A grand communion

I lie on the velvety ground,

with my arms wide open

to enwrap the sky in my bosom.

Lurking behind the clouds,

the sun makes infrequent appearances

to admire me secretly…

expressing its profound love

I bask in its golden yellow sheen.

Verdant plains cushion me,

the grasses caress my face

and hum a sweet melody in my ears.

The naughty zephyr rustles through my tresses

leaving them disheveled .

The cosmos unifies with my soul

no more do we stand differentiated.

A moment of this grand communion

makes me the Universe.

  

An encounter.

An old flame,
lying comatose
on the memory lane
rose all of a sudden.

Destiny brought
them together again.
Years after,
though for a brief moment.

Eyes that once spoke
nothing but love
and gazed unabashedly
into each other
were now despondent,
seeking a haven to hide.

Eyes that now spoke
volumes of
love incomplete and
promises unfulfilled.

Thin lines of wrinkles
that showed their
premature senescence-
spoke of endless ennui
and longings.

They managed a
disconcerted smile,
barely exchanging glances.
A cold frozen silence
iced the warmness
that they tried hard
to feign but in vain.

Drifted away by memories
they reminisced their togetherness,
their innocent love
and candid differences.

The differences that crept in
with such effrontery
and broke their hearts
into millions of shards.

Hesitatingly, he said
to break the ice
"You look just the same"
He lied and she understood.
Yet, her face glimmered
and she suavely pushed back
a curl of hair back around
her ears and smiled lopsidedly
much like the old days.

They could hardly
exchange words
but confabulated fluently
non verbally.

She could no longer
bear the stifling discomfort
and said :-
"I think, I should leave"
and he didn't stop her.

An encounter of five minutes
brought back memories from the grave.
An old flame that died long back
faintly flickered today.

Untitled

The mundane mechanic life beckons yet again :-/ What a pity! I will miss my solitude, those indulgent hours of contemplation, my infrequent reflections in the form of my writes, those imperfect rhyme-less poems, my ever happy countenance, my effervescent self, my mystic ruminations. I will miss the movies that I watched, books that I read, I have formed such an everlasting emotional bond with them. Oh, they are my children, my treasures.

I don't have the slightest clue as why I become low spirited , outrageously superficial when I live that mechanic life , rushing after things that have barely any matters of consequence. I laugh a heartless laughter, seldom do I cry and seldom do I feel. What triggers this metamorphosis, I am yet to find. I know, that imp is there within me and there are days, when I rebuke it so hard that it gets subdued but then it again assumes its horrible shape.

It makes me feel like a mediocre lost in a crowd of mediocrity, hapless, sapless, rootless. I abhor that life. I really do. I abhor that "me". Disgustingly!

Tagore forever

Lyrics :-
Tumi robe nirobe , hridoye momo .....
Tumi robe nirobe .....
Nibiro , nibhrito , purnimaa nishithini shomo ....
Tumi robe nirobe ........

Momo jibono joubono , momo okhilo bhubono .....
Tumi bhoribe gourobe ,
Nishithini shomo .....

Tumi robe nirobe ......

Jaagibe ekaki tobo koruno aakhii ....
Tobo oncholo chhayaa more rohibe dhaaki .....
Momo dukkho bedono , momo shokolo shopono ....
Momo dukkho bedono , momo shokolo shopono ....
Tumi bhoribe shourobhe ,
Nishithini shomo .....

Tumi robe nirobe - hridoye momo ....
Tumi robe nirobe .....




English translation :- 


You are in the silent crevices of my heart,
my beloved-
like the blissful moonlight
of a full moon night.
Settled in my heart
ever so quietly.

You shall fill my youth
and my world alike
with pride
like the ever so fulfilling
moonlit night.
Oh my beloved, you are
in the silent crevices of my heart.

Your compassionate eyes
shall stay awake
to cover me
in their serene shade.

You shall fill my agonies and pain
dreams and desires alike
with your honor and pride
much like the ever so blissful
moonlit night.

You shall stay in the silent crevices
of my heart,
ever so quietly.




P.S :- The translation might not be up to the mark. However, it was just an honest endeavor by me. Constructive suggestions much awaited :) 

A reverie

Past memories , I fetched,
to sketch Nostalgia.
Etched in my heart is that,
which is oblivion to you.
Gone are the halcyon days
and time flew with such celerity-
of a caged bird that once released flies afar....
How I yearn to relive the past!

Your name

I thought
to picture you
on the canvas
of my poetry.

Profound were my feelings
but words-
Alas! They became recalcitrant.
I tried hard
to make my heart, speak.

