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Flash Fiction: The invisible war

The frog crawled and jettisoned at the edge of the hard surface, playing a cat-and-mouse game. Pair of eyes pulls out of the socket, calculating every move with finesse and jumped as he sat, unfazed with a smile.  Eyes darting in a spin, right and left, oscillated movement and flicking in an outburst at the sound distracting it and craving to swim. “Aaj blue hai Paani Paani…Oho…Oho!! The ruffled coated body moved to swing as it couldn’t understand the vibration happening to the body.

Hand tapping on the table and the object moving right to left, flying in the air like a saucepan and kept it on the edge, left confused. The creature went berserk and calculating the move at the flick of cards, and the target oblivious about the mischief conjured.  The tall human with a round face was being watched and every twist studied, merrily singing and slouched on the armchair to his own tune. The battle between human and creature was bizarre and one-sided, pretty like love and unequal in a ludicrous way.

Squint little eyes following the slightest scratching of hands and chasing flies and movement of hand, feet, and belly oscillating up and down.  A sudden phone call and jerked off the couch speaking loudly, a tone showing displeasure on being distracted at the wrong moment. An opportunity to leap on and zigzagged its way like an invisible object, the frog swam inside the milky cup of tea, the surface and rim lent a warmth, licking the liquid on the edge of the tongue. Another call saved the thirsty man away from the cup and the ringtone splintered the frog’s sound system, Bolo Tara Ra Ra!”

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Short story: A mug of steamed coffee

Yellow crepuscule wore a contrast to the faded grey Marine Drive sky and forming an arc, crescent and white creamy layer steeped into the tall South Bombay buildings, lights and vehicles ambling.

A Doberman dog lurched and stopped towards a football rolling on the concrete slab. Hungry dog broke away from the owner’s shackle and leapfrogged on the white bench, punching jaws to scratch the shadowy human slouched.  Sleep monster was shaken off and yelped in fear. Fierce and frightened eyes faced each other when a feminine voice shouted, “Maggi! Maggi! Leave him alone,” the pet was wrestled in time before it could turn into blood sucking vampire. She broke into a hysterical laugh. “Sorry. I couldn’t stop myself laughing. Maggi can be naughty at times.” He panted heavily.

“Hi! I am Pallavi. Not the best way to meet a stranger in the city,” she smiles effortlessly. The trembled hands fidgeted with a Classic mild cigarette to light and she helped herself with the pack. He shyly told his name, “Rizwan” before walking away from her and flinging the fag inside the deep, seawater.  She watched him moving away and the dog gently following his mistress at slow and effortless pace behind the man.

Bustling and sweaty morning in South Bombay characterized a beeline of a crowd lining up at the popular chai wala when someone incidentally split the hot chai on crisp skirt and blue denim. “Fuck man! Are you so bloody blind,” she turned around with her middle finger stopped straight at the cusp of the cleanly shaven face. She turned numb.  “I just can’t believe that…Rizwan, right. Are you secretly conjuring revenge on me?” she asked. He made an innocent face, “I am sorry and didn’t know that was you….thing is that I am in a hurry to college and thought of quickly gulping a cup of tea.”

Amusement wrung on her face and pulling back hair tresses, Pallavi coyly said, “Hey! Listen! Punishment for you. Are you game to walk me home? He didn’t have time protesting when she threw another missile on him, “Don’t ever think of saying No for I ain’t walking with tea stain on my dress, man.”

Walking past the steel gate and flicker of cool air cooled their heels and the shadow of a huge Gulmohar tree cooled their heels, she ushered him inside the lift to reach the apartment. He was admiring the sea view standing at the edge of the spacious balcony, the tiny humans stuttering, cabs and buses ambling always fascinated him at the peak. The eyes were distracted by the slim and athletic pair of legs under a white short and green tee. He tried hard to avert the sensual gaze to focus on her face. She was too hard to resist, fragrance of hair fluttering and battling frantic heartbeats when she stood within inchesLeaning closer, she handed a steamy cup of coffee on his hand and took a sip, almost spitting it out.

