Broad Brush Paintings – Episode 2

Previous Parts:  Episode 1

“Why do you keep on writing in this same, crime thriller genre?”, V asked Rakesh.

Rakesh is the author of four highly successful crime thrillers. He makes quite a bit through the royalties, and generally spends his time sitting in one cafe or another talking to his friends — when he’s not writing something that is, which is seldom. He doesn’t have to put too much effort in writing, because all his novel have the same blueprint, with details varied. Besides, the accuracy of the details is not important to him. Or to his readers.

“Because it comes naturally to me. I don’t have to take efforts to write that stuff”, Rakesh answered, puffing on his half-burned Marlboro Light. Then, carelessly, he threw it out of the window of the dilapidated Irani cafe.

V looked at the wastage, annoyed, but then it occurred to him that it was better than wasting one’s lungs. He hated cigarettes. Normally, he wouldn’t sit with someone smoking, complaining that the smoke gave him asthma. But Rakesh was an exception. He had soft corner for Rakesh, despite his (what V called) pedestrian writing. Rakesh and he went to the college together, and he was one of the few friends from back then with whom V could still connect.

“But what’s the point? Aren’t we writers supposed to get out of our comfort zones?”

Rakesh looked at V quizzically. He wondered if he should pick issues with the phrase ‘we writers’. V, as far as he knew, had wrote nothing that qualified as writing, not in the world he inhabited at any rate.

“Have you ever done a honest day’s work as a writer?” he asked finally, looking out of the cafe window, at nowhere in particular.

“What do you mean?”, V asked, trying to sound nonchalant, yet his voice betrayed a tinge of anxiety. Or was it reproach?

“I mean, have you written a single page of prose, keeping in mind who will want to publish the shit?”

“You mean, honest work in this line means taking other people’s judgment of what’s right and wrong, or suitable/unsuitable for publishing, as one’s starting point?”, V said, his voice agitated. He waited for the answer to his rhetorical question. As he expected, no answer came. For a brief moment V held his pose, in every sense of the phrase, and added in faked nochalant voice, “I guess not”

“I thought as much”, Rakesh said.

“Why would I want to be a writer, if I were to accept that as a starting point?”

Rakesh sighed. He didn’t have time for V’s childish questions.

“The trouble with the world of art is that people come here trying to escape the hard right and wrong judgments, believing they can redefine right and wrong”

For all his faults, V thought, I can still talk to him, because he at least understands the fundamental questions of life. Not too many people these days had time for those fundamental questions. They were so lost in the mundane facts, and problems. It was hard to even talk to them.

What about Chaitali? He wondered …

Long back, when they were dating, he remembered he could talk to her. She understood. She even had answers that seemed to align with his. Or was he too eager to find an alignment? Like the Indian pundits who would fix up any horoscopes. Not that he believed in horoscopes, but wasn’t that cheating? And sometimes, both the parties would do it, each believing that the other cares for horoscopes. Or was it that they wanted the other party to think that they believed in horoscopes — thus establishing their ‘traditional’ credentials?

But what about Chaitali?

He shuddered. Maybe he had cheated himself? Even before he knew there was alignment on things that matter, he had stopped judging? How much more ridiculous was that? He who hated arranged marriages, had he arranged his own marraige by the same methods, in spirit? Nah, he said to himself. Chaitali was okay. She still understood the questions, and their importance. It’s just that her answers had changed over the years, while his had stayed the same. Was it because he never had to taste his answers, in the real world, as opposed to all the imaginary worlds that he tried to create, while she had to?

And Rakesh? He looked at Rakesh, who had lit up another Marlboro light, and seemed to be waiting for him to say something. Trouble was V had no idea what it was. Then he remembered the thread.

“And?” he decided question was the best option.

“And soon they realize that unless they’re genius, they are more constrained by rights and wrongs as defined by someone else — and there isn’t even a way to resort to objectivity. Hell, those are random rights and wrongs, that can never be defeated”

Trouble with those who can think through other people’s shoes, V thought, is that you can never judge. You always keep the case open, for further evidence. He loved Chaitali, so judging was now superflous. There was a time and date for it. He had done it. The case was closed now. If he reopened it, it will just stay open.