An obstinate silence,
it assumed
and with fervor
it dived into the reverie
of your innocent memory
rendering me
an arrant pleasure.

Just then, the nib of my pen

involuntarily doodled

your name.

In that one word,
was my poetry framed.

Time

Memories fade,
words jade , 
fighting the
tempests of time. 

Bygone love
loses its luster.
While a soul wounded-
gets healed,
redeemed from its captivity.

Castles turn to sand,
statures once towering 
with flamboyance,
now lie beheaded,
abandoned and overlooked.
Once they were crowned,
now dismally dethroned. 

It takes moments 
to change destinies.
A river suddenly
changes its course.
Such is the Time's 
insurmountable force.

6 days with Athos, Porthos and Aramis

Drudgery would have practically knocked me down had I not found this book in my father's mini library. I grabbed it the moment I saw it . Flipping through it, savoring the fragrance of its yellowing pages (that being a 1961 edition), the latent reader in me sat to devour it hungrily.

I never knew that in the course of the coming few days, I would fall head over heels in love with "The three musketeers". The book hardly needs any introduction and with this write, I neither intend to summarize the plot nor critically review it. Being a mere mortal, the last thing that I would want to do is offending the spirit of Alexandre Dumas.

Yeah, I should have read this earlier. Agreed! But, as the age old adage goes "better late than never" , I am really glad to have read it in my lifetime.

Having an undefined inclination towards European History, the plot attracted me in numerous ways. Its hard to reckon that its a work of fiction when the backdrop against which it is set has such a historical importance. The French aristocracy of the 17th century (the reign of Louis XIII, precisely) leaves one but with enchantment.

It took me a couple of pages to go through to be comfortable with the archaic style of English writing. Rhetoric? Yes it is! But, as your interest in the plot builds up, you find yourself flowing and greatly accustomed with the language. The old style is characterized by lengthy sentences. Its a fairly common observation to notice one sentence stretched to form one whole paragraph! This "stretching" ain't forced. It is just that the unrestrained flow has such powerful currents that it breaks the dams of periodical full stops.

The bygone style has a mystic melody concealed, that unfolds as the reader's inquisitiveness raises. "A worded poem", to put it succinctly. If one goes into the subtleties, one is left with awe to see how generously the figures of speech have been used rendering the description an arrant beauty, timeless charisma that retains its sheen even against the tempests of time. The plot is built in a manner that the reader feels him to be an integral part of it, invisibly witnessing every scene.

The characters have been sketched arduously and the sincerity in the hard work reflects itself. The minutest details, that easily skip a reader's eyes are taken care of and thus my veneration for Dumas has altogether reached a new summit.

On the book cover , the subtitle "The adventures of Athos, Porthos , Aramis and d'Artagnan" was a bit bewildering. Although, the saga recounts the journeys of 4 protagonists, yet it is titled as "The three musketeers"!

The story exclusively revolves around d'Artagnan , the 20 year old prudent Gascon who leaves his home and ventures on a journey to become a musketeer in the Royal Regiment. The 3 musketeers in the King's regiment  Athos, Porthos and Aramis appear more as supporting characters. The book actually details the journey of how a Gacon lad with his sheer prudence , bravery and with the support of the 3 musketeers, finally becomes a musketeer himself.

As the story unfolds, a series of densely entangled plots surface out. As every plot unravels, the friendship of our four heroes deepens and they seem to be one - a unison of 4 starkly different personalities, united with one common bond of nobility, unflinching courage, loyalty and a charismatic chutzpah to accost any adversary. Their dictum "All for one and one for all" sets an epitome of unity.

My personal favorites would be Athos and Milady. Athos is portrayed as the reticent musketeer. A man of words, wisdom and nonchalance. He has a hidden madness about him that gets unlocked in very rare occasions. He lives life on the edge (in fact, every musketeer lives but Athos lives with passion). Enveloped by a thin film of mystic air , he raises the reader's curiosity.

Milady, on the other hand , is portrayed as a criminal , who has no regret to commit a crime. Does it with flair , she is the evil, vengeful woman who burns in an infernal joy at the thought of the decapitated heads of our four heroes (especially d'Artagnan's) .  She is a blend of beauty, voluptuousness and intelligence that can cast a magical spell on any man. The saga however, ends with the "good conquering over the evil" note yet Milady renders a tumultuous suspense that makes the reader doubt if the story would end in Milady's favor. She hooks the reader's interests. In fact, lassos it.