“I just heated in the oven. Too hot to handle. Not me but the coffee,” she winked. Rizwan bit his tongue lashing with the hot liquid swirled inside the mouth. She slowly moved her leg and in a sudden oscillated turn, stuck like glue on his knee. She gently caressed his hand and directed it on her soft waist. Rollicking tongue on the edge and smothered on the lip, dark eyes flicked wide with intensity. Naked arms ran through his hair and lightly pressed his neck. Mouths cusped together and electric waves rushing through the flesh turned the heat on and voraciously licking necks and tracing the lines on lips. Tongues lashing into each other gave a chocolate fudge sensation for passionate seconds.

Consumed saliva and hungry fingers scything to pull laces of bra strap with effort and fingers ran deep to break his shirt button. A hot sensation flew on the skin, swiftly moving up and down, tongue biting on the hairy chest. The bodies gravitated towards each other in motion and passionately dragging away from the balcony and moving past the door to thrust on the bed in the room, darkened by the brown curtain. Female fingers scratched male bareback with full force and eyes flicked on clothes strewn on the floor. He sank deeper into a deep slumber and arms flailed aimlessly on her skin. The room went dark and a sudden thunderstruck, creating a bang sending pulsating heartbeats.

Rizwan was getting late for the meeting and drove the car in speed, swerving towards the end of Nariman Point lingering past the sea and motley crowd towards Inox when he was hit at the rear end. The driver behind has lost control.

He furiously stormed out of the car and saw a woman in long hair and decked in yellow chiffon saree in front of him. An explosion splintered in his brain that sent him to the burnt apartment ravaged by fire five years back. He hesitated, “Pallavi! Is that you? How are you doing? I thought you died in the fire.” The intense eyes haunted him for years and peering into his soul, concealing a mocked smile. She touched his hands and face, “You are alive as well!”

The mystery both Rizwan and Pallavi were alien to and naked bodies saved by strangers, where he often visited the razed building wondering what happened to her.  On that night, he woke up in the hospital, imagining she was by her side on the bed to see lights focusing on him. “I left the city,” she calmly told. “I looked for you in the city but didn’t know your full name. Life is squeezed lemon. Were we dreaming during sex?” he sheepishly asked. She smiled coyly and the fleeting escapade, hovering on the bygone times.

“So you drank the coffee I made for you,” she guffawed. “No! I left it cold on the balcony.”Pallavi gently slapped him, “What! I made hot coffee and you didn’t take a sip but went straight inside me. Dude! We have business to finish.”

“Are we in love conjured by destiny,” she teased. Pallavi ruffled the long and unkempt hair as he opened the BMW’s door to usher her inside. Pallavi untied her pallu and casually spread her body on the seat flapped backward with eyes wide open.  Rizwan gently untied the blouse, kissing her neck and moving towards the red tinted lipstick. She was unfazed by sexual emotions.  Hands moved past her face, cupping her breasts, sucking the nipple and lips on navel.  She opened her legs and bodies pressed together unfurling in motions as she was swayed into the unchartered, idyllic perfect paradisical world, “Don’t stop,” she moaned.

Light and sensual chill flew encapsulated the fragrance of white and milky skin in turn clutching the skinny, roughened and hairy chest. Pallavi’s perfectly shaped and toned body stuck like glue with Rizwan rolling on the car seat. Erected bumps grew thicker and burning sensation longing for desire hitting an octane level. Knees weakened and felt a spurt reaching an elixir.

A loud and furious clang hit the car window like a speck of arrows to break the passionate gaze and chilled fear pushed the eyes staring open, and passion winded out. Steamy coffee mugs lay on the wooden table. She traipsed on her toes and mouth drenched in the creamy dark brown milk and moved the mug on the edge of his mouth. The liquid ran deep past his tongue and warmed the parched throat. Mouth smacked into each other. A drizzly hot sensation brewing and passionate tongues swirling in serpentine form curled deep inside and slow motioned to hit off intensely.


The end

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Fiction: The convoy passes

Lights went off. Thick and beguiled smoke interspersed with scream past the rooms and flitted the South Bombay humid air thickening by the night. Wheedling of a lone train away from the unusually crowded railway station where flies and termites hovered at the rooftop surrounding huge fans covered by the speckled dust.

The Arabian sea surrounding the city swarmed to a gentleness unseen in years birds and pigeons swarming merrily in the icy cold waters making a splash of joy. Maximum city verges from the fast speed to take the slow and timid steps as a lone masked face traffic cop whistled aimlessly and chasing away with the thick baton truant kids, holding slippers in hand scampered in different directions. The poor man had nothing to do on the deserted road and the whistle perched atop the crisp white shirt like a pet, uncared by the master.

