POETIC CRIES OF INTERPERSONAL EXPRESSIONS

of Hello, Good Bye and Everything in between

noreply@blogger.com (PULKIT) — Sun, 23 Dec 2012 23:11:00 +0000

Dear Sister Ar,

This is how the first sentence of a long delayed letter sounds like. You get it? No. Good, Cos I don’t get it either. Let me see now from where I can give it a start.

26 days away from being 23, the only thing that I am sure of about myself is that nothing heals me more than writing a letter. The text word has its own sense of medication. I now know how it feels to allow introspection to happen in narratives. I now know why people say that writing a diary is important when you are dysfunctional in some ways. They are never writing a diary, they are merely talking about the process of writing letters, letters to self. I am yet to find salvation in the process as alienated as that. I am weak, I like being heard and I choose you as a medium to have that release. I hope you don’t find that barbarically boring. I can’t stop now even if you do, sorry for that.

Let us start by pleasantries. How are you? Do you realize that it has been like a month since we last had a more than 2 minute long conversation? Odd it sounds but time do fly. I am fine. I am in the process of redefining the word “home” again. I am living alone, it’s a small room but it is fun and it is peaceful. I can hear my thoughts more clearly here. I feel something within me moving towards peace. I might not be sure if it is saturation, process of giving up/growing up (yes they mean the same thing) or just another bookmark in the journey filled with confusions as the only constant but what I do know is, it is relaxing. 4 am on a foggy morning, 24^th December 2012, when a world is burning in turbulence out there, I am closer to peace. I feel nice speaking that out. how are you? I miss you. I know you miss me too. Thanks for that smile that now has come on your face.

I will talk about people and places and I would leave most of the nomenclature on your guesses.

A, is a small room, it has beautiful curtains, the sound of a child in the background coming from a neighborhood that I am suppose to not necessarily care about. It is liberating, it has freedom, it has a confession arena where when you close the lights you can face your demons. It has no one that would judge your bare body or your feeble tears, it has no one that would make fun of you when you would dance to katy perry songs, it has no one that would give you a weird look when you get teary hearing Axl Rose sing or Manchester united score. A, is awesome. It involves money bleeding but it gives you a calm sleep.

B, is still missed. She is missed in every breath I take. I feel the need for her like somebody working in the field for a quarter of year in burning sun would feel the need to see the vegetables grow post rains. She is in me, around me. I love her, I understand love because of the virtue of the past that I have with her. The more I miss her, the more I am sure that I am never ever ever going back to her. B, is like the feeling of first smoke of the day, or the Ambi pure room fresher release that follows it which brings white lily smell everywhere. B is in every moment. Omnipresent, but at peace in a page already turned in the beautiful book called life. B is love. B would remain the love till there is soul enough in me to feel the warmth of life.

C was fun. I had a great time there. I miss that place. The place I am sure misses me too. I know that is metaphorical but what is life all about, if we stop the process imagination. I never wanted to leave it in the way I did, but I wanted to leave it since forever as u already know. I now understand why. I smile at the time spent there. I feel nice that I don’t feel the need to ever go back again.

D is hot. She takes care of me even when I never allow her to do that. It is funny how in some other age, in some other time, my perception of the perfect city life would involve the need of someone exactly like D but now when I have it, I feel it can never have me. You know how I always used to talk about the objective idea of having a separate body and a separate soul. It unintentionally or intentionally is getting executed in me. I use words like “like” where I would have used “love” in my past self, and keep repeating “relationships are not beautiful, love is”. What I really want to say in the paradoxical thesis of choices to her, is that I miss B and I miss her in the way that every small touch, every small whisper made to me somehow makes sense only when it comes from B. I am programmed to see her as an image of god for the rest of my life and I am helpless, helpless like a junkie chasing his drug of the idea of eternity with B and no one else. I contradict myself here because I am making no efforts to go back to B but I understand this equation in a way very clearly, it is like those beautiful things that you know but cannot explain and find peace in letting them be.

E is beautiful. She deserves blessings and nothing less. I cannot see her in pain, somebody as pure as that person deserves a universe of love and complete devotion. I make her smile. I am afraid while doing so; I never want her to get dependent on me for the smiles. I don’t know how to stop that from happening. She is perfect. She is like my last link to delight of being with the purest form of human heart. I pray for her every day. May she gains strength, good health, balanced mind, and an independent set of things that can make her happy without ever getting the same exclusively from a single source like one hobby or human being. That has too much of risk involved. You know why.

F is boring, I hate the place but since I am only going in the nights I have developed a certain kind of liking to it too. It is not rewarding but it consumes time and energy and sometimes at some age in some phase of life, that consumption plays a critical role. It wears your body out and save yourself from wearing your own soul out instead. I am not satisfied there but rather than pre concluding my affair with the place at peace, I would choose the term truce. I smile there sometimes. I make people around me smile too. That is a reason in itself to exist and go. Rest, let’s see.

Write back. I miss reading you. Ask questions about F and I would answer them.

Tell me a novel or a movie that you have just seen, let us get to talking. Talking of the sort that involves things, places and not people, talking of the best type that there is.

Love and Blessings,

Your nocturnal brother,

'Lovers parade' : My entry for the Get Published contest

noreply@blogger.com (PULKIT) — Wed, 05 Dec 2012 06:17:00 +0000

(pic source)

It was strange what happened between us. We are not lovers, we are not friends, and we hardly know each other. I don’t know how it works on your side of the world, but on mine, random kisses are still not so common. I thought the term sexual energy and moment of awkwardness leading two people to grab each other in an embrace was something too bookish and surreal, something which happens only in Woody Allen movies but apparently that assumption was wrong. It happened with us. I think of that moment which we had and I cannot cipher what I feel about it still. It’s been seven days and six nights but I can see it in my mind over and over again. Is that normal? Is that a fascination, like something which means I want to have it again? Or rather my greed, something like me wanting more than what took place? I have no clue.

I have kissed in the past but those kisses were out of love, out of anger, out of repulsion or out of lust. This was what? Out of meaninglessness? I still remember the sequence of things that led us to it. You were sitting across the table. We were in the office, late at night and due to boredom – I started chatting with you. While you were telling me about how your boy friend is becoming over possessive every passing day and how you hate that part about him, I was busy typing a prose to tell you how your feet looks edible under the table from where I can see them while you hang your footwear on toe top and swing it in a play. Somewhere in between I remember you walking or me following, or was it the vice versa? How does it matter now, or may be to people who shall judge us – that question will be the only one that would matter. Outside - The moon was half. Stars were shining in a teasing manner. I could hear breeze whispering into my ears, asking me what I want. I had no answer to that then. I don’t have an answer to that even now. You were sad and your eyes spoke the same. Flirting is my way of making girls smile when they are sad. I don’t know the moral aspect of it, but it works and I stay loyal to that tested formula. That night was no different. He called you up, you disconnected, and I gave you an angry look asking you to talk to him and make a call back. You said, you have smiled after many weeks and would rather want to stay in the moment forgetting all troubles of the world you and him belong to. I thought this was a fair point.

We took the stairs to make a way back to our cubicles and talked of places where there would be no cameras in the office building. From where did that discussion started? You were looking beautiful while asking that in your innocent fake voice. I take the word beauty back, let’s call it interesting or may be attractive. I could smell your hairs. I noticed you from the corner of my eye – you looked hot (read attractive again). Who spoke kiss first? Me or you? Or maybe it was time; Time that make people think what they think and people do what they do. It speaks; Speaks in a language that only two people frozen in the moment can understand or recall.

“I don’t think there is a camera in here”, I said, pointing to a lonely corner on the second floor back stair exit.

You were quiet and waiting and said nothing in return. I believe in consent and I thought I saw it in your eyes. I held your hand and told you something I cannot say here. I grabbed you and our bodies dragged each other to the darker end of the space. You giggled. We were close, my hand touching your waist entering under the T while your breaths were fast pacing. Our noses were touching and I could feel your air on my lips. I could smell your lip balm. I could see it shine. I wanted to taste it. I told you that I regret smoking a few minutes ago from now. You said – you are used to the taste of it. While I was trying to understand what it meant, we started kissing. In between I opened my eyes and found yours closed. You were busy eating my lower lip when suddenly I could hear you whisper “It’s ok”. I paused and found my whole body shivering. I pushed you away but you continued to hold my hand and you were gently caressing my fingers with yours.

“I had kissed people in the past”, I said.

“I know that”, you replied smiling.

“I want to do it again, I don’t know what went wrong” – I said, ashamed of the fact that I had shivered like a child. You pulled me closer to you, we started kissing again; Deeper this time. Your tongue tried to make mine calm but the shiver had started again. I tried hard to make a move, one that would make me appear strong and memorable among your list of kisses if you had one, but I could envision tears rolling down from the eyes of the boy who had been begging to get your attention hundreds of miles away, I could also see me laughing on myself while making him suffer and kissing his girl. Was it guilt? I know it was not that but something else. Something was wrong. Something was not working. The kiss was over. I walked away first and sat on the stairs.

You said – “you don’t need to feel guilty about it.”

“I was not feeling guilty” I replied… “I am just feeling something that I don’t know.”

“That happens with you always, that is the thing I like about you” you said.

Cigarette was back on my lips. I was glad to be smoking again. My lips were rejoicing the familiarity while I was busy understanding my ever growing fascination for things that are bound not to last. Things like a smoke pile coming from a bud, that would rest in peace in the air it flies upon, or a flying bubble born from the bottom surface of a bucket which disappears as and when it comes to the surface of water top, or maybe, we – “us”, fall in the same list.

I told you that I am not emotionally available, I had been in love and I don’t think I can be in love again. You said you don’t want love from me, you said I am like a star which is untouchable but you find it fascinating and can’t stop yourself from being awake whole night to see it. I liked the correlation.

“Why were you shivering”, I heard you ask.

I spoke nothing. I thought of the girl I loved. I think after kissing you – I realize for the first time, how special she was. I never told you why I shivered but may be you like the mystery about me and I would like this to be kept as one.

“Thanks for kissing me on the forehead, I felt safe” you spoke before making your way back inside, towards the desk.

I smiled and said nothing in return. I saw smoke dissolve in air. It smelled nice. It smelled like you, you in the moment when we were kissing. I came back inside and found you sitting on the seat, calm and at peace. What were we suppose to do now? Pretend that nothing happened? I was waiting for you to give me a clue when I saw your feet, bare – playing on in the same way again with the footwear and then an IM popped up on my screen from you which said “Thank you”.

I typed “why”.

“For watching my feet whole night”, you replied with an expressionless gaze on the monitor.

I could see a story starting in that very moment; Stories of the kind that has no beginnings, no endings, and no meaning.

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This is my entry for the HarperCollins–IndiBlogger Get Published contest, which is run with inputs fromYashodhara Lal and HarperCollins India.

Love Drug

noreply@blogger.com (PULKIT) — Sat, 24 Nov 2012 21:10:00 +0000

It is when the night don’t pass

That I think of you

All these memories which are beautiful

And little fights which were few

A destiny which played

Like a sad song with immortal lyrics

A rose flower which smells so nice

And offer blood and pricks

Meaningless conversations

Sealed in time

Passages left incomplete

The kisses so divine

Shadows

All dancing together

Knowing their fate

And tears that would stay forever

Pillow hugs offering a comfort

Deep breaths and long pauses

A bond broken by light

The one that searched for dark clauses

And last line of poetry

Reserved for the best

Untold to our gods but

Confessed to the rest

************************

Usmein kuch apna na raha

Jis lamhe ko tujh pe chod diya

Aakri patta jo patjhad mein bach gaya

Par ek khilone ne jisse tod diya

Ehsaas kuch aisa

Ki jiski baatein bas hoti rahi

Masoom pari jo mehlon ki thi

Par teelon k liye roti hai

Wo lekhak jiska sapna bas maut thi

Un raaton mein jalta raha

Apne hi jhooth k saayon mein

Nam suraj sa dhalta raha

Maikhaane ki aakhri pyali ka sahara ban gaya

Tumse juda hokar bhi tumhara ban gaya

Pyaar k andheron mein neechey jata raha

Har aansun mein apne khoye huye pal ko pata raha

(pic source)

I belong to nowhere

noreply@blogger.com (PULKIT) — Thu, 04 Oct 2012 19:14:00 +0000

It makes me sad when people ask me “where are you from?” It’s a simple question, which more often than not occurs on first conversations almost every time I have one. By the normal tone it carries, it appears to be straight-forward, a two plus two four, with a singular statement known to someone by-heart. The problem is – it is anything, but that. I take it sportingly, though the whole messy situation where I have to admit that I don’t know where I belong to is sad. There is no city that is mine, no town that I own or is from. No Street that I can associate family legacy with or no set of surroundings from where I can link a cross web of my roots to. It can now be officially said – I belong to the place called “nowhere”.

The nowhere is not like a complete blank page. It is a result of chaos that comes when scribbles with no pointers clutter a book and one find difficulty to read lines out of it. It is a result of a line written somewhere but now lost between pages of a thick journal. This “nowhere” is probably a clement-town of memories. It has a picture in my mind. A picture with no name… something that I understand but can’t give a social nomenclature to; It is difficult to point it out singularly on a map of some over populated politically messed up state, but on a globe of emotional turbulence it finds a path, completely unique and melancholically traceable.

It has a set of neighbors, a group of friends and enemies ranged across time and phases of life, miraculously living in the same society all-together. It has a school where I go, having the best and worst teachers that I have met all these years in different schools that I had to go to every New Year. It has a park – the one that I played football in during high school. It has a Paan shop whose owner greets me and smiles to me, every time I do an evening stroll to grab an unapologetic cigarette after bunking college. It has the house of the girl who has beautiful long hairs and walks on her terrace reading the poetry book, after taking a bath, smelling all fruity and allowing her hairs to be left loose so that they can dry in playful sunshine and flirt with nature. It has a window of her room where I can see her dance in the evening while I try to scribble about the way she looks on a 2006 diary back cover. College buses run everywhere in it, songs are played on loud mobile handsets in them. There is a square where lovers meet. They fear their parents and meet secretly for short duration which includes mostly seeing into each other’s eyes practicing songs of love recited as incommunicado. It is a place where children chase each other on bicycles. They race around otherwise but also have mannerism to greet old-age people taking doctor recommended walks in the same park. It is a town where breakfast outlets are hangout joints. People eat the most unhygienic good with utter delight and never fall ill. It’s a town that stands for the world I saw, as a child.

