The End

I'm sheathed in a shower of gulmohur petals that have fallen on me from the tree above. They remind me of marriage sindoor. Vermillion, blazing blood-red like fire in her parting. Of Durga Pooja and wedding sarees. Of Ma and Baba. Of my life; permanently stained with streaks of red.

Red, the colour of passion. Of our love. 

Of our unfulfilled love. 

    

A huge marble mansion looms in front of me. I can only make out a lone figure in the distance, running wildly towards the gate. My vacant eyes stare at her beseechingly, like she's the only one I want to see before I go. I cannot decipher her words, but I can sense the urgency in her fragmented cries.


My life is coming to an end. Yes, it's painful, because all my bad karma is pressing down upon me now like a boulder. I almost destroyed her life. Fate is punishing me by destroying mine now.


I've experienced death before. Death is watching your only love become another's. Death is the pain you feel when you have no one by your side. Death is when every little thing reminds you of all your unfulfilled desires. When you hurtle through the alleyways of Calcutta at midnight in a drunken stupor, clutching a bottle in your hand, calling out her name, in the vain hope that she will come running into your arms.


I've experienced life too. For me, another name for life is Paro. Without her, there is no life. Then how have I been living for so long? 

Death is what will come to me now. Not Life. Not Paro, whose unadulterated love doesn't deserve a wastrel like me.

Paro, whose memories have kept me alive in this place where I have none to call my own.

A landowner's son, once cavorting around in brothels, now reduced to a beggar with not a penny on his person. Ah, Love! Is this how you choose to punish me?

If you choose to take me away like this, then so be it. But I want to see her one last time before I go. To tell her that she will always be in my heart.

"Dev-da, I belong to no one else but you". Yes, Paro, me too. I love you more than I have loved anyone else.

I can feel the flame dying out. How does she know I'm on the verge of breathing my last? Maybe she wants to see her Dev-da for the last time.

The doorkeepers get ready to shut the huge gates of the mansion. I raggedly breathe her name, as tears stream down her beautiful face which resembles stone now. I can see her disappearing behind the gates as my own life simultaneously leaves me in bits and pieces.

With a final clang, the gates shut on her. On me and my cursed life. She fades away.

Red. Her colour.

Letting Go

She flashes her huge kohl-rimmed eyes at me...

and the gleam in my own fades away

Instead of her usual bear hug

I've been getting only a cursory wave nowadays

She sashays into class like a model;

balancing nimbly on three-inch heels

And her new friends immediately surround her

Why do I suddenly feel like a living wardrobe malfunction

Looking down at my sneakers?

She's the life of parties and gatherings alike

And a complete chatterbox, who can brighten up anyone's day

But why doesnt anyone notice me?

Silently sitting in a corner;

waiting to have my say?

I envy her immaculate nails,

Her perfect clothes and hair

And I know I have a long way to go

before I can get till there...

You wont believe me when I say

that we used to be best friends

It really hurts me when people change

and relationships come to an end

It's like she's a stranger now

who wants to have nothing to do with me

Angry, sad, disbelieving, disheartened;

You tell me; how must I feel?

She's metamorphosed into a diva now

who turns heads wherever she goes

While I shuffle along inconspicuously

The 'nobody', her shadow

The next day, I fetch an old photo of two pigtailed girls

clad in identical tees and jeans

and tear it down the middle

My heart dully aches as I set fire to the pieces

and gradually feel a lump forming in my throat

Tears stream down my face...

I wonder what went wrong

Maybe we weren't meant to be friends all along...

Escape

 ENTER.

It was midnight. I silently crept into the washroom with a glass of water and a bottle full of pills; and turned off the light.

Fast forward half an hour: I lay in a drugged haze on the cold tiled floor, vaguely conscious of myself. Dark shadows swirled around me. A beam of moonlight streamed in through the small window onto the mirror on the wall, suddenly catching my eye.

"Dear All (whoever really does care),

              I give up. I can't take it anymore. Better it being this way, then me going through unnecessary suffering. No matter however much you try your futile attempts at "improving" me, nothing will ever change.  Goodbye. Don't cry for me."

I felt strangely disconnected, reading my own words. Had they really come from me?  

____________________

I was drowning in a sea of meaningless words and numbers. Something that made no sense at all to me.

I felt suffocated. Almost claustrophobic. I craved fresh air. I wanted to inhale freedom; but it seemed nowhere near in sight.

"You just aren't trying hard enough!"

"Why can't you ever concentrate?"

"When will you realise the gravity of the situation?"

"How much did you score? WHAT? What were you doing all of last week, you blithering idiot? Mowing grass?"

"Oh, don't cry! What happened? Didn't you study?"