A stare at the sight of four men, dressed in black and walking adjacent to each other in slow gaze leaped the constable off his torpor. An eerie wind howled past the sea and stray dogs barked at the sight of the men walking in silence and unfazed by the animals. The cop waited patiently for the men ambling slowly and ready to give them a threatening diatribe in exchange for fat, crumpled notes.  Such times pay, he valiantly trimmed his mustache.

Black coated rectangular box approached slowly adorned by a trinket on the top carried by four men and whooshed past the greedy man. He was stumped and at a loss of voice.  Scratching the hair, he cursed his luck as the Christian convoy carrying a dead man and holy water sprinkled on his face. He never saw it coming and fearful of the death procession. Taking steps back, he caressed the whistle on his pocket and wondered about being saved, as the image of banknotes eluded. None paid him a hefty bribe. The money skipped his pocket for days and months.

Wind chimed past the Arabian night as he fixed from afar the seawater, turtles floating and tinkling coins in the Khaki pocket. He longed to make a killing at the deceptive approach of men and the short-lived joy, suddenly becoming breathless and a cold sensation wafting through his knees, reaching the limb. He felt weak and nauseous. The dead convoy that passed through him gave a strange sensation and atoning sins of looting innocent people. The cop abandoned his post and strode aimlessly on the deserted road.




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Short story: The little boy’s typewriter

Vaibhav stared at the tap writer! He moved swiftly like wind towards the laptop on the table and on the other end moved an inch to run his fingers smoothly on the old typewriter. Clang!!!! He repeated the movement oscillating from one to the other, one, two, three, four, ten, twenty and twenty-five times.

A shy boy trembled at the sight of the tall and fair man wearing a smile and unfolding his palm to gently tender coins in his tiny hands. The first token of friendship in the Mussoorie winter. Nanu! He never knew his real name. The little boy feared the man till the time the stranger man holding his trademark suspender on his white shirt smiled at him and they became friends. A popular writer and loved by everyone in the hill station, the old man tapped voraciously on his machine rattling with words, smoking his pipe in the garden and flapping the crumpled notes.

Nanu unfolds his palm every time the doting grandson visits with parents and treated him with toffee and dimes. The little boy raves about Nanu in his Bombay School and back home, he checks the coins filled in a white sock hanged on the wooden door. Daydreaming about holiday is his personal hobby and longing to be in the company of his favorite friend Nanu. Building stars in the air, the arms crossed and cupped to his head, he time traveled and dreamed of having his typewriter to pen stories like Nanu, crumpling papers and books sold like hot pancakes at the railway station in the countryside.

He always carried his sock ballooned with coins to Nanu’s sprawling cottage when one day Nanu folded his hand, “Will you give me this sock filled coins?” He was hesitant. A little voice cracked, “I will buy a typewriter with the coins.” Nanu broke in loud and uninterrupted laughter. “What if I sell you this typewriter?” He pranced, jumped sofas and zigzagged towards the room to grab the sock clutched to his chest and sprinted back towards Nanu, careful not to let the coins fall on the floor.

Nanu took back his coins. The typewriter’s burden was shouldered by the little boy. He crossed the seas, moved countries, traveled in the trains with his loyal friend. Fancy gadgets took over the typewriter with time and the old friend was moved in a dusted corner.

He tapped furiously on the keyboard and stared at the blank page. A bang fist on the wooden table. Less than one hour to submit the manuscript to the publisher, he was stuck at the climax and the idea to hook readers miraculously disappeared. He paced in the room and lit a cigarette. A bizarre force took him in the store and he lifted the typewriter when accidentally his hand touched something.

Tinkling sound and rusted coins fell on the floor. An old and fading sock lay on the ground. The idea struck. Nanu and the typewriter will move the story ahead towards the end.



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Fiction: Not just a love story…kissing on boulders

Trees whorl and formed an arc of shadow, lending shades on the sweltering South Bombay afternoon and flurry of breeze on sweating faces plodded on the parapet. Four pairs of hands intertwined and locked together, trodding silently and making small steps on the elongated pathway.