In my sojourn of six days with my musketeers, I have gathered indelible memories- the memory of a pleasurable reading, the memory of my inextinguishable love for the characters, the memory of being deeply awe-inspired, moved and forming an unbreakable emotional connect with every character. I would savor this clandestine love forever and I hope my kids inherit this inexplicable love for my heroes too :)

What it takes to write a poem

When I set to write a poem, I feel as if my thoughts have evaporated and even if perchance, they are in abundance, they show an unusual recalcitrance to get ejected out of my pen. If in case, they eject out, they fail to dance in a meter, lack the flexibility of the poetic river that sways, bends, turns so admirably and finds its way out.

I sound vague, rhetoric and too verbose while composing a verse when otherwise, I should be shaped crisp, precise and as pointed as an arrow, that hits the Bull's eye. May be, I commit an error right at the first place. The error of "setting" to write poetry. Poetry, as I believe, is never planned. It happens naturally, follows its course and comes out of the womb of your mind. As Tagore once said "A poem is something that happens within, like a tear or a smile." It is akin to an emotion that is beyond the scales of measurement, non quantifiable. It cannot be weighed on the balance of right or wrong, good or bad. However, its beauty lies in how well it is expressed.

The problem with me lies in expression. Thoughts seem clogged somewhere, choked deep down. To express the self poetically, one has to feel absolutely free. One must write what he genuinely feels about and not what his prospective readers intend to read. A poet is NOT a poet if he caters to the interests of his readers. He unintentionally envelops his creation in falsity.

A thought that drives you to deep contemplation is easier to express. It has the flow, devoid of any forced emphasis. It flows serenely, bends femininely and twists gently. It has a freshness that gets communicated instantly, a subtle fragrance and an appealing factor.  Its magic lies in its subtlety.  A poem is hence  precisely an articulated thought. The more honest you are while articulating it, the better it comes about.

No wonder, most of us (including me) find it easier to write a prose than a poem. Honesty being a prized possession, is rare too. The dishonesty somehow creeps in our writings too and makes it prose-aic  .

We are family

"Ah! Aww... Look Doctor , she is looking at me!" exclaimed an ebullient Aniruddha , holding the delicate new born in his hands. The doctor expressed her content with a smile for she knew how complicated the surgery had been. Prerna had been bleeding internally during her delivery. However, the surgery ended successfully and Aniruddha's jitters diffused when he caught the first glimpse of his daughter , whose arrival , he had been so desperately looking forward to.

As the doctor and her retinue of assistants left the O.T. , he could no longer repress his emotions. He felt his eyes moist. Prerna, who had although regained consciousness from Anesthesia, was still in a half conscious state. Somewhat soporific . Yet, she was in enough senses to catch her husband engaged in his emotional bout. His pearl sized tears were too conspicuous to be ignored. Seeing his wife making a movement, he sprang to his feet and walked towards her bed. She made an abrupt attempt to lift herself up and Aniruddha, in his gentle baritone said "Relax! You have stitches."

His gentleness moved her. She felt a sense of great relief to learn her husband's concern for she had always believed that Aniruddha is indifferent towards everything , especially towards his wife! During the years of their nuptial courtship (there was apparently nothing between them that could qualify as "courtship") , she developed certain notions regarding him. She believed him to be a workaholic, self centered, hugely indifferent ,typical corporate automaton devoid of feelings. Though she never complained about his deliberate apathy towards her, yet she could feel an emptiness that was eventually encircling her.

She kept her anger, her resentment, her needs, her aspirations to herself. She never knew what marital bliss was like, neither did Aniruddha. They never fought. Never hurled expletives at each other. They lived together yet they were apart. Prerna was never annoyed when Aniruddha forgot her birthday. She never expected him to remember either. The indifference eventually grew mutual and they seemed complacent with it. They had everything that a prosperous household should have, all comforts, both earned well but somewhere deep down inside, there was a sullen disappointment, a towering regret.

Their marriage was young, yet it felt as if they were forcibly trapped for years. Their conversations gradually reduced to monosyllables. A few words and a long uncomfortable silence was what they exchanged. The relationship was dead and both sequestered themselves in their respective shells. Four years had passed and life looked all the more mundane. As a result, they kept themselves engrossed in their professional lives and hence tried not to remind what mental havoc their marriage had created.

Once in a family function, one typical garrulous aunt commented at them. Bantering , she exclaimed "God! 4 years and when shall I hear the good news? How long will you rush after your careers? Settle down and give parenthood, a thought!" The banter had a ring of truth and a disturbing silence ensued as neither Prerna nor Aniruddha, could prevaricate the topic.
It was a fact that such a thought had never crossed either his or her mind. Later both somehow triggered the discussion and talked out the matter eloquently. Both wanted to free themselves of loneliness and despair they   had entrapped themselves in and thought that may be a child could make them realize what a "family" meant. They could see a dim ray of hope in the idea of parenthood.

