Full Moon Halloween Night (2)


Full Moon Halloween Night: The Blood Prayer

Menka curled on her toe and strutted seductively inside the room. She wore thick black mascara below her black kohl eyes and a line up of crayoned mustache and thickened blood roughened her lip in a perfectly sculptured tone. The female face was covered with black spot and green dots. A turnip was tied to her hand. She bent till Jason’s Knee and tied a potato on his wrist.  “Woah! You are wearing the cloak of a scary witch. Come out of the closet honey for I wanna dip you in my tea,” he teased.

She unfolded the scarf. The hair flittered in all directions taking the form of a real witch.  “Now, see what I make you dip inside out.” She pulled him tightly.  He breathed profusely. “I am the hunter, you are the hunted,” she screeched. “I will kill you. Taste death. I will suck the vampire’s blood.” Smacking her mouth on the gape of his neck and clenching her teeth, she sucked the frothy reddish liquid on her tongue and lip. A chilly and icy cold sensation ran wild on his neck.

She pushed her lip harder to sip the blood from the mouth of the vampire. It felt like a bee stung on the skin. He stood paralyzed and inert for a second. “I am your shadow…the protecting devil. Blood doesn’t spare the Gods and Goddesses. I am just a witch. The pagans have blood raging all over the place and wolves only think of blood. We are having blood and not sex. We worship blood,” Menka thundered.

She was his witch. He was the vampire. They played along in their mind and imagining themselves to be a witch and vampire. He flashed a wicked smile: “You are right. We are all vampires in human form and concocted with the worse and the best of blood. I survive on it. It’s my staple, my brown bread woman.”

She slouches her naked flesh on the couch. He moved closer. Their bodies were separated by a holy flask of water and together they invoked the prayer, “Oh! Lord! Goddess! The shamans! Pagans! Devils of this world! Horrible creatures! In blood, we seek us and play. I am You! You are me! O creator of evil, of gods and demons. There is no black and white. We seek the root of oneness. Till alive, fill me with blood to satiate hunger and thirst. We are half good and half evil. We seek everything in half, the Gods, demons, and wolves. Implore protection from death. We want the power to be invincible and destroy everyone on your path reducing them to ashes. We are immortal souls. A cross is what we don’t need nor do we seek weapon.”

Menka and Jason closed their eyes and penetrated each other.  She didn’t yell in pain.  She breathed in intermittent lapse. The mind veered into the sub-conscious and stirred the forces of evil, the demons, witches, vampires, and wolves off their slumber. All hell broke loose for the lovers have altered nature, moved the sun, sky and shook the earth upside down to interfere with the force of evil. Both were trapped. She was under his control. He was in the clutch of evil forces.  Two bodies, two souls were in conflict. They were no longer human. A jarring sensation blocked their veins and felt like a stiff mask shoved inside their throats. The skins became stiff like 1000 kg of pumpkin bundled on them. The clock spun into 1500 years ahead into a futuristic demonic world of bloodbath and calamity.

The long and jet black hair worn turned into thick and oily tresses.  Blood spattered on the battered face of Jason. The white and flawless face bore cracks like the dry rough mud.  He slowly lifted his hand to caress her hair tresses and ran the rough finger inside the patch of her hair.  The vampire’s face faded from white into a black surface and the body temperature dipped like wild fire slowly ravaging his blood and skin. He felt dizzy and blank. A timid fight against nature’s fury and cupped his lip to Menka’s neck, sucking her blood ravenously like a hungry and homeless child. After all, it was a matter of survival in the wild world of vampire, ghosts, and witches. It felt like sucking drops of water and the mouth stuck on her cheek, lip, neck, and stomach to feed himself.

The witch growled with anger. She felt suffocated with this male mouth not sparing an inch of her flesh.  Her hand lay stiff on his naked skin and over time, the green ladyfingers she wore on the toenail grew longer and turned into sharp claws.  The sharp and razor edge claw pressed harder on his shoulder and a wild fire sensation struck the vampire, scratching the surface that made him spin right in front of the witch. A thunderous sensation and lighting struck like arrows on all sides of his body. He was growing into a round balloon.  She clenched her teeth and spattered fire on his face. His entire body flattened and became normal.  He sat still like a mud statue.

