Fiction

Suraj was  employed  to look after  Tanu's mother.  She was an old lady of advanced age, yet  all her faculties  were intact  and with no threatening disabilities barring the old age health conditions.  She was dominating  by nature and at the same time  strong willed and  terribly self opinionated  to the extent of being self deluded.It was very difficult to  make her see any  sense. Suraj  was a  reliable worker though somewhat tardy for his age. He  was in   middling  thirties, of short built, squat  with his  head always  drooping  and  shoulders bent  which gave him a melancholic look. He dragged his feet while walking and lurked sideways. Tanu lectured him on his skewed gait and encouraged him to walk with head held high ,he would give an awkward  smile showing his yellowing  teeth and follow the advice but for a short while only. Somehow Tanu...

Reema felt the intense heat. The  room was closed from all sides, the windows were tight shut  and the whirring sound of the fan  made her  feel   giddy.  Moreover  the  afternoons  always spawned  perennial  gloom.  She  felt like a caged bird ,mentally and emotionally atrophied.   Her 24/7 maid Radha  was  a big diversion in the family.  She regaled  with the  tales of her village life. The hardships she had faced  were beyond the  imagination in  an urban life style. But here  it was very surprising to see how easily she took  to the ease and comforts of the city life. Her entire free time ,which she had in plenty, was spent in reel making. She very quickly learnt the art of  content creation and to record the stuff.  And sometimes she would  force  Reema  to join  her  in recording the video, which she avoided , but she ...

 What is the compulsion of writing for me? It is almost five decades and I am still slogging through! The allure of the word on the page is compelling. So much is being written and so much is being said so what more need I say and what more need I write? As William Faulkner said that men may go or men may come but it's the word  that  remains. It doesn't matter who wrote Hamlet or Macbeth what matters is the great tragedies  which remain for the edification of man. So is it the desire for immortality or the urge to be acknowledged  as some one unique ..Or may be the accretion  of words accumulated  through  ages  will  some day ,blast into one big explosion  giving  rise to a resplendent universe which dazzles  with  the visions of the great  minds who have   immortalized   themselves with the power of their TRUE WORD!       

 She looked  wistfully at the white blankness of her lap top . She remembered  the days when from a very young age she had ventured  into writing secretly in  her torn notebook which she would take  out  from her school bag.  Moreover,  She hardly remembered having  filled  it with  school work. Rather she had faint memories of  ever being a regular student. And those were the  days  when the parents, in the joint families, had other cares than  to worry about  the school affairs of their children. Moreover it was the responsibility of the family elders to see that the grand children were  tutored well. The schools were far away  from  home and the children had to walk down to reach them. In the way there were many distractions ,mainly they would linger on  on the  narrow  bridge which  they had  to cross  to reach their school. They often  stood there l...

 The closing ceremony -olympics-2024 an ardent wait to bask in the regalia of exotic send off ! The charged stadium stood like a skeleton stripped of its flesh and blood. The dismantling of the stately structures being dragged by the 'hewers of wood and drawers of water' who stood constant since time immemorial even after generational changes in  civilizations  when only the roles reversed  and their fate remained  unchanged  till they have  turned into mere objects or breathing creatures waiting eternally to tow the line of their masters. For them the beginning or the finale meant the birth and the toil in between and  the final culmination in penury. For them their sensibilities were blunted through their struggles for mere survival  when  the wistful singing of Lady Gaga or  Sinatra's 'My way....' fell flat on their ears.

 The little girl raced through the  narrow  service lane  which took her  to the bank of  the  nearby  stream.  The gurgling water  glistened  under the  bright afternoon Sun. It being the  summer  afternoon , it was quiet  all around. The little girl was always fascinated by this stream mainly  because of  the stones that lay at the bottom of the stream whose clear water  made them visible to the eye  in all details. The stones  no longer  looked like the dull grey stones lying around  on the bank but took a life of their  own. She would sit closest to the stream,  at the same time, being   cautious of the  moss covered slippery steps  of the bank. These were the idyllic moments for her.  She sat there  unperturbed  with curious  eyes looking  at the flow of water over the  shimmering stones .The clear water rippled fo...

 i need to stop thinking. Thinking means entering the past  and  pushing one into the abyss of  recall and recoil.  They had reached the  place  where her son  was  residing.  It  was quite a long route from  the airport to  this  place. It was doted on both sides with vast stretches of empty fields  and sparsely lined trees on both sides  of the road. The open and the vast areas  veered a little towards barrenness. It was a long haul from the airport to her son's residence. They got down and after paying the  cab driver, who all along  played  Hindi  songs, and giving them furtive looks for their  appreciation, perhaps  he could fathom that they were Indians, having  driven a lot of them ,since vast number of Indians  immigrated to  America  constantly. But it was quite surprising to  her,  being new to this country, and at the same time she w...