“Unless you’re a genius?”, he suddenly said, picking up the thread finally. This was getting interesting.

“If you’re a genius, you can escape them in your lifetime, yes. But down the line, you become another random set of rights and wrongs. In a sense, you lose to the system by being endorsed by it. And worse: you can’t even fight, because by then you’re long dead”

“Do you think you are a genius, V?”, Rakesh asked suddenly.

“Ummm?”, V said, half automatically, half deliberate.

Rakesh laughed. “You do, don’t you? You conceited, arrogant bastard!”

“Well I don’t know if I’m a genius, but I don’t think I’m ordinary, at least”

“No one thinks they’re ordinary, dear. Welcome to the club”

A Blind Date (Concluded)

The first time he really talked to her, he could feel heat building up in his body. It wasn’t even the sexual tension, although, with her around, that was always in the air (in his mind). All his googling about the impending encounter had proved useless in the first couple of seconds, as his body took over, and his mind went into reflexive mode. In the excitement of the encounter, and the sense of achievement he felt, he hardly noticed what was said. All he knew was that she had suggested (to his utter surprise and relief) that they meet for a Saturday brunch.

Now, trying to recall the conversation, he remembered it wasn’t she who had suggested brunch. It was he who had mentioned an early lunch or brunch. It suited his weekend rhythm. She had agreed, although he thought she was a bit baffled.

It was going to be lunch, at this rate, he thought, as he checked his watch again.

***

Just as he was sure that she had played an elaborate practical joke on him, he saw her sporty yellow car screech to a halt in the parking lot. She reversed the car into an empty parking lot making a guy jump off out of her path.

She smiled as she saw him.

“Hi”, she said, as he led her towards the cafe.

He tried to smile back, but all that came out was an awkward movement of the lips that was aborted, even before it could take shape of any meaningful human expression. Instantly, he felt hotness around his ears, and a blush spread on his face. He looked away, in panic.

“I said Hi”, she said, pouting her lips, and in mock anger.

He was glad that he wasn’t fair skinned, for the blush would have been impossible to hide then.

“Sorry”, he blurted out. “I mean, hi, how are you?”

She smiled again, as she answered, “That was cute. Blush and all!”

He desperately wanted to change the subject. She was late, he remembered. Should he ask her what took her so long? No apology had come, either, he made a mental note.

“Stuck in traffic?” he asked abruptly.

“Oh no. It was lovely actually, driving on empty roads. I should get up early more often”

He chuckled. So she was just late like that? he wondered.

There was an option of sitting outside, the waiter told them. The cafe had a small garden. He hated it, because it was on the roadside, and the noise there was significant.

“Yeah we’ll prefer that”, she said.

He looked at her aghast. She was already moving though, following the waiter.

They sat down, in a corner table. At least there is some privacy, he thought, looking at the well manicured bush that separated them from the next table.

She looked a little miffed, and he had no way of knowing if it was because of something he did or didn’t do. Should I have pulled out the chair for her, he wondered.

“It’s kind of late, should we order lunch right away?” he asked her.

She seemed not to take any hint, though. Still no apology, he said to himself.

***

“What are you humming?”, she asked, as they waited for the food to arrive. The small talk hadn’t survived the first few minutes. She had tried to go on her own, for a few more minutes, and then seeing not much response, she had also stopped talking. If she was irritated, there was no way for him to figure out. Her face seemed quite careless. The silence was awkward, but mainly for him. It was then that he had started humming. It was Jupitar again.

“Jupitar”, he said enthusiastically. Finally something to talk about, without leaving his comfort zone.

“Which group is that?”, she asked.

“Ummm. It’s Mozart’s 41st Symphony. The last moment”, he had said, his enthusiasm weaning as fast as it had built up.

“Oh! That orchestra kind of stuff?”