My life had turned into an unending race, where I could never seem to keep up, however fast I ran. I routinely broke into tears over trivial things. No one saw how tired I was. I wanted some fresh air and water to drink. I wanted to break free.

Do you what it's like to have your confidence gradually siphoned out of you? Do you know how it hurts to listen to ascerbic comments about yourself? It pricks you, like shards of glass. It pains.

No, you don't. You don't know what it's like to work like a donkey and eventually get nothing in return. This, this is precisely why you give up. Because you know nothing will ever happen.

Every action has an equal and opposite reaction. Really, Mr. Newton? I don't think so.

____________________

My practical half tried to make sense of the situation, to pull me back.


 Good girls wouldn't even dream of doing such a thing. Sorry. I can't be "good" anymore.

Don't say you aren't happy. No, I'm not. I'm not happy. This isn't what I expected.


Don't do this to yourself.  No. I've had enough. It's about time.

Normally, I would have immediately turned on the light, as I'm petrified of the dark. But today I craved this darkness. It was soothing, almost comforting.

I felt myself slipping away. The moonlight started to gradually fade away. The faint outline of a bathroom shelf I had recognised earlier seemed to blur. My head started spinning.

And then an amazing sense of peace started taking over me. For the first time in so many months, I felt free. Light and airy, like all my worries were over.

I was somewhere else now. No tiled floor and washroom anywhere in sight.

I was finally free. Happy.

I had escaped.


Goodbye, world. I'm outta here.

I know I'm a coward. But sometimes there's no other way out.

EXIT.

Queen

Today, I am alone. I have no one to call my own.

I was once a princess; the apple of everyone's eyes. Legend has it that my honourable father found me while tilling the land during a ritual for the harvest festival. I was subsequently given other names too during my christening. But the one I liked best was the one the priests most disapproved of - Sita. My childhood was a happy one; in the company of my sisters and playmates. .

I remember the time I first fell in love. It happened when I was seventeen; during a procession in Mithila, my father's capital city. I spotted a youth among the crowds, dressed simply in the clothes of a hermit. Although his complexion was dusky, he was beautiful; and hazel eyes so deep, I could have drowned in them there and then. I immediately felt shy under his unflinching and steady gaze; and silently prayed for him to be mine someday.

And my dream did come true, when consequently; he won me as his bride during my swayamvar.

He was Rama, Crown Prince of Ayodhya; who loved me like no one ever had.

Soon after our marriage, family feuds compelled us to spend fourteen tumultous years eking out a life in the forests. During this time, a demon king from a faraway island called Lanka, abducted and imprisoned me in his palace gardens for more than a year. It was Rama who waged war and brought me back home. I was finally coronated Queen of Ayodhya.

After a few years, Rama unceremoniously banished me from the kingdom because of some stray thing a commoner told him; even though I was pregnant at the time. Was this the same Rama, who made me feel so welcome in my new home? Who showered me with so much of love and affection that I was queen of his heart, before I was even coronated one? I think not.

I am now a symbol of utter revulsion. In the eyes of my subjects, I have sinned.

Today, I am alone; wandering like a vagabond in the forest, looking for some tree under which I can spend the night. My belly expands day by day; and I have difficulty walking. I fear for my unborn child.

I thought my worst time was during my imprisonment in Lanka. But I'm wrong. Death seems like a better end than this; which has become a veritable hell for me.

My heart knows that I am as chaste and pure as fire. I dare not allow any other man to even look at me, except my husband. All my life, I have lived exactly as our scriptures prescribe an ideal woman to. Then why do I have to suffer this injustice? Is it just because that I am a woman?

Why is a woman's purity always doubted? Why does society fie at her when she suffers, but glorifies a man who goes through the same? Why does my husband not understand my pain; my anguish at his unjust behaviour? Why did he send me away like this, in my delicate state of health? Did he ever love me with all his heart and soul, as I did for him?

Now, I think not.

Our scriptures say, "A wife is the other half of her husband". We were one. But not anymore. I cannot live with a man who raises questions about his wife's purity. His beloved wife, who venerates him like God. Such behaviour certainly does not befit a king, who is expected to be a leader to his subjects, an epitome of righteousness and duty.

I am a queen. My legs pain; and my skin, once nourished on a diet of the choicest creams and unguents, now resembles parchment paper. With my unruly locks and torn clothes, I can easily pass off for a madwoman. Repeated grazing has covered my feet with wounds. Once rumoured to be the color of molten gold, my skin is now mottled and ugly.

Although I seethe at the injustice meted out to me; I still love my husband, the same way I did as I first saw him years ago during that procession.

I am a queen. Queen of my kingdom.

Queen of my King's heart. Am; and will always be.

