The Hesitation - Pollination

Sorry for taking too long to post a new work.

I have been busy in making submissions and planning a series.

I will be posting the series here, once I start writing it.

As for this story, I had sent this for submission and it was rejected.

Is that a wrong thing to say? I don't know.

Hope you like and understand the work.

Thank you for your support.
And please voice your comments
(They mean more than you'd think they do)

Did I mention that the blog has now got over 1500 hit.

A special thanks for that one too.

Sun shone kindly upon the greenery, enabling them to have their fill for the day. Exotic flowers in the garden of the world filled the minds of the onlookers with effervescence. Glory of nature did not restrict itself to one specie alone. The fragrance of the flowers in full bloom reached the receptors of superior beings too. It was not long till those butterflies reached the place, illuminating the place with their bright colours.

One young insect rested on a leaf, with its tired wings closed at the back. Admiring the delicacy and the winsomeness of nature’s piece of art, it lost track of its work at the place. It was lost for good. The rose petal lips, with green sepal as curving hips of the gorgeous lass and those two protruding stamen, indicating that it was mature, made the butterfly freeze in awe.

The admiration took the being into reminiscence of the past beauties it had met. One led to another and so on till it reached the present. The reality of the present and the importance of its duty struck. It eyed the flower once more. The virginal beauty was something it could admire only in the ignorance of the lustful hunger and the monotonous duty it had to follow.

A beauty so ravishing, it had to be preserved as such. Conserved. For the world to cherish it and savour that moment of adoration. An exquisiteness to be immortalised. The butterfly, that was lost in that moment of veneration yearned for that alone.

Nonetheless it comprehended what had to be done. The moment it enters the bloom, it makes contact, it penetrates the open door, the pure countenance and the manifestation would get sullied. The flower of that moment would cease to exist. It would be gone. The semblance of the art change. The perfection debased.

It sat there looking at others entering various flowers and tarnishing them. The elegance in the flower before it, was gone in those flowers. It too was supposed to enter the flower. It had to or another one would. Yet it sat still making no move towards the flower.

That was the order of nature. To create and then to destroy. But the destruction was not absolute. It paved way for more creation. It was a transformation more than destruction. And that transformation bore, in its own way, a beauty and a perfection the insect could not comprehend. Whether others loved the new expression, it knew not. It didn’t even fathom that others never noticed any beauty at any point amid their hurried lives. But it loathed that metamorphosis. The flower would at first lose its freshness. It would be fertilised. Later it would turn into large and succulent balls that would then be devoured by another being, which would not have known of this virginal beauty. Traversing into eternity, the winsomeness would go unrecalled.

Nevertheless that was how it was. It was only natural for the transmutation. There was a part for it to play in the larger picture. And that transformation was mature’s order. It would not pause, for anyone or anything for such pause would lead to the natural extinction of the beauty. All that should be done is savour the artistry at that moment and appreciate it. Therein lies the joy. Withal, every being seeks only joy in their joy forsaken life.

After one last look, devouring the refinement of the flower, the butterfly flapped its wings and went into the flower to gather nectar.

-_-_-

Rabid Dunces

The three men took their seats near one another. As the first one prayed for a safe journey, the second took a blank look at him. The third man let out a chuckle of contempt.

As soon as the prayers got over, he gave the third man, who sat against him, a stern look. Then, with his eyebrows raised, searching for acceptance, he looked at the other man. But that man looked undecided. Feeling the pressure of the four eyes upon him, the first man decided to let the cat out of the bag.

"I am a theist," his voice authoritative, "and you are an atheist, I suppose."

The third man nodded with a wry smile, curving the ends of his lips into a wrinkle upwards.

"And the days of the devil are upon us."

The wry smile vanished upon the unfriendly remark. The atheist felt the inside of his cheeks with his tongue.

"You still believe in fairies!"

"It is because of people like you that God chastens all men. You will bring his wrath upon us all."

The nod of the theist's head in penitence spurred his rival. As the sarcasm that was brooding over his face faded, the atheist pulled himself forward and bent, resting on his knees.

"And, it is because of ignorant men like you that decent conversations have become wanting."

The theist straightened up in alertness as the gibe inspired anger within his heart.

"How dare you say so?"

"Because I am not afraid of you or your creation. God."

"God created man. Not the other way."

"That is what fools, who barely know to spell science, say."

"Imbeciles, we may be. For in the eyes of the devil are men of god so."

"Seriously now. Do you have patents and copyrights for these creations of yours? God and Devil? Or are they free to be used?"

"Don't mock the King of all men or you shall molder in hell."

"And I thought this God of yours was merciful."

"He is. And that is what keeps you alive. Alive to change your path towards truth."

"Path towards an asylum, you mean."

Fuming with rage, the theist looked to switch off. As more and more rage made way to his head, he found it hard to think.

"Why do you guys still believe in fairy tales of God?"

A look towards the now serene and pitying face of the atheist calmed the man down. His rage subsided. He turned his view outside the window. His eyes were fixed on a large rock far away from their train, looking stagnant. A small light lit on his face.

"You men propose and believe in stupid theories of man coming from monkeys and universe being born from the destruction of a large ball, and you call the truth as a fairy tale."