He felt a stabbing pain. Then he realized he was just wishing it. He wondered if he was overreacting. After all, it was, orchestra kind of stuff, literally. Thankfully, the waiter arrived with their orders, just then, and he didn’t have to answer her question.

What did she read, he wondered. Not Sidney Sheldon’s, he prayed. He was suddenly afraid to ask. She wasn’t.

“How come you eat this early on a Saturday?”, she asked.

“I like to stretch the day by cutting down a meal. I take an early meal, and then just pick up some book and read through the afternoons. Only on weekends does one get time these days”

That was the longest sequence of words he had spoken to any girl, in quite some while. Except for his sister, of course.

It was difficult talking to his sister, too. But for entirely different reasons. First chance, and she’d start listing the litany of her troubles. Household troubles, he sighed. Indisciplined kid, unconcerned husband, meddling mother-in-law … Doesn’t she understand I don’t give a damn, he wondered. And then it hit him again, the dread. Is this what my life would turn into? Is this what all this courtship was supposed to be for?

“Hello?”, her voice got him back.

He looked at her, puzzled.

“I was asking you what do you like to read?”

He wondered what should he say. For some reason, he didn’t want to sound too highbrow. That left out the Kafkas, the Manns, and the Joyces. But then, he wouldn’t allow himself to be seen as having anything to do with the populars. That left out the occasional Ludlum that he enjoyed, or even Richard Bach or Paul Cohello, that he did enjoy a while back.

He settled on Wodehouse. That was a safe bet.

She rolled her eyes. “I tried reading that once. Nothing happens in it!”

He looked away, trying to hide his disappointment in vain. Not because he did a bad job of it, but there just wasn’t much need to try. She wasn’t even looking at his reaction, when she said that.

“I like …”, he held his hand out for the waiter.

***

Why had she agreed on this date, he asked himself. The answers were hard to find. He didn’t have an inferiority complex about his personality, at all, but he knew he wasn’t the kind of guy that most girls will notice. And she might be extra-ordinary in her looks, but even as he was secretly charmed by her, he didn’t believe for a minute that she was any different. So how had this happened?

“I was surprised you knew me”, he said, as he took a sip of the Merlot. It wasn’t too good, and for a moment he thought of ordering something else. She seemed quite happy with it, though.

“This is lovely”, she said, “I rarely drink wine. “But I like this”.

He decided to endure the wine, too.

“Sorry, you were asking something?”, she said, finally.

“I was saying, I was surprised you knew me at all”

“Everyone knows you!” she said. “You’re our resident genius, after all”

For a moment he looked at her face, to catch a hint of derision or sarcasm. But she betrayed nothing but sincerity.

He frowned.

“I payed you a compliment, you know”, she said, her pout returning.

“I don’t know what to say! Thank you”

He took another sip of the wine. It wasn’t that bad, he thought. It must have been the aftertaste of the starters, that had spoiled the first sip.

***

“Are you free on Saturday?”, his friend asked, “Lunch at our place?”

“Ummmm”, he hesitated.

“What? You are not going on a date are you?”

He grinned.

His voice almost inaudible, he added, “a blind date”.

A Blind Date (Part I)

He waited impatiently for her. It was more than thirty minutes past the time she said she will come.

“I should have waited in the car”, he said to himself, as he wiped perspiration off his forehead. It wasn’t a particularly hot day, of course. It was just his anxiety. It had been a heroic effort for him to even talk to her. Words always seemed to fail him when she greeted him in the office canteen, or walked past him. He would attempt a feeble smile, and return the greeting, before walking away a tad too quickly.

She was beautiful, way beyond his league, he’d say to himself. She was tall, but not too tall (neither was he), strikingly fair (not that is really mattered to him that much), and had very prominent features. Her complexion allowed her to carry both dull and bright colors with equal ease. And she was always dressed almost perfectly (according to him): neither too casual, nor too dressy; just about right to make people take notice.