The first seed of happiness sprouted in their barren, unromantic lives when Prerna learnt that she was expecting a new arrival. Aniruddha seemed to do away with his reticence for the very first time and felt a genuine happiness . "They" were happy. Indeed!

Carried way too far by a train of past memories , Prerna couldn't hear the new born's cry. Aware of the thoughts that Prerna was preoccupied with, Aniruddha lifted the child and gently handed her over to his wife. He softly whispered "Look, she has taken after you. The same eyes, the same nose." She looked into his eyes and found that genuine concern that she had been looking for over the years. The baby cried and Prerna smilingly asserted "Yeah, yeah, your mum is at your service, my princess!" 


Ambili, their daughter, was now four years old. Playful, cheerful and ever smiling, she was a happy soul. Prerna and Aniruddha felt like proud parents, seeing their daughter grow. Though their indifference still lingered, but it was Ambili who kept them together and gradually they forgot the coldness and were united as one happy family, a threesome that discovered how imperfect things could be made perfect or at least made better.... They understood that a family fetches an unconditional source of love and an eternal sense of belonging.

 

The colorless world

His eyes got stuck on that countenance for never before had he seen a creation prettier than her. She was sitting on the old wrought park bench , sleeping innocuously , when a gust of wind blew past that divine face and her hair fell like a black shimmering cascade. 

Seeing that subtle smile across her lips , he wondered "is she dreaming?" Those arched eyebrows, an aquiline nose , rosy cheeks perhaps dimpled were enough to fill his heart with passion. He felt his heart overwhelmed by a desire to possess her , a desire to protect her from the unsavory world. He was lost in his thoughts when suddenly she opened her eyes.Those divine hazel eyes were gazing at him and he felt that he had fallen for her. 

"Pooja, are you awake?" a matured female voice inquired . The girl responded to the voice and said "Yes, Ma!" A fat plump lady came by her side and softly said "Come Pooja, lets go. Its dusk and we are late. Hold my hands." Pooja nodded and struggled to find her mother's wrist and gripped it hard. She stood up gently taking her mother's support and with a childish inquisitiveness she asked "Ma, how does the evening look? Has the sun set or is it still there in the horizon? " 

Her mom answered , "Sweetheart, the sky looks serene, beautiful and it has turned reddish , slightly purplish. Twilight is on its way." Pooja was enchanted by the description but her face appeared dismayed . She choked and said " How would a person who sees nothing but complete blackness know what Red and Purple are! To me, they sound worthless."

The man sighed and wondered "God gives everything to someone who doesn't know the value of it. I wish she could see how beautiful she is!"

Pursuit of Happiness.

Yesterday , I registered myself on BlogAdda . With the exuberance and enthusiasm of a newbie, I decided that I will religiously follow it. The first thing, I did after , signing up, was managing my profile and I confronted the most difficult question of this world. "About ME" ... The two words that perplex me more than a Math problem could. My spirits somehow were deterred at the sight of this question, yet I decided to give it a try. I thought for a minute, what I really am and got so many confusing answers. I felt , I will encompass all what my mind is saying into one proper answer.

I reckoned, like every man, my entity too, is a holistic result of so many concentric layers of "characteristics". We go on peeling these layers and every time, the idea regarding our individuality becomes somewhat lucid , may be! I am still in the "peeling off" stage. Some of our characteristics stay confounded until we face a circumstance, that  unearths them. As long as you keep facing circumstances, you find a newer self or may be the same old self with added characteristics. The latter sounds better, I guess. Circumstances don't bring out something "new" but they act as a stimuli to our concealed facts. At times, we seem to contradict ourselves. We, sometimes, appear to behave in two entirely opposite ways under the same situation. That doesn't show that one of the two behavioral ways is wrong or right but shows that some kind of "learning/unlearning" has taken place that makes the 2nd behavior so very different from the 1st.

"ME" is an entity that eventually grows. With Time! With Experience. I guess this growth continues till the last breath of your life. We, unknowingly, strive to find our innermost identities . On a second thought, what could this innermost identity be? May be an "eternal" self that is basking in "eternal" joy. Aren't we all on our pursuit for true happiness? Its a secondary issue that most of us fail to attain that Utopian state but still, we all , with our own sets of methods and practices , aim to reach it.

I believe, as you go on peeling off yourself, things might become complicated but then , at the final stage, no more complications exist. You are one happy soul who knows the ESSENCE of life. What is life all about?
Gaining satisfaction? Yes! May be, satisfaction doesn't lie in material pleasures. Satisfaction lies in "completeness" , the sense of fulfillment. Material gives a momentary pleasure , so transient that when it vanishes, we yearn for a better pleasure. An eternal pleasure is something that renders us satisfied forever. Quoting William Blake , who so accurately and precisely defines actual happiness :-

"Happiness is to see the world in a grain of sand, and Heaven in a wild flower, to hold infinity in the palm of your hand, and eternity in a single hour."