The meagre pity in the man deserted him. His look was straight. He up righted himself and wore a thoughtful face.

"I have read the holy scripts thrice and I still believe the scientific evidences backing these theories. You are the guys, blind to the truths of the world, fighting and waging wars to prove yourselves as the greatest."

"Wars are fought, for men disregard the teachings of God. Because they forget that love is what God edicts. And the greatest weapons were not the creations of God. Science and men created them."

"It depends on the men who hold the object. A knife can also be used to murder. Holding the knife or its creator as convicts is madness."

"I never knew that nuclear weapons can be used to slice breads and spread butter."The theist was strongly gesticulating and frowning as he spoke. The other man was not much different. The gesticulations set them apart. But there was the third man, whom the others barely noticed, staring in bewilderment at the two contenders with noting more than a slight doubt on his face.

"Religion was superceded by science and that has brought more pain than gain to this world. We did not create vehicles to pollute the air. What right do we have to stop the birth of a God given child? What sin did it do to die before birth?"

The atheist hurriedly interjected as soon as the sentence came to an end.

"Science has facilitated lives. There may have been some side effects. But that is negligible compared to the benefits."

"No. It has inflicted beastly characters within men. Because of the so called facilities that it offers, men have become savages; brutes, who go in sprees of sexual indulgence; wandering devilishly with conviction over contraception."

Atheist looked outside. At the speed at which the train moved, he was unable to clearly fix eyes on anything that was beside it. He was searching for something outside. Perhaps for some words to counter. He then returned with a calm demeanour.

"To say that religion has nothing to do with wars is to propose your heliocentric theory. The fights fought have been innumerable. There have been endless interreligious wars, intra-religious fights, riots and massacres. Why do you want to hide your sexuality? It is because of you guys that people are so inclined towards sex. A child born at a wrong place, at a wrong time and to wrong persons will suffer. Why should it go through such trauma?"

Glistening eyes of the atheist fixed upon the rivals face. A tinge of smile escaped the edges of his lips. Even if he had not converted his rival, he expected that he surely had converted the third guy. He sneaked a look at him.

"The Architect of fate would have better plans for the child. God never forsakes his children. We are minor beings. We do not know of his webbed plans for mankind, his children. You atheists are too conceited to accept that you are lower beings. That is why you are out to defile the lucid minds."

"If he never forsakes his children why do people die around the world of starvation and illness? Why is there so much pain and trauma?"

"As I said we are minor beings. Too little to know everything. I am sorry but you men are too smug to accept your inferiority in the universe."

"No. You guys are smug and believe that you are too special in this vast universe. And you have even said that you are God's favourite and that he has created you similair to him. It is you who should be ashamed of egocentric preachings."

The personal remark aggravated the so far pent up ego and hatred. His face shrunk even more deeply as the atheist looked with disgust at the man in front of him. He turned his head and spit through the bars of the window. It was perceived as a personal insult, which was what he had intended. Both their eyes met.

Suddenly, at the same time, as though already decided, both turned towards the third man. Their eyebrows rose, questioning him of his allegiance.

He shifted his eyes between each other. His mind doubtful upon whether to be out with the truth, "I am agnostic," he confessed, razing the men's ego and their flight of fancy.

"That is the worst kind. You guys are just plain cowards, unable to accept truths and want to play it safe. Afraid that you will come under barrage."

The theist then completed, "Yes. Like the bats in the battle, waiting to join the winner; afraid to declare your piety. Shame on you."

---The End---

Shattered Spectacles

From the Author:
It is great to know that you all have been following this blog for so long. Thank you for you support. 

It is notable that the blog has got over 1000 hits now.(A mark which people reach very quickly, unlike me.) 

But there are 2 important things that I want from you now.

Please refer this blog to your friends who may be interested in such short stories.

The other is, please comment on how the story is. Even if it is a negative one.

Thank You.
Enjoy your Reading.

The city was still in the grasp of the dense fog that had settled during the night, as Ram walked past streetlight after streetlight, prepared for another day of fight. He reached the place of work and with droopy eyes, fighting the sleep that was waiting to take over; he started arranging the desks for students to use.

It took some time and then students would start pouring in for the class. A strong aroma of flora filled the room as a girl entered. He left to take care of the attendance. On passing a boy, he noted the raw fragrance arising from him. As the boy disappeared into the class, Ram smelt his shirt. A tinge of stink filled his nostrils. He shook his head vehemently. Making a mental note to buy a 50-gram detergent, he sat down with the attendance register.

Students came in trendy and fashionable outfits. He was counting the legs that passed him to note the number of students who attended the class. He could not get himself to look up at them. Realizing the shabby and worn out clothes he wore and not to mention the slippers, holes of which he covered with his feet, he classified himself in a different league.

Soon, the class was full and the teacher had arrived. As the class began, Ram walked into the room and listened to the impartations of the professor with a giant eagerness. His eyes narrowed and ears widened as he tried to decipher every word he heard. He was poor in English.

Ram heard some chatters in the room. Two boys started chatting with disrespect to the man who was talking. Ram turned his head to have a look at them. Walking towards them, he signalled to maintain silence. His comments went unheeded as the boys continued their activity. Their persistent murmurs made it difficult for Ram to understand what was being said. His old dreams resurfaced.