It all started with sideway glances. He was always aware of her presence nearby. Even when he was busy with his work (and he took it very seriously), he could pick up her soft voice, as she spoke with someone in the hallways. He would get up and walk to the water tap, even when he wasn’t particularly thirsty. But as he passed by her, his blood-pressure would rise suddenly, and his movements would become awkward — the way they typically become when one least wants them to.

At first he thought she never noticed him. He was so sure of the ordinariness of his looks that he thought he was invisible to her (and to most people, but that hardly mattered to him). A few times she caught him staring at her and looking away as soon as she looked at him. He tried to avoid her gaze, after such instance. But, the next time, he would spot her looking at him with mischievous expressions. He would look away in haste.

***

He looked at his watch, for maybe the hundredth time. To his surprise, it had hardly moved.

“I should have just waited in the car and listened to Jupiter“, he murmured. He started humming the movement of Mozart’s last symphonic work, from where he had left it. He thought about its intricate interplay between diverse themes, and their fabulous confluence near the end. He had got out just before the real interesting parts. He had, of course, heard it a hundred times. But it still made him irritated — leaving it unfinished like that …

Why was he there, he wondered. All these years, he had been happy alone. There was so much to do with life that he had never felt that his life lacked anything. Did he feel that now, he wondered for a moment? Or was it just his mom, and sister, and their pestering questions?

“When are you going to get married?”, his mom had tried to reopen the conversation — that he absolutely detested — the last time he’d called on her. It wasn’t as if he did not want to get married. He just hated the whole concept of arranged marriages. Did his heart long for a companionship now? Now that most of his friends were settled in their married lives? He was ready to acknowledge to himself (although he would never hint that to his mom, or his sister) that he did feel a longing — if that’s what it was, whatever that he was feeling. It was another matter, that he felt completely inadequate to do anything about it.

“Why don’t you try blind dating?”, a married friend had kidded him.

“What’s wrong with arranged marriages then?”, he had retorted.

“Who said there is anything wrong with them?”, the friend had asked, a little offended, he noted.

“I didn’t mean it that way”, he had said, “I’m sorry”.

“Chod yaar“, the friend had said. Forget it, man.

“You’re too bloody serious in life”, the friend had added, as he excused himself to take his wife’s phone call.

[To Be Continued ...]

Flash Fiction – The Cynic

The cynic gave a contemptuous laugh.

“That bad, eh?”

“You call this Flash fiction?”, he shook his head vigorously.

“Yeah? How about this for a flash-fiction?”, I said, as I took out my gun and shot him.

He gave another contemptuous  smile.

“It’s a flash alright, but fact not fiction”

Those were his last words.

indulgences

these indulgences
complete abandonment
of reason, or reasonable
they keep me away
from dejection,
despair

these indulgences
slippery slopes
down the road to perdition
a vortex

these indulgences
paralyze the will
blunt the fears
leave behind bad taste
of failure averted
ostrich style

these indulgences
a never ending trip
down the dark alleys
where soul shrinks with horror
and changes shades,
like a chameleon,
lacking faith in its immortality

to be is to indulge
believe in original sin
play hide and seek with moksha
duck the final judgment
and to wallow
in these indulgences

Twittery New Year

If unclear, click on the images for larger sized versions.

---

Ripples in sand

Notes:

• Title is a placeholder. Will have to go.
• This is my weakest fiction, till date, but then I’m happy I finished something
• Criticism is welcome, but superfluous
• It’s still better than a crib-blog
• Don’t read with any expectations

---

My fears do seem surreal
but I wonder if I can bear,
to see these walls crumbling
dreams… they’re are known
to end as abruptly, as they come…

***

I waited for some time, after ringing the doorbell. Anuja lived alone in this spacious two bedroom flat in the city’s upmarket area. When she decided to move here, I had offered her to stay with us. My middle class sensibilities, by all means – as the rents in the city had already skyrocketed. I was sure that Varun would not mind at all. He’s always been fond of Anuja.

However, she had dismissed my suggestion casually.