I find myself scratching my head with utter confusion when it comes to filling of tabs in online forms that says “permanent address” or “temporary address”. It is even more confusing, when a side check box asks me “if these both are same for me or not”. Down the pedagogy on the same page – things like pin codes, landline numbers and others of same category makes me go blank. I have no idea to any of this. Twenty two years down the line, a million forms filled, I still make calls to ask my father asking “what is to be filled”, depending on time in which this form shall hold relevance and where everything shall be during that whole span. I hate and love the fact that my father had a transferrable job. We moved places, we moved on and on – till a time came when addresses were changed so often that they lost meanings or permanence associated with them. We moved on and on – till a time came when parental homes and villages were visited so often that they gradually lost identity and feeling of warmth under a pile of time sand. We moved on – and on – till a time came, when as a teen, I forgot who I was. In midst of an age where identity crisis are suffered by everyone, I probably had the worst of that because destiny as they call it – gave me enough opportunities to meet new people and lie about me, till a time came when I forgot who I actually was or who I actually am.

This is meaningless. It is also sad. I don’t know how to explain the mixed set of wasted effort that follows every time I think about it. It is not an adventure to not belong to any place. It’s kind of “is being an orphan feeling”, only difference being that Orphans has an excuse of not belonging to any place. They have fate to blame; I wonder how blasphemous it would be to say the same for me. I need to apply for passport tonight. I have been planning to do that for over a year now. I get lazy in between, lazy to make a call to someone – to ask what to fill – in the question that asks – where is my permanent home, where is the city that I belong to?

image source*

Of Dogs,Cars and Cigrettes

noreply@blogger.com (PULKIT) — Mon, 17 Sep 2012 19:27:00 +0000

Irrespective of how many motivational books I end up reading, and irrespective of how many “never give up” posters I tag on my wall – the negativity of the people around me continues to seep in every now n then. There is rain outside the window. There used to be an era when it had a knack to leave a curve over my lips with every falling drop. An era when roses looked red and skies looked blue, at the moment it’s all grey; Grey of the sort which is closer to black - Dark black.

It is 12.10, I am negativity to the brim. I want to slap a few people. I want to throw water on face of some of them. I want to take a shower. I want to wait in the shower till there is nothing but silence around. Shit. Cigarettes are over. Hallucination will have to take its place and melancholic madness can be expected to follow. I sometimes stand on the balcony and observe everything in silence. There are cars running around everywhere even at this hour. People are chasing things, chasing things in blinded pursuit, chasing things that are as temporary as their own existence with them shall be, still they are chasing them and irrespective of what you shall tell them about fatal ends to meaningless lives – they would continue to live one. A dog chases one of those taxis – he ends up half way barking as it speeds past along it. This is also the life of a dog sitting in it. Someday he would realize that irrespective of how fast he runs behind it barking, life is destined to pass by him. What loop is this. What life is this? Why are things the way they are? Patters my foot – it is senseless to the core. Has it always been like this?

I had to stop cribbing now. There is this girl I met. She had beautiful eyes – they lied. That made them even more beautiful. We met on a train. We talked of life. She faked it through in the whole conversation but now I don’t mind – everyone does. She spoke about her family and how she hates her parents. She was ungratefulness in motion – but nevertheless she was beautiful, or maybe I was horny or may be both. She got down on the same station. We took the same subway. She was to go to a party that night. Her boy friend was supposed to pick her up but for some reason he was late. I tried to stretch the conversation and ended up making it boring, more boring than what it already was. She wanted to smoke and I decided to share the last bud with me. She said she wanted it all for herself. I judge people who share cigs anyways so she had a plus one on my list. I told her it was about to rain. She said – she likes her hairs wet - Plus two immediately. Her boyfriend came just then. He was tall, had copper eyes and long hairs. He had a SUV, nothing that I should mention along with physical features but I want to anyways. He gave me a grotesque look as he kissed her on the cheek. There was one more girl in the car. She was on the back seat. She looked the back seat material. I don’t know what that means but some of my friends use that phrase so I suppose it might apply on her. The lady with the smoke sat in the car. It rushed past me – a few dogs chased it at the end of street when it took a turn. I could hear them bark.

It had stopped raining. The smell is beautiful. I am still on the balcony. Meaningless dogs continues to chase cars, cars with weird people. Cars that are like cigarettes given to strangers that don't really matter.

Meaningless Scribbles

noreply@blogger.com (PULKIT) — Fri, 14 Sep 2012 20:23:00 +0000

- Wednesday, 11 July -2012 -

12.08 am

****

(Image Source)

In mornings like these...

when it rains

I think of you

and of all the tears that I had given you

and of all the promises I did but failed to make them come true

and of all the pictures of yours that I borrowed from you and told u I shall keep them with me forever which now lies somewhere deleted in the trash folder of my laptop

and of that black dress which I had planned to gift you

and of the mango shake which we shared, the last time we had met

and of the way I keep hearing stories about you being in pain because I walked out of your life

and of the self justification I keep giving myself for that action knowing that its all a lie

and of how my messaging this other girl makes me feel like a sinner from inside

and of how with you, my ability to love someone purely has also ended

and of how you might be somewhere crying

and of how deep within me-- knowing that --- somewhere I am dying.

In mornings like these...

when it rains

I feel like sharing it when water would drop on your skin

I feel like touching it when water would soak from your hair

I feel like smelling it from the softness of your lips

I feel like playing with it by playing with you

I feel like crying realizing that I can't do any of this now

In mornings like these...

I find myself closer to life

I find myself cribbing more

I find myself playing a bluff to my own heart

I find myself not being able to focus on anything much

I find myself thinking about a time that never really existed

I find myself drenching

I find myself as a joke - smiling on the unexplained depression that I live with

I find myself trying to light up a cigratte

I find myself not admitting that I miss you

I find myself confused again , just as I had always been

I find myself hating you and myself.

"I WANT A BOYFRIEND LIKE RAJ" - THE DDLJ SYNDROME

noreply@blogger.com (PULKIT) — Mon, 10 Sep 2012 22:28:00 +0000

DDLJ is probably one of those movies that stand out in Indian cinematic values of contemporary romance. After all these years, the songs, their picturization, the dialogues – still generate an ‘awe’ factor in some part of my heart, and so I believe to be the case with many others I know.

The protagonists Raj, a charming young NRI from London that comes from a rich family but has a heart of gold, and Simran, the sweet elder daughter of a conservative NRI, mart-store owner belonging to middle class, rooted with values that they brought from India – are familiar figures, seventeen years after it first was screened. It was significant, not only because of its success – but also because it drives a psychological viewpoint of every average young viewer that comes across it. Today, it was coming on set max for the nth number of time and I could not help but think of the core thought process that the plot carries. The script, that is epic in a way – that I had heard – young girls speaking even today that their dream boy should be like “Raj”. So who was this Raj? Who was Simran? Why don’t we see pairs like them – on a common occurrence? Can they exist? I will tell you why not.

Raj comes directly out of fiction books, the one that you can rightly label as ‘prince charming’. He is un-real and larger than life. He at the start of movie is shown as a lone failure in class. Now doing such an act might get you thrown out of your home after a series of slaps from father, but unlike that – he receives a free father-paid holiday trip to Europe, which is where he meets our Simran. Given the kind of cool environment that he gets at home (a place where 8 Ferrari’s stand in the outer lobby), he is obviously closer to the funnier face of life. He jokes and makes people smile around him. He is not serious about 9 out of 10 things in a conversation and has humor right on top his list. He is not arrogant (most rich people are). Have mediocre friends, who all love him for what he is. He is like that kid in your class, who was loved by all boys and girls on a generalized basis. He is so wide in his scope, that as a character I cannot help but point out the various contradictions he carries. He had dated many girls in past and talks about it to Simran on that historic car journey that they have (u must be knowing which). He drinks quite frequently and flirts like a pro. He falls in love and ah! Like no other. He meets Simran and before she realizes it, he knows that she is the one for him.

They play the boy girl game, the game that starts with friendship and ultimately ends on bed. No! From here, the scope of his character starts widening.

The game here ends in love.

His first serious impression on Simran’s mind happens – when she gets drunk and finds herself wearing Raj’s shirt on the morning bed. He first jokes to her, that they had sex the other night (prankster he is – the cute kind, not the one you want to slit to death, like my PG cook who pranks about making aloo gobhi everyday and makes that joke come true 11 out of 10 times). When Simran starts crying on his joke – he lectures her, about what she considers him to be and what he actually is. He speaks about the importance of virginity of an Indian girl. (Note – he had a girl friend from Spain in the past - would that mean, he was a different Raj to her? I wonder). Simran was told good things that lie in her character and how he respects all those things and understands them. Like all other girls of the world, she likes hearing those good things about her and develops a soft corner for him. He continues to make her smile for the rest of the trip and in spite of knowing that she is destined to wed someone later that year in an arranged fashion, she couldn’t help but fall in love with him too.

Now, while most Raj’s irrespective of how special that chapter half ends, would be happy to accept fate and move on, with a smiling memory of this trip – our Raj decides to change future altogether. He flies to Punjab, to chase Simran and when they meet eventually, Simran offers him to take her away from her family. Raj has never been in a joint family, he as a matter of fact is a mother-less child, brought up solely by a millionaire father and spoiled on all other fronts, yet he talks of values. He talks of how he would not like to break 15 other hearts for two to join. He decides to win over two families – the family of Simran and that of the boy she was to wed. He miraculously succeeds in doing so, by acting like an ideal son, the ideal brother, the ideal friend, the ideal guest and everything other too as ideal. This happens to an extent that her father, who by the way is rigid with a capital ‘R’ otherwise, melts and tells Simran that no other boy can keep her as happy as this boy can. Aww… while this brings tear in the end to audiences, it also develops image of a boy in the mind of girls – the probably can’t exist.

While many girls, even in a place like Delhi, want their Raj, I don’t see them self questioning about the Simran in them. What is also an important point here – is that unlike, million other relationships (quoting their status from facebook), the relationship of Raj and Simran was not “complicated”. It was simple. They liked each other and decide to get marry. (He could actually, because – you remember his home, and of how it looked like a palace and nothing else, how many more things were left in his ‘list-to-do-before-dying’, apart from getting married to the girl of his dreams).

It is a known fact that guys categorize girls, and while they label every walking creature with boobs and kajal eyes as “worth dating”, they also label some as “marriage material”- The Simrans. She was sweet. She was a beautiful daughter who on the trip talks about her home and her bond with parents, how she loves them and is ready to accept their decisions. Deep within, Raj too must have visualized her as a smart home maker, a well informed, value based wife. Someone who just as she love and respects her elders, would love his father and him too. She would not tell him to abandon his father in old age when he would cough the whole day. She would take care of the kids, would make sure that they are raised with values, leading them to become responsible and law abiding adults someday. This is all about visualizations of what she would be.

Apart from that, I don’t think in the scope of the story – she had done anything heroic to make their love reach a happy ending. Everything is done by Raj. She just demands ( “main paani ka pehla ghoont aur khaane ka pehla niwala, karwachauth k din, tumhare hi haanth se lungi, warna bhooki mar jaungi”). I mean come on! Is it not enough, what all he is trying to do already for you, seven seas away, leaving probable blond girls friends – that now you want him to sing songs and make you break traditional post-marriage fasts in front of your whole family (not to mention – keeping them himself too).

The story tells about the role of a girl and boy, in a love saga. The boy has to do everything and the girl has to simply wait for a boy who can do all that. Breaking news! Those boys, they don’t exist. Yes, while most of them are dogs in general, some of them – do have a heart like Raj too but just the heart. They are nonfiction so they have their limitations too. They can’t have wideness of character, as he does ( the one who plays guitar to win the daughter and feeds birds in the morning to win the dad, not to mention, the one who can turn the game of chess by a single move, and can sing like Udit narayan and look like Shahrukh Khan).

Ok. Let’s believe for a moment, that there is a Raj out there. He would probably meet you too some day. Why will he show his side to you, the one that he revealed to Simran and not to her friends or any other girl that he had met in the past? Do you think, he would have done the same if he would have met Simran on top of a table in a bar, dancing to Honey Singh’s dope shope with a shot of Vodka in her hand? Yes, he would have approached her, probably made her laugh a little too – but their love story would have ended that very night, after condoms would be flushed in drain and lime water would be given to remove hangover to the previous night. So everyone out there, who thinks Rajs don’t exist. They may be as a fraction of it right out there. They have his heart but the coolness/humor that he had on top of it, is probably something that the flirts, ditchers, liars you had met would have more often. Point is the probability of getting a boy with intentions and heart like him is more when you act or appear like Simran did. He stretched himself, the scope of his understanding of love – solely because he found a girl – that stood for pureness and rarity in a world, where not all are like that now anymore. He valued that fact and changed himself too (off course his success in the end was an act of film writing but then again, it is the effort to go that extra mile for a girl, that I am talking about – not the consequences of it).

Raj is from the 90s and so is Simran. We are changing as a society in terms of the way we think and act. However, there is a simplicity about their love and the more you think about it, the more you would realize why it no longer exists or rather is possible for average individuals to be like them. It might not be the most accurate sense of cinema that my nation’s filmmakers had made, technically but I like that movie and find myself singing its tunes every now and then even today. Bade bade shehron mein, aise choti choti baatein, hoti rehti hain.

The Home that was.

noreply@blogger.com (PULKIT) — Sun, 09 Sep 2012 20:13:00 +0000

This was once my home.

A study shows that reading pattern of people have changed in the last few years. A study conducted in US shows that 89 percent of status messages on Facebook which are more than 300 characters long go unread. How sustainable and justified is the effort that one can give to independent blog post writing in an era like this? After all, to simply talk to one’s own subconscious mind, one would rather write a diary. What’s the point of maintaining the blog?

I miss this place, this used to be a place where I talked to the stars. I talked to them, with sheer honesty of not being judged on foreground value to my syntactic grammatical accuracy. Somewhere in between, life took over and then every time I decided to write, I have to fight the same battle of self explanation to motivate myself for the effort that it would take.

This used to be the home. A decorated and celebrated home, but today all the stuff that lies here is under a blanket of dust. It appears out-dated. It is nevertheless close to my heart. Coming here, is like a dream. A dream in which I come back to my room and find everything placed in the same way, that I had left it. I open the cupboard and smile naively at the wall poster of Television series 'Friends' that lurks behind the clothes, smiling at me. I reach the table and pick up the portrait of the girl I used to love. I think of where she would be now. I move across to the refrigerator and open it, knowing that it would be empty and smelling like a deer dead on the highway three days back, yet I do that. I sit on the bed, and fondly move my hands on the bed sheet, knowing that it is dirty. I pick up the pillow and hug it again. I see out of the window and witness an era that has passed. I search for kids, which used to play cricket down the street. I think of where they would be, and whether they would ever know, that I used to smile hearing them yell at each other and cursing each other for making mistakes in the field. I smile in the mirror, a picture of someone who looks so unfamiliar rests behind it. It is a picture of me. A picture of who I used to be, once upon a time. I feel at home. I feel that I belong to this place, yet a part of me is not ready to believe that it would be worth to ever come back here again. A part of me, calls myself stupid for once decorating this place with all my heart. A part of me, questions – what was I thinking in the first place.

