A Nameless Entity

A Nameless Entity

  Her chiffon dupatta swirled with the rhythm of mid-summer breeze when she sat by the flowing stream in the middle of the night. Unusually tonight, she put her red lip colour on which everyone thought didn’t suit her like she sat by the stream at this hour where she wasn’t allowed at odd hours. She sniffed the smell of his perfume on her wrist and tried to remember his touch.

  When he took those first few steps towards me, they got me confused; what would that possibly mean? She thought and the next moment she was in his arms, her head on his chest. I can’t exactly remember the length of the time for I was lost nowhere, somewhere I had never been before. I squeezed into him, I could feel his heartbeat and the warm sound of his breath, the rise and fall of his chest; it was surreal since I was oblivious of the existence of such humanly yet very heavenly experiences. We didn’t talk at the time, the both of us were silent - lost in the moment. I touched his hair, his lips and his eyes; had always fantasized about the feel of the touch. With his plum, pink lips he caressed my cheek so softly that I could even sense the fog of his breath on my skin.

“Can’t we be like this forever?”

“No…”

She got a push so hard and a gush of breath out of her mouth woke her up. She was panting then and the rest of the night after.

She had never felt the touch of a male on her body before, however this might not have been a real exposure though she still regretted to have never experienced it earlier for – I waltzed in a dark whirlwind of emotions floating in every single vein of my being – she loved the flow of emotions so that she recalled the dream time and again by the stream in the starless night with red lips; supposedly put a fragrance on her wrist to be his.

Dreams were all she could have…

***

Days after when she was taking a shit, she thought, while forcing the thing out of herself, why is that I can’t touch the opposite gender when I feel like touching? Why can’t I have the feeling in real life, the one that I dreamt of?

Perplexed for days, she finally reached the conclusion to find answers to all her complexities. Contended that she was, decided to try everything that anyone had ever stopped her from doing.

Or…. touching?

***

Baba jan was having his usual siesta when she crouched beside his bed, slipped her hand under his pillow and carefully pulled out a pack of cigarettes, picked up one and put the rest back as if untouched. She crawled out like a millipede and climbed up to her usual hiding place amongst the trees, shaded by leaves. Held the thing to her face, examined it.

 After all those years of my life, she thought, today I’ll explore the secret to not puff it off in the air because they never stop talking about the hazards of smoking.

Lit a matchstick and burnt the edge of it.

 A day before she stayed to work in the fields longer than usual so as to observe her father smoking, now mimicked him accurately, almost like a monkey with two brains that observes intricate details, yet this one not only studied deeply but also questioned them, however with one brain.

 Tried to smoke it out of her mouth like him but couldn’t, even though she had postured herself like his and yet it didn’t work out as she had imagined it. Nevertheless, the thing burnt out till the other end and she felt nothing, nothing much to be forbidden from smoking it out.

 Nasty rules! All made by them for no good reason. What’s happened? She questioned. Nothing! Yet they would babble and babble about the hazards.

***

She’d regularly sit beside the stream and stare at the flowing water for hours, lost in thoughts. The stream was her brooding nest where she’d contemplate about what not for hours at end. In this moment, issues, questions and disturbing ideas were bumping against each other in her brain.

Tonight, she was thinking of the divine being.

 It got chillier than before while the trees made a cry when wind swiped past them.

God doesn’t want us to smoke or touch men or go bareheaded. I don’t understand, she tried to find answers on her own, who God actually is? Why would God be interested in my dupatta or my touch if he has to run this entire universe, let alone the earth? Baba never hugged me, Bhai doesn’t like me but they never talk of what God has to say about this! If God is so concerned about what I do then why don’t they talk of God’s opinion over Baba’s doings?

Her brain twirled back in time to the days when her parents would fight over her father’s extramarital relations, when her Baba would have intimate and still have, she thought, phone conversations with women while her Ammi wasn’t home but she was to hear all of it.

 The most disgusting thing, she imagined, for her to digest even to that day was when her Baba chatted on Facebook with women, pretending he was on to something very important when she had his Facebook password and could read the entire conversation while sitting at the other end of the couch.

Huh, she loathed, Baba thinks, I can’t say when he’s working on women and when he’s actually working!