A little suggestion, I would like to give. We walk on the same old path, the same weary way that is traversed on by most of us. Why can't we try opting a little different route? At most, we will fail. Why fear failure? Whatever, be the outcome, you will always end up with an indelible experience....The Best Teacher :)

See ya, in my next.

Bela

An excruciating day, that it was! I couldn't take it anymore & decided to while away in my University Campus.That was one of the days when I wanted to be with myself....with no one encroaching upon my solitude....completely lonesome,far away from the maddening crowd.

I wondered here & there completely occupied with my own thoughts when suddenly a girl not more than seven spotted me & ran towards me for alms...."Didi,kuch paise de do!".

I paused & perturbed by her repetitive requests , I raucously asked her to go away. The girl silently went away with a crestfallen face & I walked on & on until I reached my home.....

Throughout that night,the seven year old girl came into my mind.I wondered "I shouldn't have been rude to her ,I should have given her something".

The next day when I went to the University,I spotted the girl again.Reluctant she was,to come to me & ask for alms since the previous day i had shooed her away.I called her, hesitantly she came & I gave her a five rupee coin. She gave me a dazzling smile & went away.

After finishing my college chores,I decided to take a round of the University campus because it relieved me from my inner angst,sedated the turmoil that I was going through.I went to a park nearby & sat on an old wrought iron bench. I could feel the loneliness that was tormenting me when again I saw the 7 year old girl running behind a cute little puppy that was frisking around.Seeing me,she at once came to me & again bedazzled me with her warm smile & before she could utter a word, I politely interrupted..."Bacche,abhi mere paas kuch bhi nahi hain!" Her smile turned into a broad grin & she sat on the bench by my side.

I asked her, her name & she vehemently replied "Bela...." .That was for the first time ,I could have a complete glimpse of hers,from head to toe.She was a thin undernourished kid,all draped in an off-white tarnished frock.Her hair braided in two plots,tied neatly with a cute red ribbon & her toe nails painted pink. She was all engrossed with the stray pup & she smiled all along......

The girl had"something" in her that was too poignant to stay unnoticed.

I asked her about her family & she said that she had 5 sisters & a baby brother.She further added (& in her voice, a subtle numbness was palpable) that her father goes to a toddy shop nearby & in a drunken state beats his wife.She told that her mother washes utensils in the neighboring houses & often coughs blood.....

I was moved by her dire state & even more addled to see the way she always smiles ,even after being wrecked by the destiny.May be Bela was too small to understand the intricacies of life or may be she was way too mature !

She then added that neither she nor her sisters have ever been to a school.When I asked her if she wanted to study,pat came her reply "Haan, didi, main parhna chahti hoon!"

Saying these, she ran after the pup & I was deeply awestruck.

The following days,i continued to go to the park & always expected Bela's presence.Seeing me,Bela would gleefully come to me without any expectation of alms . I would merrily pull her cheeks & give her a candy. Once she said "Didi, aap bahot acche ho!" & hearing this I gave her an unsettling peck on her cheeks.

I told Bela that I would teach her & hearing this ,her happiness knew no bounds.Contented my soul was,since I made an endeavor to bring a small but a significant change in Bela's life but destiny had something else en- stored for me.....

"Your grandpa has passed away" said the shaky voice. I hung up the phone & I succumbed to a state of overwhelming distress. On the very next day,I had to catch up the train to my Grandpa's house.

In this situation of utter confusion & distress,I had completely forgotten about Bela but when I was going to the railway station,i asked the autowaalaah to take me to the same old park. Fortunately, I saw Bela, called her & said "Listen, Bela! I have to go out of station.My Grandpa is no more.I will come back after some days & then shall start your lessons"

Hearing this, a teary-eyed Bela said "Didi!Aap jaldi aana" & I hugged her......

I spent almost a month at my grandpa's place.I was so attached to him that I could never (not even in my wildest imaginations) imagine that he would part-away from me.I regretted not being with him during the last days of his life.

After a month,when I came back to my city,I tried to get back to normalcy.I said to myself " Life is a series of strange qualities.It has nothing constant except for the fact that it just moves on."

Bela came across my mind & so did my promise that I had made to her......the promise that I would educate her......I bought new note-books & pencils for Bela & went to the park.