Karawan

 

She is resplendent in a midnight-blue gown and the latest hairdo. It is a hot summer night. Yet she feels no nervousness; she's used to this since childhood. And she feels alive when she sings, it brings her closer to God.

Today is an important day for her. President Nasser is the chief guest; among the hundreds of spectators for her concert. She has dressed extra carefully for the occasion. She can recognize many other high ranking government officials in the crowd too. But she is unfazed.

She merely stands on stage and greets the crowd; who is mesmerized and falls silent all at once. Her accompanists start strumming the oud and darbukas; building up a slow rhythm. She bursts into full-throated splendour with a plaintive number called 'Alif-Leila'. It is about the Arab legend of the doomed lovers, Alif and Leila. The story is ages old; and the crowd knows it already; but it seems to acquire a new meaning in her sonorous voice. She sings like a muezzin; calling the faithful to prayer. The song goes on, in her signature style, for a good half an hour before the music reaches a magnificent crescendo with a final refrain of 'ana bahibak'. The sheer virtuosity of it all momentarily stuns the crowd as the break into resounding applause followed by a standing ovation. They chant her name over and over again.

As always, she basks in her glory for a few minutes. Then she sends up a silent prayer, thanking God that her performance has managed to touch people's hearts. Out of the corner of her eye, she can see President Nasser nodding approvingly.

She feels that God has truly blessed her by giving her a voice that has won over millions. The power to make herself heard in a land where women have no voice of their own.  Music connoisseurs call her Um Kalthoum Ebrahim al-Biltagi. But to the common folk, she is 'al karawan', their beloved nightingale. The voice of pining lovers and unfulfilled desires; of newfound freedom and joyous occasions.

The voice that has the power to silence the entire country, whenever it is broadcasted on radio and television alike.

Today she is the greatest and most sought-after songstress in the Middle East. Everywhere she goes, fans throng her and request her to perform for them. She remembers the time when she had a throat disease and the doctors had told her she might not be able to sing again. So moved were the people, that for sometime, nearly everyone was praying for her speedy recovery, so that their nightingale would be able to sing once more. She thanks God yet again, for everything that he has brought into her life.

She has another concert coming up. As always, she will pray before the big event. On this occasion, her newest album will be released. And the spectators for this show have come all the way from Lebanon, so she will perform a few numbers from the new album instead of her old fare. She knows they have never heard her perform live. Sure enough, seconds into the performance, the crowd falls silent. And only one voice can be heard.

The voice of a nightingale; so melodious, that even the moon and stars have stepped out to listen.

Figments Of Imagination

The night grows blacker; deeper and deeper

I flit on the periphery; somewhere in between sleep and wakefulness

Your face flickers in front of my eyes every now and then

In a music-induced trance; is this what bliss is?

Are you there, or not?

Maybe it's just me hallucinating as usual

Maybe my room will be as messy as I left it last night

Maybe I won't awake to a koel's call on a grassy riverbank

Or to the waves lapping around me; and the sunlight blinding me

I'll see your face again; seconds before I awake to reality

Why do you dissolve into oblivion, every time I open my eyes?

Please don't go!

You'll visit again tonight, won't you?

I'll be waiting

I've been waiting

I'll be waiting all my life...

Friends Forever (cliched title, no?)

A photo sits encased in a photoframe in my room, in a little niche that I have just beside my book cabinet. It is one of my favourites, due to the two wonderful people who are there in it...the world's best friends ever.

I have simply lost track of all the time we've spent together. I don't even remember how all the fun started, so many years ago. Before I met them, I "was". Now, I "am" :)

This post may sound like just another birthday letter, containing the same things that I may have written to both of you every year. But believe me, it isn't. This is a little something from my side for you.

Ah, well, I can just imagine you saying, "Dosti mein no sorry, no thank you! " Yet, I cannot help but tell you that my life has changed for the better, because of you both.

Thank you, for accepting me the way I am. For sharing all my joys and sorrows. For always being there whenever I needed someone. For making two years of college much better than I thought they would be. For putting up with all my nonsense. For giving the first nod of approval to my poetry before it would go up on Facebook. For telling me not to under-estimate myself.

In short, for making my life a better one to lead.

Frankly, I was lost during the first few weeks in my new college. It took me some time to get used to your absence. When the hectic schedule and heavy workload came upon us first years all of a sudden, I'll admit I'd feel supremely jealous when you would excitedly tell me on the phone that you had only two lectures on some particular day.

Whenever I find myself cribbing, now all I do is take a deep breath and tell myself, "It's all OK...don't worry".

However many new friends I make, you'll still be some of the best ones I've ever had.

And now as I glance at this photo, I suddenly realise how much I'm missing you guys.

I promise you one thing: No matter what happens; however far I go, I'll always be there for you :)

Love you :D