The witch hooted like an owl and bit into his ear and chest, “I have the reaper’s eye. I am made of flame and smote. Meet death. Looking into me,” the eye turned reddish and flicked with raging fire.

“I am death. I will kill you. You are the hunted now and the prey in the wild.” He almost passed out when the fingers suddenly stretched into long green thorn scratching his back violently. The blood oozing from the vampire’s emasculated body splashed on her face and she grabbed the old wine bottle, emptied the liquid on the white floor desperately filling it with his blood. The wine bottle was sealed tightly and placed in the middle of the large bed. He gulped it. “Want more wine,” she winked. The entire bottle was thrust into his mouth.

To be continued…




Full Moon Halloween Night (1)


Full Moon Halloween Night: Trick or Treat


A gently flurry of wind and sudden chill wafted through the thick and creamy coated snow layer in the azure blue New York sky. Lights electrified the brittle evening pocked with people singing enthusiastically and jested loudly on the dark and rainy road. Fire and flame zipped in the air. The road and streets bustled with colorful faces bleeding tomato juice and pumpkin shaped Halloween carved with cube-shaped candlelight waltzed below Brooklyn Bridge and jutting out to Times Square. The night looked like a jamboree with a horde of colorful faces bleeding tomato juices and pumpkins shaped Halloween waltzing below Brooklyn Bridge.

The city glittered with the 360-degree view, the colorful flash of lights, right from the branded stores to the Empire State Building and cheap Broadway selling 10 dollars ticket for the special night. The live rock performance on the road bustled with activity, Brooklyn Museum sprang to life and Statue of Liberty serenaded by the giant sculptures in ghostly shapes.

The Great Jack O’Lantern Blaze bore an unusually beautifully sight serenaded by 7,000 pumpkins glowing with myriad colors celebrating the unwavering spirit of Halloween. Giant sculptures and lanterns were spread over 2,000 pounds of multiple pumpkins to scare the shit out of revelers and people let themselves loose in vampire outfits, wearing the ghostly shade of black, blue and tomato juice flowing on the lip and under the chin. The goblins leaped into the dark shadow and kids doing the souling act unfolding their tiny hands in front of strangers and drunk revelers, knocking on doors for donations.

The ferocious wind swirled the white curtain fluttering and weaving into short knots, unwrapping past the window and gently flowing inside the room in the night. A strange silence engulfed the house and traveled like light inside the spacious room adorned with crystal and blue emerald lamp hanging on the wooden roof in a multitude of colors.

The huge palanquin bed was occupied by two human bodies snuggled together and squatting on the mattress munching on pizza, Tandoori chicken and flat Indian bread (roti) spread with the crumbs scattered on the blue bed cover. The two pair of eyes furtively glanced across the room and heads bobbed towards the lamp that flashed right into the corner of squinted eyes. A spurt of lightning struck and the vibration shook the entire house. The spacious bed stumbled on its own as if gravitated by an unknown force.

Glasses and the bottle of red wine tinkled together to make an eerie sound pulled by the might of the invisible. The occupants in the room sat unfazed by the noise ushering past the wide window blew open and squeak of owls, shrieking of dogs and goblins dancing furiously behind the curtains.

Image source: Google

A svelte female shadow was enveloped tightly in a long black skirt, jerked off the bed, half body swinging on the floor like a pendulum to pick up the wine bottle. She gently held the white glass in the palm of her hand and slowly poured the liquid swirled like waterfall. “Hold the glass straight. I am filling it to the brink. A special wine concocted by your soul to spurn the bedazzled night with a grain of wickedness. Watch this lethal liquid hitting you on the head,” the sensual voice whirred.
He cupped the glass to his lip. She pushed herself behind the male’s bare back and he almost flung off the bed. A pair of hands clutched tightly to the upper part of his naked torso, scratching the red fingernail on his flesh. A tiny speck of blood seeped. She took a dip as if it’s French fry dipping in tomato ketchup and drenched in the red wine. She pushed her body in a swift movement, held on her boobs to the chest, legs clutched to stomach, a sip of wine lashing her tongue and smothered it on every inch of his ear, biting ferociously with her teeth like a famished witch.

Bending her knee on the mattress, she walked on the tip of the toe and the long black skirt cut perfectly from the waist to the knee showed her flawlessly sculpted brown leg flailing seductively.