The familiar smell that used to bring comfort now brings nostalgia and pain. I reluctantly move out and close the door behind, allowing the sun to warm by face. Wait. There used to be light in there, why was the switch not working, has the bulb fuse or what. I turn again but stop. How does it matter anyways? I check the lock one last time and moves towards my car. The driver is waiting. I have moved on, or maybe not, or may be that decision was taken by destiny and not by me and I have just merely accepted the fact. I smile, knowing that even otherwise, it shall stay the same.

This is life. This was once my home. You used to once be my guests. You stopped coming. I stopped living.

Love/Friendship/Confusion/Crush/Infatuation - or just Addiction

noreply@blogger.com (PULKIT) — Sat, 09 Jun 2012 19:38:00 +0000

Dear Readers (if any) :D

I feel like posting something here, It had been a while since I have done so. - Been writing some tiny scribbles on my Facebook profile page from past few days.
Most of them concerning the occurrences of some recent events and life in general.
I leave further to your imaginations

(Since most of this is - About Luuuuuuuuvvvvv ....I am choosing this apt picture to support the boy girl thing that's happening to me and also which I am trying to paint in my words ) (PICTURE SOURCE)

To gently coax the night awake..

occurred some magic or someone just showed a trick...

Over the many lost evenings..

and things we shall never see...

My eyes don't even blink when you are in front of me

(II)

And then you cross my mind when I hear a name ...

similar to yours :)

I smile with closed eyes, all contented

as a sick person feels well, for no reason.

A rush of wind comes past me

As I'm swept beneath my feet.

and then you ask me with your naive anger, to explain the moment..while I live it with all my heart

(III)

I always tangled those

stars in your hair to tie them safe

your gentle fingers

and sleepy eyes....

now

I have

sorrow that angels steal you in sleep from me

(IV)

When I look at your eyes I stop myself from crying

They are pristine pearls of loyalty in the fog of desolate

Walk away if u wish :) ... now it’s not me, not you. :)

if we now part, I shall find you again in my dreams

like a dry flower pressed against the pages of my diary..

(v)

summer’s breeze,Moonlight, orchid leaves found in the fall

That moment of tenderness when I stare at you, I find it all :)

You relive me from all pain

from all times, I drenched in a one-sided rain :)

Every time we say good-bye ... I start to cry

I confess that I don't mean it, But Promise that I shall try

(VI)

You are not suppose to measure

All these tears I shed for you as my treasure....

I scribbled your name and kept wiping it away

trying to suppress all the thoughts, that I kept feeling anyways....

When would u realize that the dreams one have in sleep

are not the ones he wants to possess, but those that he wants to keep

(VII)

He laid his heart, to faith and trust... to rise and fall... to magic of her smile

She reciprocated with doubt, leaving him to battle alone his fears

For him music of her tip toe walkaway still held a beautiful tune...

mesmerizingly engaging but incomplete feeling, like a full night without moon

(VIII)

In those unknown acts of infinite ignorance u end up controlling my mind

Its strange how I never wanna come close to u and keep standing behind

And when they met...

He just wanted her to know...... all that he so far had failed to show.

silently accepting the accusation of smelling her fragrance,

with shy eyes looking half into her eyes and half into setting sun, confessing...

" For me...Its just...

Its just you

No other hand, no other shoe"

(IX)

U remember Yesterday when we met

I was prior to that all so sad...

But then u came, smiling to the rescue

shiny as the tiny sea waves when they are striped by the sunlight

And all of a sudden the wind started to blew

Romancing with the heat, and setting me free in the process of doing so

(X)

I've been scared to be honest

Maybe it's fake

All these self- mockings and inner musings

For tomorrow a precious dream will be lost

Then, I look into your eyes,

searching for to my confusion

and finding something fishy...

an unexpected bubble of love

(XI)

When feeling is not mutual wisdom will win us someday

What lingers is not demanding of love, but happiness - of your smile

Mean as I am... I still...

need you to wake up and kiss me goodnight.

Knowing so... that our...

soul is same even with different name

(XII)

In-spite of being fascinated by all these mind inciting enigmatic images

I chose to confine in the shadows of your simple soul

magic as it seems to be ... that my unspoken prayers

chose you for me

(XIII)

Like love never to be rekindled again.

It has no place to be,

all places are filled.

I counted all the petals till there were none

and threw them away with an answer of No

She came - picked one from the floor and say yes

(XIV)

"beautiful face Precisely crafted by a painter divine

chin shiver half smile that can make all my rainbows shine"

"A pimple on honey cheeks that bothers your soul as it kills the perfection.

our eyes meet for an instant and I try to tell u - 'forget it', with all my affection"

I recall those moist eyes when u rest your face on the table

and that falling of hairs over them when you do so -- u look so adorable

(XV)

But why does it feel right if it is wrong

the unending urge to hold the rainbows in her eyes all along

The rain that was not suppose to spill on the rusty bars

and this shadow of moon betrayed when it made me fall for a star

Now birds flow backwards as the statues strangely weep

for the one I was to have for few moments, but not to keep :")

sitting now with her favorite dish in a lonely room

with no mouth to feed with care... but a filled spoon

**********************

Inspiration for most of these had been primarily two things - a series of poetry reading late night sessions that I have had last month, covering most of the famous poetic verses ever written on Love. Secondly,It had been a girl - a pretty pretty girl. Enigmatic in her own simple ways, she continues to inspire me in small small things that she does.

PS -
I miss blogging. I miss life being a blogger, but I guess its been too hectic in the last patch and I would rather not post anything random here which I would feel is not upto the mark - Hence regular blog posts would come by here only if I would have dedicated time and attention to produce anything worthy.

151. Curses

noreply@blogger.com (PULKIT) — Mon, 26 Mar 2012 20:09:00 +0000

The flowery fairs of the sweetest times

Bizarre in their perceptions and tones

Hiding in appearances of angels

They turn out to be darkest of clowns

The night that seek an everlasting truth

The last prayer said in hope of good

The falling stars who crib for need of isolation

The rising sun of pain and suffocation

In waterfalls that drench you till death

And thoughts that haunt you in the aftermath

Of all that lingers in curses that echo

That holds onto you while you tread to go

------------

Post Script - When you end up hearing something really bad about yourself, you find yourself in a phase of very less self belief. The moment of pain is soon over, but there are words who are as bad, that to an extent their echoes remain. I guess, that's why they say... there are abuses, then there are scars and then there are curses.

And to a certain level, if I may say so, they are so painful that no matter how close to truth or how far away from it they may be, They do stay in the same exact word set that they are delivered onto you, and sometimes you keep wondering.

PPS - Do read the caption on the pic. Its a beautifully said suggestion. if one end up obeying it, he or she might never face ignominy or low self depiction. Live with peace and smiles everyone, always. god bless.

(Picture source)

150. Impressions on the sand.

noreply@blogger.com (PULKIT) — Tue, 21 Feb 2012 17:17:00 +0000

I have reasons to be sad

Reasons that are known only to this restless heart of mine

You can call them good or bad

But they would always be understood by one I call divine

The uphill struggle of mighty vision

One that my tender childhood thought to be true

Dreams that I saw as a kid

Those that within me always grew

A stream of mountain

And roof on a hilltop

Playful evenings

To which there would never be a stop

The pink fountain

Behind the garden of fragrance smell

Where flowers blossomed

Even on steams and shells

A beautiful stranger

With hairs like the darkest night

And wisdom to define and explain everything

That stood as far as we had the sight

The love in its innocent form

Rebelling the world with a sheer storm

The moonlight on a river bed

The smiles won and tears shed

A heaven right on the door of hell

Sublimely casting its mesmerizing spell

And thoughts that were rain drops

Battling against their full stops

The realities that never struck

As rose petals we continued to pluck

Jealous we left the world astray

In whispers of love and freedom of pray

************

Ho yakin na meri baaton ka

Toh mere khoon k katre ko chuna

Aakhiri boond tak usmein

Dard ki nishaani hogi

Silvaton mein waqt ki

Khwaab k who bikhre manzar

Unmein bhi kahin tuti huyi

Sapnon ki rawaani hogi

Ek raat hai ye anjaani si

Mere bhi sar par, tere bhi sar par

Kahin bhad rahi hai

Kahin ghat rahi hai

*****

PS - There have been a lot of things happening on my end. The ones that have left me disturbed, damaged and bothered to an extent that I find myself completely changed by the tide of what recent days had offered me. I would not like to get into details of it, and somehow that has stopped me from expressing myself in every direction, blogging being one of them. If any of my old readers manage to reach this post, I expect them to leave a comment so that I know I was being heard by those I considered mine.

PPS - The last four lines, is a dedication to a diary that I found at my old home while looking up for something else. The diary that was so meaningful, so beautifully written that I cannot imagine anything documented in the same way as far as I recall. It was half a century old almost, belonging to year 1974 and beautifully jotted down in the handwriting of my father. The last four lines rest same in his one of the prose there.

Picture source

Adhurey Alfaaz

noreply@blogger.com (PULKIT) — Wed, 08 Jun 2011 20:23:00 +0000

Ek Aakhri sawaal ka jawaab bhi mil jaata
Toh humari bechaini ki koi wajah na bachti…
Is pal ki khamoshi ko main shabdon mein kya bayaan karun,
Jab alfaaz k moti dhundey toh jazbaaton ne dhoka de diya

Samay k is adhurey paimaane ki aas bhi kuch aduri hai
Yun toh mere har taraf pade hain khaali gilaas, par ab abhi meri pyaas kuch adhuri hai
Is Kismat ki bhi maar hai anokhi…
Jab botalon ki mehfilein thi rangeen, toh imaan ne dhoka diya
Aur phir jab beimaani ki adaatein pad gayin, toh sammaan ne dhoka diya.
Jab phoolon ki khusbuon k peechey chale, toh ehsaas ne dhoka diya
Aur jab nazron ki sunne ki maani, toh uske libaas ne dhoka diya.

Haan shabdon ka main jaal bicha raha hun
Haan paheliyon k jariye mein khayaal bicha raha hun
Sach ko is shayari ki parchai k pichey dhakeley,
Main apne beichain dil ka haal bicha raha hun

Par galti sirf meri hai ye ilzaam na lunga
Aur laakh tu puchey mujhse, ab tere main sawaal na lunga…
Kyunki galtiyon ko ginaane se humare saal wapas na aayengey
Aur jawabon ko paa kar bhi ab who khayaal wapas na aayengey

Ab keh do ki maine dhoka diya
Haan keh do ki chahat meri hi kum thi…
Par haste hui aankhon k ye aansu phir bhi girengey
Aur mayoos dil k aangan mein sapne phi bhi khilengey

Ek aakhri ilzaam bhi ab mil jaaye toh gum nahi
Kyunki mere zameer ka sach aaj bhi kum nahi…
Jab ehsaason ka sailaab maanga toh lamhon se dhoka mila
Aur phir jab khudgarzi ka khitaab manga toh apno se dhoka mila
Jab saath ki ek aakhri bheekh maangi toh dayaa se dhoka mila
Aur jab yaadon se nikaalne ki jung ladi toh hayaa se dhoka mila

Ek Aakhri sawaal ka jawaab bhi mil jaata
Toh humari bechaini ki koi wajah na bachti…
Kuch kehne ko ab bacha hi kya hai...
bas sard hawaon k kuch manjar hain
aur ruthi lehron k kuch samandar hain
Is pal ki khamoshi ko main shabdon mein kya bayaan karun,
Jab alfaaz k moti dhundey toh jazbaaton ne dhoka de diya

**********************

Give back my tryst with that moment of love
Cos I seek a turn back in time
It is moments that might never seem blurred
The one that are frozen but still shine

I demand answers to question that don’t really matter
I hide behind verses to not disclose my feelings that lie shatter
I seek to swim across in an ocean, never to rise again
I seek to become mad in a way that I may never be wise again

*********************

IMAGE SOURCE - This picture is from the movie, My Sassy Girl.

The Last Letter...To The one I loved!

noreply@blogger.com (PULKIT) — Fri, 03 Jun 2011 20:05:00 +0000

Dear XXXXXX,

I know you are very upset from me and no matter what I say now, You seem to have make up your mind about us. Us, A special special word it is, isn’t it? Its beautiful how two people make one relation and how that relationship inspires them to do the unordinary things in life. Things like sacrifice, things like commitment, things like love. As I start writing this letter tear eyed, on my bed, at 1, I feel liberated, I feel relaxed, I feel being heard… and it is a beautiful feeling to express yourself to the one you care, I am trying to do just that. Yes we do have had ups and downs in our 4 year long association, but then neither you nor me, can deny the fact that we did loved each bit of it. The fights, the love, the smiles, the jokes, the kisses, the hugs, the tears… they were all worth it, as long as they were with you.

I am strange and unique, just as every individual on this planet. I have my share of desires, my level of understanding of life, my values of sins and sanity, my insecurities, my inspirations and my dreams. The one who knows them all is you. I have always been a blatant liar, always. As long as I recall myself, I have been the one, who was diplomatic, uncourageous and politically cheap in my conduct. Yet saying all this, I feel there has been a side of me that I have never known prior to meeting you. A side of me, that knows how to speak the truth, how to be unashamed of what I am, how to be clear and expressive in front of someone whom he wishes to win, a side that I know just because I met you, and just because you allowed me to be what I wished to be.

In the world driven by fakeness, attitude, and materialism, Our bond is the closest that can possibly be to divinity. We have prayed more for each other, cared for each other, held and helped each other, and wishes and love exchanged has been more then gifts exchanged. Its unreal how we have been with each other, or rather, how you have been with me. The girl who always was there. In a way, whatever I am I owe to you, because 1 thing that lacked in my life, before you was ‘reason’. Reason to excel, reason to perform, reason to be what I wanted to be, and in the process of winning u again and again and again, I found that reason. I found me. Its unreal, how the way you look at me, makes me feel special, makes me feel unique, makes me feel strong.

Everyone around me, sees me, the way I want them to see. I carry an Image, an impression that lasts. I work hard on that very image and it’s a tiresome process, to keep everyone happy and to try and win everyone’s heart and mind, whoever It may be. I am someone who is a big ‘wannabe’, an under achiever desperately who seek attention but in your case everything had been different. In front of you, I am me. Just me. The way I am in real, my sinful dreams, my unrealistic ambitions, my lies, my deceptions, my illusions are all right there in front of you, and still you love me. Its unreal, its unnatural, its divine. When I look back at all that I have shared with you, I find myself puzzled, at how on earth I said things to you, that I did. Those fantasies, those habits, those moments. I guess, if honest confessions is a parameter of transparency in a relation, Our relationship was hundred percent honest.

I’m so stupid, that both you and me know, I might end up somewhere in the dark lonely road someday. Like all others like me, I would too become, a distant memory, a humble broken wing, an unsaid poetry, someday. I feel someday, I will be a part of the pain whose fantasies I have carried for so long in my heart. The desire to perish, the desire to burn, the desire to bleed. My depressed heart wonders of the time that shall come as you would leave me. I see tears that will return every now and then, I see fears that shall never be shared with anyone ever, I see dreams broken and shattered, and a lonely boy trying to collect those glass pieces and getting drown in blood in that process. I see the life without you, and I find death more tempting.