 The wicked human instinct comes in the way of the sanest minds who otherwise  would come up in the illusions of winning the race of life.  She looked up at  the book open  in front of him, her head was aching and she couldn't concentrate, but as per his schedule , which  she had set , she was to finish  fifty pages of the book each day.  It  was a huge book , she once again checked the remaining pages, still five hundred were left ,she  paused and tried to recall what she had read so far,  ...it was a seamless narration in a stream of consciousness  vein  with no  adherence  to the rules of grammar. She closed the book and consulted the google to find more about the author  in order to get dissuaded , but the critics there had   glorified  the author for his unique style which  was inimitable. She  went through the book  very slowly as to not amiss a word and waited for the spa...

It was all stillness outside. Not a single hawker  could  be heard today.  Everyday their shrill voices  caught her attention, and  she would , sometimes ,be disturbed. The extreme  summer heat  which was unbearable,  could almost scald them in the  hot Sun, yet they were there to eke out  a living in  such harsh weathers . But today it was  quiet outside. She asked her husband the reason behind it. He  told her that it was due to the Eid, the  festival  of muslims. But there should  be other venders  too, of other communities, to that he replied that they were few in number. And other businesses  too, small and  big were being  taken over by this community. The  resplendence  of the festival of Eid  brought joy to the people  who gathered in  the open markets  outside  the huge mosques . It created  an  enchanting world of  colour and gai...

It was a stormy night. It was raining hard, the thunder and lightening  almost blinded them. They were rushing towards the airport. The mother was in a sort of shocked state while her son was trying to navigate the route  with the passing flashes of the lights of vehicles or the chance  lightening , the rain and wind was lashing against the wind shield of their car.  With Every  passing moment  she had the  sheer hope  that her son would cancel her  ticket and they would  go back together . Yet he was driving in a  frenzy  working the wipers faster to make the vision clearer..It was pitch  dark outside,  and  thunder  and rain  turned the atmosphere fearful.  The lightening  seemed piercing but at the same time made it possible for her son to find  the right direction.   Hardly a word passed  between  them and there seemed a complete disconnect between them. She looked...

Meeta  is  in her seventies.  She is  full of  zest  for life and seeks every opportunity to be in the company of her friends. Her salt and pepper short hair goes well with her plump fat body. Her style of dressing accentuates  her care- free demeanour . Her age doesn't hamper her in anyway. She  often cracks  jokes which generally veer to obscenity, to make her friends laugh , which for a moment unsettles them ,but then they go with the flow. The instinct to deride  looks  meaningless  at such  an age.  Meeta   had lost her husband lately  and her only son  lived  in the U.S . She cultivated a large number of friends and revived the distant family  relations. She was awash with money and threw lavish parties. Generally all her friends are  retired  house wives  facing the same empty nest syndrome. They had  now ample time  to indulge their fancies  which the...

 The  restlessness was  corroding the core of her being. It was always  there  nagging her  but  lied dormant and muffled  in the humdrum  of life.   Nina was  fixedly looking at her lap top screen. She might have read  the news about the achievement of  Payal Kapadia several times ,she getting the Grand Prix  award  at  the Cannes Film Festival .Her beaming expression mirrored the flashes of consummate victory  and the actors  of the film creating a  dancing  halo at her back.  They were like the artisans , the marginalised workers who  create   monumental marvels  yet  are relegated to the background. It was not  Payal's womanness  that was being celebrated  here but her acumen as a female  director which perhaps liberated her from the shackles of nurturing  the  subtle art of pandering to the male ego, which is the  ...