She pressed his stomach, planning her moves expertly and the next flicked her long leg like a football kick caressing his face and ear. Twisting her body and curves, the female boob was cupped and towards his chest. The male hand gently slid past her blouse to run up and down inside. She grew stiff. There was a naughty gaze inside her black eyes peering at his face and the strong hand tracing the line of her body with speed.

She pulled off her black gown and thrust it on his face. “I am a bad ass! Let’s run around in the dark for I ain’t an elf on the shelf,” she whispered. He turned blank. “Baby, say something in secret. Reveal yourself. We are not playing doggie and I am no cat mewing for milk.” Her voice suddenly grew like a shriek.” He untied the lace from her bra and ran his hand, pressing her back, slipping down her bottom, navel, and bosom.

A black shadow looped like lightning behind the curtain, bent, twisted in folded movements. Heads, knees, and bodies grew like elastic bands coalescing into hundreds and thousands like termites. The invisible forces grew in a multitude of colors, from black to red and blue.

“Play with me,” she exhorted him. They were running passionately into each other, legs and bodies clutched and suddenly turned into a circular form, enveloped like a mothball that possessed and imprisoned them. The spell was cast and the dice thrown.

Tearing each other’s clothes, they voraciously tasted and explored the naked flesh, hands, and legs spinning out to reach unexplored positions that broke all limits. Jason felt a liquid seeping down his navel and flowing past his underwear, and tilted the head towards her. She was pouring the glass of wine on his body. She winked at him, “Tonight, the raging blood, red wine and liquid bear no stain or human odor. Stop pretending to be a virgin.” Halloween shaped chocolates were unwrapped and smeared on his body as if it was a lotion to keep him fresh. “Jet set and prepare yourself, baby. It’s the night.”

He lay on the couch. She dropped everything. He fixed her naked body and lashed his tongue out. She thrust her body on him and laughed maniacally, “I tell you a secret: I am a witch lusting for your blood. I suck humans like you. You are the vampire man. I am the woman lusting for blood, blood, and blood. Your water is blood. It’s my hunger lust…blood thirst female I am. I may be a nymph for you. We are all vampires in human shape. You forgot to put chocolates and candies outside for them. They will knock…will knock…will knock…we will be cursed…cursed…cursed…heavenly curse. I am not Menka, you naughty white man,” she roared in a screeching laugh. He freaked out.

“Let’s play Jason,”

“Scared of this brown woman? I have an enticing idea, let’s play witch and vampire. We will turn into ajnabee meaning strangers on this night. Repeat after me: I am no man or woman. I have no human flesh. My soul is cracking. The body is distancing itself. We have no age or sex. I am a vulture, she is a vulture. We are possessed by the demonic forces.”

She grabbed a tennis ball rolling on the floor, spun it and removed the skin to flick it right on Jason’s face. He grabbed the ball. “What? It’s not your ball dude. At least, I know your size…it does matter.”

“You are an expert at ball,” he retorted.

“Let play this game,” she insisted. “Today in Halloween. I ain’t sitting in shit boredom and fuck my night like that. Add some spice to our sex life.” They huddled together. She held the candy bowl filled with candies and Halloween shaped chocolates.
Menka turned to him and grabbed his fist, almost ripping his skin. Jason yelped in pain. “We are playing Halloween. I am the witch. You are the vampire. We have no human identity. Let’s play the game…wicked, ruthless, spitting fire. I will kill you. It’s the night…the full moon.”

He smirked. Jason repeated, “I am the vampire trapped in the human body. I am your shadow.”
The door banged furiously and a loud thud continued uninterruptedly. She barely had time to wrap a towel around her waist and scampered towards the door.

A harrowing voice lumped at him, ‘Trick or Treat.” He didn’t have the time to bob his head up when a burning force grabbed his fist and the next, the body flung towards the wall. His head banged several times against the cement concrete. The body twisted and spun in the air in a somersault movement. He almost fainted on the floor growling in pain, unable to take the hit of the sudden invisible force piling on him from all sides, kicking his stomach, head, and chest. The chest exploded in pain like a moth of fire ball raging inside, head twirled and a jabbing sensation on his head pressed tightly. He almost choked and was on the verge of passing out.



