The Unforgettable Desire

I need you is a phrase that wakes me up early on a wintery morning and doesn’t let me return to sleep. I toss in bed, adjust the blankets. I tell the phrase, I’ll write about you in my diary once I am up. Now let me just go back to sleep. Let me just sleep. I was dreaming, mother was buying a set of bangles and they were mostly broken. She held two in her hand, told the shopkeeper that she’ll take them. I wondered, is this really important? One year ago I lacked the ability to get out of bed. I saw no point. I was convinced that I couldn’t serve anyone. More importantly, no one needed me. What was the purpose of waking up then? Why could I not sleep forever? No one needs me. No one understands that I need to be needed. There has to be a reason, something I wake up to, something I look forward to. I don’t recall most of it, the days were all the same and nights... nights were quiet. Everyone went to sleep and then, I was fine. I pull the blankets over my head. I cover my ears...

The clock struck three. She hadn’t slept all night; the pain had spread in her limbs. Starting from her right hand wrist, she could feel a physical presence of the pain within her bones that seemed to travel to her shoulders to left hand and then to her legs. She was lying, facing towards her left squeezing her left limbs as much as possible for a little relief, at the edge of her double bed. It was the same bed that had felt her body circling in her sleep, covering every inch of the mattress every night when she had began sleeping alone five years ago in a room that she called hers. If someone asked for proof, she’d point to a wall in the room where her name was angrily scribbled in blocks with a pencil as opposed to her brother’s personalized creative decorations for his room. She was swaying her body, back and forth, lying in the same position.    The speed of swaying depended on her fluctuating belief that it can make the pain go away, as if swaying her body were witchc...

Of course this kindergarten like colouring isn't anything like the charming book cover we sneaked at! When I saw a book named World’s Greatest Love Stories in my house library, I giggled mischievously. It was a hard bound book, with an elegant purple jacket on which ‘Love Stories’ was written in bright pink italics. I giggled because I thought, “Haww! Papa bought love stories.” Not only did he buy it, he placed it in a shelf where I could access it. I wanted to read it because I was not supposed to read it. When I picked up Romeo and Juliet in school library, the librarian took it away. She stared at me before smiling and saying, “Choose another book, this one’s not for you.” Disheartened, I thought, “It’s not for me because it is about love.” Somehow in the collective consciousness of my friends and me, Romeo and Juliet had settled itself as the greatest love story. You see, I did not want to read love stories because I knew what they were. Rather, I wanted to read them...

A man sitting on my seat offered to get up when he saw me undecided - should I ask him to get up or simply climb up the side upper berth?   I took the book that I was reading out of my backpack as he began to get up. As we stood side by side for a few seconds, he asked me, "What are you reading?" I showed him my copy of Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie's Americanah . He tried to read the author's name and perhaps, failed. He returned the book with a look that made his friend chuckle. I wanted to tell him, it's a Nigerian name. I wanted to tell him that the title of the book is what Nigerians tend to call people who move to America, something like Amriki or Amrika-wale as we Indians might say in Hindi. I didn't want to explain without being asked, which was quite unusual for my ever-explaining self. Later in the evening, as I climbed up to the upper berth, allowing my co-passenger to have the lower berth all to himself, I wondered about the former moment. I bega...

I woke up this fine Sunday morning — sleepy still, I went to get Rohi fish. As the seller aunty weighed it, and uncle cut it, I had quite an unsatisfactory feeling. It's not being cut right, I thought. I saw aunty weighing two snakehead murrels and dropping them near uncle. One of the murrels moved, and I hoped for it to not be alive. I ignored and went back to watching my Rohi being cut. Then, aunty picked up a murrel, and tried to kill it. It slipped. I did not like the sight of it because the fish moved like a snake. I was reminded of the time when I was a class V kid. I had often suggested my father to buy all the freshly-fished fishes and throw them back in the water, so that they can live. We can eat the already-dead ones, but not the ones who are suffering for the lack of water. I went vegetarian for next six years, because my Science teacher had asked my class to make a mass-promise to not eat non-veg. I take the words, "I promise", quite seriously. That...

One January evening in a small mining town, Pralav decided to meet his old friend. His friend had returned to town after five years. They had known each other since their first day in an engineering college. For the most part of their job, they had been colleagues. At the age of 57, Pralav, feeling quite right in his head after a few months of dullness, wanted to visit his friend in his new house. Or, so he made it seem to his friend. Over the 32 years of his occupation, he had gotten used to whispers that surrounded him. “Mad, he is crazy.” “He is not in his right mind.” “Oh, what was he talking? Is he active these days?” “Just listen to him.” “Poor man.” “It’s a pity.” “His life isn’t even worth living.” PTSD has a strange way of unfolding. Two near death mining accidents later, Pralav was admitted for psyche consult which perhaps would have helped him had mental disorders been an open talk in the town. People assumed him to be a mad man because he needed the consult. The whisp...

