YOU and ME

You and me are unknown. We are in a loop. Wandering infinitely in a translucent horizon. We are a mystic, you and me. A mystery which is away from the fair and realistic shades of the world, carrying the dreams that we have never told anyone. We are two strangers bruised by our past, obscured from our present and unknown from our future. 

We are the uncertain fears, the unnamed desires and the unsung melodies. 

We are like an unfinished book. You know, like the fading ink on the withered yellow page which is stuck with a dried feather?

We are like the unrevealed story of that book. A story left in agonies, waiting to know its end; afraid, shaking, shattering and questioning whether it would be peaceful like ever or dreadful like...never? 

But...

but believing it to be magnificent no matter what! And still..awaiting. 

Awaiting for the mystic to unfold and finally meet each other on the last page. 

With hope, 

-Your destiny.

Faith.

Faith. 

It rules this city. It keeps it alive. 

Faith makes it breathe, laugh, squall and again, rejoice in itself...like the tranquil dusk after a dreadful storm..like the blooming love after a perished heartbreak and like a dazzle of hope in the incessant chaos. 

No matter how much the fear and pain dance on streets and float in the air, 

faith..it stays. 

No matter how much the anguish and distress blow their colours upon the people here, 

faith..it stays. 

It is inherent. Intrinsic. Buried deep to the core.

Sometimes it peers through the twilight of the drowning sun, 

sometimes it flows through the breeze of the dawn.

Sometimes it winks through twinkling stars, 

And sometimes it smiles through the flawed moon. 

Sometimes it flourishes with an evening prayer,

sometimes it shines with the crackers, lights or the decorated tree.

Sometimes it tells stories of triumphs and wars through fragrant pages, 

And sometimes it dances with the melodies of odes.

Sometimes it is an exquisite idea coated with radiant colours and painted on a canvas,

And sometimes it is clicked within the haze of the zenith. 

Sometimes, it is atoms or molecules or protons or neutrons,

While sometimes, it is epics of valour and courage.

Though sometimes it sinks in the lakes and seas with a garland of flowers and with hails all around,

Or though sometimes it ends with laughs and a celebration of food, gifts and desserts,

It still remains with a tint to arrive again. 

And though it burns into flames and is crushed into ashes..

or is perished into soil with an elegy..

It still resurrects. It rises and gains life. 

It is never vanished. It is never extinguished.

And faith..

It does not belong to someone. It is not magnificent for some and narrow for others. It is not vivid for some and gloomy for others. It is not black or pink..neither rich nor poor. Never weak. Never strong. 

It is just a heart pounding in every single body and soul. 

मुलाक़ात।

हर सवेरे अपने आप से मुलाक़ात होती है।

इस बेकफ़न बदन को चुबती ठंड से,

आज़ाद हवाओं में कैद मेरी अंगड़ाई से,

मुरादों से भरी इस नदी में किसी मग़रूर के बहते ग़मो से,

और

किनारे से झांकती मेरी अपनी ही हक़ीक़त से,

मुलाक़ात होती है।

मगर हर सवेरे मैं युही मेरे ख्वाबों की फटी चादर को तह कर रखता हूं, 

बस युही मेरी रंजिशों को चेहरे की सिलवटों के पीछे छिपाता हूं।

हर सवेरे मैं युही बालों को सवारता हूं, 

बिखरे मेरे आँसुओ को बस युही समेट कर रखता हूं।

किसे पता, शायद किसी रोज़ ज़िंदगी से भी मुलाक़ात हो जाये।

Photo Credit: Mr. Nitin Salunke

#mannkasturi  in collaboration with Mr. Nitin Salunke 

Solitude!

I held my breath as the door banged. Aziza, who was swirling and swinging her feet on her favourite tune, too, gasped. Quickly brushing off the dust on my frilled saree and tying my hair into a bun, I ran towards the cracked rotten door as it banged harder this time...while aziza, took her little scratched feet to the nook and sat numbly.

