irony, this very irony, unleashed the devil in her.

It started with the molester who took away her friend’s life and robbed her from a faithful companion who she thoroughly revered. She was there, right next to her, lying helpless as the molester, her friend’s ex-husband, dragged her friend out into a moving car before disappearing in the dark. She lay their hurt and bruised, crying for help but no person in that crowded street had held their hand down. That night when she woke up with strips attached to her veins, she made a decision while coming to terms with her friend’s loss which changed her life forever.

It started with revenge, which became a necessity for her. It began all emotional but it only turned into an addiction. She kept convincing her mind of the moral ground she was achieving by putting the bad men to rest who have escaped the clutches of law. But she could never convince herself thoroughly about what she was doing was right. All she knew was that it was time, and she had to put these men to rest but she never knew when that fine line was crossed which made it impossible for her to return.

As the days passed, she began to feel the desire to kill growing enormously in her and later even tried finding the means to justify her act. Horrendous crimes she kept committing, one after the other. She was so close last time from being caught that the policeman had secured a bullet into her shoulder which she had to painfully extract herself. However the desire kept building in her, finally it reached such an extent that she forgot her ends and only means remained.

Out in the dark, she heard an old woman asking her to help cross the shady road; the blood lust began to thrive in and within moments she held the knife so close to the old woman’s throat that it was only matter of seconds. She managed to stumble upon her eyes, helpless, screaming with pain but no one to hear her to help. She felt a déjà vu; she felt she was in a similar position before and when the scene got recollected, she dropped down on her knees. She cried and cried as she couldn’t come to terms about what she had become. That night she couldn’t sleep, she felt trapped in her desire and the only way out was to surrender herself in.

In a shabby discreet police station of a remote village in Maria’h, there were a throng of newspaper reporters holding their microphones high, to collect the podcast about the surrender of the infamous serial killer ‘The Lady in Black’ who had been the cause for the murders in various places of the state for over an year. Masked in black, she walked out in shackles as she was moved into the police van to get deported to the capital where her trial was about to begin. 

“Monsters aren’t created from outside but they are made from within. Sometimes, in a desire to beat the monster down we ourselves become our worst enemy. There are ways to solve a problem, there are problems aplenty, but the fine line stays and it shouldn’t be crossed, no matter what.”– Testimony of the convict, ‘The Lady in Black’ murders.


Photo Courtesy: Raven’s Song by Zennic on Flickr