I ransacked every nook & corner but couldn't find Bela anywhere.I wondered if she had left the place.I asked the kiosk owners & the street vendors about Bela but in vain.I asked the street kids about Bela's whereabouts & they pointed at a thatched,dilapidated hut,validating it as "Bela ka ghar".

I went inside & there I spotted a malnourished girl may be a little older than Bela & asked her "Bela,yahi rehti hain?" She nodded & called her "Amma". Her stick-thin mother came from inside & in her hoarse voice asked me "Kya Hain?"

I joined my hands & said "Namaste! Bela kaha hain?" & no sooner did she hear this than she thumped on the floor & started bowling "Bela, marr gayi!" ["Bela is no more"] .

I could not believe my ears & was taken aback. I couldn't imagine a young frolicking girl lying in eternal sleep! She went on saying that 15 days earlier ,Bela's father had brutally beaten her for a minor fault & he kept her outside the hut for the whole night.That night,it had been raining cats & dogs & all through the night,Bela cried incessantly & completely drenched,she caught cold & shivered to death.

Calming down after a while, she asked a shocked me "Aap kaun ho?"Anguished with not even a single word coming out of my mouth , I blurted....."Err....m....main Bela kk.....ki didi"....

The girl who was standing by her amma's side ,on hearing this went inside & brought a slate on which it was boldly written "DIDI" (in Hindi) ....She handed over the slate to me & said "Bela had learnt to write this & she was so excited to show it to you"

I flustered & gazed at the slate for a moment.Tears rolled down my cheeks like an unbroken stream......I took the slate & walked back into the pensive lanes of my life! 

The Messenger

Vincent,after having done with his end term exams at college, was all set to visit his Granny's place at Kathgodaam. He boarded the train & had the compartment up to the destined place.The train wasn't too much crowded & almost half of the compartments remained unoccupied.

He alighted on the seat & the train soon pulled out of the station.

He was half asleep when the Ticket checker nudged him.Vincent drawled "Whats it?"

"Ticket please" callously replied the TT. Vincent flaring resentment in his eyebrows, drew the ticket out of his wallet. The TT thoroughly inspected it.

"What an imbecile red-nosed fellow!" thought Vincent.

After handing him over the ticket, the TT left & Vincent relapsed into his seat with a magazine.

Soon, the dusk was overpowered by a dark murky night.It was around midnight when the train again slowed down for a screeching halt. Vincent rubbed sleep off his eyes to check what station that was. He opened the rusty window & peeped out where he could see a dimly-lit board on which it was written "ZAMANIA" . The station boasted a single tea-stall & a few stray dogs. The place showed no signs of passengers. Vincent sat back calmly & then he heard the sturdy footsteps that were becoming louder with each moment. A lean haggard man barged into his compartment. The man was tall in his early fifties ,bearing a pale face & dark smoldering impatient eyes.

The man sat & after sometime,he clenched a cigarette in between his lips & puffed little clouds of smoke. Vincent noticed an eerie equanimity in that man. The train again pulled out & changed it's rhythm.

Vincent spoke for the first time trying to break the ice "Uncle!Where's your journey up to?"

The man smiled & said "Just four stations after,I shall dislodge"

Vincent wandered what the man had been doing so late at night at such an awful place like "Zamania"

The man was peering at Vincent through his silver rimmed specs that made Vincent feel uncomfortable. He again made an attempt to break the smothering uneasiness & said "Uncle! Where's your baggage?"

The man mumbled "I don't have any, my child!"

"Why??" retorted Vincent.

The man sighed "I met an accident my dear. Fortunately,I stayed unhurt but all my luggage got crushed under a lorry.It was God's mercy that I had money to buy myself a ticket to my hometown."

"Oh! Good Lord,you are unhurt!" exclaimed Vincent's concerned voice.

The man again continued "Child,would you please do me a favor?"

Vincent said "What's it Uncle? If I can be of any help,I would try my best"

The man slid his slender hands into the chest pocket of his check shirt & pulled out a folded piece of paper . He unfolded it & said "Child,this is a cheque of 5000 Rs,I want you to give this to FATHER RYAN OF ST.JONES CATHEDRAL"

Vincent intervened "You mean ST.JONES CATHEDRAL AT KATHGODAAM?"

The man said "Exactly,my child!"

Vincent again questioned "But,how did you know that Kathgodaam is my destination?"

The man gave a weary smile "Just a wild guess!"

Vincent tried to hush up his curiosity with a broad grin.

The man continued "Father Ryan runs an orphanage & I want you to hand him over this petty donation on my behalf."

Vincent said "But,why do you want me to do this, even you can , can't you? "

The man sneered at Vincent & regained his calm "Child, I don't have money for Kathgodaam & I have some urgent work that shall keep me on my toes.Please don't let me down"

The man sprang to his feet & sat next to him "You are a good soul.I know, you won't let me down,will you?"