He ran outside and sat near the stairs. Ram’s eyes were red waiting for the water to breakthrough his eyes. He covered himself mildly so that no one could easily find out what he was doing. All his dreams had shattered the moment he started to work leaving his studies. No one came forward to help the orphan to pay the fees to continue his education. His dream of being a doctor had burnt and slipped through his grasp as smoke would.

Salty waters from the red eyes stained his cheeks. The harsh reality of life had hit him hard, pulverizing his vision through the spectacles of dreams. The shattered spectacles of glass was unrepairable. He had come crashing down. With just a high school certificate, showing his brightness in studies, he was accepted only for menial jobs. He had accepted defeat at the hands of the money-driven society. He was poor.

And here he saw rich people wasting their lives gossiping and chatting despite being offered the priceless chance to study. They seldom appreciated the precious opportunity they had been offered. He wiped the cheeks dry and turned around to find the two boys who had been talking come out of the class halfway through. He inferred that they had been shunted out of the class.

It was as every day. He was left crying by people who never understood but abused their expedient positions. They neither enjoyed their privilege nor helped others like him.

After all, he was just a high-school dropout in the eyes of the society.

---THE END---

Suicidal Instincts

Every country has laws. Three laws are constant among all. All nations. All men.

• Man shall not kill any other man.
• He shall not kill himself.
• He shall not put in danger the life of another man.

The three rules of human existence. More like the three rules for robots that science fiction harps on.’

‘Any man, when asked, concurs with the piety of the view for the greater good of humanity and world. Synchronous terms they are, world and humanity, for them. But it takes a deep mind to spot the actual…’

The waitress’ emergence disturbed my flow of thoughts. An espresso it was. Double. Quite sour, actually. The dark drink flowed over my tongue, through my mouth and I felt it passing through my oesophagus. An effect of pure science. The taste buds were activated. Brain received the signals from them. And a sour taste I felt, that of the coffee, on my tongue.

It was just a signal from the brain. All it needed was an alteration in the brain to make it taste sweet. Placing the cup on table, I looked into the Chinese cup with stern detailing given to the artwork, at the five-star hotel. I preferred my evening drink at the restaurant rather than at the sober room of mine on the third floor.

My mind drew itself to the thought that I had left behind before as I started relishing the sapid taste on my tongue.

‘With those rules in mind, men are born, they live, or more precisely, exist and die. The only exception to these rules is the state. The government. The law. It alone reserves the right to kill a person. The real reason for prohibiting murders and suicides can only be understood upon keen analysis of the same.’

A couple came in making a little too much noise between their intimacies. Their happy and smiling faces assured that they were ignorant of the travails of the world. A nerve of mine twisted as I tried to look at them. It only made my mood worse.

‘People just don’t kill others directly. Their actions kill many indirectly. What wrong did a person born in Africa do to suffer all his life despite the hard work put forth by him all through his life? Not many among other nations can live a day doing his work and feeling his pain. What great deed did a person born in a developed nation do to live his whole life in luxuries that escape a hard worker in the third world? Isn’t there even a single person in the developed nation who doesn’t deserve the luxuries he has been bestowed with?’

‘Why should this man in Africa be in the dark about the technologies of the developed nations? Why do not nations share their technology with other nations? Is it because they are afraid of other nations overtaking them and becoming supreme? What do you do when you come to that spot? Number 1. Push over the petty nations for money, land and oil.’

My hands were trembling as the thoughts poured without a break. The waitress walked past my table looking deep into my heart. The poor woman must have felt cheated. The chances that she guessed my intentions were too negligible. The coffee in my hand had spilled. I took the tissues placed on the table to wipe it off and continued.

‘Why isn't there any substitute for oil? If the amount spent to extract and then convert crude oil into petroleum had been invested on research, many new alternatives would have existed. Some greedy capitalist probably lobbies for Oil Companies, so that they all remain wealthy. After all, weren't there people who produced arms and induced wars among nations to make profit in the Century of War?’

The cup was empty and the waitress came to clear the table. I asked for the bill and stared around the restaurant. There were few takers for the morning breakfast in this part of the world. At least at this hotel. Not many had come down to the restaurant. ‘War.’ My eyes fixed over a photograph hung on the wall of the restaurant. The photo showed a big zeppelin with some description below it boasting the massive machines men had built while it should be signifying shame.

‘Billions have been spent on war and armaments to kill people while the amount spent to keep people alive in the third world is alarmingly negligible. Despite an international body to uphold peace, love and peace have become almost non-existent. Many people envy their neighbours and plot against their co-workers. Who bothers about that unrelated anonymous person standing next to you? Who bothers about his survival and sufferings? If we are not bothered about this person, why would we be bothered about that poor person in an anonymous country in Africa, Asia and America, who earn not even a single unit of currency a day despite his hard work all through the day?’

‘A person in Africa earns not even a dollar a year, while in developed states people's entertainment costs runs over billions. Millions are being spent on a sports star. Isn't a life in Africa worth even hundred dollars an year? People are happy to spend in thousands to watch a sport at a stadium but cry the hell out of their lives to give something to another man. Countries are ready to spend millions for space exploration but they are crying to spend to save the world from pollution. They are crying to spend even a small percentage of what they spend to destroy the Ozone. Doesn’t this ultimately equal to people killing others?’