Someday, I’ll ask God’s opinion about it too.

***

The next afternoon, on her way back home from fields, she let her dupatta slide away from her head and shoulder, let it rest on her chest, held between her arms as the thoughts of the night before still resided at the back of her mind. She experienced nothing unusually bad but a certain sense of joy, a sense of freedom was there.

Why do they make her cling it to her head and around her neck as if they’re about to strangle her with it. There was no harm felt in not taking it the way she was forced to since forever; she argued within.

Gradually, it turned into a routine; letting her dupatta slide and not worrying about where. She would wonder if God would react, now when she refuses to do what she had always been taught to do.

One fine day, on her way towards the fields, with bright sky and glistening water of the stream; she walked with the usual mantra of letting her dupatta slide away.

 Her brother caught her…

She was unable to move after he left, felt a narrow creek flowing through her nose, when touched; it was red. She could still feel his feet thumping between her legs and his grip on her hair. After lying there, in the fields, with numb, question-less brain and static body throughout the day; she screamed at the top of her voice by the time in the afternoon when she’d let the thing slide to her side.

When she got back home, her Ammi saw her about to open her mouth to question that condition; she yelled, “Is that what God would do when I don’t follow the mechanized rules you thrust upon me?”

***

After a couple of days, when she felt better enough to move, sat beside the stream again in dark, surrounded by insects creaking at her. Once more, she decided to try another forbidden thing of men by, they say, God.

The next day she didn’t go to work in the fields. Her hands hurt after collecting flowers with thorns to be grown in the garden, when inquired about skipping work for the day.

At Zuhur, she picked up her Baba’s phone the moment he left for mosque and sent his present girlfriend – as they changed from time to time – texts like, “Randi, Kameeni, Kanjri stay away from this man. Don’t you have a husband of your own for as I know you do have children! Or you don’t have a husband at all and got them from men who serve your needs!”

 Deleted the sent messages, put the phone back and left unseen, unnoticed.

***

“Who messed with my work? Who came into my room? Who touched my phone?” Baba howled like a hungry hound.

Complete silence was observed in the house during such times.

He called everyone in and questioned them all one by one like an investigation officer who calls culprits alone at different times trying to break them. However, Baba playing that role for a petty work as that, sickened her.

 As expected everyone refused to know about anything that had happened to Baba’s WORK. This time, they actually didn’t know anything but even if they did, no one would agree to succumb to the tyrannies of the man whose ever loving work, if was meddled with.

***

The door to her room burst opened at night when she was asleep. Baba got her by her pigtail, threw her onto the ground, dragged her like a sack and started thumping her as one thumps to kill a stingy insect that is ready to inject its venomous tentacles into our veins.

“It was you, wasn’t it?”

“Mmm…” Struggled to find her voice, in the meantime was awarded with yet another kick.

“Only you, of all in the house, know how to operate WhatsApp. It was you, wasn’t it?

You dare to touch my belongings again and I’ll cripple the shit out of you so you never walk into my room again with those legs!

You prostitute!” He hissed at her and stormed out of the room.

“I am the prostitute?”

Her eyes wide open staring at heavens beyond the ceiling as if she could see that was unseen and unquestioned.

***

Ammi massaged her belly with warm oil and said, “What’s got into you? You were a nice, obedient girl who always obeyed her elders. Never uttered a word against that I taught you. Why are you bent upon self-destruction? God would be so unhappy with you, do you realize that?”

Unable to speak or move before, she suddenly jumped with electric strength and red, bloody eyes held her Ammi close to her face. She held her so tight that she almost chewed Ammi’s arms with her beaten hands.

“So that’s what God does when I don’t follow my elders, elders like Baba?

***

Now she desperately waited for herself to feel better once again, ready to attempt yet another stunt.

The moon that night was beaming with a red tint. Everything was vividly visible under the light of the moon with a tint of its red.

Ammi was right, something did get into her…

***

She followed him today to find out his place of abode. She did realize that he was elder than her, probably too old for her but she was contended to feed her fantasies as she was sure death could engulf her at any part of any day then why not, she would enthusiastically ask herself, experience every forbidden thing that God said and man implemented.