Supposing that this is the last time, I am talking to you… before I end up this letter, as I am already drenching in tears and pain… I want to confess –

I am more mad and depressed then I showed myself

I am deeply in love with you, and I am a jerk to not being able to show it

I care for you a lot and I feel hurt and angry that I could never eradicate the distance between us

I lust you for the love I have, for the way you look, for how I smell when I am wrapped in your arms

I feel your eyes, are distinctly beautiful, it captures my imagination. It made me a poet.

I might break a million times if you leave me, Stay. Just stay. And don’t leave me to myself, as I am not in love with myself, the way you are or were with me. I need that love. Save me from the man I might become. Love me, one more time.

Be the girl, that I wanted you to be. Look yourself in the mirror from my eyes and you will find the desires, the dreams, the wishes that I had for you. I believe in you a lot and I know you can make it to a position in life where you can dictate your own terms to life and everyone that is a part of your life. You deserve to rule. You deserve to smile. You deserve to be loved, and loved till infinite stretches of human care and compassion.

I am sharing with you a letter that I wrote to her, along with this letter in the envelope. Read that too, I am at fault, and I have spoiled her life. I did met her, and what happened, that I shall tell you tomorrow when we will meet. Now I am so confused whether to come clean shave or not tomorrow, cos I want you to fell in love with me again, I think I look better clean shave but you like my raw look. Grrrr..why the fuck am I writing this too? Anyways…

I am ending this letter with a piece of poetry as always….

I love you a lot, I need you a lot… Mujhe Tumhari Bahut Jarurat hai aur tumhe ye pata hai. Phir bhi kyun tum mujhse dur jaa rahi ho? Kya tumhe nahi pata ki hum kaise rehte hain, jab bhi hum saath hote hain? Kya tumhe nahi pata ki hum ek dusre ki khushi mein khush hote hain? Kya tumhe nahi pata ki mera har sapna tumse kitna jud gaya hai? Kahan ja rahi ho? Kyun ja rahi ho?

Jab kal raat pyaas lagi toh yaad aaya ki hum kab se pyaase they
Raat ki un tanhaiyon mein har lamha jaagey they

Aur yaad aaya ki zindagani mein aapse kya kya mila…

Ek hansi se jeene ka sahara mila
Ek hansi se dubey ko kinara mila
Ek hansi se patjhad k mausam khile
Ek hansi se khushiyon k manzar mile

Jab kal raat aankh lagi toh paaya hum kitne akele hain
Raat ki khamoshi mein sapno ki bebasi se khele hain

Aur yaad aaya ki zindagani mein aapse kya kya mila….

Un ankhon ka nasha jisne paimaane chuda diye
Un ankhon ki jhalak jisne dhoke bhula diye
Un ankhon ki nazaakat jisne hayaa sikha di
Un ankhon ki gehrai jisne duniya bhula di

Yaadon k bhanwar mein is kadar kho gaye
Waqt ka ehsaas hi na hua aur hum puri raat ro gaye

Aaj ek haare huye dil ki koi fariyaad sun le
Aaj ek tanha akele ki koi awaaz sun le
Aaj ek humdard ki talash koi puri kar jaaye
Aaj ek sahare ki kami koi puri kar jaaye

Aaj do pal meethey koi khairaat mein hi de de
Aaj ek lamha pyaar ka koi majaak mein hi de de
Koi tumhari jagah na le paye sahi
Bas do pal k jazbaat hi de de

Jab kal raat aansu bahey toh paaya ki is kadar dard mein toh hum jee na payengey
Zakhm itne genre hain ki agar marham na mile toh hum inhe see na payengey!

Not a minute goes by
That you are not here with me

On me, at me, in me.

Like the one that beats as long as I will live…
A presence in my heart
Constantly with me

In my thoughts
In my soul

In my dreams

In my screams

In my wishes

In my kisses

In my sun

In my rain

In my shadows

In my feelings…

In the depths of my being
Is You....I love you

I hope someday you'll have a beautiful life. I hope you'll be sun in somebody else's sky. But why, whyyyyy can't it be mine?

Yours and Only yours,

PULKIT

PS – I am attaching a few rose petals with this letter, that are there in the envelope, and that is exactly how your memories smell. Oh please, embrace me and fight again for me, for you, for us. :’( I Love you. I never meant those fights, I never meant those hurts, I never meant when I said ‘leave me alone’, I am complicated, just as you are… The only difference is, I am psychologically mad and you are not. Don’t leave me alone, I need your care, I need it. I SAID…I NEED IT. :’( hold me please.

When Mirror Lies - 5

noreply@blogger.com (PULKIT) — Thu, 12 May 2011 11:22:00 +0000

A Tale of Love, Passions and Deceptions that drive an innocent soul of a young girl in a dangerous never ending trap of Dreams and Desires.

continued from --> Here

“My anger has meant pain to me but it has also meant survival, and before I give it up I'm going to be sure that there is something at least as powerful to replace it on the road to clarity.”

- Audre Lorde

*************

Rohan Batra was among the most looked upon fashion consultants in the city, born in a middle class family, he was the golden boy of Bombay’s emerging off contemporary fashion taste and had made his way right from the bottom. Owner of several stylist firms, he was also a painter, a social speaker, a close associate of various NGO’s as well as celeb designers. After dating a series of high profile names, Married to an ex Femina runner up, he had a beautiful cute little daughter. Even after a visibly transparent public life, he had his own set of secrets that he shared with none. Very few knew about his high sexual drive and his secret therapies for it that took place in Italy, whenever he went there for some show.

It had been a hectic day at work, a high profile life in a place like Bombay, had its own set of toll taking lows and as usual he decided to take a stop before driving home at Belches’ the high profile restaurant and Bar on the other side of town.

“1 Large peg, Antiquity, John”

“There you go sir” The barman replied promptly.

He gulped it at once, and then a few more, by the time he had realized it, he was drunk.

He was eyeing his way into the crowd when his view stuck at the girl right across his chair.

“Excuse me”. He waved a finger to the waitress.

She walked to him, swiftly and with composure, belled by practice.

“Yes sir… What can I get you?” Devika said, in her husky voice.

“I am feeling alone, have a drink with me” he smiled, drunk.

“My shift is on sir, I have work” she smiled, in a manner that was easy enough to encourage someone as drunk as him.

He held her by her hand. “John, Call the manager, say RB Sir is asking for a favor”

The barman smiled and nodded.

**************

They were in his car. He was driving her back home. “You are a very strange girl you know….”

“My Name is Devika Sir”

“Don’t call me sir… call me by my name”

“I am afraid; I don’t know your name”

“Don’t tell me! I thought, you agreed for the drinks and the drive with me, because you had recognized me” he giggled “and please don’t lie”

“I agreed because you said you were alone and I know what loneliness is” she said in a very sad tone, staring at the windscreen. He glanced from the driving wheel to look in her eyes, he knew, she was not lying.

******************

They were at her place, frantically taking off each other’s clothes. She was like a fire on bed, tempting, asking for so less and giving so much more. They made love like two hungry souls on a feast over each other’s body. It was strange, she left him bewildered and confused, their lust lasted till dawn. It was exhausting and refreshing at the same time.

He woke up with the thought, either she is very stupid or very sultry. She sat on the chair, waiting for him to wake up. Their eyes met, she smiled and kissed him good morning. Baffled by her whole composure, He decided to make the first practical move; He took a few five hundred rupee notes and kept them on the bedside, and walked to the washroom. She watched him with a smile as he did that. Ok done. She is just another slut, he concluded. He came out, dressed. Their eyes met, he failed to read her mind, and she was calm and expressionless but there was still a composed smile on her lips. They kissed and he left. Half way to his workplace while driving, he noticed a pile of five hundred rupee notes on the dashboard and a small piece of paper that read “I am not for sale, and I still don’t know your name, but I did had a great time with you, Thanks”

*******************

The day at office was dull; Rahul could just not set his mind on work. The family dinner at a relative’s wedding was even more boring. That night he made love with his wife and after she had slipped, he decided to take a small walk in the lobby. He felt detached to the things around him, he thought, what he had just done with his wife, was carnal and mechanic, just like it had always been and what happened between him and Devika, the other night, was no less than divinity. It was sensual and the whole mystery around that girl, made it all the more interesting.

********************

It another stuffed day at work. He decided to leave office early again. He made way to Belches’ again. He enquired about her while catching a few drinks, and was told that she was there for the weekend job only. He tried to get her number but all efforts went in vain and he could not get one. He left for home, his wife opened the door and looked stunningly beautiful, he kissed her on door, and they rubbed past against hallway walls to the bed room and had a highly warm love making session. He woke up in the middle of the night, and his head was paining. He saw his wife sleeping right next, he was taken aback, It’s not Devika, and I had been imagining her to be, whole of the night, he thought to himself, with a sadistic smile on his face. “I need to get that bitch again” he whispered and went on to make love with her wife, 2 more times, that same night, carrying the same fantasy in mind.

*********************

“Report” she said.

Detective Chaddha cleared his throat and began “Salman is currently in Nasik, traveling with his family for a holiday. He is due to leave country to work for some Arab private airline provider for the 6 months to follow from the next one.”

“Is that it?”

“Yes mam.”

She tossed a few hundred rupee notes and left.

“Keep the leaks coming” he heard her say as her enigma disappeared in the stairway.

********************

She was working as a helper backstage for the event where a lifestyle channel was organizing a talent hunt reality show to search for next top model. She noticed that among the judges, one of them was a familiar face when Rahul Batra was introduced in the huge roar of fans and followers. She was told by event volunteer to fix some Mic issue at the judge desk and pass the wireless mic from backstage to that point. She did as said. Their eyes met. He passed a smile, and she did not replied back with the same gesture. The show shoot started and Rahul found it hard to concentrate. He was experiencing extreme set of emotions, at first he was surprised by the sudden happiness he felt after seeing her, then he was hurt a lot by noticing that she might have not recognized her. He was thinking numerous possibilities all at once. The shoot lasted an hour and he walked backstage and found her collecting pay check to leave.

“Hi, Remember me?” he said, with a wide smile.

“Sorry?” she whispered and looked at him with a glance.

“We met last weekend, that night, at Belches’”

“I meet people very often due to changing workplaces; it’s hard to remember them all”

He said and walked past him. He felt as if he had been slapped and stood there for a few minutes, like a fool.

********************

She was walking back to her place, when Rahul’s car cornered her. The window came down and he asked her, if she wanted a lift back to her place. She said no thanks, and kept walking. His car zoomed, past her “The fuckin Bitch, What does he thinks of herself, I am Rahul Batra, I date super models, Who the fuck does she think she is” He yelled at her, in his car alone. His phone rang “Sir, I am Taneja, speaking from the event firm, I have got hold on the number of that girl… Its…. Hello?? Sir?? Do you want it??”

“Yes I very well want it” he heard himself say.

********************

“Hi Devika, This is Rahul. I was wondering if I can buy you dinner tonight, in case you are free”. He was calling for the fifth successive night. At first night, he had introduced himself again, and made her remember their first meeting. She had recalled it but to his shock, he had received a very dry response to that too. Since then, it had been a one sided effort to built friendship. “I am sorry Rahul, I will be eating at the workplace, shall be working till late tonight again” she said and kept the phone down.

There is something so addictive about rejection, people who are so used to acceptance, find it like an aphrodisiac, to prove the person rejecting him that they deserve her attention somehow or the other. She knew, that her rudeness, rejection and not-falling-in-his-arms-easily have left him baffled, confused and irritated. He was on a mission to win her and she knew that she has to plan her moves carefully, to cash on this momentum of need that had built around him, in the chain of events.

Her door bell ring. Dr. Tarun was standing with flowers in his hand.

“These are for you. Ready for dinner?”

“Yes I am.”

**************************

The Inconstant

noreply@blogger.com (PULKIT) — Tue, 10 May 2011 17:49:00 +0000

The night seemed to stretch on and on for Mridul. As yet another
colleague stepped into the lounge with his wife, Mridul lost his
temper and marched out. It was an end- of- the- year success party for
the media house he worked in. And it was one of those numerous
occasions when his wife Chaya refused to accompany him, as the
consequence of a feud.

Mridul headed to the bar, his hands tucked deep into the pockets of
his tuxedo, inadvertently thinking about their last heated argument.
Chaya had told him point blank that she would not be joining him for
dinner, and had stormed out of the house, apparently to stay the night
at her best friend’s place.
As he sat at the bar and ordered a classic whiskey, his eyes wondered,
searching for company. This place was also crowded with couples or
people huddled together in small groups. Just as he was about to
wallow in self pity, Mridul saw her- a beautiful woman in her forties,
swathed in silver lame and turquoise chiffon and dripping diamonds.

She sat alone, sipping on her second glass of vodka, looking
practically regal. It seemed like she felt his gaze on her because, a
moment later she turned to look at him. He smiled in response, his
handsome face lighting up with the twinkle in his eyes. Mridul
collected his drink and walked up to her.

“May I buy a drink for the beautiful lady?”

She smiled at him, her clever eyes shining, “The name is Setika. And
thanks, I’d like a martini.”

“Pleased to meet you, Setika.” He replied. “I’m Mridul, advertising
head of the ________.”

“I see…So you work under Naresh?”

That wiped the smile off his face. “You know my boss?”

Setika laughed, “Well, yes. I do. He’s my date.”

Mridul raised his eyebrows. What on earth was his stupid boss doing,
leaving this gorgeous woman behind to party with a bunch of
sycophants? Well, that is probably it- he must be enjoying all the
flattery before getting down to business, thought Mridul
condescendingly. “If I were him, I wouldn’t miss out on an evening
with you for anything.”

“Oh, it’s alright. I’m a little blue this evening and Naresh is not
exactly the sort of person who would lend you a shoulder to cry on.
He’s more of a man of action than of words, if you know what I mean.”

Mridul snorted into his drink. No wonder the moron had gotten
divorced. When he recovered, he said, “May I ask why you’re upset?”

Setika stared into the distance, and took her time. Mridul waited
patiently, having realized that she was choosing her words. When she
looked at him again he gave her a warm, benign smile. And Setika told
him.

“My husband called from London today. I told him I want a divorce.”
He should’ve guessed she was married. “I’m sorry.” He said softly.
“Was it very hard?”

Setika sighed. “He didn’t take it very well. He’s flying back to Delhi
tomorrow.” She locked her tearful eyes on his, trying to make him
understand. “He loves me. He really does. We have the perfect home,
two brilliant kids. But sometimes it’s just not enough.”

“What went wrong, Setika?” Mridul asked, his mind turning to his own
marriage, which was far from perfect. Would Chaya to that to him?

“I stopped loving him, Mridul.” A tear streaked down her fair cheek.
“And after my kids moved out of the house, my life just turned so
dull. Amar is frequently abroad and there’s only so much time I can
spend with my friends.”