As I opened it, HE , with his swollen face and shrunken eyes stared at me. His filthy shirt and muddy shoes were stinking of alcohol and dirt. "What took you so long?" He screamed in his hoarse voice. His dark and wet face looked like a devil from abyss.

As I was shivering and trying to answer with the dreadful thought of getting beaten up today as well...with the thought of adding more scars and wounds to the punches and kicks of yesterday, of aiding all the aches in the corner of the leaking wall, later in the dark..and with the thought of wrecking all those aches with my tears...

he, due to his desolate body, striked down on the floor and became unconscious. I was startled, but just for a while. Later, it felt soothing and calm. I looked at aziza and saw her gloomy eyes twinkling so wide. No screams and cries, no hunting and begging, no slaps and tears for that night. Just the dim glimmer of cold stars and stringy pink clouds.

Aziza whispered her unfinished tune while I.....sighed happily!

   

 

A Pageantry!

When Baba stepped in that night..our eyes lingered, not on his sweaty shirt and his withered face..but on the crumbled silvery packet in his hand. 

Aai, catching a glimpse of the same,  quickly restored her eyes on Baba's tired face. 

Baba, realizing the movements of our dreamy eyes, said, "today I have got bread for you all!"

And suddenly those cracking words, that languid voice coming from his desolate body along with that wrinkled smile glancing his broken tooth, felt like a dream!

Today dinner was like a pageantry. 

It was filled with enthusiasm, joy and laughters. Oh! After so long..

All brisky, all exquisite. 

And then the most awaited sight for our dried eyes, our moaning stomachs and for our aching bodies was...when Aai gingerly opened that wrinkled silvery packet. 

And finally our festive dinner with the slice of bread torn apart into five pieces(with three large and two small) was something to remember for days. 

#microfiction #drabble #shortstory #fiction

THE FIRST TIME IT HAPPENED TILL...EVERYTIME IT HAPPENS...

The pains of the body and the belly aching...

the hurting screams, the frightening dreams were just breath taking.

The unbearable crumbles, the crying mumbles and the weird craving..

the strange fear, the painful tears...while they said.."oh, she is just faking."

.

.

Those uncalled mood swings, the constant cringes which it brings...

alongwith mumma's womanly advices and a gift of sanitary napkins with extra soft wings.

The weird stinking, people's awkward blinking..oh, how uncomfortable did it feel..

each night we would pray to god, "I will be a good girl and you take this away from me"... which was quite a deal.

.

.

The feeling of being a grown up, and finally taking it as a blessing...

alongwith a lot of guidelines of an anxious but a "systematic" form of dressing.

The feeling of being capable to manage ourselves with a "sophisticated" care..

alongwith a mastery to hide it from all the whispering lips and the curious eyes that stare.

.

.

The intollerable frustration, the bewildered irritation and with a prescribed medication... 

we console ourselves that its a god's creation.

We spread our arms for the purest thing we have.. and "bleed with pride" we say..

but still, while fighting with all such "myths" each month..we smile because oh, it just a normal day!

इक अजूबा!

हज़ारों कहानियों के बीच वो इक हसीन अफ़साना रहेगा..

हर आज और हर कल के बीच वो..अपने आप में ही इक ज़माना रहेगा।

इन ख्वाबों की बस्ती में तो कुछ यादगार सिलसिले और भी आएंगे..

मगर हर दिल की दुआ बनने वाला वो नायाब किस्सा शायद फिर कभी न दोहराएगा।

इन अनगिनत सितारों के बीच..वो इक अनोखा अजूबा रहेगा..

इन दर्द के एहसासों के बीच..वो बस इक हस्ता, मुस्कुराता हुआ तजुर्बा रहेगा।

हर शाम यूहीं पिघलती रहेगी, हर रात यूहीं ढलती रहेगी और ज़िंदगी तो यूहीं चलती रहेगी..

मगर काबिलियत के इस दौर में, वो यक़ीनन इक अधूरी कायनात कहलाएगा।

इरफ़ान खान!♥