Her mother, lying on her back, was soaking in what was left of the setting sun. Lights were turning on. Without caring about the time of the day, there she sat, the six year old Asha in the sand. She was trying so hard to gather the wet sand and pile it up. She wanted to make her own castle, a castle she always dreamt of. Her twin brother stopped by her side every now and then. Most of the times, he messed up her small built tower. She was annoyed, but a lousy brother can not let a princess give up on her castle, can he? She wanted perfection. Castle after castle, she sat back to have a good look at her creation every time. She made a pyramid, but it didn’t have grace. She made a tomb, but it was too depressing. Nothing discouraged her. She had a dream, and she was confident to make it real. She looked at her sleeping mother. No ideas were going to come from her. She saw her brother play in the water. Her father was nowhere to be seen. She was alone, she was covered in sand, and ...

The outline of the distant hill keeps it separated from the dark blue sky. Forgive me for my incompetence with shades of colours. The hill looks darker than the sky, towards a shade of black. The river that buzzes throughout the day with the people from nearby slums bathing and washing clothes is camouflaged in the darkness, so does the narrow sandy road to it. But in complete silence, one can hear the sound of the river flowing. The railway line and the road by its side cannot be seen either. But every now and then, a car or a motorbike passes by. It’s headlights are the only lights. Sometimes the vehicle goes in a jiffy, sometimes it’s slower. But every time it does, my mind goes back to the underrated romance that I love so much. Source: Google Image Search ( :P ) As the night takes over dusk, I look outside my window and tell mom, “this view gives me such a Lootera  feeling.” My mom asks me, “What is a Lootera wali feeling?” I say, “You know, when Ranveer and Sonak...

Big round eyes popping out through a thick pair of glasses, an ear to ear smile, a long pony tail, and chubby cheeks. That was a munchkin of happiness thrown her way. Dragged to a family picnic on a sunny December morning in a tiny city of Maharashtra, Avni spent her time faking smiles and Namaste at women her mother introduced her to. “Could I have had a better time in this alien territory?”, thought Avni. She had spent twenty long years in one place, and didn’t see the fun in shifting to a new place. Oh, wait! It’s an old place, new to her. Duh uh!

It began with a ‘Hi’. No, I think it began with a concern. ‘Whose kid is he, walking on the boundary wall?  How can parents leave kids at that? I hope he doesn’t fall.’ He jumped inside, my heart skipped a beat. I reminded my scared self, kids don’t develop the sense of fear so early. I let a short laughter out loud. I cannot jump from two feet height on to the ground now. In my musing, I forgot that I was still looking in the direction of the kid. He had seen his stalker by then. He waved. I ignored. I went back to chopping vegetables. It was noon already and lunch was yet to be prepared. I looked up through the window, he was right there waving with a big smile. This time, I smiled back. I ran through the kitchen, assembling ingredients and vessels. Then I heard a ‘Hi’. I saw  across the window. I did not reply. I was chopping bitter gourd by then. I stopped and stared; I looked up, smiled, and said ‘Hi’. I saw him jump in glee. He went up the wall, walked, and jumped....

‘Always.’ It has probably become the new definition of ‘love, no matter what’ and certainly, of the unrequited love. It has been the most romantic word ever since the ‘Prince’s Tale’ was seen in the pensieve. Yes, the story was soul stirring. But she believes that the word has been exploited. Unlike the ones smitten with it, she wonders about the question it answered. How touching can an ‘Always’ be, if there is no one to ask, ‘After all this time?’

The need to be needed by others, isn’t that something? Deep down, each one of us wants to feel needed by someone, anyone, every one. But if not, what then? At an early age she had known that nothing apart from Cartoon Network was pleasurable. She would rather watch the few words that can apparate humans into a parallel universe of dragons than the few words that broke a family on StarPlus. As far as I can recall, she wasn’t really upset by the altered family picture. It was the ‘happy ending no matter what’ that bothered her. Somewhere between the Dragon Tales and Ekta Kapoor’s soaps, she found herself drawing a distorted picture of who she will become.

The houses were blazing with fire, brighter than the setting sun. The sound of the glasses of the luxurious cars being shattered was echoing in the ears. The shrill shrieks of the women being attacked terrified the soul. The slangs of the men soared in the air. Thugs with cycle chains, iron rods, fire balls, kerosene cans, and butcher’s knife spread everywhere. Families shrunk into the deepest corners of their houses. Some brave men went out to fight for the ladies who were the target of these savages. A few hours ago the place was as good as a well developed locality. Now, it was a jungle of fire and shrieks. Every single person seen was running in order to save his life or his dear ones. The men were killed because they tried to come between the attacker and the victim. The attackers were a large group of wild men, no less than animals, who entered the locality in order to take the soul out of every single girl in her adolescence. Mercilessly they attacked the tender girls who wer...

Once upon a time not long ago, we were in love or at least we thought so. Our story did not start with hatred, it was simply friendship at its best. Friends we were then, friends we are now, or we just console ourselves by saying so. In between somehow love crossed our paths, and the feeling of first love arose in our hearts. Our love wasn't ever biased or partial, it never had any place for betrayal. Not was anybody ignored by us, but we could not control what others thought. We were sure that our love would last forever, but alas! every story has to have a conclusion. It was a sad ending, everyone said, distance, impatience and I were to blame. Still we continued to fight and talk, the break up never seemed the way it should have been though. Awkward silence always filled the space, Yet we continued to try and share. Our ending always seemed incomplete, I thought, a last meeting is all that we need. Misunderstand...