“I understand, Setika. Please don’t cry.”

He was hardly the kind of guy who’d be seen carrying a handkerchief
around, so he gave her a tissue. Setika dabbed at her pretty eyes and
Mridul felt a strong urge to put his arms around her. She looked so
much younger than her years.

“And no matter what he’s like, Naresh does make me feel special…and
desired. I think I’m in love again.”

With the wrong man, Mridul wanted to say, but decided against it.
“Well, maybe it’s time for your life to change- for the better.”

“But I hurt Amar so bad.” She said, while she sobbed uncontrollably.
People were starting to stare at the two of them.

“The happiness of every single person in your life is not in your
hands. But the one person you can make sure remains happy is you.”

“Thanks, Mridul.” Setika said, as she wiped away her tears.

“Why don’t we take a walk?”

“Sure.”

Together, they walked into the posh gardens. He thought of leading her
to the bench by the fountain but stopped short when he noticed a
couple in the shadows nearby.

“Oops. Wrong timing,” Mridul winked at her and made to leave for the
other end of the garden. But she seemed rooted to the spot. Mridul
raised his eyebrows at her questioningly. Then he followed her gaze,
and swore under his breath.

“That’s Naresh with---”

“----Mehta’s wife!” Mridul grimaced. “That’s sick!”

The recently dried tears came flooding down Setika’s cheeks once
again. She started shivering violently. Alarmed, Mridul pulled her
away before his boss could see them.

“Setika, listen---”

“I want to go home, Mridul.” She gasped. “Please take me home before I
lose my mind.”

Finding her unable to speak coherently, he threw caution to the winds
and decided to drive her to his own house. When they pulled into the
driveway, he helped her out of the car and into the living room. As
soon as he locked the door, Setika collapsed into his arms, crying
incessantly.

“It’ll be okay.” He pulled her closer as he kissed her hair. She
smelled amazing. “The guy’s a total nymphomaniac, Setika. You deserve
someone so much better.”
She lifted her head to look at him. Setika had never even expected him
to be so understanding of her extra marital affair, and here he was
comforting her when she had found out that her lover had cheated on
her!

“I’m so sorry I ruined your evening, Mridul.” Said Setika miserably,
shaking her head.

“You are the best thing that happened to me this evening, Setika.
Believe me.” Said Mridul. And he kissed her softly on the lips.

***********

It was 1:00 A.M. when Mridul woke up, his arms around Setika as she
slept, her angelic face looking at peace. He kissed her nose
playfully, wondering if she’s wake up and, once again, make him feel
like he’d died and gone to heaven. When she didn’t wake up, he gently
laid her head down on the pillow and tiptoed downstairs for a glass of
water.

As he climbed down the flight of steps, he heard the landline phone
ring. Who the hell is calling right now? He wondered irritably. He’d
deliberately switched off his cell phone so that he couldn’t be
disturbed. Before he could answer the call, it went to the answering
machine. He chose to ignore it, but on his way back from the kitchen,
he changed his mind. Mridul played the message. It was Chaya’s best
friend.

“Mridul, it’s Sapna. Please call me back as soon as you can. I’m
calling from the hospital. Chaya was on her way to your party. Her car
collided with a truck.”

***********

(IMAGE SOURCE)

When Mirror Lies - 4

noreply@blogger.com (PULKIT) — Thu, 14 Apr 2011 06:18:00 +0000

A tale of love, deception ... and Dreams that drive an innocent soul of a young beautiful girl into a self laid trap of lust and endless desires!!

CONTINUED FROM

Reaction is always superior to the cause, in a way that it alone represents a deed. Hatred in itself is a very strong emotion, misjudged in its character, it is the opposite of love and thus one can wonder how strong it can be.

When hate is the cause, vengeance is the reaction that occurs and sometimes, it alone, leads life to paths and misdeeds that one has never even heard of. It gives a motive, a purpose, and an aim, so clear that it can surpass every other desire of ours sometimes.

***********

Devika was a girl of strong passions, she felt more then she thought about things that happened to her. When it was his brother, his parents, his so called well wishers, who all led her down, she took it as a breach of trust, a loss to greed, and surrender to foremost human nature that is selfish in all its color. But love? Love starts from sacrifice, so selfishness can be ruled out, she thought. Then what? Why? Why? Why? Three weeks she sat on the same broken wooden chair, in the same lobby. She thought, cried and thought. Stage came, when tears no longer were a surprise, they use to pour almost naturally when a sound of a bird or the innate breeze of the night touched her. She cried for her state, for her life, for her being alive. She thought of death and the beautiful possibility of killing herself along with all the pain, but then there were answers that needed to be known. There were whys that were still riddle. She looked in the mirror and wondered why everyone she had ever met has taken her for granted. She stared at it with anger and almost like a moment of enlightenment, she got an answer. Trust. She understood that how easy it had been for everyone that ever entered in her life to win her trust, and she pledged that she might fall in love again, she might have friendships, she might have a family someday but none that would ever enter her life shall be given the vote of her trust. What she understood more was that she was beautiful and thus lust, a primary sentiment among the males shall be her strength. She knew that everyone who had ever seen her, had a hunger in eyes, a hunger to eat her, to use her, to throw her. Wait. No I will use them, I will use them for everything they had done to me, for everything that they still wish to do with me, and for everything that they will one day feel that they should never have done with me. She smiled to the girl in mirror. And then she saw her eyes. They were beautiful. She cried, and cried for the rest of the night and a few more nights that came.

**************

With the arrival of summer season brings its own optimism. Skies are bluer then ever and every aspect of nature it seems have come to peace. But then again, every positive aspect of life cannot combine to negate vengeance. It is too strong a emotion to be conquered, Especially when it has been originated from rejection.

Dr. Tarun was having a usual busy day at hospital, when she saw a familiar face coming to his desk. It was Devika.

“Hi Tarun…” she said, her voice was husky and her skin glowed like never before.

“Hey… Hi… I remember you mam, sorry your name again please?”

“It’s Devika… when is your shift ending, I need to talk and this place is pretty noisy”

“Sure, I will catch you in 10 minutes at the cafeteria ok”

****************

They were on the corner table, facing each other with a coffee in hand of each of them.

“So? Beautiful Devika, how have you been? And how is your baby?”

“You have a sharp memory, I must say” she replied with a smile.

“You have such an interesting face you know; it’s very hard to forget someone like you”

“Interesting? Ok. I guess beautiful was better” she laughed.

“So tell me, what brings you to me dear”

“My baby… I was hoping to get it out of me”

“You were what???”

“Get rid of it”

“Abortion??? But why, who is the father?”

“Not Abortion. I want to murder it” she laughed “hope I have answered the other two questions too with this remark, anyways the coffee is really good you know”

She left him shocked, numb, curious and interested with her number on the paper napkin, and a one line message “I have you and no one else, please help me… your friend, D”

***************

Detective Chaddha was a slim Sardar, graduated in psychology and claimed a false MBA degree that won him the license to have his own agency. He married a fat girl, who had a rich father, who sponsored all his futile expenses as well as those he did on his beautiful mistress. He had not come across any big assignments and his one room untidy office was symbolic to the idealism that his failure had offered him. He was looking busy and doing nothing when the sound of heels made him look at the girl who had just entered his room. It was Devika, in a black gown, hat and sunglasses.

“Hi Madam, Detective Chaddha at your service mam, I was behind the tapes that rocked the session’s house last week and also behind the actress prostitution sting and ….”

“Can we talk work?”

“Oh! Off course. What can I do for you this morning?”

“Not this morning. Every morning till this assignment is finished. Every damn morning” she sounded stern and confident. She threw a pile of 100 rupee notes and a picture of Mehul. He jumped at it like a greedy dog on a fresh bone.

“Get me everything you can on this man. Everything you can, I repeat”

“Ok and what if …”

“I have your number from yellow pages, I will call you next week to ask where my task has reached, and will come for a weekly payment on the same basis”

“What if I want to reach you?” he asked staring at the picture. “and by the way, who is this man and what is your connection with him?”

She had left by now. Only the lingering of her perfume, and reminisces of her beautiful eyes remained in his eyes, “she is better looking than my mistress, I wish I can have someone like her someday” he whispered with a sadistic smile to himself.

**************

Devika was laying on the hospital bed with all these hi tech scanners and machines surrounding her from all corners. A nurse and Dr. Tarun were also present in the room.

“Every test is normal, your pregnancy as well as your body is sound and healthy, I think it is time we move ahead with Abortion process in a day or two from now”

“Has the baby taken a full recognizable shape?”

“Not yet… but in a week or two from now…it would... actually the thing is…”

“Then I will have abortion after that” she said dryly as she sat on the bed.

“Are you mad? The more we delay it, the more dangerous it would be, Human body and the complications attached with it are not based on your whims and fancies ok” he was loud and strict in his mannerism.

“I want to see the face of the one, I am murdering” she smiled and left.

He stood still in his room wondering what was going on in the mind of this young insane girl. The nurse reentered the room to break his thoughts “Sir, the bills”

“I shall pay them with my next salary, put them in my account ok”

He was unaware that silently he has fallen in love with this girl and the strange mystery attached with her. She was aware of it very well though.

***************

“Mr Chaddha. Good morning. Report” The first sentence she said entering his office on the first morning of the week.

“Good morning mam, I was not expecting you so soon” he giggled, “though, you shall be pleased to hear that I do have some interesting information for you”, he laughed.

The lady on the other end seemed not so pleased with his light hearted gesture, she was motionless. No smile, no sign of curiosity, nothing at all.

“Report please”, she said, husky voice, no emotions at all.

He cleared his throat to begin. There was a fearful commanding air about this mysterious girl that had been unprecedented for Chaddha. He has met murderers, scoundrels and even serial killers in his journey as a detective but none had been such a mystery for him.

He started with the brief “ Name, Salman Anwar. Age, 34. Fair, 5 feet 10 inches. Use a fake license to work as a commercial pilot sometimes, for private charters near Pune. Has a non working housewife Shaistha, no children”. He paused to look into the eyes of the lady sitting across on the chair. Unmoved. No reaction. No sign of pain, happiness or surprise, nothing.

“Has several mistresses, I have account of almost 8 ladies here… shall I read it all?”

“Yes please”

“Alena cooper, 18, daughter of a priest in Goa. Riya Mishra, 22, a struggling model in Bangalore. Shreya Sen, 19, an engineering student in Chennai…” The list was long indeed.

“… and This one is most interesting, Shaba Malik, ex wife of an Arab Sheikh, He discovered their affair, she is 47 years old, and owns a range of porn websites, under the combined tag name of desi-baby. Interestingly, she and her son, Rashid who is almost of same age of Salman, share a very close camaraderie on face, Salman also works for the websites, as a content provider, He directs a few of these amateur clips, also stars in some as a close source told me” He giggled. The smile was disgusting.

“Is that all for now?” she snapped back.

“Yes mam”

“Keep the trace on, and continue collecting every piece of info on him” she said and tossed a bundle of 100 rupee notes before walking out of his room.

“Bitch” he whispered on her back.

***************

“You see, the scan visuals… that’s the face, those are the hands, the legs… and… that’s….” said Dr. Tarun, looking intently into the monitor screen.

“Enough! Kill it!” she said in the most dry and emotionless tone possible.

“Sometimes you scare me Devika; you talk, as if you are some maniac or something”

She smiled, and winked at him.

****************

The process of Abortion was very critical. It had been abandoned to a very last stage plus she insisted on the minimum possible use of anesthesia. She wanted to be awake to get it killed. The pain was unbearable, and it was more unbearable to see her laugh throughout the process, especially when tears kept falling out from her tender eyes. She laughed and roared, and collapsed to bed, and fainted in the bath of blood around her. In her sleep, she saw a dream where she was standing in front of mirror, she laughed at it “I have started killing him”. She looked happy in her dream, the mirror had lied again.

*****************

P.S. - Wo Bahut Royi us ek Ansoo k Khatir
Jise Nikalna tha kisi khushi k maukey par.
uski palkhon ko kisi ka daman mila hota..
Toh uske aksh bhi moti kehlaatey!

This story here by Dedicated to the eternity called Feminine. She is complicated and that's what makes her interesting.

When Mirror Lies - 3

noreply@blogger.com (PULKIT) — Mon, 11 Apr 2011 19:22:00 +0000

A tale of love, deception ... and Dreams that drive an innocent soul of a young beautiful girl into a self laid trap of lust and endless desires!!

CONTINUED FROM

In days that followed, Devika found herself switching jobs every now and then. In a span of a couple of months, she had found herself as a typist, receptionist, bartender, waitress, event dancer and what not. Her jobs were brief because every time she crossed tenure of 5 days at workplace, she found herself coming across awkward taps on the back, ridiculous passes, flirty remarks and hungry eyes. Everyone it seems belonged to the same race, be it her colleagues, her employers, her customers, her acquaintances, everyone.

“what are you doing after work sweetheart?”, “are you alone in this butcher market baby?”,”how on earth will u survive the challenges of the society shona?”, “oh! Pity on you girl, don’t mind but I believe I have fallen in love with your innocence”,” come have a cup of coffee and we can carry on talks of your permanence on the dinner”, “I feel alone… prove me your employ-ability girl”. She had heard it all; she was now so used to such remarks that it hardly affected her anyways.

The most relaxing time of the day, was with Mehul. She would return home to surprises that were more then just pleasant. Hand cooked dinner, long drives, and moonlight hand in hand walks were almost daily affairs. In one of those early walks came out the following conversation –

“what do you do to make out a living ?” she asked, sipping the cola ice cream in her hand like a kiddo.

“nothing much… I can say, I struggle… “ he laughed.

“as in?”

“I try to act. Not been able to make it big though but gradually making contacts”

“so you are an aspiring superstar… hmmm not bad Mr Mehul haan”

“I am pretty good at what I do” he blushed.

“I would like to catch one of your shoots sometime around ok”

“yeah sure” he winked. And the topic was never raised again.

He used to leave home for shootings, and sometimes did not returned for days but whenever he did came back, they both made up for the lost time in an unforgettable manner. Love making sessions were extreme, they tried it all, he was a teacher and she… his curious student, and he bet she was a fast learner. There were 3 things in their steamy nights that never changed- Role play followed by an oral, repetitions and varied postures, and… a hidden camera (of which she had no clue).

*********************

That Saturday night, at gazebo club, she was working weekend as a waitress. While serving snacks to one of the younger group of guests, she found herself being stared in the most notorious of fashion. Not that it was the boys that were alone at fault, her skirt revealed more then it actually hid.

“1000 for a night baby” one of them whispered in her ear while she was picking up dishes.

“excuse me?”

“oh! Come on. I am already pricing you high. Ok 1200”

“Not interested sir”

“Fuck your interest, 1500… do you know who bloody I am” his voice was loud now.

“I surely do”. She slapped him hard right across his face and was about to move away from the table when two strong muscular arms grabbed her by the waist, and she was wrestling to save her dignity. She heard the back strap of her dress being torn off when she frantically kicked the guy, right in between his legs. The grip pressures loosen up almost immediately.