Later in the night, she knocked at his door.

“What are you doing here? Your father would kill you if he found out that were here.”

“I know.” She was calm unlike the water of her running stream.

“Will you fuck me?”

“What….!”

***

 She held the spot between her legs, cupped in both the palms to keep it warm and let the pain go away somehow.

By the stream, under the tree, she sat in the starless, fogy, silent night, declared:

“Now I know who You are, God!”

She slid towards the stream, let the cold water touch her feet. Before she crept her whole into the water asked:

“Come and kill me God, I broke another law of your man.”

As she swept with the flow, she aspired to be anything but a human.

Photo Credits: Zainab Gillani @zg_images

Book Review

Charles Dickens' A Tale of Two Cities 

I finished reading Charles Dickens' A Tale of Two Cities when the days are long and the nights are short. Heat blazes everything uncovered, and I had nothing else to do but read. It was from my favorite classic writer but I wasn't impressed by this one as much as the rest of his works.


While reading, it was really hard for me to continue with the book initially, I couldn't form a road where it was leading. It merely seemed like a scientifically woven book describing the age, people, occasions and incidents.I read merely through the surface until the half way of book 2. Thence onward my interest started growing when the story started developing. Before this point, the book is all about incidents, politics and characters that connect later in the novel. The last part is the most intriguing, full of human emotions and that is where the real story lies. Towards the end, it wasn't allowing me to leave it even for a moment or to go to sleep until I was done reading it.


Besides, I would like to convey my share of appreciation towards Dickens for his sublime and versatile characters. Some of them were full of meanings, symbols, dark, mysterious, metaphorical and their actions were significant always indicating something important. My literary favorite character yet the character as a reader that I hated in the story was of Madame Defrage for she was the evil of the story but the way Dickens sketched her was what made her my favorite too.


Furthermore, the language of the novel is very deep, meaningful and the element of foreshadowing is presented rather merged into the story quiet beautifully. Nonetheless, it might be hard to get hold of it for some readers initially. Whatsoever, there was a touch of something while reading which I cannot explain in words but this book definitely has something in it which makes you read it despite the uninteresting elements present.


Additionally, the plot of the novel is wisely and tightly knitted. The characters from the two cities in the story are brilliantly and intelligently linked keeping the past and the present before. It definitely gets confusing in book 1 when the reader does not know much about the characters and the plot. Moreover, characters in book 1 are presented more like puzzles though they unfold as the story progresses.


The phenomenon perfectly implies on Dickens of which I was taught and I heard of lately that if you read Dickens, you don't need to read the history of the age. Dickens peculiarly and accurately pens it down. As for me, I was always a confused nerd about French Revolution also I could never remember the slogan fairly well either. After reading this book, my perception of French Revolution is no more blurred. I am quiet clear about how it happened and what actually happened, not only this I could easily connect the historical consequences with the fictional ones. Apart from that,I remember the slogan now! (No kidding!) Thus, I found the popular notion about Dickens befitting after reading this particular piece of his.


Moreover, this book cannot be recommended for beginners or absolute fiction lovers because it needs a reading caliber that beginners don't have. Other than that, fiction lovers cannot digest such a scientifically penned piece, in my opinion. Though it will be a treat for History readers and also Literature lovers who loves to read and say, "Hit me with it, I can take it." For it has History and it has Fiction plus a large portion of Literature has tinged the drink beautifully.


To sew it up, I liked the book, it was interesting but I didn't love it. Though, it still has kept me in the dark and dirty alleys of France. I still think about it and how it all happened. Like any good book, it certainly keeps the reader trapped in its net for a long time.


My favorite quotes from the book are:


"It was the best of times, it was the worst of times"


"A wonderful fact to reflect upon, that every human creature is constituted to be that profound secret and mystery to every other."


"I wish you to know that you have been the last dream of my soul."


"And yet I have had the weakness, and have still the weakness, to wish you to know with what a sudden mastery you kindled me, heap of ashes that I am, into fire."


Nevertheless, it was a good read!




PS.That's all based on my personal opinion and personal taste; one may not generalize it.