 Slowly  the days enter into weeks which very furtively crawl  into  months  and  eventually  the time  slips away quietly. This may be happening since the inception of this earth and what is the purpose behind this all?  They were driving fast somewhat excited since a new Indian joint had opened quite nearby. Her daughter who  had fascination for fast food since her very childhood, couldn't resist visiting any new joint  that opened  in  down town. Her mother Rita  had tried her best  to make her  eat and like home food , when she was quite  young, but to  no use.  She was a  brilliant child very precocious and  sorted.  She was  mercurial   extremely  curious and  passionate  about  material possessions. To day she  is the brilliant  professional who found her calling away from her country in America.  Today Rita had joined her...

 The steely roads were reflecting  the merciless heat. She was  walking  quietly alongside her friend  Komal. She  was less attentive to what  her friend usually talked.  She  only mulled over the pathetic condition of the stray dogs lying  there  in the middle of the road.  She wondered as she always found them lying in the middle of the road, the heat of which could roast their soft   impoverished bodies.  Then  she  remembered that  once when she was in a severe health condition ,and the summer  heat was unbearable , she  too would  feel comfort in the hot shower , the water  of which  having turned hot in the over head tanks. The insane weakness of her  body embraced the warmth of the warm shower. She finally decided to carry water for them on daily basis  and some food too. The wide glassy roads surrounding the stately buildings of the premier hospital  ...

"  Have  I mellowed in my responses to human conditions with the passage of time or am I healed of my own conditions"  She thought. The fear of human failings  and the awe of exalted  positionings start losing their  niches. And with more learning the brain turns  more skewed  she thought. It loses  its innocence and simplicity to be drawn to  pure admirations  and  the adulations  but  the addled  brain now  picks on  faults where none could be found. Thus Socrates was no more than an ordinary entity to his opponents  and  not the ultimate truth seeker as Plato described him. And same with  the vice gripped music prodigy whose  aura raised the image of a  perverted being which  killed some spark of pure joy in her.  But now he rose before her a vulnerable figure transparent through and through  who shed his vices as the snake his skin  and got transformed...

  'Modi you are great'  she guffawed loud as she heard him  blasting the opposition at one of his  recent election rallies .  She found him no less than a juggler  in his charisma and  magic. She remembered  the moments when he was in the U.S , he couldn't  pronounce  the most  commonly used  english words  while addressing the senate and she missed a beat  that he may be  made  a fun of,  but he was  undaunted  and  unstoppable.  He is  constantly being  castigated  by the opposition  for his  costly and flashy dresses but he is doubly emboldened to indulge his favourite choices. He is  a chronic bachelor and  of no   shady repute  but  seems to  elevate the  pretty faces in his party, which too  perhaps is a mere surmise.  No  doubt  he is  a riddle to her but a darling  to his masses...

She was quite old and they said that she was ageing like  old wine. Though I had never tasted wine but had heard this proverb since my childhood . For me  it was a substance which sparkled in an ornamental  bottle which unconsciously made my  mouth  water. Since my  very young age   anything I heard which i couldn't understand created their own meanings  with images  attached  to them. Same happened with the  word 'wine' -it created  a mystery around it because I  always heard  the  elders talking about it in whispers and with a mischievous glint in their eyes. Since then it became a thing of curiosity shrouded in secrecy.  I looked at my  mother to know was she ageing like the old wine? She was in her nineties , her eyebrows were still thick ,shiny  and black ,her hair had thinned out but had not lost its lustre. Her hands had withstood the ravages of time and they glistened with the massages...

 The day was sultry and the Sun's heat had spread evenly all around.  I was taking  my  evening walk with  my  friend as usual. On our way I was  generally the silent listener while  she talked incessantly. My few utterances were  only to make her feel at ease.  I no doubt  was a keen listener and took interest in what she said . It concerned me as I too was going through the same health condition  as her husband.He was  a retired class one officer who had come up in life through hard struggles. He took care of his siblings, got them settled , when at that point  he  got married  to my friend who too had  faced childhood scarcities but through hard work had achieved a successful career. Their hard work and dedication culminated into a happy family with successful children who were well placed in life and happily married.Their  son who lived with them enjoyed a luxurious life provided by his parents...