“I am sorry sir” ran the troubled bar manager, trying to pick up the guest. He looked less drunk now, still trying to recover from that blow.

“You bitch! You are fired” she heard the manager turn and scream at her.

She was close to tears but managed composure somehow. Music had stopped and the party had come to an unusual halt. She heard whispers like “this is what happens when you hire cheap and chracterless girls, they give suggestive looks to our young high class boys and then you have all this mess scene”.

She went to the changing room for waitresses and kept crying for almost till 2 in the night ,as the club partied on till 4 and after 10 minutes of that scene, everything seems to have come back to normal in the hall. At 2.30 she was in the manager’s cabin asking for her pay before she would leave.

“You kick minister’s son on the balls, break glasses in your hustle bustle with him, get me abused by my owner for ill decorum and then you ask for pay?”

“Was it my fault you son of a bitch?” suddenly her anger took over all the helplessness.

He stood up and threw a few hundred rupees notes on her face and screamed “get out!”

***********

Tiredness was all over her, as she started to walk back to her habitat, Mehul’s flat. She was so drowsy that she could hardly open her eyes. Her head was spinning while she was crossing the road to take a subway, and last he saw were a pair of bright lights and sounds of screaming breaks.

************

“How are you feeling now?” she opened her eyes to a pleasant whisper of a female voice. After the bright ceiling bulb had screamed to her dim vision, she could manage to recognize the place and surroundings. This was government hospital, the rotten smell of medicine and flesh everywhere. People laying as wounded piece of craps in every direction at every possible bed or floor space possible in that fuggy hall . she had minor injuries, very minor actually and was told to move from the bed, as soon as she was conscious. Before moving for a check out, she met Dr. Arun, a young intern, who was crossing the road at the same time when she bumped into the bonnet of a white fiat, the car was slow and clumpsy in its mannerism and she fainted before the impact of the minor crash, probably by the fearful anticipation of it.

“Hi Devika… I know your name, by the train ticket that I found in your purse”

“?”

“oops! I am sorry… I was not supposed to look into it na” he smiled “but then… how would I have got you registered in here no”

“I am fine now, can I leave, it had been a hard day at work”

“where do you work mam?”

“?”

“ok! Your silence tell me, you don’t wanna tell, anyways smile lady… cos you are absolutely fine and so is your baby”

**********

She took a taxi from hospital to home. She had mixed emotions about the news. She was not sure, if she was more happy or sad or insecure or confused. She found Mehul whispering on phone, the call was disconnected immediately as she entered.

“where the hell have you been sweet heart? I was so worried” he said and hugged her tight. Concern was genuine.

“I met with a small accident at both work place as well as on the way home” she whispered, her head burrowed in his chest, as they hugged tight.

“tell me about it”

“I have something else to tell you first…”

“what?”

“I am pregnant with your baby”

“……..” his eyes went wide, his lips went dry, he was still, the hug was on but the grip went weak, he was quiet. The room went soundless, only the creaks of ceiling fan audible.

“I don’t know how it happened baby, I don’t want to be a burden on you, we can get it removed tomorrow itself please” she sobbed in her arms.

He kissed her on lips. They kissed for almost five minutes. He kissed her eyes, her tears, her cheeks, her neck, her forehead. “Are you crazy? I love you a lot baby. This is the happiest news I have heard in a long while, I can find myself a job and take acting part time and you can work along side me… but before that we have to marry”

Her heartbeat had stopped with happiness. She left herself loose in his arms, and cried with joy. This was the happiest moment of her life, her insecurities and fears were strangled by her visions of love security and prosperity. The world around her had changed, she was on heaven. They kissed again. This time, it was longer, sweeter, happier then it had ever been before.

“Look I am going to station to book train tickets to Pune, my parents stay there, we shall leave day after tomorrow and marry there itself, I want us to live there till your delivery OK, in all the care and comforts of home” he giggled.

She saw a small tear of happiness falling from her eye.

“I will bring temple flowers on my way back OK, and start packing, but please take care, you have the little angel in you now” he laughed. They smiled and kissed again. “Bye, are you are awake when I am back and in the mood to party” he winked and do wait for me for dinner, I will be back in 15 minutes and will bring a bottle of wine along, make sure I find you awake and in a mood to party, when I am back." he winked and left.

She gave him a flying kiss. He did the gesture back. Her beautiful face lit up, she felt blessed to have a guy like him, and she was in love with him more then ever by what had happened between them in past 10 minutes.

***********

“Rashid Bhai, I have taken a cab to the station, I will come home from morning passenger and I am bringing the last set of tapes with me for upload, haan haan yeah the last ones, no no the bitch is pregnant and she thinks I will marry her” he giggled.

She sat for 3 days on the same chair where he had left her, watching the door. He did not returned.

*************

PS - This is an edited version of the original text. It's a more then 10 part story which I had been writing ever since August last year in my diary. It was a work so close to my heart that I lost all the enthusiasm of posting it on my blog when it opened to weak and very few feedbacks. On continues heart flattering pull of my soul elder sister Anushree Didi, I have regathered the courage to post this piece of my soul here :)
I am extremely sorry to all my loyal readers (if any of you have remained now :D) for being very infrequent to my blog space for almost whole of last 2 months, I have had all the time in the world to write my blog, I confess, but somehow I feel someone within me is crying for some reason, and I believe, no matter how clearly I will say that here on this page, I will not be heard by anyone :')
love and blessings, take care!

For The Girl I love

noreply@blogger.com (PULKIT) — Sun, 13 Feb 2011 19:12:00 +0000

I pray to god, you read this!

I wish to god, you smile again!
I beg to god, you stay happy forever.

I might be the sick ass, who fails to reply sms’es, who ends up frowning for no reason, who disappear without notice, who fails in whatever he does, who cry every night…. But behind all that I do… I wish you to hear me say, I love you!

(Image Source)

--------------------

Kuch arsey pehley
Ek kashish thami mere dil mein kahin
Ek aarzoo jaise puri ho gayi
Khwaishon k paeymaane kuch is kadar bhare
Ki jaise tujhe paaney k baad
Koi hasrat hi na bachi ho!

Jis ek tamanna ka
Barson se sahara tha
Anjaan tufaano mein
Jab khoya sa kinaara tha
Toh aapne mayoosi k beech
Muskura k
Phir Umeed ki aas jaga di

Us chahat ko bayaan karna
Shabdon mein mumkin nahi
Jis chahat ki kahani ka
Koi ek kinaara na ho

Meri palkhon mein jhaankiye phir ek baar
Mehsus hoga ki main aapse
Kitna Pyaar karta hun!

(Image Source)

--------------------------------

Yet again, I am thinking of you
Yet again, I am falling short of words
Yet again, I know I am in love
Yet again, I am not sure if you are listening….
Yet again, I am crying on my desk
Yet again, I am watching you smile
Yet again, I am sure one day you would not be mine
Yet again, I am grateful that someday you were!

This Isn’t just another love story, Four years, Fourteen thousand fights, The turbulence, The paranoid nights, The wasteful days, The tormenting evenings, and The assuring patch ups, The hope, The dreams, The love and The silences. Magic is all I have to say.

Yes Magic, What else can it be, That makes me fall in love with you Again and Again and Again.

(Image Source)

___________________________

If you are reading me, Imagine me right now… sitting in the same room where we first kissed, on the same bed, where we lay in each other arms…. Looking into each other’s eyes, on the same pillow which I used to place on your waist as I rested my head. Do you remember how we use to smile, and Play and giggle, and smile more.
I am sounding a little dumb as I say it again…. I miss each of those moments spent with you, I miss you princess, I am not even half as happy and neither would I ever be…without you!

Har aansu ki kahani ek apni hai
Har raat ki rawaani ek apni hai
Mohabbat ki sargam mein
Ek dhun purani apni hai

Yun chut gaye hain kuch yaadon k panne
Ki bin unke Zindgaani ki kitaab adhuri lagti hai
Yun reh gaye hain kuch rishtey puraane
Ki unke bin har saans beymaani lagti hai

Bas ek janam ka saath…
Kya kuch jyada maanga tha?

I try every night and every day not to think of you
I end the effort in vain drowning in memories of you
Smiles are an illusion like the vanity of some shot of smack
I crib my bed, I rip my soul, and I beg for god that you be back

Last Night again….
You were in my dreams
It was raining again, You see every time we meet, There are showers of happiness.
I tip toed closer you and Whispered “Thanks”
Your beautiful eyes widened and you smiled a simple “For what?”
I smiled back saying “For what I am looking at”
You blushed and we kissed.
Ah! Those dreams!

*********************************

In a very strange way

One time I needed you

In a very strange way

I think I am still in love with you

In a very strange way

I think I want to cry

In a very strange way

You are the reason why

In a very strange way

I owe what I am to you

In a very strange way

You have made me…

Whole

HAPPY VALENTINE’S DAY TO YOU….

I DON’T BELIEVE IN THE DAY ITSELF… BUT I DO BELIEVE IN ONE SIMPLE FACT…

“I LOVE YOU”

****************************

Gangster's Last Call

noreply@blogger.com (PULKIT) — Tue, 11 Jan 2011 19:03:00 +0000

Because Somebody's fiction is Somebody's reality.....

*Deserted Dark and gloomy background*

A young man drags himself in the corner, his light brown skin, dark black hairs and white dress visible.

It had been raining for the past two hours. At this late hour, the streets were almost abandoned in that part of suburb. Bombay was asleep but not at peace, it never was.

The shadow ran past a few trash cans and crashed into the dimly lit phone booth.

His hands were shivering and his face was pale white. It took him immense effort of dial the number, each time, the good old trunk returned to zero. He shuffles his palm in pocket and brings out some change, leaving a few five hundred currency note pile dropping by on booth floor and a red tainted stain on pocket patch.

On the other end, phone was ringing. It rang and rang…and then there was a beep. The call went Unanswered. A tear encircled the dark circles around his eyes, and a sweat drop from his forehead touched ground. He closed his eyes…and murmured a whisper of a prayer, his expressions of desperation haunting every minuscule of his face. The phone was ringing again.

There was an answer this time around, a sleepy voice of a girl, dulcet as heaven.

“Hello….”

No answer.

“Hello…? “

No answer

She opens the night lamp on her bed side, and slide herself up to sit, resting over the pillow, supporting her bare back. Cream brunette hairs, shining to the face of lamp bulb, and hazel eyes. Deep eyes. Sad eyes. Empty eyes.

“Is that you….???” Her voice was a whisper this time.

(*with heavy breath*) “Yeah it’s me Shirley….” He gulped the blood cum saliva that came from his throat along with voice.

“Can I talk to her for a second?”

“Yes you can…. But I don’t think… she would recognize your voice”

“And why is that?”

“Because giving birth to a girl…. Doesn’t mean… you become a father Asif”

(Coughs!) “Shirley… do we always have to fight?”

“Always??? You call once in months now Asif, I am sick of this…. There are issues at home… that you know nothing off… sending pay checks at home, doesn’t fulfill my need of a husband, and her need of a father…. Have you ever thought of it?” her voice started to break.

(Gulps another patch of blood) “Where is my little angel… can I hear her please?”

“Are you okay Asif? I know you are not. Are you drunk again? Have you had drugs? You don’t sound yourself….” A slight worry and concern in her voice.

“Give the phone to her….”

“This is not the answer to my question”

“JUST DO IT!” screams. Very loud. The dog at the corner of deserted drenched street raises his ears.

Silence from the other end. Shirley wakes the 8 year old immensely cute young girl, sleeping right next to her.

“Urgh….(she rubs her eyes, those twinkling ocean blue eyes, beautiful like her mother’s) What is it mom?”

“Hey, daddy on call sweetie, Talk to him.”

“Hello… Ada?” He manages to speak, as composed as he could.

“……” silence greets him.

“Ada my angel…. How have you been sweetheart?”

“……”

“Okay so I am goanna get silence now… I know you are upset with me baby, I couldn’t come for your dance competition in school, but daddy had work honey….I told you I would try” (heavy breaths and pain).

“You told me… you would come…. You lied again daddy”, fighting in her sugar tone.

“I would come next year, I promise, I swear on my life”, (smiles and looks above, a tear falls from his eyes)

“We will see….” (She smiles)

“I love you sweets”

“I love you too daddy… I miss you everyday….”

“good night sweetheart, go to sleep, be a good girl… daddy loves you jaan, give the phone to mumma”

Pause.

“You should see… how you can make her smile Asif, me you and her… we have a family here, can’t you come back…for forever and leave everything else”

“I love you Shirley”

“I know Asif… I can see it in your eyes, it’s been years since I last saw those eyes…. I just need you here, I can’t handle anything here…. I really can’t… she needs a father, I need a husband….I need a partner” *sobs*

“I love the white suit you wore for our wedding… will you wear that again if I would come?”

“I would do everything you would say… everything …. Just come”…”please”, she starts to cry.

Pause.

“Honey… behind the wooden Elmira in kitchen, there is a bag….It has some papers, some money, my diamond wedding ring, and some old insurance papers of my parental property….” His voice starts to break.

“Why are you telling me this….? Tell me you are ok Asif. Tell me love. Allah!” she burst into tears.

”You are the most beautiful thing that ever happened to me Shirley. I wish I would have never got into this, and have listened to you…. Take care sweetheart…I will be back soon… take care of my angel too, I want to see you both smiling, when I come this time around”. A bunch of tears falls from his eyes.

(Behind the fog on the adjacent corner to it)

“There he is”… a gunman points to his leather jacket partner. “Behind that broken phone booth” he whispers.

GUN SHOT!! Wham! Wham! Wham!

A dark blank.

The receiver hanging from its chord

Saying….”I love you Asif…. Hello? Hello? …. Hello daddy?...Hello jaan? Hello?”

Tears and screams.

*******************************

Backdrop - I am speechless and unaware of the source of what made me pen this down. I just started typing and things shaped up to this. Many a times, our lives become entangled enough and in thoughts of... sometimes ambitions, sometimes greed, sometimes hunger and need... we tread the forbidden roads of crime. They appear silvery, but of all that history has witnessed, we all know... of where they end. In a deserted corner, on a lonely bed, in a pool of blood or in a can of trash. These roads have a knack of leading to painful ends. I wish and pray nobody ever walks those roads again. Everything destroys in the end, reasons don't matter then, fate does.

I am not intentionally penning down pain, but grey had always been my color of pen. And grey is the color, that I take in the most from how I observe things around.

(IMAGE SOURCE)

PS - Thanks to all the new followers, and people in the comment box, if you would not have been there....I would have never got the enthusiasm to keep coming back with something or the other, please do keep the comments coming, do let me know, how you find the stuff around here, Please keep guiding me, my blog angels.

Ragpickers in fog!

noreply@blogger.com (PULKIT) — Sat, 08 Jan 2011 19:17:00 +0000

Because someone's fiction is someone's reality

It has been the coldest patch that they had witnessed.