Struggling with words, he was dying to break the ice by flinging a silly joke but relented and she was amused tossing the eyes, right and left, veering towards the sea. “Say something, you idiot,” the heart thronged and wanted to break away from him. “Why the fuck are we holding hands?”

The sexual jokes swooped inside her head and wondering if she should fire a couple of them at him. After all, men like non-veg jokes and making the inside of his pants dangling. She thought, “The temperature inside his blue denim must be soaring and sweat of beads percolating beneath the zip and freezing his insides.” Shimoli wanted to kill herself for the dirty mind at play and imagination running wild for craving to make up with him in public glare. “Speak anything, unpull my bra, but say something,” she was fuming.”

It felt that he heard what’s brewing inside her head like a wavelet of the signal reaching his half-dead brain. He stopped abruptly. She was startled and almost turned to slap him, unlocking their hands. “What happened Shubham?” She said with a half-concealed smile, her saving grace to laugh at his name, wondering whether he was a hermit in past life, living on the mountain peak and grass, straddling in saffron robe as the perfect sadhu lost in a big city. You know…he hesitated. I wanted to ask, “What made you agree to meet me?” She pulled a joke, “Not enough fish in the pond” and cackled into riotous laughter. “Sorry! I was joking…okay bad one…I’d make a bad stand up comedian!”

Shubam took a step back and mustered a forced smile, “Nahin! I think you are right! Men are quite the scared specifies on earth right.” She shot back, “Now, that’s silly, right. Beti bachao! You know why! Female infanticide! Old fuckers don’t want daughters in their families and silly patriarchy, dude.” He regrets asking this question and wondered on yet another feminist, the jhansi ki rani type who would like sex with women on top.

Two weeks back, he spotted her at the tea stall, steam wafting from the glass blowing on the glass and effortlessly flicked the salty water dropping on her face with a finger and blew smoke held on the lip’s edge. He was struck at her confidence and was dying to pursue her but lacked courage. Intimidated by her beauty and easy-going nature of swearing chutiya on the phone and blowing a curled ring of smoke to men ogling at her. She was unfazed. He looked at her. She shot her eyes back at him, “What’s up dude! Never seen a woman smoking.”  Shimali skittered past him, turned back and shoved her middle finger to him, winked before disappearance like dust.

The man pursued her, dashed and jumped inside a random local at Churchgate, eyes longing for her sight and threw his body out of the jampacked Dadar crowd, to wriggle his way out and stormed in the next Andheri train. Love is madness. Attraction is fatal.  He wandered, aimlessly jumping train and BEST buses echoing the city guides to phoren tourists, Mumbai darshan and sweating to find himself sitting outside Infinity mall. Panting profusely and slouched on the stairs at the mall, he almost yelped with pain when a pair of hands pressed his neck with force. The girl winked at him and stood straight with eyes inspecting this face of a man. He squealed. She forcibly shook his hand, “Shimoli. So dude! Following me from Churchgate to Andheri. You got the balls.”

He protested and tried conjuring tricks to divert her attention. She winced, “By the way, I was inside the Churchgate local and saw you looking desperately around before getting out and now at the mall. Chakkar kya hai boss!” Shubham had no way but to spill the truth, “Ok! Sorry for doing it this way. I think I like you,” he fumbled. She lit a cigarette and mouthed, “Bhenchod! You think you like me. Bol! Bol! Don’t have all the time in the world, roadside Romeo. Btw, I have 5 minutes and if you don’t speak I will yell and shout that you are teasing me or better slap you tight.”

Shubham stammered, “Ok! I saw you at the tapdi smoking and playing with your curly tresses. Your intense eyes pierced my heart like a sharp arrow and almost peeing in my pant when you shot back the janleva looks.  I knew this moment. You are this woman. Independent, fiery and wanted to speak to you…didn’t know-how. Hate to screw it up and hope you will smile at me. I pursued you and was knocked down, got up and a part of me felt that we will meet up again. The steps took me towards you. Are you an enigma? Will you be my friend? Just one date, please?!”

“Shimoli, that’s my name,” she simpered and smacked his lip. “Tomorrow, let’s take a walk at Marine Drive and to know each other. Dude, your name.” He smiled, “Shubham.” “Aha! Interesting, ” she squirmed.