Vincent nodded a "YES" & suddenly the impatience in the man's molten eyes vanished.His pale face glistened. He handed over the cheque to him.

Vincent quizzed "But, whats your name Uncle? "

The man muttered "John Acosta" & fell silent.

Vincent woke up the next morning,he saw the watch & it was 7.He started collecting his things & the train drew closely into the Kathgodaam station.Vincent dislodged the train & suddenly he remembered that cheque & that man. "John Acosta must have dislodged when I was asleep" thought Vincent.

He hired an auto & went to St.Jones Cathedral.He walked across a cemetery, entered the church & came across a white robed man.

Vincent asked "Father Ryan?"

The man said "Yeah ,my son!"

Vincent pulled out the cheque from his wallet & handed it over to him.Father Ryan looked at it intently & asked "Who gave you this my child? "

Vincent replied "This is a donation for your orphanage by a man called John Acosta who gave me this last night & asked me to hand this over to you"

Father Ryan gaped & stuttered "W....WHO? J...JOHN ACOSTA?"

Vincent nodded "Is everything alright Father?"

Father Ryan's trembling voice said "He's DEAD! He died a few months back in a road accident!"

Hearing this, a chill went down Vincent's spine & he shuddered "You mean, I met the dead?"

Father Ryan said "May be son!"

Vincent retorted "But, why did he choose ME?"

Father Ryan held Vincent's cold & numb hands & said " Child! God has a purpose behind everything.You may be a good soul & hence John Acosta's choice for this noble cause. He wanted you to be his MESSENGER"

John Acosta's words "You are a good soul" reverberated in Vincent's ears & a long sepulchral silence engulfed the two of them.

The Vanity Bag Part 2

The next morning when Sana woke up, she brusquely grasped her phone & made Siddhartha a call.

Before she could utter anything, Siddhartha started "I am coming to your place in an hour.I gotta talk to you!"

Siddhartha entered her apartment. Sana was still simmering with rage & asked him "So,how was your last night?"

He frowned & bluntly replied "How does it matter to you?"

Sana shot "Didn't you enjoy sleeping with your bit** wife?"

He scowled & slapped Sana. She looked at him with her fiery,red eyes,smothered with tears & she yapped "How dare you?! I shall drag you to the court,you lying -two timing son of a bit**!"

Siddhartha gave a wry smile & continued "Do whatever you want to.I just have to say STOP! Building castles in the air.I've dated many wannabes like you but I am committed to my family! Don't you dare forget the fact that YOU are just a MISTRESS of mine. Do you know what a mistress means? The society will look down upon you, it will spit on you! You won't do anybody any wrong by dragging me to the court but YOURSELF!" saying these ,he slammed the door of her apartment & went away.

Thwarted Sana, on hearing the word "MISTRESS" felt as if she has been torn asunder. Her big lavish apartment started appearing like a dungeon to her. She felt claustrophobic. She darted towards her bedroom,bolted herself in & ripped off her radial artery with a honed razor.Thick red blood gushed out of that deep excoriation & made little pools on the ground. She moaned & felt a sense of relief.Her sight was weakening & she lost her balance. All her energy had drained out & with all her might she gazed at a photo-frame bearing Siddhartha's picture. She could no longer hold her eyelids at an open position & lay on her bed like an inanimate object.

The next day, the headlines read" Sana Sayeed commits suicide under strange circumstances."

A small article somewhere in the corner read "Vanity has an awful end!"

The Vanity Bag Part 1

"'Wajood' embarks on a record-breaking start!Sana Sayeed yet again proves her prowess as the leading actress of the Indian celluloid."

read the headlines of all the Page threes.Phone calls,e-mails,gifts,wishes from admirers from every nook & corner in the world kept pouring in for Sana incessantly. Undoubtedly, she was the "QUEEN" of the silver screen. "Wajood" was yet another feather in her hat- a laurel that hardly made any difference to her.

Media avidly hankered for her interviews. Columns featuring her were boisterously published everywhere. She was now a household name.

Sana was fed up of this cult-status. In fact, she detested her ever-growing fame,she abhorred the paparazzi & made every attempt to prevent her private life from being sneak-peaked.

But as they say, "Popularity has it's own set of pratfalls",she,being the nation's heartthrob could no longer help herself from the media speculations. She was allegedly having an affair with Siddhartha Vrajesh -the famous & a much married industrialist!