“Di!”, for some reasons she always addressed me with this ridiculously shortened form of didi. “This is my one chance of living on my own”

I hadn’t pressed much, knowing Anuja. And to be honest, I was even glad. An extra person in the house after all these years, (yes even my own sister) would have meant changes.

Of course, I was hoping that I would get to spend more time with her, now that we were in the same town. I had seen very little of her after Varun and I relocated to Canada, just a few months after our marriage. When we got back, Anuja was busy with her job in another city, and we were busy settling back into a totally changed country. The fact that we had lived here almost all our lives was hardly helping.

Anu is five years younger to me — almost a generation, in today’s fast moving time. Still, growing up, we had shared a very close bond. Things started to drift, however, after my marriage. Our communication settled down to a few casual mails or chats, and occasional calls. I was desperately hoping we would get to catch up on those lost times. Half an year down the line, we had met just a couple of times. On one Saturday, when Varun was to be in his office for the whole day, I decided to go shopping. I remembered Anu mentioning the new mall that had opened close to her place, and thought it would be a good idea to check it out, and maybe drag her there too. I tried calling her up, but her phone was switched off. Typical Anu, I thought.

I was thinking of rining again, the door opened. As I was about to step in, I realized that the person opening the door wasn’t Anuja, but a young man (very handsome, I must add).

“Yes?”, he asked, partially blocking the door.
For a moment I wondered if it was the right house, but then I had seen the nameplate.

“Isn’t Anuja at home?”, I asked.

“Yes she is, please come in”

I noticed then, that his shirt was just thrown over, carelessly, half-buttoned up; his hair was ruffled.

“I’m Mukta”, I said. His face showed no comprehension. “Her sister”

“I’ll tell her”, he said, as he went back to the bedroom. I thought I saw a hint of embarrassment on his face.

From Anu’s bedroom I could hear a few miffed voices, and finally she came out. She was wearing floral pajamas, and she looked so beautiful. For a passing moment, I felt a twinge of jealousy: she looked so young and full of life. But while I was marvelling her looks, she was looking at me, with slight irritation, and she was making no effort to hide it. Suddenly, I felt like an intruder.

“Di, what a surprise”, her voice had no trace of excitement.

“I was trying to call you, but your cell phone is switched off”, I explained. Unnecessarily I thought, a moment later — after all, since when did a sister need explain her visit?

“Yeah, on Saturday mornings I hate to be woken up by marketing calls!”, she said. Afternoon, I wanted to correct her, but she was still looking irritated. Just then the gentleman walked into the living room, his hair and clothes much more tidy now.

“Di, this is Gautam. Gautam this is Mukta, my didi“, Anu introduced us. Her manner did not betray any awkwardness, if she felt it at all. I would not say the same thing about the two parties being introduced.

Gautam smiled a polite smile and took his leave, almost in a hurry. I was left with Anu, who was behaving as if this were an everyday situation for her.

“Your new boyfriend?”, I asked, trying to sound casual.

“Not exactly”, she said, looking straight at me.

“What does that mean?”

“You’re not naive enough to ask that, are you?”

“Anu!”

“Please stay out of my sex life, Di”

I looked at her aghast.

“What? Should I say love life? Surely you don’t call it love when it changes every week?”

“But Anu, what are you going to get through these flings? Don't get me wrong, but what's the future in this?”

I thought I was sounding just like my mother. Anu, who had lived in a small town with my parents almost all her life, who had never been to more than four cities, and had never set her foot outside India – she was making me feel naive, orthodox, and outdated.

“Don’t get me started. You know… if facades fall, then everything will change”

Her face showed no anger, or even irritation. Yet, there was something which made me step back, involuntarily — something cold and menacing.

“What are you talking about, Anu?”

“Forget it. Tell me, what will you have? This is the first time you’ve come to my place, if we don’t count the day you helped me unpack”

“No… no, I want to know”

She looked at me with a look that was closest one could get to feeling sorry for the other person.

“The one time I ever made a real choice, I lost him to you”

Varun? What is she talking about? She was in love with Varun? And for god’s sake why tell it now, after all these years? Surely it was a teenage crush.