Fiction: The whistling candy and jamun tree


In the faraway village, stood a Jamun tree standing tall and alone facing the dusty road where a rare vehicle spluttering past the muddy terrain brought alive the sleepy crowd flocking to trail in numbers. The villagers walked miles on their tired feet to sit under the shade of the tree during the tribulations of daily life and it provided the only luxury to the battered faces sprinkled with mud and sweat as if water fell from the sky on this dry land.

An old petrol lantern was dimly lit inside the square room smeared with cow dung on the hut roof and erected on the unpolished, decrepit wall. Little Gotiya squatted on the floor and at times changed his position to sit cross-legged while holding his second standard book to study but his little head decked on the floor. The seven-year-old rubbed his eyes and was dreaming about running with his tiny legs and naked feet in the mud to sit under the shade of his favorite jamun tree. It was too late to flee home in the night and after all, Maa told him about the doktar unngkle( Doctor uncle) who preys on young children to give them injections before throwing them to the wolves. Poor Doktar, he died but his bhoot (ghost) roamed around in the quest for small children like Gotiya who shy away from being a good boy at school and doesn’t memorize lessons at home.

The spanking at school and holding his ear on the floor sitting on the knee like a monkey, being mocked at by teachers and friends was still ringing in his mind. He recited a small prayer, “Dear God! I will give you ladoo. Please kill my teacher.” He suddenly bobbed his head and fell asleep on the floor. A tight slap hit him hard on the head which suddenly woke him up. Ouch! It hurts. He stood straight and sat cross-legged. “Don’t you dare doze off like that. Now, recite the table,” Maa gave him a stern look and snatched the book from his hand. Poor boy mumbled and slurred like a drunkard with fear in his eyes. He stammered.

Gotiya was distracted by the perfume of daal and aloo sabzi wafting on the petrol stove inside the tiny room as the cool breeze flew inside. His eyes furtively traveled towards the wooden window to get a peek of the Jamun tree slowly waning away in the fleeting distance. He had no choice but to recite the table by closing his eyes but couldn’t buckle his mind. There were too much of distractions, thinking about his friends in the village, food and the shade he craves for.

The hazy morning complicated little Gotiya’s life when he was pulled brutally from his sleep on the floor and a bucket of cold water poured on his skinny body, hair combed with force and blue school uniform thrust on him. “I don’t want to go to school,” he cried his lungs out. In a flash of anger, he bit his mom’s hand and ran with all his might towards the paddy field outside and crossed the river. The tiny soles pained and wore bruise but nothing would stop him from running with force.

He stood in front of the Jamoon tree as if it was his best friend and a revered God, “Oh! my friend. Everybody is mean. The school is bad. Mom is also wicked. No one understands me like you do. Hide me if you love me.” He fell asleep under the tree’s shade that mothered and protected him like its own child.

He was fast asleep and felt a tickle inside his belly, inching his tiny body on the grass from left to right. A bright smile flashed on his face and was carried in a dream pocked with games and moon walking to enter the perfect world of adventure, where his favorite candy that he always longed for by standing in front of the shop across the road popped inside his mouth. A loud whistle pierced his ear and it grew louder by the minute like a melody. He slowly opened his eye and got up on his knee. A bright smile appeared in front of him and a tender hand pulled open the wrapper of his favorite candy. He grabbed it with both hands and whistled on top of the candy. It wasn’t a dream but real. His mother stood and smiled at him, gently whistling on the candy. Gotiya’s eyes sparkled and ran to grab his mother’s pallu. There was no fear of school or lessons. Only him and the favorite whistling candy under the shade of the Jamun. He winked at Maa, ‘My angel.’






Left Right…Romance chowk: Passionate toilet love and train ride


Left Right…Romance Chowk

Chapter 7:

Ouch! A thunder like sensation hit the hairy chest. He almost yelped in pain.  Sejal stroke her lip with the tongue like a maniac and untied the lace on her Salwar Kameez while Mann pressed her curvy body with his hand, cupping his lip on her neck, to reach the naked back.

The sensation drizzled down his spine as he pressed and caressed the Salwar Kameez that she was wearing and ran his finger on her breast covered by the garment.  Sejal pressed his belly with her hand that ran like a hot iron up and down, towards the chest and navel.