The Malignant Surprise

The Malignant Surprise

The silent stories, the words, the whispers

The eyes, the movements, the actions,

In the dark tunnel underground,

Are all measured and bound.

They aim for the blue sky above

Everyone shipshape for a surprise at the other end

The malignant force surprises them

Rather in a different form.

The Yellow Eyes

"The Yellow Eyes"

In the yellow eyes was only dirt

I could smell the tobacco within

The dark facade, narrow like a tunnel

Deep like a well caught me

Like a pitcher plant catches an insect.

Enslaved by the words

I refused to open my mind

To thine self which was so white

All I did see was the black face and the dirty skin.

When shackled within, I saw a flame,

It was candlelight!

Oh! You were burning to lighten me!

I cried, I cried but you were dead.

Your soul whispered before it left

"O Man! O Man! See...!

In the dark tunnel, a candle burns

It is black with yellow eyes

Let it burn you too...!"

Short Story

“Girl in the Red Diary”

Diary, Page 1

“I have terrible days and horrific nights when I cry for hours about the things that I don’t have any control over. I don’t want them to happen to me but the world is too desperate about the fact that they should and must happen to me against my will.

I throw off this blanket of misery and pessimism glued to me every morning and wear a cloak of smiles and vibrancies; dig down whatever tries to eat me. Whatsoever people want about me is their business. Oh, I believe in Him and who cares about the rest?

 I was on my way to university, I had a bad night when I cried for hours although I was satisfied now, calm and relaxed as if nothing has ever happened to me. I was worried last night about what the future holds because I’m fighting alone and now, now I’m jubilant enough to sing songs on my way. Strange, isn’t it? I was kind of surprised with myself nevertheless I knew it was that unseen friend of mine about whom even I did not know anything.”

Those were the first few lines I read in a diary that I found over the edge of a bench on a road right at the bank of the river floating down between the busy city. It seemed as if someone abandoned it there deliberately before diving into the river deep down. I agitated to open it at first when I caught a glimpse of it while I was sitting on the bench and now I was carrying it with myself.

In the coffee shop that I stopped by that afternoon as I usually do, I was spinning the diary on the table thinking why did I choose to pick up the diary from the bench but now when I have it, I should open it and read it but then that would be the breach of privacy.

Diary, Page 2

“My new friend, who is with me most of the times, is my best buddy ever. Howbeit, when I am upset or ever I cry; I’m unable to find him, he is present nowhere. Never mind, he is very sweet and nice all the time listens to whatever absurdities or foolish things I may talk about. I talk none stop, without any break and he keeps a strong ear to every single word and then replies with words just as I want him to as if he has snatched the words out of my mind and gave life to them through his tongue. He always speaks my mind which always soothes and comforts me. Sometimes, I wonder maybe he is struck by some thunder light as in the movie, “What Women Want” which is why he can read my mind and then say what I want to hear, hahahahaha….”

I was drinking my regular coffee while my gaze was on the diary rather on the red cover of the diary upon which the name of the company was inscribed in gold as is on the classical books normally. “I should open it, whoever owned it has already left it for someone to read and that someone in the present scenario is me.” I thought. My mind was boggling when a gush of wind came, blew open the diary, its pages tattered...

Diary, Page 3

“A unique thing about my friend is that he can easily skip the eyes of my mother and she never knows about him although he is everywhere with me; in my house, in my bedroom even when I eat with my family, nobody ever witnessed him. He always manages neatly to trick their eyes. Though I am always in terror for any of my family members if ever caught him with me, would create a lot of trouble for me since he is an unknown boy after all who is well acquainted with me for no reason. To tell you the truth, I really like him for his good humor and friendly nature; he is the only sincere and loyal friend that I have, I do not want to lose him at any cost. Yet there is a thing about him, when I am upset he is never around, I do not know where does he go? I often look around for him, when I am upset, and he is nowhere to be found. For instance, last month, I was totally traumatized by my family when I was asked to consent to a marriage that I was not ready for. I am too young to get married because I am a student and am doing very well in studies, I did not do anything either which is offensive for my family due to which they would get rid of me through marriage. Thence, I would cry my heart out and think of all the miserable things; those were the times when I was unable to find my friend at that hour of dire need. I could think of no one else to trust talking to but him as he always puts forth his sincere advice utterly for my wellbeing though he wasn’t anywhere back then.”