“He knows?”

“Why don’t you ask him?”, she snapped.

“Anu … We used to be able to talk, you know”

“Di, stop patronizing me, will you? You think I’m a kid who had an innocent crush on your husband, and who needs to be shown the frivolity of it all? At this moment, if any-one’s innocent, it’s you, dear. Go home. Forget I ever said this. I never intended to. Is there a point in raking this up now? You have a happy life. And I’m managing pretty fine. Just don’t scratch the surface. It’s not going to help any of us”

She was dead serious. The hurt in her eyes was all too real, despite her attempts to keep it away.

Life teaches us that digging up graves is a pointless exercise. And yet we never learn. I loved Varun. I trusted him to tell me anything he ever needed to tell me. Anything that I needed to know. And yet …

***

I sleepwalk carefree, over the clouds

oblivious of the approaching storm

the dream is invaded by a smoky haze
paralyzed, I watch your receding form

“What’s wrong, Mukta?”, Varun asked on the dinner table.

“Nothing”, I replied dryly, moving my spoon through the soup.

“Come on honey, we know each other too well to fool each other like that”, he said, in his usual, calm voice.

“Really, Varun?”, I asked, looking straight into his eyes. He looked hurt. I felt bad for assuming him guilty for an unknown crime.

“What’s wrong love? Why are you so bitter today?”

It took you an hour to realize I’m bitter, I wanted to ask. But I resisted. You must assume him innocent till proven guilty, I told myself.

“I met Anuja today”, I said after a pause, looking straight into his eyes, trying to catch his reactions. His face didn’t change even a little, not even puzzled.

“How’s she?”

“If you think I’m bitter, you should talk to her”

“Will you stop talking in tangents?”

His tone was a little irritated now, I observed. Do we see things when we want to see them? Because his facial expressions were no different from usual — when he lost his patience. And that wasn’t unusual either. So was I reading too much into his tone?

“Because, Varun, after all these years of living together, I find it insulting to ask for information which I should have been told long before”

He opened his mouth to say something, but then he pressed his lips together, grinding his teeth. His shoulders dropped. For the first time, since our first meeting (however then it was shyness, not guilt or shame) he couldn’t look into my eyes. He didn’t say anything for what seemed like an eternity.

“So she told you”, he finally said. It wasn’t even a question, just an assertion.

“Not exactly”

He sighed. For a while he didn’t say anything.

“Oh God, Mukta, I’m sorry”

I started crying. Suddenly, I didn’t want any details. What kind of fool goes about digging the firm looking soil under one’s feet? If I hadn’t pushed Anu, I would be laughing with Varun, probably. I would be asking him if he liked the soup, and urging him to have some more. I would be asking him how his day went, and tell him about the weird salesperson who kept on following me from one rack to another. I would be telling him about Anu’s stream of boyfriends, and letting him give me a dose of liberal medicine –  how I should accept her as an adult now.

Nothing of it. Here I was, trying to figure out how much of our life together was a lie. And whether the percentages really matter. A lie like that paints everything in one color, like the primer they put on before repainting, making every wall, every ceiling, the same ugly shade of white.

“Mukta, will you please listen to me?”, he said.

Don’t you get it, I wanted to shout. What will all the gory details change? Don’t you see that everything has changed? What can you tell me that will restore our world.

I stormed out of the dinning room, and slammed the door of the bedroom.

***

Brick by brick, we built this house
from yonder we brought these trees
today, the walls are green with moss
and the garden is dried shade of brown
did we lose it inch by inch?
or was it all just a mirage,
a passing dream?

“Mukta!”

It must have been more than an hour, when Varun finally knocked at the door, softly. Astonishingly, I was asleep. I guess it was due to much crying. I looked at myself in the dressing table mirror. I was a mess. I looked like a ghost of what I was only a few hours back. I got up, washed my face, tidied up my hair. Then I put on some makeup. The rituals can dull pain by their boring regularity, I guess.