The sun shone glittered on their faces and the heat flew past the window to surround them on all corners. Sejal and Mann were unfazed and stuck to each other like glue, laughing unabashedly. Making out inside an empty train gave them a thrill and Sejal face was cupped to her lover who was playing with her tresses. Suddenly, the local at Bandra chugged slowly and they were caught up intensely with each other as their bodies pulled together and slipped like soap that pushed them violently inside the Indian toilet that made the door flung open to hit bang close right in front of them.

“Shit! The train is moving fast. Pull the chain,” She ordered. Mann pulled the toilet flush instead and the water that roiled inside the vase splashed on their faces. He made an innocent face, “Obviously, it’s the toilet chain and it cannot stop the train. Damn it, it’s the Indian railway to Punjab or something.” Sejal was sweating, “We gotta jump somewhere and it doesn’t matter if we land up with bruises or hurt the ass.” The train stopped after a long forty minutes and they nearly choked inside the toilet. Suddenly, footsteps and loud voices scampered inside the compartment before the engine roared to life again.

She slowly opened the toilet door and saw the horrifying image of a jam-packed compartment, human mass swathing like eggs. “We are screwed, dude!” she hit a panic mode.

“Obviously, we cannot make up inside the open toilet like that under the dirty water and shit. Shitty potty and stupid love,” he let off.

She shrugged it off and laughed like a maniac. “There is little that we can do. You can squat if you wish and me shall watch your performance as your sole audience. Baby! It’s your moment of fame.”

“And it’s your moment of thrill. Where do you get such crazy ideas of sitting inside trains to do weird stuff? You get a sort of orgy like feeling and lust spurting inside your body,” he pulled a senseless joke.

The latch was stumbling up and down as if it’s going to break at any time soon. Someone knocked on the door that freaked them out and Sejal whispered in his ear, “Now! We have to play chor and police inside. Keep pulling the flush to distract attention and make those idiots think that someone is having terrible loose motion.” Mann kept pulling the flush as if it’s some gun trigger to ward off the grandkids of Osama Bin Laden hell-bent to seek revenge on the United States.

It seems that the person who wanted to relieve got the message with the toilet flush sending the signal, Do Not Disturb for serious work is in progress inside. They almost stumbled on each other and the balance in the toilet tilted as if it was under the spell of an earthquake and both pulled their legs together, carefully not to step on water flowing on the edge of the urine bowl.

He held her by the waist and she pulled his hand away. “Shut up and don’t do that, you idiot. We are not in a five-star hotel but a toilet. I am feeling suffocated now,” she felt like biting his ear.

“You asked for such fun na. Your idea of unearthing some secret and that too inside a moving train’s toilet,” Mann sarcastically hit at her. Sejal turned her face away from him and was biting her fingernail, wondering how to get out of the train.

“Listen, we need to get out of here and coaslesce with the crowd without arising suspicion,” he furtively looked at the roof. She was restless. “But how? As it is, I am dying inside this train’s toilet. Think dude, think.”

She yanked the door open and pushed her body out of the toilet, closing it with a loud thud. Mann was almost thrust to the wall with force while she wriggled her way past the crowd, relieved that she could walk away from the odor inside. She moved with great difficulty between the crowd and finally found a place to stand awkwardly near the door to breathe free.

She stood to admire the rural life and forgetting for once that they have left Mumbai behind, as the wind blew on her face.

The sight of kids playing in a pool of mud, a villager walking with a pot of water in his hand adjusting his lungi and village women trotted with water buckets on their head as the train moved with hurtling speed. It abruptly stopped at the next station that was filled with people scampering their way inside like chickens sprouting in a farm. Mann pushed the door wide open and someone who was standing with his back firmly stuck on it, almost slipped. He looked at Mann menacingly who sneaked out by muttering a quick apology to avoid being beaten black and blue.

Mann was hanging at the train’s edge doing a Shah Rukh Khan with his hands wide open admiring the paddy field when someone pushed him and his body flung in the air to fall in a huge pool of muddy water. Sejal fell on him and the force with which she threw herself hit him like a tornado on the back.

“Now, stop looking at me like that. I pushed you off the train and thank me for that.” He was at a loss of words, not knowing how to react.” Mann’s body was spinning and hurting as if he has been whipped by a belt.



