Nobody's shit

Lately just a pair of eyes, beautiful indeed, strayed someone while getting blended with a slight grin that marked few pink blotches on a face, animated by its rising contours. This someone beholds them to admire the efficacy of a spectacular emotion that can render light to even scorn souls like his.  He buried all his tears, anguish, resentments, fears to follow her towards a better tomorrow. He ponders if its a miracle, that he is bestowed once again his only reason of life, he approaches her overwhelmed in felicity. Her eyes meet his, yet again, and everything just vanishes in a second, as the doctor lights the grim room and confirms him as a patient of shezophrenia. These hallucinations never left him from the day he saw his daughter die in a road accident.

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When you start enjoying the silence even the leaves, the dripping water, the moon and the wind has something to tell you. The flower that once fell on the roadside was never as beautiful as it becomes now. The masquerade for greed seems so sinful and prominent in your society that all you wish is to runaway. The injustice that you once celebrated in the honour of your bravery makes you ashamed in cowardice. You become a fugitive in the court of your wisdom. The silence is never an apathy until then. The silence might break you in tears if you are weak otherwise, it can help you defeat any monster. The war, the bleeding scars and the silence can make even the darkest soul ardent. The silence can also be a curse when you fear it. It will kill you if you stop being proud of it.

Her eyes are shut while the room seems vivid with its orange walls that augment its splendor in the brilliant sunshine. She has closed her ears with her palm while her fingers remain crossed. She is biting her lips in the corner of a room, her feet is cold, she shudders repeatedly. This paroxysm of fear was unknown to her till now. She is struggling to free herself from this trap but she is oblivion to everything she was once taught so she keeps on drowning into darkness. Blood drips from her lips, tears flood her face, her hair is damp due to the sweat and her clothes are torn and nasty. Her body renders itself like a corpse as it wanes life. She is in this room from two years but never felt this way. She yearns if this could be a nightmare, if she was never a drug addict, if she had a life but the snuff that was once an escape from the resentment and the torments abated her identity and possessed her body shrewdly. She barely opens her eyes when the clock struck ten and the alarm sta...

8 September 2014 From the vivid sky, golden leaves fall ornamenting mother earth, the sparrows are singing a melancholy; the wind blows as her hair locks embellish her face by playing with each other carelessly. After 4 years of hectic college life, I figured out that I was never born for engineering. So here I am, sitting in a corner, unable to blink, for her eyes are enchanting a gory verse, which curses the venom augmenting in her veins.  I lie startled at the amount of anguish incarnated in front of me, that peeps through these enthralling eyes.  Perhaps, I got a topic for my next article. The Void 21 December 2016 Another corpse is dismissed out of the Red Cross Hospital, Mumbai.  The nurses murmur, the crowd screams amidst many cameramen, journalists, and magazine columnists.  "Breaking News: Suraiya Bano, the celebrated classical dancer died due to blood cancer at the age of 40.  Her daughter Shazia who is also a renowned dancer did not even ca...

From the gallery of the thirteenth floor, with my hot cappuccino, I filtered out every man in my society in an attempt to find my shade in that scorching afternoon sun.  As I gazed at the assorted personalities, I reminisced him in those melancholy memories.  Sometimes, we are just unfortunate, his wrecks make me feel like a bare arrangement of bones and flesh. When I slept with him the first time all I wished for, was to retain him. That day, I just wanted to preserve him, his words, his voice, the perfect him, in me completely.                       But now, once again, the grave reality snaps me shrewdly from these profound desires. As I pace back in disappointment towards my room, where I am obscure most of the times and I don't have to deceive anyone with a fake smile; I felt a cold sensation on my head. Eventually, it started raining heavily, and the falling ...

The wind never felt colder, surprisingly, I realized the sweat made me wet in those Reebok shoes. Perhaps I was numb or it was the surge of a violent turmoil that I could not possibly apprehend. It seems bizarre when just a couple of months transform you from a decrepit soul to an effulgent lady. "Hello! My name is Shaliya a divorced foster mother of two girls and I am currently the president of the NGO Womanhood and a theatre artist at Laila Hall, Pondicherry.  Rolling into the fading memories, I can regain a stream of jumbled episodes that build a story. I savoured every morsel of the rotten vegetable curry with the resilient chapatis until I perceived the stares of astonished passersby and sympathetic temple assistants. It was friday night, 8 pm, our incessant agitations pervaded me with constant tremors, he croaked about my wretchedness, then suddenly seized me tightly in his hands. I was broken eventually, piece by piece.  Saturday morning, he asked for a divorce, a ...