“Amma ne jaldi bulaya hai... aaj, bola hai 6 baje k pehle ghar aajana”. The younger one told his elder brother.

“Then why on earth are you standing there like a dumb ass, give me a helping hand sisterfucker”, he retorted back.

“Ok ok , why are you shouting on me….”

“pick that one up… It’s a newspaper, would help even in some household stuff”

*Opens the newspaper and his eyes widens*

“Hey… did you see that? Gosh! Crores of rupees … IPL bidding…. Hey… what is bidding? How many zeroes are there in a crore?”

“I am just feeling too cold to answer any of your stupid question you sister fucker, just focus on work, pick that two rupee torn note too, mother can glue it up to buy a piece of bread tomorrow”

“Huh! You are elder to me; this doesn’t mean you abuse me all the time….”

“try and search a scarf or something if possible for mother, I don’t think she would survive the cold this year, she was coughing the whole night”

“Hey… see…the next news, this girl out here with long legs… she got lakhs of rupees for a new year dance at some night dance thing, for one hour….what is this night club? Does lakh has more zeroes than crore?”

“will you shut the fuck up?”

“oh my god… look at her, she looks like an angel with big boobs (laughs!) how many breads and milk packets can one buy from a lakh rupee note”

“I will slap you now if you don’t shut up… please try and find some useful stuff and hold off that newspaper”

“ok ok… stop yelling, uuuuuuuh! Its so cold”

“HEY LOOK THERE!!”

“THERE IT IS………………!! “

“but it’s under a big pile…and it’s smelling like dog shit out there too”

“why wouldn’t it?, Dint you noticed that angry bastard sitting right there, seems he has found something to eat close by”

( a brown dog sitting over trash)

“Its not he, It’s a she… bitch!”

“keep your fucking knowledge up to you…. Let’s try and throw some stones at him and then get that thing out of the trash”

“she looks angry…. I think we should search elsewhere” says the younger one.

“No way……..”

“There are a few big one’s there”

Younger one picks up a set of stones and Throws on the bitch. She runs in fury, in attack mode and catches finger of the younger one with a long jump. The other boy kicks her away. She runs into fog!

(crying) “It’s bleeding”

“take this polythene and rub it off, and be a boy now for god sake, don’t act like those stupid young kids, which needs dettol to even have a bath”(laughs out at his own sarcasm!)

“Its so cold, my hands are almost numb”

“better for you, that would ease pain…. In the meanwhile I will get that scarf out”

(the younger one taking his finger in mouth to suck off blood drops)“I will dance in new year’s night too……. When I grow up, that would end our misery days of poverty”(smiles)

(The other one digging trash) “they don’t pay shitheads to dance”(giggles)

“I would grow balls too na…. big deal” (laughs!)

(After a pause)

“sister fucker! SHUT UP! It’s not a scarf….its a torn socks”

And they both laughed till they started coughing with cold!

***********************************************************************************

Back drop – I am sitting in a warm blanket, there is an electric heater right next to me, illuminating, heating up my room…and I am holding a warm glass of coffee in my hand, still I am shivering a bit, it is that damn cold. Kanpur just like every city in north India currently is under extreme cold wave and fog laden cover.

In a country where 1 lakh 76 thousand crore rupees gets eaten off by some bloody corrupt individuals, the only difference between those battling survival in bare bodies and me is a sheer destiny of birth. I was born in the household where one telecom scandal, one raise in onion prices affects me not in day to day life immediately…. Whereas for those out there, laying on the pavement, every single coin of government treasury that they so rightly deserve for some help, matters. Conditions out there are in humane to say the least. There are people out there who need help, this isn’t a tsunami, this isn’t an earthquake, but it is equally tough because life is at stake. Official toll of death count in UP is 110, just after three successive days cold wave, specially in a state where our respective CM wears a multimillion garland now and then, I wonder if even a 35 rupee sweater that is sold on a cart can save someone’s life. I just wonder at times, how the only thing that matters is birth.

P.S. – help those in need. This isn’t an appeal or a plea, it’s a reminder, be human. go out there, give just a pair of socks, an old blanket, an unfashionable sweater, anything....It would be valuable to someone, It would make a difference.

Silence Speaks For Itself

noreply@blogger.com (PULKIT) — Thu, 06 Jan 2011 16:24:00 +0000

Sometimes you just need to be quiet

In the shadow of darkness away from the sight

Lying in corners like a broken piece of art

Entering the numb with a shattered heart

Nostalgic over things that never really were

Caressing the memories of time spent with her

Ending those nights crying in candle light…

Sometimes you just need to be quiet

Sorrow of past have a knack of coming back

Piercing you more when you are already in a rack

Etching you till the final thorn of pains

And leaving you with blood and stains

Knowing that you might never feel alright

Seldom you even slide within your bed and hide…

Sometimes you just need to be quiet

For others it seems all so baseless

Only one himself know where he was careless

Reminding yourself of sins committed in broad daylight…

Sometimes you just need to quiet

In scorching cold and foggy mist

Tears add in to your messed up shit

Suddenly everything around seem so gloomy

Ending one’s own self seems like a bloomy

Laughing in your failures and plight

Finally quitting those chase and that fight

Sometimes you just need to be quiet

**********************

*********************

NOTES FROM THE POEM -

This is the first time I am posting an Acrostic poem on my personal blog. I have attempted this genre on TWL in the past. A brief intro of this form for my blog readers - An acrostic is a poem or other form of writing in which the first letter, syllable or word of each line, paragraph or other recurring feature in the text spells out a word or a message.

BACK DROP - I have always been a social animal, belonging to groups, having friends at school and college always texting someone, messaging someone, calling someone etc. Though lately, I have started believing in the concept of not sharing weak aspects of myself, with even those whom I call friends. I have come to an utter conclusion... That... when one is at a low, one should be quiet, keep emotions to one's ownself. The more you tend to speak and share, The more resilience and self ability to stand, you tend to lose. SILENCE SPEAKS FOR ITSELF, is a note to that belief.

----------------------------------------

P.S. - A very happy new year to you. I know this is not the kind of stuff one wishes to read, specially at the start of new year but... I kind of have had a rather shitty start to the year, and when I sat down to scribble something, I ended up writing this. Apologies. How have things been at your end? hopefully I would be blogging in a prolific manner all through this month, and If I would get regular comments, The journey would seem easier. Love you all. Thanks

P.P.S - I would like to specially thank my friend Vidisha for always commenting on this blog and for being a patient part of the team here for so long. Its a bliss to meet people like you in a blog world, that at times, seems so so unknown :( Thanks

(IMAGE SOURCE - a template cover picture at Blogskins.com )

Verses of The Dead

noreply@blogger.com (PULKIT) — Thu, 16 Dec 2010 17:18:00 +0000

As Mist drains from heaven to earth,

The epitaph finds verses of mirth…

Of falling heroes and rotten salads,

Unending quests and Unspoken ballads,

Chains of fury and temptations of pleasure,

Untapped potential and hidden treasure.

----

Of sorrows in happiness and pain in joys,

Of things that one takes for granted and never rejoice.

The lost glory in forgotten songs of rust,

And words that came from shear frust.

Things of beauty that never really were,

Glasses of wine that needed a fresh stir,

Whispers that long raged within to find a voice,

And moments that helps us make a choice….

Of when to do,

And what to say...

Those screaming sounds

That ended in pray.

Rise of an angel,

From the coffins of hell…

The unprecedented trauma

That left me in a shell....

Some who went and left a hole,

Faces yet smiled though burned was the soul,

And prayers that went unanswered again,

And reactions that could have left anyone insane.

The fresh curry of new dreams,

A new set of rush and streams.

Of strings that now, might never be played

Belonging to the melodies, that have still stayed

And those blue pair of eyes….

That still finds a shelter in my poems

The smile that rests on those angelic lips

And the pink color of her finger nail tips

That last bus which I wish she would have missed,

And that last time when we should have kissed.

Of the shoulds and might….

And the wrongs and right…

From would be and could be….

To must be and may be…

The questions remain the same,

The shadow that is still timid and tame

In the prayers of seeking a path of rest

The one that for me would be the best.

-----

And hopefully the sun would rise….

And hopefully It would find me here…

Resting in the grass laden in mist…

That came from heaven above….

Soaked me…

Burnt me….

And left me in the nirvana

Where I met myself as same!

….. and The epitaph was speaking again!

*********************************

PS – This came out, I don’t know from where…. I just sat, texted and published this one. It has too much of what I wish to say right now… Where was I ? Why was I gone? Why am I back ? :P everything is somewhere in this….
Dedicated to a set of songs… hearing them again and again lately, have got me bouncing back somewhat to writing. The first 3 that comes to mind as of now are “Don’t cry” and “Sweet child O’ Mine” by Guns and Roses and “Nothing else matters” by mettalica. Old classics and yet effective in drenching out the rust that seeps in at times : )
(The cover picture source : This too is a homage to the spirit of song writing, lyrical mystique and the aroma of music that liberates the soul and cure the wounds)
Plus…My dear friend Salil Shankar, has been a constant support all this while, Thanks for encouraging me to tryin to do it again…what I have always loved the most. : ) U rock!

PPS – Belated blog anniversary to everyone who has ever been a part of this blog, have read me, have supported me, have criticized me, or have even opened this page once. I owe you guys. Thanks for being there always. You mean the world to me : )

When Mirror Lies - 2

noreply@blogger.com (PULKIT) — Fri, 23 Jul 2010 05:54:00 +0000

A tale of love, deception ... and Dreams that drive an innocent soul of a young beautiful girl into a self laid trap of lust and endless desires!!

Though a complete story in itself, yet it is actually Continued from...

Every year, hundreds of thousands of young girls come to Mumbai, with a million precious and delicate dreams of a starry future shining in their eyes. Most of them give up the dream of becoming a star and settle to a less ambitious life in some other profession or simply end up as housewives on their return to the small cities which they actually belong to…And then, there are some who end up as objects of a sinful world that operates somewhere in forbidden corridors of the city. Devika was one of them…but she was also someone who rose from those corridors and made her way into other sections of the society; she was a phoenix who was destined to rise from the ashes… She was a virtual masterpiece in motion, a sculpture… her features were flawless. From a distance, she looked stunning, an almost perfect figure with long, curly black hair and as one reached closer, one noticed her deep, seductive eyes, beautifully shaped eyebrows and a smile that was almost too beautiful to be real.

It was raining heavily that day, and she was being pushed around by a crowd on her way from the platform to the exterior of the Bombay Rail terminus. It was a mad mess. People were stepping on each other, truly reflecting the actual nature of the commercial capital of the country… which is absolutely ruthless. Unlike several shaken and miserable looking people who were soaked to their skin, Devika was enjoying every bit of it. This is it! This is where I belong. This is the place which shall be the witness of my rise to power. She was a dreamer, acting on her impulses and unaware of the law of nature…Sooner or later, what goes up has got to go down!

“Take me to an expensive hotel…somewhere.” She spoke with obvious excitement in her voice.

The taxi driver was a very old and shabby looking fellow. He watched her carefully, his mind working furiously.

“Theek hai beti…”

She boarded the taxi and the meter started running.

On their way…

“First time in Bombay?” He asked. His voice was soft and warm, a fatherly tone and a sense of belonging were clearly reflected in it.

“Yes… why?” She replied innocently.

“It’s just that, if u need a job or something… just consult my sister… She runs a salon, in Bandra…Here’s her business card.”

“That’s very kind of you…I had to search for a job anyway…”

“She is always looking for fresh talent, upcoming models and all, for in-store fashion shows…and you are a fine looking lady…so the pleasure is all mine. I shall have my commission!” He laughed.

“Are you sure that there is a vacancy?”

“You bet I am. Her office is on the way to the hotel, we can stop by and talk to her about it.”

“That would be great,” she smiled. He smiled back, in the rearview mirror. It is all so easy; lady luck seems to be on my side. She thought, and said a silent prayer of thanks.

*************

“There is certainly a place for a new model…you can start as an intern.” A middle aged woman with calculative eyes said to her. She was sitting on a sofa. The interior of the office was dirty and disorganized. There was a reception, a central room in the building, and a staircase that led to the upper storey. “Have you ever been into modeling?”

Devika felt an urge to lie. But she spoke the truth. “No… But I will give it my best.”

“I am sure you will.” She smiled reassuringly, and nodded.

An unhealthy, stricken, weak old man stepped down from the stairs and with him was a lady with chubby features, dressed in skimpy clothes. They were smiling at each other. “Room No. 22 is free…five hundred… twice!” she said, addressing the lady on the sofa, and smiled at her. A certain sense of foreboding started creeping into Devika.

“Twice! Hmm…you enjoyed a lot Mr. Patel, didn’t you? You are growing old, but deep within, you are still a passionate young man!”

“Just the last flame I guess,” He smiled shyly. “Who is this? She was not introduced in the afternoon… that’s cheating!” He was staring at Devika’s body like a hungry dog and she suddenly realized that her suit was low cut and was somewhat exposing her bulging breasts. She felt uncomfortable and panicky.

“Oh! Monica… she just arrived, a fresh piece from the North! She is an untouched angel from the valley of God, look at her skin… Not tasted yet.” She laughed in a disgusting manner.

“One thousand…she’s mine.” He said, his mouth nearly watering with desire.

“No chance… don’t you see her….she is worth a diamond.” The lady on the sofa fired back.

“Two.”

“Five…and not a paisa less than that.”

“I’ll give you six.”

“Done! Room No. 28. Off you go!”

“Where is she???”

And they turned, only to find her gone!

**************

She was running as fast as she could, till she reached a bench placed on the pavement near the road end, almost a long way passed that place. She sat there, sweating. Nervous and taking short breaths. Recalling… “ just arrived, a fresh piece from North! Not tasted yet.” Bitch! She thought aloud.

Then she noticed a tear rolling on her cheek and she also saw a few strangers watching her from the fast cars that were rushing fast on the road. It was close to 6 in the evening and the sun was getting weaker, it’s bright light was being eaten away from the darkness being spread, as night was pushing herself over day.

She was alone…A stranger in an unknown world! And then she realized that she had left her bag and baggage at that whorehouse while running away. She felt a lump in her throat and the fear in her heart brought about a million emotions that went rushing through her mind. She started shivering. It was getting cold, and there were a number of drunken eve-teasers eyeing her. She was sure that someone or the other would soon try to corner her and take advantage of her in all possible ways.

As she sat there, Devika thought about what to do. she smelled alcohol odour closing by. She turned back and three guys, all of them heavily drunk, were staring at her, analyzing her from top to bottom. One of them took a step forward and she heard him say, “Akeli ho, Jaaneman…???”

.

.

.

Her heart was pounding so hard, it was a miracle that she managed to hear the pleasant voice behind her say, “Mujhe der ho gayi kya…?”