A loud wind blew like a conch in temples thrust and whorled human masses, twisting heads right and left at the elongated pathway at Marine Drive. Shimoli jerked and the head caked at the cusp of Shubham’s face. She pulled  away, “Don’t get excited and ain’t kissing you.” She dragged him and he lugged behind her, trudging past the boulders, braving the wind to finally reach the peak, overlooking the city. It felt like a tornado. He asked her, “Is this a sexual fantasy to climb atop with the violent wind stirring and shaking humans?” She splayed her body on the rocks, “Nah! Trudging the rocks is pure and unadulterated sex. You wanted an answer, right, why the fuck I agreed to the date, silly boy?”

He bobbed his head, gazing at the sky, flashed a wide smile and wore a serious look at the same time, unsure how to react. She was getting impatient and said in a jest, “Kuch toh bol madarchod.” He raised his hand towards the sky, “That’s my father.” She laughed hysterically: “I don’t wanna be with an asshole showering expensive gifts, jewelry and flashy cars on me. I need a guy who cares for me passionately, zigzagging inside trains, hurtling on the busy Mumbai roads to woo me.” Shimoli pulled him towards her, tore his shirt button, plant her lip on his face. He didn’t hold himself. They kissed passionately and with force, exploring every inch of zones and lines on hungry lips.










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Fiction: Hostage trail, city’s on edge

Thick air billowed in the Mumbai sky. Burning sensation trickled in the humid air and the usual sweltering afternoon where vehicles ambled slowly in South Bombay. The Jamun trees lingered at one end of the road, juxtaposed towards the gentle, still the Arabian Sea and on the other, sprawling buildings and the luxurious hotel giving an aerial view of the iconic Air India building towards the edge’s end, Nariman Point.

A gunshot was heard from afar provoking chaos, fearing a terrorist attack in the city. Commuters at Churchgate station ran in the opposite and aimless direction for their lives where some jumped off the locals stationed and jettisoning off the platform, jutting across the busy road, sweating blood.

The police vans and beat marshalls screeched at the altar, surveying the road and careful not to raise an alarm to provoke panic in the city. Persistent gunshots splayed and deafened eardrums. Who was doing that! The new Chief Minister held meetings in his plush office at Nariman Point and running against time in his official car, swirling past the crazy traffic towards Matoshree in Dadar and back to South Bombay. OB Vans were stationed and cameras stayed put to relay TRP to TV channels on the move, updating breaking news on the unnamed and invisible foes threatening the country, clamoring about the city assailed by conspiring powers after a decade. After all, who was behind the mayhem? Another enthusiastic TV channel broke the news on a UFO sashaying in the island city and bringing everyone on its toes.

The loudspeakers thronged to occupy space in front of the residential buildings and advised occupants not to step out because of the danger lurking where cops are pulling all strings to protect the people. A loud thunder bulged the sky and cloud menacing the inhabitants, slowly breaking the particle of heat and a sudden outburst of rain wrecked at a frenetic pace. Heat has suddenly subsided, relieving the burning skins to beat the scorching sun and water freckled at the range of arrow shots resembling the Ramayana epic battle.

A giant step moved the sky and taking the form of a thick mound straddling, forming a thick foam encircling the creamy layers percolating the cloud. Dark and grey mist moving in human form and shadow lurking behind, turning into the blue Neelkant sent a tizzy on the ground and blizzard to human eyes, tears percolating on cheeks. Burning sensation felt as a commotion made of human masses ambled chaotically on the streets. The lal batti cars stormed past the vehicles taking a serpentine form on busy road and street, suddenly turned empty seeking refuge inside homes. Gun aim was taken towards the menacing sky.  Don’t shoot recklessly only focus, was the high command’s order.

The terror threat was brushed aside in Maximum City. The TV channels didn’t pay heed and announced a huge terror hijacking the city. The fight between the cops’ eyes darting like a radar against the menace in the sky continued uninterrupted for hours when darkness encapsulated the sky. The city slowly subsided into silence and a far cry from the hustle-bustle of Mumbai. Thunder unleashed at midnight and flood captured every inch and space, rising at sea level, road and buildings washed ashore. Day’s chaos turned into a seastorm at night’s fall.

