One wants to own me, one wants to stone me, one say's she is a friend of mine...

"After Aditya...I really shut myself off.
I'll be honest...I didn’t feel for you the way…you felt for me. I always knew you were deeper into it...than I was."

This wasn't the first time she had told him this. But it seemed 'final' now. Almost like signing off a long rambling letter.

"Can I ask you something...will you be honest with me?"

"Yeah", she said. He wished they could have this discussion face-to-face and not on a crackling Korean cell phone.

"Would you have married me...?"

"See, I wouldn’t say no. Just that I didn’t feel it..."

A woman's ability to be practical, he thought to himself, always surpassed his own.

Strangely enough, the only song that played all evening in his ears was Billy Joel’s 'River of Dreams'. Why 'River of Dreams'? It doesn't even fit, goddammit! This is one of life’s moments...right? And the background score is all so tangential, same guy...different song. 'You are always a woman to me', would have fit in...the girl walks away and the guy serenades here for the last time.

He lit a cigarette.

-------- x --------

It was the last day of the Sale. The trousers going at 30% discount were all piled in a heap. One had to rummage to find the right color, the right size. This would work very well for shop-aholic women, rummaging through stuff to lay their hands on the real bargain, "adds to the kick", he thought to himself. But it didn't quite work for him.

That was when the college chic, walked up to him. She wore a white shirt with vertical stripes and a wonderfully well-fitted pair of jeans.

"Excuse me, you are Abeer Sen, right?" she said with an embarrassed half giggle.

"Yeah".

"Oh ... I have read both your books. I think you are amazing..."

One-to-one situations, when he was accosted at shopping malls and theatres, were kinda odd.

Firstly it was embarrassing, cause he didn't ever quite know, what would be the appropriate way to respond. Secondly, ideally he would have liked to have a chat...ask women for example, whether they identified with Sayantoni? What were their favorite parts of the book? Did the love making sequences emote or titillate? But again he was too self-conscious to ask, even worse what if the girl thought he was flirting?

-------- x --------

The afternoon seemed to go on forever, the curtains were drawn and the fragrance of the scented candles hung like a warm cloud over the room.

Toni had her eyes closed, but he knew she was listening to the music.

"Tell me, what's it like…what do feel when you dress up for a date? Like when we are going out, you get dressed...what is it that you are thinking, feeling...do you think of me. Anything I mean...?"

She smiled, with her eyebrows arched. He knew that smile, he grinned "Toni tell me... its important...".

Labels: Fiction

Cinderella

A sudden urge to swing the door open and run. Her broken soul desired the fantasy of flight.

She peeked out of the door, and almost immediately the black hound was up on its fours. Its growl reverberated through the dungeons, like a thousand banshees invading the solitude of the night. Intense dark menacing eyes, fixed the on looker to the spot, chilling the spine and numbing the senses. Its sinful canine mouth waited to decimate life into bloody shards.

Quickly she retreated back into her cell and bolted the door, bracing herself for the inevitable.

Her stepmother had confined her to the dungeons, with the hound as the sentry. The hound's growl would be an indication that Cinderella had set foot outside the confines of her cell. The stepmother, her face twisted in a forever scowl would then rush down the stairs like a bat out of hell and beat Cinderella with a stick.

Cinderella's soul wrenching howls of pain as the stick broke her skin and the stepmother's torrent of curses in a fiendish voice, created the most eerie spectacle one could imagine. It was almost like an opera of death in the devils own chamber.

Cinderella's stepmother and stepsisters, lead a life of grandeur. There would be balls in spring and tea parties in summer. From her dark cold cell Cinderella heard the sound of dancing feet, delicate symphonies on the piano and the joyous clink of raised wine glasses. She longed for a life of joy and laughter, longed for brocaded evening gowns, of diamond chokers, of a sumptuous meal and a night of peace.


Her cell had a tiny window, which opened out into the fields beyond the manor. In the fields under a tree sat a bedraggled beggar in a coat of motley rags. She knew that the beggar was aware of her confinement. But he never made any attempts to rescue her, how could he? There was a detachment of guards outside and the hound by the door.

Oh! How she hoped for a handsome prince! One who would ride a horse and brandish a sword, one who would gallantly rescue her from misery and confinement. But all she had was this dirty beggar, with a scraggy face and a shuffling walk!


But then one day the prince came, he fought the guards outside and ran his sword through the hound's heart. He entered her cell and scooped her up in his arms. She looked into his deep blue eyes, his handsome face burned like a match. “Oh! You have come...I have been waiting for you from the beginning of the world”, she said.

Once they were outside, the prince mounted her on the horse, all set to gallop away to his palace. Escaping her million years of imprisonment and stepping into a paradise of forever love.

"Stop!" cried a crazy voice. Startled she turned around to see it was the beggar.

"Don't go he, you will never be able to come back".

"But I don't want to comeback. He is a prince! He is taking me away to Paradise..."