Varun’s knocking was a little more urgent now, and his tone more concerned. I opened the door.
His face had a relived look. Did he think I was going to kill myself?

“Mukta. Can we talk?”

What’s the urgency, I wanted to ask him. If it could wait all these years, surely it can wait some more time. In any case, it was already too late. But hope is such a bitch. It tempts us, and drags us into the quicksand of despair, to laugh at us derisively — for falling for its tricks again.

I nodded.

He took a deep breath. Poured a large peg of scotch into a glass, and finished half of it, in two gulps. He always had his scotch neat. But he never gulped it like that.

“Anu had proposed me, just a week before we met. I was not prepared for a relationship back then. I was just a few months into my job. Besides, she was so young. Anu was working with us as an intern back then, you remember right?”

I didn’t answer. Of course I remembered, and I knew he was just trying to clear the mist that had clogged the air between us that night. Any response would be better for him than no response. But I wasn’t exactly in a generous mood. He waited for a moment, and let out a muffled sigh, as he saw the futility of attempting small talk with me, in such a mood.

“For a brief while before that, we were dating… sort of. I mean, I realized that day, when she proposed me, that that’s how Anu looked at it, at least. For me it was more of a friendship.. hanging around, like best of pals. I was already too old for my age, and she was the fresh splash of life, of youth. I always thought I was just a father figure for her….”

He had gulped down the rest. On other days, I would have scolded him. But I thought I did not have the authority anymore.

“It was in this period, that I met you. And before I know, I fell in love with you. Suddenly, timing didn’t seem so wrong. Still it was too complicated for me do do anything about it. I wasn’t sure how she would take it. But she knew. I guess she knew me well. It was at her insistence, that I proposed to you. We had decided we would never tell you, because it would just complicate all the lives involved”

“I don’t know why, today… Not that I blame her. She has every right”

His voice trailed off. For a while, he did not say anything, and then he looked into my eyes. His eyes betrayed the effort it had taken him to do it.

“Mukta. I love you. Please talk to me. I can’t take this silence”

When we say, “spare me details”, do we ever mean it?

***

Soft winds soothe the aching heart
as the sun vanishes into distant land
I crave for your virgin touch,
like the time you first held my hand

I know, my visions might crumble
like the castles in the beach sand
but I know, the love we lived
you will always leave behind

Anu called up on Sunday afternoon.

“Di?”

I didn’t say a word.

“Di. I know it’s you. Please talk to me”

Varun had tried in vain to get words out of me, the whole of morning. We chewed our lunch, in silence. He vanished into the study room, more to leave me alone, than for any other reason.

I went back to the bedroom, and latched the door, as if I was afraid of being violated, just by his presence. I was completely drained to think of anything. Anu call had broken my reverie. And her voice suddenly brought me back my voice.

“Why Anu, I’ll be happy to. What do you want to talk about?”

My tone was caustic. But at least it was easier to talk to her, than it was not to talk to Varun, at all. For wasn’t she as much a party to this lie that I was living? Or was it easier to talk to her, because I was more angry at her than Varun — so angry that silence seemed a response out of reach?

“About you and Varun, of course”

Gone was her cool, confident, tone of the day before.

“So he called you?”

“Of course he called me. And I’m glad he did. Please don’t punish him for my sins”

My first reaction was not anger, strangely. It was amazement — to see my little sister grown up so much. Amazement, seeing her — no more indulgently as a spoilt brat, but as an independent adult, just like Varun wanted me to see her.

It was brief though, the moment. The next moment brought back the pain of back-stabbing — not just because she hid it from me, but because she took away my choice to be the martyr… to be the the elder sister ready to pamper her younger sibling with all she could have afforded, and all she could not have.

A part of me was angry at her because she didn’t tell me before. A part of me was angry at her because she brought the subject up at all. And the contradiction seemed trifle.

“You mean he is guiltless?”

“Had he told you back then, what would have come out of it?”

“Truth?”