Instantly, I put down my coffee cup, without giving room to second thoughts, held the diary in my hands high and started reading it as if it was a burden on my soul which now felt to be released.

Diary, Page 22

“I think now my family is suspicious about my friend as my mother apprehended me once talking to him however when she entered my room, he managed to sneak away though I never knew how. Similarly, my brother once happened to have overheard me when I was discussing one of my university issues with him, later on, I found that my brother brought it under our mother’s ear which made everyone in my family growingly suspicious about me and my friend. The mere thought of him going away scares me to death, I do not want him to go even if my family wants him to whereas I have no logical reason to provide for his stay as he is not a kin to live in the house. I narrated the happenings to him several times but every time he would ensure me that he would never leave me unless I desire it which of course I never would. I always end up crying on petty things because I am an oversensitive person and my family never made it easy for me. That is why I made this friend to at least have someone to talk to because my father is always busy, my mother is too rude to talk to and my siblings are no less than uncivilized barbarians. Now, when I have this friend, I would never give up on him but the thoughts of him going away always strike me with fear and as usual, I end up crying which makes my friend parish away mysteriously.”

I was turning pages after pages as if I am reading a suspense thriller or a mystery novel. Absorbed in the spell of the diary, unconsciously I walked backed to the same bench where I picked up the diary from. Seated before the river now, I was reading it in the soft breeze of the spring.

Diary, Page 56

“My family is now dead sure that I have someone living with me nonetheless they never confronted me with it despite they oftentimes try to ask me indirect questions about him by inquiring me of how many friends do I have, what do they look like and much more. To tell you the truth, I am more at peace now that they know about him because now I do not have to worry about the fact, ‘What if my family would know about my friend?’, for now, they know and nothing happened. Albeit, I felt a fair alteration in the behaviour of my family because my brother takes me out on a walk every day and also gives me enough room to take in some fresh air whereas before I was never allowed to go out other than going to University and I detested such marginalisation of myself by my family. My mother is most of the times the same rude person yet the intensity of it is lesser than usual. Even presently, I am writing my diary when I am out on a walk with my brother, he is at some distance exercising and here I am sitting on bench writing when a calm river floats down before me.”

Page 86

“I have the brutal most family anyone would ever have, I like none of them and they are all heartless creatures nobody would ever witness. They are bent upon the fact that I should forget my friend since he is damaging and deteriorating me and my life. I will not, in any case, let that happen, they cannot drive my friend of me, he is the only buddy I have in this spacious, wide world where before I was mostly alone and crying. I am happy after he came into my life; even I have improved in my studies! What made them believe he is deteriorating anything about me? They want me to be lonely like before, they want me to cry as I used to. I even started writing this diary because I was lonely and I needed someone to talk to. Alas…

 I will never let them make my friend leave, if I live, I live with him otherwise I die and that’s final! Therefore, today I am here to jump into the same river alongside which I used to write about my lovely friend in my diary, for now, life without him seems worthless. I don’t want to go back into the same life of dark trenches where there’s no one who cares about me. Loneliness and depression killed me once and he brought me back to life. If there is no more that friend in my life, there is no more life. Either I live with him or I die. Thus, at the moment I am writing the last page of my diary and I am leaving it on this bench believing that someone, somewhere would read it and at least one person in this world would know about my story.

Good Bye to my reader….”

I turned the last page of the diary, I was mesmerised by the words of that little girl (which I perceived she was if not physically but mentally) she definitely was an exceptional writer for the reason that I was still under the thrill of the diary withal I am not a good reader, in fact I rarely read anything or if I do, I read no longer than fifteen minutes or less. It was indeed a beautifully written piece apart from the fact that it was a true story and that was something which horrified me. I was pricked by the question again and again as to what happens to the girl after considering that the diary was not there for a long time. I walked about and looked for the watchman of the place.

“Did anyone try to jump into the river today?” I inquired the watchman.

“Many people do since summers are approaching people like to swim. This area is shallower than the other parts of the river.”