  The  crowd was in frenzy.  A  motley crowd  of the worker class and some office workers had gathered there.  The  dirt  and dust of the roadside  and the scalding heat of the summer had no effect on the gathering. A man in his mid thirties was holding a mic .He was one of those clones who mushroom around  social happenings which now a days included  the  general election  taking place in the country and  this  crowd of the Common Man is  always  around  and in readiness to  haunt these you -tubers who poach them for their livelihood.They  try to  acquire the  stance and airs of  a regular reporter to gain some gravitas  but the lack of resources show  in  their general appearance.  The public  around with their eyes  intent on the mic wrestle to grab it. Their joy  could be indescribable.  Their flashing eyes and vigorous body ...

 Her irritation was mounting .She tried to get diverted but there seemed to be no escape. Her  heaving heart  continued heaving involuntarily.  It was the same regular conversation with her husband  of day to day dealings.The conversations as old as the decades of living together, as old as their children who grew  up and  eventually left the nest  but the communications went on the same pace and  gradually spun their own tale! She would try to bring it up to a level where she could make her husband  feel the other worldliness , to look up  the deep blue skies the unfathomable vastness , the downy flakes of wandering clouds resonating with the  heavenly cadence but he could never be made to see it. The mundane and the concrete  getting crushed under the madding pushers of mammoth vehicles the symbols of their expanding egos, vying with one another in the rat race of power and pelf but  away from this vastness and the ...

 The  days are passing by and  the  time is wilting away...it blooms only in my dreams  when it  loses its dimensions,  treading  back and forth . forming new equations yet weaving on the past moments.  The past is etched in her consciousness. In her waking state it vanishes and gets dissolved in the present moments which in any case are as mundane as can be.  It's early noon and  the hawkers have left the neighbourhood. But everyday she waits for that  lone cry of a particular hawker who sounds  like a boy whose small muffed sound  disturbs  her. It  is a tired sound  with an insistent shrill . One day she decided to  have a look on him. He was quite an adult of small built. It was quite hot and the dust laden road made it more intolerable, his broken cart  carried  the seasonal vegetables  which  were shrivelled up due to heat and dust.She looked at him and her brain raced to ...

 A pall of silence descended on her after the commotion, raised by her maid  died down ,who at every swish of her broom wanted the validation from her as being the most efficient worker in the area. But it was always to strike a conversation on her part  which  inevitably turned into gossip and rested only at slandering. She was beyond all this now having been into it long before.  The time seemed to stand still.The room resonated with the unheard yet deep buzzing sound which filled the room. Now her mind  at ease she let the images filter before her eyes.The small girl with a spring in her feet marched ahead holding her hand while she in the background shielded her like a wide tree with its outstretched  limbs. The little girl loomed large filling the entire space with her presence obliterating  every object in her vicinity.  She got up and left the room. She went to the balcony. Cool breeze was blowing and the tall trees swung in the free f...

  There was no sign  of any endorsement  of  her  bits of  reflections  as she  checked  her portal. Her heart sank.  "But what is the compulsion"? She sighed with  exasperation ! "This is living on the edge" she moaned . Around her the routine activities were going on. The maids were washing and cleaning and her  husband  instructing them and also  giving his two bit advices which he had garnered in his life time of living.  A continuous monologue which went on till the maids left the house. She never could  engage with all this  because for her it  would be  getting into mundane while she soared in the vast  expanse of the  Space showing  outside her wide window. She had  perfected the sly art of  dissembling which  turned her inner world opaque  to the outsiders.   "Let me check again may be there is a drop of 'manna 'there on the portal"!  ...

 Her  restlessness knew no reason yet it was intense. Nothing diverted her. The opaque  sky couldn't filter the cool shades of the spring Sun ...the smog smothered it. Perhaps this annoyed her so she drew the thick curtains to block the dismal light.    Her eyes meandered around the objects in her room ,they were the mere  objects  now having lost the lustre of their youthful era. 'Era ' no doubt since it seemed decades when she had  fretted over them, their quality and their cost which attracted the envious eyes of her friends. Before her now , beamed the  big screen of the t.v. It  was blaring  the routine 'breaking -news 'of the pre election crescendo .The mushrooming of parties made it difficult to discriminate among them. She could only hear the blabbering voices of the myriad  groups  and  those of  budding  anchors of the  vastly sprouting channels  which  were  always at loggerhea...