The waitress produced the bill. The coffee was blasphemously dear. Selling price, at these high profiled hotels, are so high mainly because of their brand value and image despite their poor quality and taste, yet people come here to have one, for the non-existent entity called ‘Status.’ I took my wallet out and placed the tender of the bill with some tip for the waitress as customs demand, for her shrill look at me moments ago.

‘Money. People have fought, killed and committed suicides over these unworthy notes of paper and fibre. Such innocent looking artefacts, these things make or break a person. Selfish people still make up most part of this world. Some realise it and some do not realise it.’

I checked my pockets for the room key and proceeded towards the lift. It was at my floor. Boarding it and pressing the button, I noticed the couple beside me glaring at me. They probably had not brought a paper and pen with them for an autograph. I couldn't smile at them. I just proceeded as soon as my floor came.

‘It is for this same reason that people put barriers on murders and suicides. Selfishness. What will happen if the person murdered turns out to be the next Einstein? What will happen if the person committing suicide finds out something so precious that it would save the world? People. Always expecting others to help others and themselves. They are seldom ready to take up the mantle and support others but critique every person who comes forward to help.’

‘In the end, they all say that no man has the right to end life but knowingly or unknowingly they do just the same and kill others and force them to commit suicide. So much for living in this world.’

As I opened the door to my room my mind wavered over the decision I had made.

‘Maybe I should try to continue writing. It might affect the world.’

But another voice lapsed over it. ‘No. There is not much you can do now. All that is left is for you to die. Better sooner than later. Such a high profile death will surely rock the world. All thanks only to the last literary award.’

I walked into my room and fell down on the bed. Red stain spread over the pillows. I closed my eyes to sleep resting assured that the media would take care of things from where I left. A sleep that would take me past all the agony and the travails of the world.

THE END
(quite literally)

Thank you all for your repeated visits. I have taken a long break from this blog but your continuous readership makes me to continue my works. If not for you all, I know not how my life would have gone through the changes it has gone through.

Do comment your views and opinions.

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Budgets - Don't bother.

The sun had risen well above the horizon and was nearing the peak and still I was asleep in my bed on the day the college had allowed leave. It was then when I heard my mother scream from the kitchen. The yell had enough volume to kick me out of my bed and hurry into the kitchen. I looked meekly at my mother, as she stood well dressed to go out somewhere.

“You’re still asleep? See you are in your final year of college and you do not have any sense of responsibility. This is a shame. Anyways. I am going out with your aunt for some purchases and dad has gone to office.”

“Okay” I said without much indulgence in what she was saying and complacently walked around the kitchen positioning myself on a stool that was there. She stared sharply at me, bewildered by my irresponsible way of going about my days.

“At least ask why I called you?”

“Why is that?” I asked, again without any serious concern or interest.

“It was better when you didn’t ask.” She said and immediately a sound was audible inside the house. It was the vehicle of my aunt who had signalled with her car’s horn to indicate that she has arrived.

“See, the guy who delivers paper will come. Check the bill and pay him. Money is at the dining table. Do you understand? I have to go. Aunt Sita has arrived. Bye.” She spoke hurriedly and rushed out leaving the empty cup of coffee on the television.

Completing my daily routine, I cleared the television top, dumped the cup in the kitchen sink and lounged myself on the couch to watch something on the television. After endless channels of blathering and bilges, I settled on a news channel that relatively attracted me. It was a heavy dose of some sharp talks on unnecessary issues and objections on trivial arguments, the program got over after an hour or so.

The new enlightenment I had received from the idiots chatting in the idiot box urged me to turn towards my bedroom to have another deep nap when I heard a knock on the door. A man had come to collect the paper bill. I walked up to the television for the money, paid him and got the receipt. After some deliberation in my bed, whether to do something else or sleep, for a minute or two, I heard another knock on the door. My mother entered with fury-filled eyes and a stuttering stomp.

“What did you do?”

I was caught unawares with the question. “What?”

“How much did you pay for the papers?”

“Around three hundred. I think.”

“Can’t you even see what he has added? He hadn’t delivered the paper for a week and you pay him for a whole month.”

“How am I supposed to know?”

“You have to. You are growing up. I can’t be taking care of you even now. You have to indulge yourself with the household.”

“Come on. I am not even reading the paper. Dad takes it to his office. How will I know how many days he has faulted?”

“See. You can’t be like this. You have to take up some responsibility. This is a family. Everyone has to put in some effort in running the house. You are now a grown up. From next year, you are going to go to office. You will be employed. Will you still be saying something like this? Will you say ‘I don’t know if my salary’s been credited in my account?’ You have to grow up and look at the family budget.”

“Fine then. I will.” I said with aggression behind a reluctant façade.

“Don’t cut me down. When I talk to you, you listen. If you do not check what you are paying for, you will be taken for a ride. People will cheat you and strip you off. You have to be careful. Look after our family budget from now on. It is your responsibility. Household budget is very important. If you do not check what you are paying for, we will go in a downwards spiral. So be careful.”