“No, I mean to say, did anyone, I mean any girl try to jump off as in…. you know what I mean.”

“Oh, yeah, that! Yes, yes, a girl this morning was trying to. Soon before she could do anything I beheld her and whistled as louder than ever which alarmed most of the people around. She herself went pale and scared. A boy ran towards her and seized her whom I suspected to be her brother. Personally, I thought that the girl would resist and shout or would try to break off but she did not do any of these instead blacked out and fell into the arms of the boy. Anyway, why are you asking? What do you have to do with it?” He asked gravely.

“Ahh… Nothing, nothing really… I heard the word around, so I thought to ask if she was all right.”

“Yes, she was taken to the nearest hospital afterwards.”

I must confess those words of the man eased me to a greater extent. After reading the diary I felt some kind of a bonding with her.

Now, I was on my way to find that mystery girl from the diary. 

S - E - X – Y

S - E - X – Y

“You are not S-E-X-Y.”, he said by spelling the alphabets, not pronouncing the word. Every alphabet is echoing in her ears now individually with all the pressure. It’s already 2 am in the morning but these words and thoughts won’t let her sleep. She grew up with this complexity inside her; it grew with her as she was growing. It was a complex she was hiding inside and anyone if ever touched that, would erupt like a volcano and burn her like a dry autumn leaf. She was always told she’s not pretty, now at her senior year she heard it most often, people around reminding her of not being sexy or eye-catching for any guy.

She shut the door of her thoughts commanding her mind she is not a guy questing girl rather a rebel, fighting for dreams. She closed her eyes…..

It was a beautiful day, sunny though the clouds would ramble on and off blocking the sun. They were on their way home after school with their mother. She bought them the new flavor chewing gum of which they were making bubbles. She was 12 years old and her sister two years older. They met their neighbor Mrs. Gold on their way. “Is she your younger daughter? Oh! She’s not pretty at all! Doesn’t she eat anything?” , exclaimed Mrs. Gold.  Her mother turned her half embarrassed and half angry gaze at her daughter. Mother was sick of people telling her that her younger daughter is ugly and she’s too skinny as if dried by the heat of India in June.

She was suddenly up in her bed by the childhood memory. It was 3:15 am now. She picked up her phone; she was sure he’d still be up and phoned him. “Hello! I give a damn about not being SEXY” , she preferred to say the word than the alphabets. “I am not some movie star to be perfect looking, I don’t have the breasts of Nicki Minaj or the ass like Kim Kardashian or could look sandy hot in pictures like Naomi Campbell for I am more of an ordinary lass struggling for myself and working my ass out to realize my dreams. I know you can’t handle a strong head, determined girl like me so stop throwing your shit over me! Do you have greasy smooth muscles of David Beckham or the charm like Daniel Craig or at least, at least the action of Jackie Chan?” She paused for a moment to breathe. “Here, tell me do you have anything productive in your mind other than thinking about girls, girlfriends, how hot or sexy she is or isn’t? Do you have any future plans apart from getting married and eating up what your father has earned? I am way better than you for I am what is beyond sex, sexy or marriage. I have a dream to save the starving creatures of the miserable world and snatch for them the excessive wealth you have which certainly you don’t deserve.”

She banged the phone and went to bed with teary eyes and trembling hands still thinking about not being sexy.   

Roséro

Roséro

Every time I closed my eyes, I saw your face,

I smiled to myself...

Even if I was going through hell.

In those days of rigor

When all was grey and blue,

A soul that lodged within was you

Who solaced me for a day green and new.

Those very days that I spent

In the deep, dark well were long but few.

In the course, I realised,

If I spend the rest of my life

In a cage trapped, my wings trimmed,

May never respire the air anew;

I could still survive-

Merrily with the memories of you.

Days we spent were countable and less

Though, marked my heart with a scar,

No flood could ever remove.

I cherished every moment we spent,

Your thoughts curved the blue purse

That once used to be red.

Whenever your memories I read,

For this lifeless soul, you were the breath.

Less than a fortnight that we not met

Oh, we traversed a mile step,

"Now two souls within a body were built."

A new "Roséro" burgeoned

From the mystic pollen

With love as its scent.