Left Right…Romance Chowk: Panda love and Anarkali


Chapter 6: Panda love and Anarkali

“Abe Anarkali, at least say something? Why are you acting pricey like a mehenga bride and I am no sasta Dulha,” Sejal ruffled his hair. He gave her cold stares. He pushed her hand away from her. Mann shunned her and was in no mood to speak.

“Don’t you dare to touch my hair or come an inch near me or I will call aunty?” he warned her. She was unfazed by his empty threats and dared him by walking seductively in her shorts, moving an inch closer to him. Sejal eyed him like a tigress lusting on its prey. Mann almost shouted like a child, “Aunty…”

She was amused and grinned. “Let it be. I am not going to molest you in any case and drag you on the bed. Cry babies should be left on their own. You such a girl, Mann.” He protested, “It’s so racist and sexist. How can you speak like that?”

“Whatever,” Sejal muttered. “Ab agey bhi kuch toh bol. I ain’t going to sit in silence and please stop this tear jerking sullen act.”

“Why did you do that?” Mann sat cross faced in front of her.

“I did what?” she was perplexed.

“Don’t you try to change the topic and pretend to be innocent? We lost our sleep and courted danger to find you sitting inside the train on the Monsoon Day when the city was sinking. Is this your idea of fun? One rainy night, to run away and sit inside a train compartment that was filled with water. Are you aware how worried aunty was?”

She became silent and suddenly broke into a cackle. “You are such a cute chamcha! Abe oye! My Mom’s chamcha. What do you think that you got a legitimate fuck entry into my house as the official damaad.” She pinched his cheek. “You look like such a sweet little munchkin yaara. I couldn’t imagine that you are so stuck with this rain incident and in the end, like filmi people, we did smooch. Guys will be guys.”

Mann exuded a faint smile and went point-blank. Deep inside, he was trying to be pricey and putting an act pretending to be all hurt since Sejal didn’t bring up the topic of the monsoon tryst.

“Stop behaving like Dadaji,” she told him. “There is a big secret behind me sneaking out in the rain to go sit inside the train with a book as companion. See! I love thrills and adventure.”

She made a straight face and pressed her naked feet on him. “I am a bit, just little bit ashamed for that day but you saved my life braving danger.  I am sorry for putting you and Maa through all this. You love me a lot, na.”

Mann slowly moved his face an inch away from her. “Tell na. What are you being so shy? You became my Dabbang hero on that day and putting your life at risk to save me from the water. I was shit scared that both of us would never be able to make it.”

“Oh! Wow! Lara Croft you are. You had the time to think about us while drowning,” he teased.

“You see. I am a thoughtful girl friend. And, you were cross with me. Acha sorry yaar. What else do you wanna me do now? Uthak Bhaitak like a monkey,” Sejal flashed a bright smile. “At least tell that you love me, na,” she was eager to hear him spell the three-letter words.

Mann breathed in and out. “No! I was saving you and not to take Paap of letting a girl die. I am in love with Shaina.” Sejal turned her face abruptly and her voice rose, “Now who the fuck is Shaina?” It felt like a pinch inside her heart.

It was his turn to laugh gleefully. “My neighbor’s pet dog. Of course, I love you, idiot.” Sejal pushed him on the bed, pressed his chest with her leg and pump fisted him on the stomach. Both wriggled and rolled with each other between laughter and cuddled each other. She smacked him on the mouth and whispered, “It’s a secret that I am going to tell you. The day I sneaked out to sit inside the train…”

He moved his eyes furtively to ask in a hush and seductive tone, “What’s your train secret?” She dragged him off the bed, “Now! Let’s go out and unravel the mystery. Another clue, the secret destination lies in a public glare.”

Mann protested that they were not able to make out, “You are such a kabab me Haddi’ and to which she responded, “That I am! I promise you the spicy sex if we unravel the mystery together. Well! It’s not over and patience will reap the fruit, my dolled panda.” She scratched his nose.



Fiction: Footprint of love


A fiction tale that I am doing after a very long time. A love story that I have tried to write in a different way set against the backdrop of Monsoon, and something that I have perhaps never tried before. Hope the readers will like it and looking for honest feedback.

Footprint of love

The water see-sawed from gentle to violent and roiled into a storm to reach a crescendo high and the windy breeze blustered its way past the Arabian Sea. The Monsoon has reached the shores in the evening and it became dark everywhere.  A feeble blip could be spotted on the buildings that sprawled in the city.