It wasn’t that bad. The exposure to my household accounts only made me interested in such topics. I was keen in learning more about the issues of finance and money. Budgets were my stronghold. I didn’t have to force myself to look into them after some time. They interested me. I was swooned into the working of financial and economic systems and I saw any program that involved finance, with interest.

The parliamentary budget was in session and the news channels were fighting it all out over the allotment of budget to various sectors of the economy. Then entered a monster to put an end to my pleasures. My dad asked me for the remote to change the channel. I was in disapproval of his actions but my arguments against him were of no avail.

“If you don’t give me the remote now, I will cut the connection this month and make sure that the television doesn’t work in this house. Ever.” He threatened and snatched the remote from me. Anger surged in me and all I could do was stomp out of the room in anger and lie down on my bed.

Hours passed in my sleep and I was aroused from my sleep by my mother to have dinner. I refused to have anything with the anger filling my stomach and the ego sealing the same. She was unaware of all the happenings and listened to my narration of the incident.

She then said, “Why do you want to see that budget?  Nothings of avail in watching it. There is nothing to be done.”

THE END

Thank you all for your dedicated visits to this blog of mine that I write hoping to I entertain you.

-Seeker

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Never Ending Noises

A huge crowd had gathered. No one had called for. Nor was anyone giving away something free. The crowd was waiting for the barrier to break. Nobody wanted to be there. At least, not with all the other people around, in that number. There was not much choice to walk away from the crowd, especially when you stand amidst it. Among those various head was mine. In the centre.

This uncalled for crowd was tremendous. If the air consumed was huge, the air let out was cyclopean. I looked around and found many lifeless souls waiting for the right time to proceed. All were longing for something or the other. But the foremost at that point, they wanted to get out of this mad rush, either by going ahead or by staying behind. Both were hellacious options. None can blame them. It was the wrath of the sun in the tropic city.

Suddenly, everyone moved. Rushed. As the deer would, upon sighting the predator. As the ants would, upon the first instance of disruption. As men would, when terror strikes. It was none of the above. Way was allowed. People swarmed, rushed and hurried to get in front of another as though there was a race. It was a race, in their eyes.

The Red made way for Green. The vehicles started to move. It was not a slow and composed movement as it normally happens at any signal but somewhat of a cutthroat competition to get past the signal before it changes back to red. And everyone was in it. Everyone squeezed through as much as possible between other vehicles as worms would to dig themselves deeper into the traffic, moving past other vehicles.

They did not move quietly. Horns were blown incessantly even before the vehicles started to move but they themselves took all the time in the world before changing gears and accelerating. They cared least about others, wanting others to be prompt while they themselves wasted others’. Among the mob was a man. With 200cc bike, loud and terrifying horn and trendy accessories, he was a new millennium, self-proclaimed street racer of not even a third class ability to participate in a real race but with enough artillery to show off in public.

The caitiff person on the bike started to sound his horn. The loud horn irked every man on the road. With some swift controls, he guided the bike ahead of a few vehicles. A kid driving a cycle along the corner was in his way. He moved close by and blew his horn and for seconds the kid’s ears were deaf. So were those of some other commuters. After pushing over many others and driving over an elderly person’s foot, the man was out of my view. He was not driving fast. He was flying slow and low.

I was watching the circus of the guy and had missed the one thing that had happened. I found every face that was brim with excitement and anxiousness, filled with dolour. The signal had gone off. It was red. Probably a tenth of the traffic would have gone past and it only grew. The expectation in everyone’s eyes, to reach home and kiss their family a good night was pellucid even amidst that turbid blanket of smoke from the vehicles. It was half past six in the evening.

The signals changed many times but the vehicles remained still. Despite this tranquillity of the traffic, the motorists’ hearts turned clamorous. Many got down from their vehicles and walked up street to have a look at what happened. Some shook their heads dismissively upon returning. I did not bother to enquire as to what happened.

It took a humongous hour and a half for the traffic to get streamlined and move as to what would normally take a comparatively easier time of half an hour to pass hundred metres to the signal. I drove my vehicle past the wreck that was lying at the road and was intrigued by the happenings around. I stopped my vehicle and moved towards the group that clamoured around a car. I asked a fellow what had happened.

“Accident. Three vehicles. There was this car.” He said pointing at the bonnet wrecked car, which I was barely able to see and continued his speech to show that he knew everything that had happened, “It came from that side” pointing to the direction that went against the one I came from. “Then this bike came from the opposite side. Bike was driven by this teen while the car’s owner is a mid-aged person from some IT company. They both ran the signal and got into an accident. To top the cake, a bus came and hit the car on that side.” He ended signalling the side facing away from us.

“The biker was thrown off and landed on the windshield of the car. See that. It is broken. The centre from where the glass cracks arise is where the biker landed. Then the bus came and hit the car pushing him down. He is taken to the hospital. The car driver is shouting at the bus driver for reckless driving. He is saying that it was the mistake of the biker that the accident took place. This person itself ran the signal. The only vehicle driving properly was the bus. It moved on seeing the green signal. These two vehicles were rushing to cross the signal before the other vehicles came in.”

I then tried to move forward when I saw a police officer entering the crowd. He called upon his two other colleagues who were in the eye of the storm. They were taking statements from the bus driver and the car owner. The biker was nowhere to be seen. I assumed that he must have been taken to the hospital.