Siren wailed early morning. Sleep was furtively put at an end during the early 4 a.m. Local trains stationed inside moved and slowly rattled within distance on the railway track signaling the mundane early morning activity.  Red buses and black-and-yellow cabs slowly moved as fritters, Vada Pav, tea sellers lingered on both sides of the road to quench thirst and hunger of early revelers. A body drenched in blood was slowly lifted by the huge crane from inside the Arabian Sea where the lifeless body reeked of alcohol and tobacco stench. Forensic experts, police commissioner and the Chief Minister flocked to the spot and exuded a triumph of victory for saving the city and sinking in the ingenuity of beating TV channels, scribes and news reporters to conceal news of the day.

The man who brought the city to a halt for days, weeks and months after killing mercilessly and blood-soaked letters which were written all over the decrepit wall was finally dead. The Beer Man’s body floated and choked. Later, news splashed all over TV channels with expert panels, raising questions on the fate of beer man and questioning the system for violating human rights, unfolding the veiled of the conspiracy helmed by cops of taking their duties too far.  Who killed Beer Man, they asked? No one knew who killed the murderer. Mumbai police were clueless so were investigative journalists. The city stopped living in fear of the dreaded killer and civilians didn’t give a hoot on his murderer.




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Fiction: When the wind blows!

Walls lingering on four sides and furtive look at the roof, bobbing tiring eyes bearing a unique secret, slouching on the bed and tossing left and right. A touch on the shoulder and a voice shrieking into the ears flung me on the floor. I lay still and the sensation of crashing on the icy cold floor. Incapacitated and shackled to the mattress, I can’t move an inch.

Wind blowing louder and conch like siren blowing in the temple swirls past my earlobe. A feeling of gentleness breaks everything loose and unfettered by the force incapacitating me. I breathe slowly and flits with ease, legs spread on the sprawling bed. Am I real? Feel like a ghost whose soul is finally set free. I close my eyes, breath easy and listening to the pitter-patter of rains on the window sill, transported to the past life whirling at the same breadth and pace of the fan rotating above my head.

I am panting and striving to hold in my palm, the tiny drop of water, seeping through the finger space to disappear inside the soil. Am I dreaming? The haunting past and running to save my life, leaping behind the train in Maximum City, jostling past the crowd aimlessly to save myself from gunshots and feet avoiding blood print and corpses scattered. Footsteps zeroing close to me. Head dangling in the air and thrust upside down. I want to yell. A magnetic force pulling me and suppressing my voice. I have no emotions and cannot cry but legs flailing in the air at jet speed.

Newspaper flapping furiously on my knee and sat alone on the deserted parapet at Marine Drive. The wind rising in intensity pushes me backward and pressed legs, hands to the calcified cement. Three-dimensional lives, chased by enemies, sitting undisturbed by the sea and spread on the bed feels like time traveling across oceans and shores.

The ship moving furiously in the storm and weather, directionless and jettisoned by the wind, thrusting upward and splashing downwards. Moans! Pair of breaths cut short! I feel suffocated. Who has sex inside a doomed ship thrust to the jaws of death! I look around to see none just invisible voices shaking on the opposite bed. The cold is killing me. I Skin growing thick and shivering. How I hate floating in the sea bearing its own secret of death and doom, claiming lives!

Alcohol flowing in glasses and we make out inside the club, skins caressing each other, passionate and intense kiss with bodies pressed together. Head twirls and the earth-shaking furiously, blurry light, doors flapped wide open and the earth moving at frenetic pace hovering above the head. I break loose from the hand of the stranger women, zigzagging right to left and crashing on the floor, blood seeping like ice cubes and sputtering on the head, face, limb, and legs.

I lay on the bed. Groggy eyes and slept for days and nights, traversing a myriad of emotions, traveling the world, encounters and braving storms. A thick beard growing on the youthful, chiseled face turning into wrinkles and scars. Closing the eyes witnessed 1000 years and reincarnations, the soul shorn from the flesh, turning into ashes.







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Words and scars!

Words and stroke play!

why they comfort!

soothing emotions,

unpeeling the mind’s vagaries,

rubbing on the wound,

hiding scars,

wiping tears,

sealing injuries,

balm to sufferers,

why can’t we let them be!

flowing towards the unknown,

weaving syllables,

the flawed expressions,

perfecting the art is fiction,

messy sentences make for real,

non-conforming to silly grammar rules,

reality and fiction,

unseparated as they are,

let chasm grow,

just plain words!