It was true that Sana had a lonely life. She was abandoned by her family for her "liberal ways". Being a part of a conservative Muslim clan,Sana's ambitions were strongly opposed by her family. At the age of 19, she left her house & ventured to change her dreams of being a TOP-ACTRESS into reality. She set her foot in Mumbai & being a novice,she had faced many a set-backs but none could deter her spirit. Slowly & steadily,she grasped the attention of all the big-banners. Her unusual cinematic presence & her spontaneity earned her some note-worthy scripts. Producers confidently invested in her rare melancholic look & as they say the rest is History.

She kept ascending & now she was a "HIGH-PROFILE" celebrity charging a whopping seven digit figure for each project.

Sana would never let people intrude in her personal life. As soon as the director would clamor "PACK-UP",Sana would at once take long strides to her Vanity Van, shut the door,draw the curtains & sequester herself form the mad-bad ,avaricious world.She would undo her make-up,throw away her jewelry recklessly & thump in her chair. Anxiously, she would look for her cell-phone & make her much-needed call.

"Hello!" said a joyous Sana.

"Hi!Honey,how was your day?" replied the man on the other side of the phone.

"Tiring,I am sick of all this honey! All I need is YOU! When are we meeting?"

"In a day or two, honey.I am a bit busy with my clients.As you know business knows nothing except PROFIT!" answered a languid Siddhartha Vrajesh.

"I know Sid, you are busy with your business,your wife & family. But,you love me,don't you? It's been long since we had last met. I need YOU dear,I really need you"

"Hey,Sana! I've got some urgent work.I shall call you up in the evening" & with these words Siddhartha hung up.

Sana could feel a lump in her throat.This was not the first time when Siddhartha had hung up the phone in the middle of a conversation. She rubbed off her tears & went to her apartment. She stayed in a lavish apartment in one of the poshest areas of Mumbai.All through these years,she had started to dread "LONELINESS".It was dusk & Sana waited for Siddhartha's call with baited breath.But,he didn't turn up. She waited till midnight & then decided to give him a call.

"Hey,there! I was waiting for your call but you didn't make any.So,I decided to give you one! I hope it's alright with you?!"

"Of-course,it's NOT!" whispered an angry Siddhartha. "I've asked you many a times not to call at this time of the night.How many times do you want me to repeat the same thing God-damn-it!"

"I am really sorry Sid but since I desperately wanted to have a word with you,I called you up." Saying these, Sana twitched her quivering lips & she broke down into tears.

"Listen Sana,for God's sake don't cry.Sleep now,we shall talk in the morning" said a strident voice of Siddhartha & he hung up.

Sana gawked at the phone for a while & threw it away.She lividly hurled the glass vase which shattered into pieces. She desperately opened her cupboard, ransacked the clutter to find her hypodermic syringe & a small bottle. She filled up the syringe with the liquid content in the bottle & punctured it into her fore-arm. Within moments,Sana was calm,as calm as a night after a raging storm is.She lay on the floor in a supine position......sedated & still.....

The Green Boulevard

We walked along the green boulevard,

savoring each other's presence.

Life looked so serene, so tranquil,

everything around was ethereal.

You looked into my eyes

and I sheepishly looked elesewhere.

I felt too frail to bear that affectionate look of yours.

You said no word, yet I heard everything.

You gently whispered my name

and the ambience reverberated with it.

I felt a state of delirious joy,

a moment that encapsulated Eternity.

You kissed my forehead and a chill ran down my spine.

I shuddered but you pulled me close to yourself.

My fears subdued and I ensconced in your arms.

Your love flowed profusely around

and Nature seemed to serenade me with its melodies.

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

The boulevard is still green and so are my pains.

My hands are dull, wrinkled and void.

My vision is blurred due to the film of tears

captivated in my eyes.

Everything looks so benumbing.

I hear the stentorian cries of my heart.

I feel agony, anguish and nothing more.

Ambushed grief assaults me,

I cry yet no one comes to my salvage.

Nature no more serenades me,

it mourns and all I can hear is a heart wrenching dirge.

A fatal deception

Holding her forlorn hope high
and keeping it flickering
against the storms of your falsity,
she waits hoping that one day you would turn up.
But, you never did, you never will!
Her distress dashes against the walls of her heart,
forcing the saline water out of her eyes.
She cries in the dark,
wears a plastic smile in the light.
She isn't the one who she used to be.
She is Melancholy...pure melancholy.
She believes fate would make you
cross her ways again.
Alas! She is too gullible to believe her devious destiny,
that envies her happiness.
Her heart beats your name,
your deceptive love flows in her veins,
like a tumor , a fatal tumor.
She dies everyday and your false hope resurrects her everyday.
She was , she is and she will always be there with her arms wide open,
yearning to embrace you in her circle of embrace forever.