I turned around to leave the place when I found the bike’s broken visor under my leg. It read ‘I am not riding fast. I am flying Low and Slow.’ He surely did fly, from what the person told.

I looked around when I got on my bike. Many people were still making their way ahead of others by trying to squeeze themselves through the traffic. It was just the same as what that guy had done. All the people were stranded because of the recklessness. It was not just the recklessness of two people. It was the recklessness of the whole society.

We don’t drive fast. We just fly Low and Slow.

--- THE END ---

A Special Thanks for all my Readers

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- Seeker

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The First Feeding

Gomati looked at the clock to her right on the table. It was six in the evening. She concluded that she had slept in three hours more than what the doctor had told. Her right hand was rather painful and she knew not why. Then reality struck in and she remembered her child. She turned to her left and found it beside her in the cradle.

Soft and shining, the legs of the cherub were visible to her. Clothes covered the child and she was barely able to see above the thighs. She scanned the room if anyone else was there near her who would attend her. None. None that she could call or would attend her. The general ward was bustling with people sans any noise. Had it been another place but the hospital the decibels would have reached hazardous levels.

A nurse came by and stopped in front of her with a tray in her hands. She then moved on calling out at another nurse to attend Gomati. With a smile on her face, the nurse congratulated Gomati and picked up the baby to show it to her. The face was characteristically white in colour with a gold plated chain around its neck. Gomati tried to lift her arms but was too tired to do anything. She could not even speak. She mouthed the nurse asking what gender the child was.

“A beautiful girl” replied the young nurse removing the cloth covering the body of the child.

The spectre face of Gomati turned into an abode of happiness and her eyes emitted rays of joy and happiness. Her parents entered the ward and rushed forward to cosset the child. Her mother took it from the nurse, started fondling the baby, and enlivened her face to entertain it. Her father looked on at the happenings and smiled in happiness. He too joined in with his wife in entertaining the baby. Gomati searched for the desiderative soul that had been eagerly anticipating the birth of the precious gem. The man who made her a mother.

Time flew by with the grandparents entertaining the child and Gomati rested herself after the tiresome experiences. After some time she spotted her husband coming in. The room became dark upon his entry as he covered the only light source in the hall by entering through the door to the bedroom. Gomati flitted. She was in her house with her two week old on her lap. Her face reflected the sorrow upon Death’s entry.

Reality struck her. Again. The dramatic dream she was having was too good for her to let go off. Fate is a cruel player of games against our dreams. It had made its move against Gomati and she felt completely helpless lacking the willpower and the strength to go against it. Her husband. The man who entered the room just then.

“Are you still hanging on to her?” asked Patel.

‘She is my life. The child that I gave birth. If things were to culminate into such a circumstance then I would have chosen a different path back then ditching you.’ She thought but did not say to her husband.

The house in a village near Dewas, Madhya Pradesh was filled with gloom and the weather made it worse. The unusual off-season rains made the days in the house of the Talwars even gloomier adding to the painstaking decision made by the family members upon the insistence of their Son-in-law, Patel.

Tears filled the eyes of the home’s only child, Gomati as an old woman entered the room after her husband. The primitive clothing clad woman came near Gomati and laid a sorrowful smile upon the baby and the mother. The wrinkled hands of the woman touched the face of the baby and she ran it around the face admiring the beauty of the sapling that had just sprouted. The hands then moved over to the hand of Gomati that was holding the child and drove its way to the face of the piteous mother.

The wrinkled hands were not as fragile as they seemed and were laden with the strength of a young and able young woman of twenty. Gomati’s soft clutches of the child did not cause any hindrance to powerful hold of the woman, as an ant’s stance would do against a storm. The harsh holds by the woman woke up the baby and after some wriggle. It let out a loud cry for its mother.

Hearts began to melt. Beat. Hurt. Most of them turned towards the cry but remained silent and soon turned their eyes towards whatever it was they were staring for more than five hours. Gomati rose and made a few steps towards her husband to speak up but the stare from her father intimidating otherwise made her follow the long followed system and culture of the society. Women shall never speak against men in their lives. They shall remain the domestic slaves for the men whiling away their lives in kitchens and televisions but shall never protest against anything, especially against their husbands. Gomati was very good at that. She will remain to be so.