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Do apart the unreal and random fiction

Blow into pieces random thoughts,

repeat a small prayer,

say the shit ain’t real,

brush off the fiction tales,

ailing it may,

dust off the unreal inside the brain,

stay in the cocoon if you may,

run away to an unknown destination,

take a lone trip,

chuck out the baggage,

unburden the shoulders,

walk along the Only One,

The You,

don’t battle the wounds,

It shall heal,

as you sit in stillness,

ease out with the flow,

create time and space with the YOU.


Love V

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Love letter to my imaginary girl friend

Dear girlfriend,


Sprawling and wrapping the svelte, feminine body on the large spotless white sheet and thrusting your arms widely in embracing me. Tough babe! Always catching me by surprise and jettisoning me off the edge of the bed. Sex is exciting and letting loose the gold sequined bra. Making love is fantasy to the mind. Pressed leg on my hairy chest. Ouch! Feels so good and painful.  Passionate smooch and directing my hand, cupping your breast.  Squatting on the knee and playing the sensual game. I feel the scent of your naked body. Panting and yelping, we faked intimacy, hitting an octane level every time.

You are a stranger to me. Your cold shoulder and my love. It feels unrequited, wild woman. May be’s and complexity, fantasy is trick conjured in your book and making me long for your jet black hair, scintillating body and luscious lip after sex.  You choose to ignore. It makes you desirable. Having sex after the break up is the most horrible thing I’ve done. You are a mystery. An enigma. I am persuaded you are having perverse fun making me go mad and my head twirling. Stop being so sadistic!

The perfect art of sneaking out in the morning after our stormy and sassy night. You are a nymph. O! Invisible woman! Disappearing for days and nights! You wouldn’t return my calls! I went crazy and craving obsessively.  Remember how we met in the pub for the first time. Both of us were shit sloshed. I tripped and dared to buy you a drink.  Don’t kill me for that, we didn’t bump by accident. I’ve been ogling and stalking at you for hours. I fidgeted with my glass and squinting the eyes, as you flicked the black curly hair. It was killing me every second. I grew desperate every time you danced and make out with your lover. I wanted to possess you. What a hot catch!

Expressive and intense eyes laughed at me. I made a fool of myself. You nodded and sipped the Tequilla. I bought a second one, third one and fourth one. How you twirl your fingers! You didn’t need me. Yet, played this seductive game and feet smearing the long leg. I wanted to play footsie with you and getting mad, feeling an electric wave rushing like steam rush inside my body. Why you never refused me or played hard to get! You enjoyed the drinks and slipped the crisp Gandhi notes inside my purse!

We woke up inside your apartment the next day! So many things, I wanted to ask you. Was the sex good! Did you mock me at the bar and your eyes telling you can control my senses and mind for you are an extraordinary woman. You never gave a fuck, right! You staged the act. Isn’t it! Making you desirable is some high you get. I felt some occult force dragging me towards you.  Am I in love with you! Every word you speak, smack on lip and how the fingers flit inside the curly curly hair, pulling off your bra and rolling the lip, cheek and winking at me, showering dollop of love. Stop whispering sweet nothing and biting my ear after licking chocolate. I know you are not around.

Your sight feels like a shot of Vodka inside my head in the hazy rain, the interspersed wind flutter in the lone night and the faded sky clouding my imagination. I am innocent. A dust speckled romance flicking the eyes. I am blind to love and romance. I can’t enjoy the sex for you have the upper hand.  I hate being dominated and dancing to the tune of sensuality. Dhak! Dhak! Heartbeat! Tap! Tap! Rain plopping sensation! A sound of music! A heartless beat and spooning strings into places!

Heart fudging romance swooning over the moon! Game for it baby! Stop twisting your leg on the bed and seducing me for passion play. I ain’t playing this game forever. I call you a tease. My reddened cheek. Your slap taste like love oxymoron in my head. Don’t slip in my mind like luminous crest to play havoc! I got a hotter idea, making paper boat with the love letter, swirling, ambling and gyrating in the seas to reach your soul. Are you here, baby! Let’s make mad, mad love with our naughty minds.