The Jamun and peepal trees warped in a half circle and the leaves splayed like glue on the wet pavement. Black umbrellas were pushed by the thunderous force and human bodies jolted and wavered to balance their steps.  She was caught in a storm and the body lay erect and stiff like a statue on the cement concrete and unfazed by the maelstrom of fury. No power on earth that could make her bulge away from this position. Everyone skittered to safety. The water splashed on her face. The sticky white dupatta and Salwar were drenched and the Kohlapuri chappal sat like a glove on her soft and flawless feet. She longed for his sight.

After all, they met for the first time, held hands and kissed voraciously on the parapet at Marine Drive before he left her to defend the nation on the border. He had to go. She couldn’t stop him. Tears were filled to the brim. Her soul has already died but the lifeless body was adorned like a bride wearing shiny attire and a bindi applied on her forehead as she sat on the parapet to wait for her prince every night. There was nothing on earth that could make her see reason.

The slim boy empathized with the Didi who bought a single rose and bunch of flowers from him every evening and his eyes became moist looking at her state. She tied the flowers on the bun and imagining that it’s the hand of his prince adorning her hair.

The last time he walked with poise in his army uniform towards her and warbled into her ear on a Monsoon evening. She loved how he bent on his feet and kissed her hand like a gentleman of royal lineage. He held her hand slowly and took off her chappal, as they trudged the rocks to sit atop watching the water flowing down. She bit him on his ear and not giving damn to the world.  It was just him, her and their universe. Thrusting her legs to stroke his ear and jumping within inches of his waist, he held her as she smacked his lip and swayed to the tune of intimacy, the love bites flew deep inside her soul. He untied the lace of her blouse and kissed her, running his finger deep inside her body. It started raining suddenly. They traipsed their way downstairs and walked on the soggy path together, clutched to each other by the waist and unmoved by the roving eyes.

It was the dreaded phone call that wrecked their world. Emergency was declared. He had no choice. After all, he had to urgently report to his post in Ladakh. She became furious like the stormy sea water.  She roared like a tigress, scratched his face before pushing him away. “Go! I don’t want to see your face,” she sniveled. He held her tight and pushed his tongue inside her mouth.

It’s been a year. The war has stopped. No one heard about Major Vikrant. He never sent a letter home. He pretended that she never existed. Perhaps, he found someone in Ladakh. Mitali was blinded by his love. She made the trip every night and waited for his footsteps in vain. But, the human instinct could never fail her. She knew that. The voice of reason of her loved and closed ones bore no impact on the soul that was drowned in his love. The tears have stopped. She has ceased to be human but a lifeless robot, anticipating that one day Major will wait for his Mitali at the parapet and pick her in his arm. After all, their love can never die. The mountains and the sea listened to her shriek at night. The dead soul was hanging by a thread and a faint hope like the dim light in the city was the only reason that kept her alive.  The chubby girl slowly lost her spark and the dark spot on the face echoed the bruise of a heart shred into pieces.

Thunder roared. Lightning struck. The grey sky and cloud slowly turned black. The rain slathered every space in the city. There was not one soul or animal wading on the parapet that wore a desert look.

The violent wind shook her off and ruffled the crumpled hair like a rush of divinity lashing on her.  It jolted the half dead soul that suddenly stirred to life after days, nights and months that felt like a life time. She slowly upped her face to stare blankly at a car. The door slid open. A powerful but unknown force dragged her inert body to life and Mitali wheezed towards a wheel chair rolling its way on the parapet. She stopped the wheel chair with all her force.  She felt dizzy but hanged to the human flesh that sat like a corpse. His eyes lid moved slowly and a feeble smile surfaced. It was him. Major Vikrant twitched fingers touched her skin. Stream of tears ran down on her face. He was inert like a stone but the facial nerves were moving. The love of her life was convinced that he will find his Mitali in the nest where the love once bloomed. It was written in the stars. Together, they will conquer love and brave the storm. It was a matter of time. They never lost faith. It started raining again and water sprinkled on them as she tightly held to his hand.



Left Right Romance Chowk: Chapter 1


Hey, people! I am writing a brand new rom-com and campus romance novella on the blog, ‘Left Right Romance Chowk.’ It’s the first chapter, ‘Blueberry kiss.’ Hope you will like this fresh romance outing that I am doing after a long time.