The old woman, who pacified the loud cries of the baby, fed milk to the child. Soon the crying stopped. The girl’s voice came to a halt. So did its heart.

~~~~~~The~~~~~~End~~~~~~

It's been sometime since I wrote  a short story. With my eyes on my novel and my new-found passion for poems it's hard to sit down and write a story away from the mentality with which I write my other works. I have reworked my priorities and making time  for writing my blog in my schedule. Be surprised if you find a poem or two between my stories from now on. Hoping to keep with the monthly updates from now on. 

Thanking you all for your massive support over this period of stagnation...

Seeker...

Dreams of David

It was falling apart. He knew it. He also knew that the only way out was to go through the rough patch. Deciding so David came back home to confront his failing marriage from the shop he owned, after two days of continuous and vain work. Opening the door he found his wife Ivy at the kitchen and went forward with big smile on his face and said “Hey. What are you up to?”

“Why does it bother you?” she snubbed him in an instant and went on with her cooking while he returned, feeling sad, to the bedroom and hit the bed. The two days of hard toil had been in vain and he was already running late in repayment of loans. The loan shark had given him a week’s time two days back for the repayment of the amount payable to him and it was for this that he tried so hard. The losses from his business were the reason for his failing marriage, he believed and that his private computer hardware company was hit because of the recession in the economy. While these thoughts went on in his mind, his eyes pulled themselves down, despite the evening sun shedding their light over his face, after working for the two days without a single minute of rest.

The sun came down and went well below the horizon without disturbing David until some noise disturbed David from his sleep. The door of his bedroom was slightly open and light from the hall came through it illuminating the darkness in the room. With droopy eyes he got up from the bed and continued towards the door and had a look at the digital clock which hung on the wall showing that it was seven at night and he stopped his movement when he began hearing the voice of his beloved.

“Yes. Mr John… I am really sure of getting the divorce… Please get the necessary papers ready… I am yet to speak to him about this… I don’t even want any of his property or anything from him… I just want to get over with this… Yes. I will give you all the detail the coming weekend… Sharp at nine… I will be there.” Spoke Ivy over the phone which clearly indicated that the person she was talking to was a lawyer. She had gone through a lot of hardships the last few months and was too weak to bear it anymore. Ranging from frequent harsh responses to accusations of infidelity, she had heard it all from the only man she loved or the only man she had loved. Her decision was to leave him and no one was there in her mind.

Wide awake with an aching heart, the pain of loss was something he had never experienced and was now feeling it hard to even think of the loss of his wife. He was now at the bed with tears flowing down his cheeks and he was trying hard to control himself. Gaining control from the shock he had just received, he went out of the room and seated himself on the sofa. Trying to be nice he flashed a smile at his wife who in return took no notice and finished her work before going to sleep.

The situation was out of his control and he vividly understood the same. Whatever was happening was irreparable. Being an ardent believer of god he consoled himself by saying that god would take care of him and his problems. Getting up from the sofa he wandered around his own home like a vagrant in search of a home and finally reached his daughter’s room.

She was fast asleep with her black hair falling down her face from the right side covering the beautiful face of hers adding to the innocence of the nine year old. It had been a long time since he had admired his daughter like that. He had no time to do such things and was well consumed in his work. It had been a long time since he had even seen his daughter. Seeing her was one thing which he loved but now he had to make time to have a look at her. Looking at his Mary and thinking all this, he inadvertently began crying alongside her bed, barely realizing it. When she twitched, he got conscious and left the room, leaving the guilt at the doorstep of her room.

Sofa was occupied again and he began to nap with his head hanging behind over the back rest as he drooped. With a loud bang the television in front of him worked and he woke up startled to find his wife at the entrance of the bed room facing the television with the remote controller in her hand. She was an ardent follower of the late night news for she believed that that was the time when really good news discussions came up. Coming with an indifferent look on her face she wore the mask of a person interested in the news while in reality her mind was wavering all around the world and over her better half.

“Dear.” David started, “I know that I have been rude to you. I am sorry for all that I have done. Please bear with me. I will only be a matter of weeks until I return to normal and we can be the same old couple we once were.”

“So you do realize that we are not the same. Do you know what all I have missed because of you? I have shared your success and am very much ready to share your losses but only if you trust me. That’s it. Trust. This is the only thing that I have lost. The past few weeks have been the worst of my life.” Inadvertently tears rolled down her cheeks and they flickered among the varying colours from the television. The colours changed and so did her mind. She chose to go to sleep rather than continuing the exchanges and rose up.

“But it was always you. You are the one who spoiled our relationship with infidelity. Who is he? Have you left him? Rather than shifting the onus on me, it would be great if you’d rise up to accept your mistakes.” David called to the retreating woman of his life.

“Shit. Disgusting. How can you say such vile things?” screeched Ivy in the way woman normally do to such remarks “Once you have gone to such extents, how do you expect me to be with you? I have asked my lawyer to prepare papers for divorce. Please leave me alone. I want to get away from these shits of yours.” Her voice rose to great stubbornness and she continued along her path with tears rushing down her eyes desperately to see the earth and fall down on the ground to split into many smaller droplets.

His eyes were red in anger and sorrow. Tears had dried up and he had no more left to shed. Not that he was feeling to do so. His heart ached no more but raged with fire that was lit by her in the midst of his melt-down in an opportune to pacify the leaving dove. Her words still echoed in his head. “How do you expect me to be with you?” Was this why she left him? Maybe the other guy is far privileged than David and had bought her off the markets in hopes of entertainment for a reasonable time until the copulation? It was all a speculation. Maybe he was well-hung?