"But you don't know him..." said the beggar, "You must return before time stands still, and the dying moment is reborn... I will be waiting..."

She laughed, "You are crazy!"


The palace was even more beautiful than she had imagined. The prince had already readied an exquisite trousseau for her, flowing gowns of purple satin, chokers of a hundred diamonds and dainty slippers of cut glass. There was a feast laid out for her, the prince's musicians played lilting tunes to welcome her.

Later that evening, in her new gown and jewelry, she danced with the Prince. The prince held her close to his chest and they danced passionately. They danced in each other's arms for hours, till finally she was exhausted. As the clocks approached midnight, he picked her up in his arms and took her to his bedroom chambers. In the center of the room stood a large bed made of ornate gold.

Exhausted as she was, she fell to the feathered bed. The prince lay down beside her and breathed into her face, "Finally you are mine..."

With the clocks nearing midnight, her eyes slowly shut out the world around her sliding into slumber.


A jolt woke her up and she screamed. A man with blood stained canines held her throat with a vice like grip. It was the prince! His blue eyes had turned beady. His face had turned ugly and torturous. The prince tore her dress like a mad man, and laughed a cruel laugh. At that moment, the clocks struck midnight...

Time stands still, flee before the dying moment is reborn... I will be waiting...
Flee...Flee before the next moment breathes... I will be waiting...

The clocks shrieked, and she disentangled herself for the prince's grip. Naked in her cut-glass slippers she ran out of the bedroom chambers, she had to flee...

There were two doors in front of her, she tried opening them, but they were locked. She turned around and there were three doors, then four, then five, six...

A mad woman ran round and round paradise...and the clocks shrieked...

Inspired by an Urdu short story by Anwar Sajjad.

Labels: Fiction

The Oracular 'S'

The smoke rose like spirals, abandoning their cryptic definition and withering away into the night. This wasn't the first time I had seen 'S' smoke. I had been surprised the first time though, but had successfully feigned indifference. Not that I had 'issues' with either men or woman smoking, but 'S' didn't look the 'smoking type'...you know what I mean? But, frankly she contradicted every 'type' one would assume she is.

Yeah 'S' is a shrink. And affection aside, she is a real good one.

"How does it work? I mean what's it like...is it like being a clairvoyant with a degree?"

"No", she said with that child like chortle-laugh.

"Its like anything else... like research, like science...you identify a pattern... and your works done".

The little shrug of the shoulder. A 'shrink' in a little black strapless number, who I could talk to in 'Bong'. It felt like the phase in super-hero comic books, when the guy next door first begins to discover his powers.

"But I mean you aren't looking to break the guy down to a formula, you aren't exactly looking for e=mc²? You are looking at broad categories, right? What if you are prejudiced? What if you are trigger-happy and plonk him in one of your 'favorite little categories'? Basically what I am hitting at is... how can you be objective all the time?"

Like always 'S' had been listening intently. I always had questions for her. I have always been intrigued about the way shrinks and moviemakers work, at one point I was curious about authors and poets too, but since I now write myself...the profession has lost quite a bit of its inscrutability.

"That's because I am not being emotional, sweetheart...I am not listening to my best friend admitting he is 'gay'. They are patients, I have to listen to their problems and help them...I don't have to feel it in the way I feel about the rest of the world. I have to feel professionally...its simple."

I held her soft and dainty hands. She put down her wine goblet.

What does it mean when someone kisses 'open-eyed'? I got to ask her this one too.
Maybe it means nothing... maybe one of them is keeping their eyes on the road ...

Labels: Fiction

Of Sudden Memories, in sudden places...

A Friday evening in February and it rained. This was the first, no second time, she cuddled up beside me. Yeah I remember these things, the walks by the river and what she had worn each of those times. See, maybe that's where I screw things up - I remember the details but don't see the bigger picture. Capture the moment and become oblivious of the landscape.

Driving was difficult, my air-conditioner wasn't working too well and the windscreen was getting all frosted. Our friends had been dropped off. She had planned it nicely, so that it wouldn't seem obvious...that we were fishing for our space.

The road was closed. The first time we kissed, it had been raining. The air was cool and a chill was stealthily crawling over the night. She was leaving later that evening. It was Ironic.

I though, was stuck in an abstruse memory. The memory of a night in Berlin, of walking the streets and taking photographs of cars at intersections. Setting the exposure just right, so that the camera captures the trail of head lamps. Red and yellow hued ribbons streaking the night. Gazing at the shiny new buildings on Alexander Platz, sitting on cold stone steps and watching a midnight theatre. Catching every third dialogue and laughing way after the punch line.

That night, strangely makes me feel peaceful and powerful. The re-affirmation of being a tiny spec in this forever universe. The prudence to ignore the irate boss. The patience of enduring a never ending traffic snarl on your way home.

When I was with her I felt all that. Now I am driving home, the cacophony of horns, the haze of falling rain. Looking at the blurbs of headlamps and the memories of when red and yellow hued ribbons streaked the night.

Labels: Fiction