 The  life was becoming impossible for her to restrain herself from expressing her strong resentment to a sort of coup against her by her own mother and brother.  She was very close to her grandmother and presented a cuddly figure of a well pampered  baby sharing her space with her elder brother in the close proximity of the imperial lady who was  the P.M of the country at that time .Both the children lead a guarded life . It was of absolute importance to watch for their  safety. The daughter was tutored  at home  and  not much was known about her brother .   The time took a terrible turn. Indira Gandhi was no more .The wizard  of Indian  politics was  shot down  mercilessly. The whole country was mourning  and the revenge gave rise to  terrible  blood bath  in the entire country. The sibling  lost their dear grandma and in this scenario  the  scion of the family entered the politica...

 Recently  I  chanced  to listen to the interview shared by the two  literary luminaries : Manju  Kapur and the budding writer Devika rege. The contrast was exceptionally revealing so much so that the former  got  completely overlapped  by this  young writer in her effervescence and the highly strung intellectual din. Her multilayered exposition of the plot of her story seemed to be messed up in the various genres . In contrast the senior writer seems  to  lie in  hibernation waking up into the safe environs  of family or friends and some  obvious social inequalities .The basic treatment  of her plots is at  the basic where the subconscious lies almost unviolated . The yawning gap between both the writers  depict the present day  condition of the humans who are pawns in the present day  complex and ruthless political systems which defy simple treatment of the plot.

 She  very carefully  moved her  fingers on the rickety keys of the typewriter. The machine was old but very precious to her. She guarded it from the sight of others in the  family suspecting them of having an evil eye on it .She almost deified it. It was a great feeling to sit before it and pour out the exuberance  of her youthful thoughts which  created a riot  of creativity.The images came alive and stood like etched pieces on the warm yellow sheets. It was the fresh breeze wafting through the window , which made her conscious of the time ,that she concluded. But now she had lost the urge to remain steadfast. The shiny page ,open on the computer had a sort of urgency in it. It played truant if she delayed. And  now she  also wanted a breather every now and then  to recollect to conjure up arrange and rearrange the broken pieces on the computer. Her scooped up shoulders pressed her chest and her  worn out eyes strained in che...

 She was her friend and colleague , an intense character! Her pointed face was unusually thin  and was covered with the eruptions of acne  with  a prominent specs on her nose.She was of slight built too.  She  hardly participated in the general talks of her friends .She taught mathematics and was brilliant in her subject. No body took much notice of her.  It  was thought that she couldn't  be  beholden to the tales of  youthful romances and escapades by the young ladies who had  recently ventured forth in the new life of self reliance and financial freedom. She was Cheema. A lady of medium built and coming from a  middle class background where the sole impetus  was to excel in studies ,find a decent job and get settled in life.  But for some the pursuit soared beyond that common goal .They talked of their aspirations , they talked of   Sartre , the  elusive poetry of Keats and the intricacies of Ka...

 It was a big rickety house almost entirely built of wood. It had two main storeys and one large balcony end to end to that house.The balcony was covered by large windows with wooden panels, beautifully carved  and which had stood the vagaries of nature and matured so well.The house was  inhabited by  seniors comprising their respective families. As usual they too suffered their mutual jealousies and family competitions .A  hierarchy of high and low was built .It started with one of the elders  holding a higher social status  which gave the spontaneous right to his children to behave superior to their  cousins. This fomented the family feuds sometimes flaring up to the extent that even the elders got involved not that they wanted to mitigate the situations but only looking the other way, stocked the fire in their ladies  to the extent  that  the women of the house  started  with their  tirades and expletives till it w...

  The hoarded stuff inside her was pregnant with the memories which needed  to be completely consumed till she was emptied to core to fill it with profound void. She was a very curious child. Her eyes and ears worked at tandem. And she was everywhere.Other children in the house got subdued by the elders if they got scolded for some mischief but she never was intimidated not that she was unruly but she couldn't be dampened in her spirits. She was spirited and foot loose. In a large family nobody took much notice of her.She lorded over the tall trees and caressed the bit of mosses and built a huge imagination where they acted her siblings.It was during such a time when one day when  she was almost talking to a tall red rose and caressing  it ,one of her uncles noticed her and complained against her to her grandfather. She was there with her grandfather when he came with his  complaint.She didn't understand  what her uncle was saying  but she suddenly not...