The cigar at David’s mouth burned as fast as his mind speculated and was almost at its end but still his wavering mind had not ended its journey in to the void of imaginations but only soared higher than practicality until he returned to the world in which we live because of a knock at the door. His mind raced to the unexpected and uninvited guest of his who was at the doorstep waiting for him to react by opening the door but he was there, sitting, guessing as to who might it be at the odd hour of eleven at night.

From the second knock he realised his out worldliness and started but in the meantime a door 

creaked inside the house and lo behold, Ivy came out of the room and went on to open the door. The tall and comparatively dark person stood at the doorstep and pushed aside Ivy to enter the house despite her repeated attempts to persuade him to leave. He caught hold of her and wetted her lips sweetly in front of David while she didn’t even attempt to resist his adulterous and immoral advance.

“Why are you making her cry? Can’t you see that she’s changed and doesn’t love you anymore? She is mine now. No one can separate us. She wants out with you.” The person declared to David as he kept advancing forward with Ivy in his hand.

“She’s my wife. How dare you lay on her your hands?” David retaliated to the anonymous lover of Ivy who was well built and structured and thereby instilling fear in the mind of David while he artfully disguised his fear with a tone that seemed to suggest that he was breaking down.

“She’s mine now.”

“You bitch. After all I did to keep you. You fucking bitch. Bloody swine” David swore at his wife in a fit of rage and sorrow.

“One more word and I will break your neck.” Exploded the buffed-up man and then turned towards his love “Come with me now or I will be here with the police for your rescue.”

Ivy and her lover started to have conversations about the next actions to be taken by them to unite once and forever and thereby putting an end to the menaces of David towards her. The man was ready and set to leave with Ivy convincing him of her safety in being with David until the next day and he once again planted a kiss. Unable to bear the act of immorality, as per David’s morals, David took out the long bat which was lying in its stand across the room and swung it with full might to injure the head and bring down the far stronger man. His fit of rage made him to beat the man continuously until the bat slipped off his hands and then he took the painting hanging on the wall and boke it on his head. Suddenly he felt severe pain at the back of his head and turned to find that his wife was holding the bat in her hand but before he could react anymore he blacked out.

The white room had one mirror and was filled with a table and two chairs at the opposite sides of the table. He laid there on the white floor and slowly brought himself up on heels and had look at the mirror. Two men entered the room and pushed him into one of the chairs and tied him down and thus immobilising David.

In the next room Ivy sat, with a muscular person in front of her, wearing a worried face which also explicitly endorsed her anxiety in the matter. The man in front of her was wearing a long white coat and was looking into a report provided to him by one of his associates.

“But what has happened to him?”

“That my lady is the problem at hand. He is suffering from hallucinations. Schizophrenia probably. We are yet to study him with more insight. You may return tomorrow by evening to have a chat with him. I will call you later in the evening to update you of his status. I guess he started hallucinating last evening, right?” asked the doctor to Ivy.

“I don’t know. If he has been hallucinating then it could be for a long while now. He has changed completely in the last few months. He dreams of various… indecent acts. I mean he hallucinates.” Replied Ivy with tears flowing from her eyes and in a fragile tone as she broke down on hearing that he has become a mentalist.

“That is common. Many people hallucinate what they fear the most. Being put under immense pressure may cause patients to hallucinate. Was he under pressure yesterday? What happened?” interrogated the doctor

“He came home by evening after two days of continuous work. He hadn’t slept the night before and was out at the office. He hit the bed and woke up later at night. We were having a disagreement and were not conversing well with each other. I snubbed him and went to sleep. Then I hear some noises from the hall and go out to find him breaking everything at the house. I thought it was his anger. But then he started shouting. He was speaking to someone. I… I was afraid. His bat slipped off his hands. Not knowing what else to do I hit him on the head after some time.”

“Lucky that he didn’t have any concussions. His head seems alright and there is no notable physical damage to the head in spite of the hard blow dealt. Just some minor injury for the moment. At least that’s what I have been told by these reports. He should be fine in a few weeks under the medication and counselling. It won’t be a major problem. The problem is when he reaches an advanced stage. I conclude that he is not in a risky position as of now.” The doctor concurred “By the way, are you planning to get divorced? He was saying something like that. If that is true then it could be the reason why he started hallucinating.”

“No doctor. Never in my life have I thought of divorcing him. May have a chat with him doctor?” Ivy pleaded.

“It would be better not to.”

“Please doctor. I beg you.”

“But only for a few seconds.”

“Thank you doctor.” She said with gleaming eyes that expressed her full-hearted comment.

She proceeded with caution and fear into the white room in which her husband was tied up as the doctor signalled the guard at the door to let her through after getting briefed by them of the safety precautions to be taken and leaving the hazardous objects with the guard. Inside he saw her with awe and amazement and signalled her with his head to take the seat opposite to him and she followed suit.

“Even though I hate it I wish you to be happy with him. Take care of Mary. Tell her that I love her.”

“I am not leaving you.”

“No. No need of your love. I know that you set me up.”

“David. I will be back. Bye.”

“To see me dead? Fuck off.”

With last words of his ringing in her ear Ivy came out of the room and acknowledged the doctor’s assurance with a nod of her head and continued outside the hospital. Waving her hand she stopped and got into a taxi to her home hoping to see her husband back in shape and fit.

She took her phone from her pocket and dialled a set of numbers from her call history and waited for someone to pick the phone at the other end.

“Hello. Mr John? This is Ivy. I would… No. I want you to stop preparing the papers or divorce. I have changed my mind.”

---The End---

A Seeker Creation

So far, this has been my longest story in this blog. I hope to write riveting stories here and  this could just be my step in the right direction. i hope you guys like it in spite of it's size. 

Thanking you all for your massive support.

Seeker