From the corner of his eye, the stranger gave a harsh, unfriendly look to the drunken group, before smiling at her. Devika smiled back. The men immediately stepped back. She breathed a sigh of relief and held his hand and they disappeared from the sight of those cheap drunkards.

He was a young and handsome looking stranger, who held on to her hand, and before she could realize where they were heading, guided her to the more lighted pavement on the other side of the street. Their brisk walk gradually became slower. It started to rain. They took shelter under the tin covered ceiling of a bus stop, which was over crowded as it always was. And Devika couldn’t stop smiling. The relief was evident in her eyes, as was a sense of satisfaction in her heart…and there was a certain thrill that was completely new to her.

She had just been saved from getting raped and, who knows, had perhaps also escaped death. She looked into the eyes of the stranger beside her, and he smiled back. Almost six feet tall, he had ocean green eyes, and a clean shaven face. Boyish, amiable and appealing. Before she could have said managed to say, “Thanks…”, he spoke, as though he’d read her mind. “I am glad I was there, and managed to save an angel”.

She blushed, touched by the gentle, warm and manly voice in which this fascinating, gorgeous stranger was flirting with her. It was neither embarrassing, nor uncomfortable. In fact, it was very friendly, and strangely comforting. They talked freely, oblivious to the noise of the crowd and the rain. Devika kept going on and on about everything that had happened to her the entire day. He listened to her with rapt attention and occasionally gave humorous and witty comments, while she caught her breath before carrying on.

Before she knew it, the rain had stopped. She finally realized that it was only the two of them standing there by that time, laughing and giggling, completely lost in their own little world.

“Want to have dinner with me? Unless you want to go back and enjoy the company of those three friends of yours whom we treated in a very uncivilized manner…I feel so sorry for them now! Let’s go back and say sorry na…” He laughed, and pretended to walk back to where he’d seen her with those men. She held his hand tight and, looking deep into his eyes as if a sense of belonging was ruling her, she replied in a whisper, “Dinner with you is a pain I’m willing to bear.”

And they laughed again… They breathed in the intoxicating smell of the mud that comes with the rain, as they strolled to a Chinese restaurant nearby. They talked of mutual dreams and aspirations… he wanted to be an actor and she told him that she hoped to be a model. He ordered a host of dishes on the table, most of whose names she had not even heard of, but she loved each one of them.

After a lavish and delicious dinner, Devika- on having finally realized that she’d forgotten something very important- exclaimed, “Oh! I am so sorry…I didn’t even ask your name!”

He smiled. “It is not a very common name, but some day, when I will rule the world, it will sound familiar.” And then, after a short pause, he said “Mehul.”

She found herself admiring this young boy for being a dreamer… she instantly felt that she could totally relate to him.

"Do you know any place that you can think of to stay for the night,its late now",he asked with a genuine concern in his tone.

"Not exactly",she replied. Her face looking like a baby.

“I live in a one room flat nearby. I will stay at my friend’s place and you can stay there till you find a place to live in.”

She was very taken aback by his words. It felt like he was an angel sent from heaven, just to take care of her. “No…I really don’t want to trouble you anymore…You have already saved my life twice today…”

“Twice??”

“Yeah! I would have died from hunger anyhow, even if I’d have managed to escape from getting murdered by those monsters…” She actually managed to laugh at her own helplessness. His eyes were seemingly looking sad immediately when she said No and he said...

“I would really be happy to help you, Devika…Please, don’t say no! Someday, when you will become a supermodel or an actress, I would feel that I played my part in your rise to fame and fortune.”, his face was innocent and his lips were beautiful as they moved while he spoke.

She loved him for what he’d just said. It made her feel less frightened. She had almost been regretting running away from Delhi, but she found herself hanging on to her dreams, now that this young man had helped her remember that she was here to rise! I will. She thought.

“I will stay… but I will sleep on the couch and you will sleep on the bed, not in some friend’s place, please…”

He agreed.

*****************

His flat was beautiful, small yet very tidy. The walls were colored sea green and there were beautiful paintings and tiny decorative pieces on the wall. They all gave the place a personal touch of the soft hearted gentle boy it belonged to.

“Like it?”, he asked cutely.

“Love it…!” she said sounding excited.

“The couch is in the lobby… Good night.” Mehul smiled at her.

“Thank you…” Said Devika, smiling back, her eyes shining.
She reached out to thank him with a warm hug…and he took her into his arms willingly.
“The won’t be needed….” She whispered in his ears smiling, a seductive shine in her eyes and then their lips met almost fusing into one. And with an unapologetic haste, they took off each other’s clothes and ended up loving each other, consuming totally into the ecstasy that engulfed them. And then it was over. Relaxed and happy, she slept in his arms.

He gently lifted his hand on which Devika’s innocent head rested, so as to not disturb her sleep. He kissed her on the forehead. She was beautiful. Innocent and divine. He went to the lobby and made a call on his cell phone.

He whispered, “Rashid Bhai…Salmaan speaking. I will mail you the tape tomorrow. Please send the check by my wife’s name, as always…And you will love the girl this time! She is an amateur, but better than any pornstar of the West…This will be a big hit on your website…mark my words.” He laughed, enjoying a sense of victory.

When mirror lies - 1

noreply@blogger.com (PULKIT) — Tue, 20 Jul 2010 18:40:00 +0000

A tale of love, deception ... and Dreams that drive an innocent soul of a young beautiful girl into a self laid trap of lust and endless desires!!

It was raining. She was staring out of the window, recalling when it all started. And then there were tears in her eyes, unlikely of her nature to cry but then she thought " Heavy hearts, like heavy clouds in the sky, are best relieved by the letting of a little water" and with this she went back in time... back... back... back....!!

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There was unspoken sadness in the air when Malti bai announced, “Ladki hui hai…”. The enthusiastic bunch of a few relatives that had taken the pain to come by to eat some sweets for free, on the birth of a boy, left the hut disappointed and apologetic. Devika opened her eyes to a hostile world.

Ever since she last remembered, she was not sure if either of her parents had ever kissed or hugged her. She was a beautiful baby girl, and at the age of five, local kids she used to play with hated her for her fair complexion, her blue eyes and dark brown hair. Her appearance was an enigma to the rotten, backward and underdeveloped society that she lived in. At the age of ten, when she dressed herself up for the first time, for a cousin’s wedding, she was teased by all for looking like an ‘English memsahib’. They used to laugh at her and alienate her.

She had always been puzzled as to why she had a different appearance in comparison to other members of her family, until one day when she heard her father slap her mother, screaming, “Us maa***d firangi student ke yahan tuney rotiyon ke saath saath bahut kuch pakaya hai,kutiya! Saali, nikal ja yahan se!”. And the yelling continued until she fell asleep, unable to hear further.

Education was not provided to her after the fifth grade, as the family was too poor to afford the sixth grade books, among other things. She being a girl, it was completely out of the question, investing money in her education. As she grew into her teen years, unaware of the fact that she was indeed the girl with the fastest growing curves in the area, she suffered emotionally as a victim of wolf- whistling and eve teasing in the places where she used to go to work as a sweeper. At nights, she read History books of a twelfth grade arts student that belonged to her elder brother.
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Life in the Post Independence era saw changes in the society. But the rift between the rich and the poor was as large as ever. Things were no different in metro cities, like Delhi. Even in the these times, the economic profile of Delhi indicates that 34% of the population belongs to the ‘poor’ class, 48% to the middle class, and 18% to the rich and very rich people.

This 18% of the population is the lot that is mostly kept in the limelight. People who always feature in Page 3 parties- the people who always drive the most luxurious cars across the streets, who enjoy a high class lifestyle. These are the people with whom little Devika belonged, deep within her imagination.

Her childhood was comprised of more dreams than realities…she had beautiful fantasies but she knew that they would never come true. And this truth left her feeling extremely bitter about her life. Selling toys at the age when she should have been playing with them was a necessity, since the only breadwinner in the family was the mother, who used to sweep houses and clean dishes to earn a meagre income. The father was a drunkard, who beat his wife and kids… snatching money from them was the only other thing he ever did.

Her brother used to sell kites and he was the only one to whom she felt emotionally attached. He was elder to her by six years and had taken care of her since as far back as she could remember. The family kept changing location, and somewhere down the line, they realized that every house they got to live in had similar problems- lack of sanitation, clean drinking water and what have you. The neighbourhoods they stayed in were full pimps and criminals.

On her twelfth birthday, Devika was gifted a skirt and a tank top by her brother, which he had purchased from the Chor Bazaar at the cheapest rates possible. She observed her reflection in the mirror and instantly realized that she was breathtakingly beautiful. Her looks became her weapon one day. In the years to come, her beauty took her to places where she had always wanted to be in.

By the age of fifteen, Devika had developed a fascination for flying and she wanted to be an air hostess. Her thoughts and dreams were laughed upon by all, except her brother. He made it a point to bring her magazines and newspaper articles that would guide her in her quest. He too was a dreamer and wanted to own a sweet shop in the market area. Both siblings were fond of each other, and they alone understood the world of dreams that they resided in.

On her 17th birthday, when her distant uncle tried to grapple her and rape her, it became unbearable for Devika to live such a miserable life any longer. She and her brother left their home in pursuit of their dreams. A predominantly male dominated society that it has, Delhi presents some of the most perplexing situations to outsiders. On the whole, women hardly seem to be little more than sex objects. For a lot of male residents, respect and equality for women appear to be textbook concepts. Devika learnt this when she went searching for work at homes and shops, where the employers always gazed at her voluptuous body with lewd looks in their eyes. She and her brother had no shelter and lived on the footpath- or rather, just slept on it, since the whole of the day her brother kept selling newspapers at the railway station, earning just about enough money to buy a small packet of milk for himself and his sister for the evening meal. The only meal.

The brother was aware of the fact that Delhi is an outright dangerous place for women, especially after dark. Rather than the perpetuators of the crime, it is the traumatized rape victims who are forced to go through hard times because they are promptly labeled as women of ‘loose character’. He watched his beautiful young sister as she slept with her head on his lap and shed silent tears, helplessly wondering whether he had committed a sin by leading her out of their home in pursuit of their dreams…dreams which now seemed impossible and ridiculous.

*********

A few weeks thereafter, Devika’s brother ran into an owner of a large showroom selling garments for women. The merchant and his wife ran the expensive store, and they needed a new female staff member, and a deputy assistant at the cash counter. The tears and distraught faces of these young kids ‘broke’ the merchant’s ‘heart’. Mr Kashyap couldn’t refuse them the job they so desperately needed. She was too beautiful a girl to lose…Kashyap’s wife was too old for his dirty little fantasies. The moment he saw her, he knew this was it!

Things improved for them…drastically. ‘Kashyap Sir’, as Devika’s brother called him, had arranged for a room with a negligible rent and a fair enough wage for both the hard working siblings. Her brother bought her a beautiful dress for her 19th birthday. She looked beautiful in it. They went to Kashyap Sir’s place after work. He’d said, “Betiya ka janamdin aaj hum log saath manayengey”.

When they reached his house, they were informed that Mrs Kashyap had gone to her parents home for some work. They ate the extravagant dinner as they listened to Mr Kashyap’s tales about how he had made a hundred sacrifices and worked so hard to own the best selling saree store in the town. Devika’s brother listened, fascinated… idolizing him.

Devika went into the kitchen to clean the dishes. After what felt like a New York minute, Mr Kashyap came up to her from behind and rubbed his hands all over her. She screamed and pulled away from. She ran to the living room and narrated to her bewildered elder brother, her protector, what had just happened.

When she finished, he got a hard look in his eyes. He spoke softly, but his tone was full of bitterness, “Don’t be selfish! This is our only chance.” She started to speak, confused by what she heard, when he slapped her hard across her face. She stood still, turning cold. She stared at him, not sure of how to react…unsure of whether she should cry or scream. She blinked away the tears that were sure to fall, and slowly made her way to one of the bedrooms in Kashyap’s house.

He devoured her all night like a ruthless animal, and she never protested…she was numb and indifferent to what was happening to her…physically. It was her mind that was screaming with agony...ceaseless, terrible and terrifying agony.

She woke up late in the morning and saw the old and ugly Kashyap lying next to her, gazing at her with a grin on his face. “You were the most beautiful thing I had ever had, my dear… I’m sorry that you missed the opening of the little sweet shop that your brother opened today… he came by, early this morning, to collect the papers of the shop for which we’d made a deal… when he’d entered my store for the first time… with you”.

He sold me… She thought, numbly, a chill running down her spine.

“What would you like to have for breakfast?” said the creep, kissing her cheek with sickening, sticky lips.

“I would like to live on my own- away from my brother. And… have a place all to myself, Sir… a place where we can do ‘this’ more frequently… on weekdays…A place of our own… I think it’s about time I learned to please the man who can… satisfy my needs.”

Kashyap stood there, frozen and shocked… The bitch has changed her tune... Has she grown up over night? He thought. He looked at her while she smiled at him with growing mischief in her gorgeous eyes…the girl who had been raped the previous night… he was sure he was too ugly for any girl to actually like him in bed … Yet, there was honesty in her eyes. An innocence that was spellbinding, and there was a newfound, attractive command in her voice.

“Sure!” He smiled back and took out ten thousand bucks from his vault and gave them to her. “This shall serve as a rent for a good enough flat nearby.”

“But there is an initial deposit that will be needed…”

Said Devika, the devil in her eyes.

Kashyap took another wad of ten thousand rupees and handed it to her. “Take his too, honey.”

She went to the kitchen and happily prepared a sumptuous breakfast for him. He waited at the dining table, confused by the change in her behavior. She had a cup of tea and watched him eat the sandwich made by her, looking highly amused. He was still perplexed and shocked by the sudden transformation in her…

He dropped her at a medical store where he wanted her to purchase an anti- pregnancy bill and told her to meet at him at the workplace. He then went to pick up Mrs. Kashyap from her mother’s place. Devika smiled him, as he left. Then she took an auto rickshaw.

“To railway station!” Said she. There was a command in her voice, a tyrannical force.

She knew what every guy wanted and she also knew that she had it in her.

**********

The First Drop of rain

noreply@blogger.com (PULKIT) — Thu, 15 Jul 2010 10:58:00 +0000

Last night the skies were crying
And from the shadow of his wooden clamp
A lonely soul penned a verse…
He said…

“As rain makes way
For air sublime
I open my heart
For breeze of spine

Let it enter
In the periphery of my soul
And merriness shall shutter
With celebrations on roll

Droplets twinkles
Like hounds of a mesh
Feelings release
Burned as an ash

Joyous script is yet to be told
And legends shall soon follow
Of how momentary pleasure made way
For a never departing feeling of low!”

In the life of one who recites…

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PS - A rain centric post, On the outskirts of something within me, I scribble sitting in balcony watching the rain, as it falls and the cheer in the surroundings makes way for an unreasonable shadow of lonliness somewhere deep within me!

PPS - Now up next shall be a story! A different take from my end, I am putting forth an effort to try writing something different.... Lets see how it churns up!