Chapter 1: Blueberry kiss

The knotted silky long hair and black curly tresses decked on Sejal’s hair like the Pharaoh perched on its crown. The brightly painted yellow room shimmered in the sunny afternoon as sunlight percolated inside the room. The curtain was pulled out and the sea breeze blew inside. She wore a plain white tee and a black short.

The soft music, Kabhie Kabhie mere dil mein khayal aata hai aired on Radio Mirchi felt like the fresh dew inside the modest apartment standing tall in the outskirt of Mumbai and four legs separated by a thin distance. He wore a pink short. Their legs touched each other as they sat on the bed. He was wearing Sejal’s short. The smoke billowed inside the room that metamorphosed with the sunlight flowing inside. The joint was passed between both hands. Her voice chirped to the sound of a bird cooing insanely in his ear. He was already high on ganja. She was zonked.

A bottle of wine, lays chips and birthday cake was splattered on the wooden table. Her voice blurred in his ear, “Your name is too long…I am calling you Mann. Fuck this Manendra. It sounds like an orgy gone wrong.” There were no reasons to celebrate. Just like that toh party karo nahin toh bhalu ayenge humein lene was Sejal’s swan song. It rang an echo in Mann’s ear as if it has become their love anthem.

She slowly perched her body backward, oscillating from a sitting position to spread herself on the bed in a playful mood.  The peachy eyes started intensely at his green Tantra Tee shirt with the tagline, ‘Tell your boob to stop staring at my eyes.’ “You lecherous man,” she snickered. “It’s the fault of your eyes. Kya karna ka irada hai? Don’t think too much or have high expectations. I ain’t letting your quivering lip touch me. I’m no chocolate.”

He slowly pushed his body on the bed to rest on his side and grabbed the palm of her hand. The lovelorn man twisted her hair lock with his fingers. “You are a mystic princess,” he whispered. He was trying to find his balance on the small bed and awkwardly moved his body. “How are you feeling inside? Hope it’s not hurting your asset,” she winked.  It was their dare day. Sejal called the shots and challenged him to wear her clothes, pink short and underwear. They exchanged each other’s clothes, were stoned and drank wine to heavenly bliss.

“Nah!” he made a face like a sad pup eyed dog and she mocked him playfully with doe-eyed expression, “Cho chweet…my little puppy…mera bacha handsome ladka aur mein ladki beautiful.”

Mann lashed his tongue out and gravitated his head towards the rotating ceiling fan. She slapped him on the hand, “Pass me the joint na and stop behaving like a guzra zamana ka dejected Aashiq. I am no Meena Kumari, mere Dilip Kumar.”

She took a deep drag and passed to him. Their vision became blurred. “Oh! This shaadi,” he blurted out. Sejal slowly moved away from her position to sit on the bed. “Dude! Why the fuck you get such crazy ideas about shaadi? We are only 18 something. What makes you think that I am going to elope with you? I love thrills but not itna. I don’t have any intention to make history in 2017 and for fuck sake, Laila Majnu or Romeo and Juliet were chutiya.”

“This shit is so fucking good! Waise bhi who is speaking about Shaadi,” he pretended to be under some magic spell. She pulled his hair, “Dude it’s you. Where are you?”

“In your arms,” he pretended to be a coy bride and rested his head on her lap. Sejal grinned, “Yes! Of course. I thought you were selling pani puri outside Salman Khan home in Bandstand.” He laughed loud.

Beaming like a child, Mann longed for a kiss. “Please yaa! Just once,” he pleaded. She shrugged off his demand, “I told you that I am no candy or chocolate and you are no kiddo. It’s my lip. Nah! It doesn’t like your taste today. As it is, your body perfume feels like raita.

He almost belched out what the fuck…when she clung to him and pressed his mouth. Mann was too stunned to react. “Chalo! It’s been bery long time for a blueberry kiss,” she cupped her lip to his face. They kissed again and their lips were pressed together like glue, exploring every line, inch, and angle.  She brutally pulled away from him.

It hit him like an electric jolt. Mann stammered , “Excuse me!” She was unfazed, “You haven’t heard or what! Get out of my house.” He protested. She dragged him out, “Buzz out man.”