I thought I heard a derisive laughter. But I knew the derision wasn’t in her laughter, it was in my mind. I was so prepared to hear those words: “grow up, Di”

“Truth that would have strained every relationship, that could have come out of it alive? Truth for the sake of truth? I can’t believe, Di, that you would even think of throwing it all away for a stupid truth”

“Anu, when you’re in a stable relationship …”

I deliberately paused, letting it sting, then regretted my cruelty. Wasn’t she in a serious relationship, once, which had left that permanent scar on her? But I was too proud to apologize.

“You will know that you cannot trust ninety percent, or ninety nine percent. It’s a hundred percent or nothing. If I can’t trust him to tell me one thing, I cannot trust him to tell me anything. How do I know it’s just this one stupid truth, Anu?”

For a moment she was silent. When she talked, I wondered who was the little sister.

“Di… Relationships can never be like that. You don’t need me to tell you that. Are you really saying you cannot trust him anymore? What about me? Can you trust me?”

I knew I couldn’t say the truth, for all it was worth.

“I don’t know”, I said.

“Di, why don’t I believe that?”

Then, without any warning, tears formed in my eyes again. My voice chocked.

“He is as guiltless as you get them in real life. And he is yours. He loves you! Don’t you know that?”

There was nothing to say to that.

“Why did you bring it up now, Anu. Why now. Why someone who can see things like that, could not see what it would do?”

“I never said I am guiltless”, she said. I thought I heard a sad laugh.

“And you still want me to trust you?”

“I want you to trust him. Punish me however you want, but not by punishing yourself, and him”

We were both silent, for a while.

“Why Anu?”

“Because, being a martyr isn’t easy, Di. Especially when no one knows it, and you don’t even get to live it. As for me, it wasn’t even a sacrifice. I let go what I never really had. But I never saw it that way. For a long time I was living life like a vain martyr. And I blamed you for every moment of it, for putting me in a position where there wasn’t another choice. If it were someone else, I would have tried to snatch him from her… I would have done whatever it took. With you I was helpless. Maybe I just needed to throw away all that karma, which I thought was good karma, but which was making my life hell”

“It just happened… Di… It just happened”

What can you say to that? When one martyr dies, another is born.

“Can’t you forgive him? It’s only your world that’s worth saving, at the moment. I know I cannot ask anything else of you. But this much I will…”

“I don’t know”, I said. Knowing fully well she knew, what I knew.

“Thanks Di”, she said, as she hung up.

***

We’ll pick up the pieces
and go back home
we’ll paint the walls
inch by inch
and grow the shrubs
you and me
we’ll watch the past
with a knowing smile
will we?

In Search of Relics

I try to recall
what it felt like
when words fell into place
like a complex Jigsaw puzzle
solved sleepwalking

Memories are always tinted –
sepia or monochrome.
colors of failure, and shades
of blemishes, do not survive,
mercifully, beyond a point

The long, slow seductions
the anxieties, the heartbreaks
the dread, the shame
all lay buried, and forgotten
covered in slimy moss
in closed, dark attics

Yet the absence hurts the eyes
with its blinding glare …
I start to grope in the dark
and hold onto relics
try to snatch them out
severing their roots
and mine, too

When even the relics bleed
I stop sleepwalking
and see the destruction,
of the reckless, and blind fury
I replant them into past
and take a vow of relearning
the art of seduction

Defrost

I’ve tried to stay away
from easy respites
as a penance
to cleanse myself
of habitual indulgences

It’s strange
how life freezes,
yet time moves on
anachronistically
so tangled that it
does not matter –
past, present or future

Images flash
linger on, and disappear
leaving no trace …
music plays on,
in elevator rhythm,
its starting or stopping
equally uneventful

I resign, accepting defeat
and embrace indulgences
long abandoned — if
one trusts the calender — for
it seems just yesterday

And life
seems to return –
the ritualistic familiarity
that cannot sustain
the sublime, or
the divine,
just the banal
with a touch
of make-believe

Waiting

I waited
for the haiku
she never came