The man looked  irritated. He was annoyed with  his wife who always felt insecure about his love for her. How was he to show it was beyond his comprehension. He found himself terribly lacking in the delicate nuances of playing to the moods of his wife. So much water had flown past the river since they got married but she seemed to have remained entangled in the same cesspool of  male anchoring ..For a women  love and liberation perhaps meant two different things rather  liberation had the connotations of being disloyal.  The man moves ahead whether for good or bad but the women clings to her  guiles to hook the male  psyche  in order to safeguard her existence and give meaning to her life. 

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 Before her she could see the vast amalgamation of different figures of various sizes and hues. Some stood out and some faded in the background ! they were the pieces of life, the seasoned and battered relics of lived moments relegated to the back of memory like some disease which was in remission and could surface at will.  It was a breezy morning, they were all sitting in the compound of one of the famous temples  of the city. She frisked around with her cousins they were all in their teens.The elaborate rituals of puja held no attraction for her since she was quite used to them in her house.It was the intermingling and the freedom to explore the beautiful  scenic beauty around.The deep yellow and dark maroon marigolds the purple panzy the red roses and the huge whooshing deodar trees.A heaven where the mediocrity and depravity got consumed and a spark of pure ecstasy touched her heart.It was during such a moment when she felt  joyous she heard her senior cous...

  Her heart was like burnt embers! She tried to lift her spirits. In front of her was spread the warm Sun light of winter. The birds were pecking on the bread she usually put on the ledge of the balcony for them to feed on. So many times she had decided to take some food for the stray dogs when she went out for walks but somehow she missed doing so. And while being effusive about her friend who had adopted two dogs of her street she gloated over her guilt in her subconscious mind! She has been like this in other aspects of her life going through  in a half dreamy state. The crow was pecking on the bits and suddenly she could see a squirrel hiding in the corner waiting  for the crow to leave to snap on the bits. It was after ages that she could sight one.It was long back when they could be seen in abundance scurrying around on the courtyard walls but then one sunny day she  saw a dark black cat with smouldering eyes stalking the squirrels.She thought nothing of it and...

 It was a huge crowd in the bus. She took one side seat and sat down. Suddenly her eyes fell on one dignified elderly person who was ensuring the comfortable seating of some commuters who were different from the rest. To her amazement what she saw was the P.M Modi himself seeing to the comfort of the persons. He looked anxious and somewhat careworn .she couldn't believe her eyes. Suddenly he turned around and sat on the seat beside her.He looked at her and as if knowing her enquired about her latest publication. She was flabbergasted and In awe mumbled something.She looked at him sideways his broad shoulders were quite conspicuous.There was an aura of grace and nobility around him.He looked entirely different to how he presented himself before his country men.He looked vulnerable and sad. her heart was moved and she wanted to comfort him. He had laid his hand on the seat. She very softly took it in her hands. It was a dry and wrinkled hand the nails over grown.She caressed it softl...

The small girl was going over the wild and huge rocks over a mountain !No body could be seen far and wide.The sun was hot over her head but undaunted she climbed on in her bursting joy of the freedom away from the sights of the elders. Climbing higher and higher she lost the sense of time and place.A little higher she witnessed a group of people they were walking over the sloping mountain side! She got curious and followed them. Their language was different seeing her they called her with their hand looking surprised they wanted to know who she was?meanwhile one lady who was quite big and decked up with huge ear rings and heavy silver bangles burned fire under a stone slab and rolled big and thick roties the aroma was tempting .They offered her a piece but she resisted and suddenly she realised that she was lost.Fear struck her but she did not show it !She rushed downhill.The Sun was no more hot its brightness was waning .She was scared of the strangers above but went on moving downwar...

 Why is it that i cannot rest peaceful without getting the impetus from the world at large? the void is getting wider ,wider to the extent that it may one day swallow my very being! I look back at me in pieces and in flashes not in a continuous stream ...they don't even make a tapestry but a haphazard design of gruesome images which sharpen to the extent that they start piercing the very insides of you if you don't obliterate them by pushing them back into the innermost recesses of your subconscious mind.

 sometimes when i am in my relaxed mood and when i think that my brain is empty i turn towards some old songs but the moment they start playing they pull at my strings  turn me restless and anxious! so i put off the  music and come back to the  sordid affairs which shut off my world of longings!

 why do i need to write? some mentai compulsion or some urge to compete the mental disease of the young age when you are seething with envies and jealousies of the peer group who matter in the literary groups!