2017-12-16

Daddy's little girl (3): The end


Ankita was restless. She felt a stroke of wind brushing past  her curly tresses and kissing her face which became icy cold. Aniket sensed her impatience and a drop of tear fell on his palm. He pressed his hand with the tear on Ankita's forehead. "Ready," he suppresed his emotion. "One, two, three," he pulled off the blindfold and silently moved backward to disppear behind the cupboard.

A tall shadow stood straight. Ankita bobbed her eyes towards the man standing in front of her. She was bewildered and couldn't believe what she was seeing. Raju stood tall. She thought that it was a dream or an illusion. She rushed to him and touched his flesh. Her voice choked with emotions, "I can't believe it. You are alive. Where have you gone?" she clutched to him.

Raju stood like a statue and tears trickled down his face. She was shaking like tree branches in the middle of the storm. He held her hand and made her sit on the bed,"I tried calling your number but it was switched off. Ankee! I looked for you everywhere but you disappeared. On that terror day, I reached the station late and missed the train. Call it what you may but it's destiny that I am standing  in front of you."

Ankita felt dizzy and speechless. She gulped  a glass of water to gain composure. "But, the picture in the newspaper?" Raju voice's choked. "It was a mistake. I was sitting on the bench at Churchgate. The photographers clicked me but I never knew that they would goof up. For the world I was dead but my soul perished the day I lost you."

Aniket popped right in front of them. He caressed Ankita's face," Raju is my best friend. I knew that he was the one who took away your heart. How can I marry you Ankita? You are the most beautiful girl and I was in love with you but he is the one, princess."

Aniket put his finger on Ankita's lip, "Don't say anything. Today is your engagement but not with me but Raju. Don't worry about our families. They know everything. I have another surprise. Your Dad is here."

A man in his 50s walked inside the room and hugged Ankita. "You are Daddy's little girl. I have come back today to hand my precious jewel in the hand of Raju. Beta, take care of her for you deserve her more than me or Aniket. I have left her but have now realized the power of love."

Ankita Dad and Aniket serenaded Ankita as they waded in the decorated hall decked with colorful saris, and tended her hand into Raju. "It's our amanat," both of them told Raju as the hands of the lovers pressed tightly on each other. Finally, Ankita and Raju were engaged. They were unfazed in front of the guests as the bottle of wine uncorked and dancing  to Kala chasma. Lips dripped into each other and mouths inspecting lines as love was tasted like nectar.

Love is a belief...not a compromise but flowers blooming to concoct a spring of joy and happiness.

The end.

Love
Vishal

2017-12-15

Daddy's little girl (2)


The sun-dappled day gleamed inside the room. Ankita woke up with a terrible headache. Raju sat on the bed, steering the tea in a porcelain cup and gently put it on her lap. She gulped the tea. He watched her with admiration and a large smile appeared on his face.

"You are not going to ask how you woke up in my bedroom?" Raju quizzed her. She scornfully said, "Of course, I was inebriated." "Thank you," she nodded. "By the way, you know who I am right!"

He picked up the newspaper and glossy magazine where her pictures were all over, posing in front of the newly launched luxury Sedan car. "Supermodel," Raju winked. Ankita smiled shyly. They made love in the morning, voraciously tearing into each other's clothes, smooching passionately and biting into the flesh. Ankita moved into Raju's apartment overlooking the Arabian Sea.

The lovers were inseperable like flowers blooming inside the bud until one day when Ankita had to leave the city for the launch of a new product. She tried calling Raju's phone number but the network was jammed. He was travelling when a blast rocked the city and trains from Churchgate to Andheri exploded. The air tickets were booked. Ankita was unware of the terror attack and boarded the flight. She felt a frantic heart beat and her instinct was not wrong. "Has he left me for someone better? No! It can never happen." A fear engulfed her and she became restless during the flight from Mumbai to Delhi, unaware of the terrorist attack. 

 Days later she came to know about the terror attack but was unaware that Raju was traveling in the local train that became the prey of bombs. On that fateful morning, Raju sneaked out of the bed after they made love and had the most amazing sex. He didn't want to disturb her for he knew that his lady love was having a hectic schedule, with shoots and product launch. Raju was late and dashed his way to the station but missed the train by a whisker. 

Days later, Ankita was preparing herself for the show when one of the models showed her the picture of Raju that was published on the front page of Times of India as one of the victims. She collapsed on the floor. Ankita shed tears for days and night, losing her soul but also a very precious part of her identity that was brutally taken away from her. It took her days to get out of the bed but deep down, the bruised soul was convinced she could never be the same. Ankita threw away her phone. She underwent depression and switched cities.

Ankita couldn't accept this reality and shunted people from her life, abandoning her career as a model. There was not a day when Raju didn't haunt her in the sleep. She would often jostle out of the bed in the middle of nights. She couldn't forget him after three years, the chiselled face and squealed on the bed.
 
Five years has elapsed. Ankita resisted everyone who convinced her to move on with her life but it felt that she was waging a lone battle. She often cracked and lost herself. Finally, she buckled down under presssure to tie the knot with her school friend. It was the day of her engagment. Ankita was decked in  a red kanjeevaram sari and adorned with expensive jewellery when Aniket gracefully dressed in a orange colorful Kurta-Pyjama, walked with relatives and friends to exchange rings. It was also the roko ceremony. Aniket insisted to introduce Ankita to his childhood friend. He blindfolded her with a pink band to usher her inside the room.

The calm and suave fiance gently whispered inside Ankita eyes, "Stop being restless. Count for one minute. You know him." Ankita was taken aback and counted the minutes in her mind but at the same time, her past life kept popping. 




2017-12-11

Tints, hues and garish texture




Tints and hues,

colorful brush on canvas,

expression of myriad emotions,

tainted shade,

garish texture,

celebrating the festival of human spirit,

kindred and spirited souls,

Love is fallacy,

passionate desire,

red is madness and lust,

white is pure,

unblemished by heartbreak,

freedom from the flesh,

peppered love,

spicy thrill and sensual adventure,

a modicum of sentiments,

pain and triumph 

love lost,

just another name for ecstasy running wild,

tasting like wine swirling on the tongue,

seeking pleasure in wounds and bruise.
 

2017-12-10

Happily Ever Afters is Rogue Love and fake relationships


The problem with singletons like me and hopeless romantics is that we believe (d) too much in the happily-ever-afters, shuddh or pure love smeared with ghee and the fairy-tale love stories found in books or holy scriptures. Love has become obstinately religious.

We are hung too much in painting the overtly perfect image of the lover boy-cum-eligible bachelor-cum flawless prince riding on the horse or the perfectly sculpted woman of our dreams, hotness or sexy quotient, superbly intelligent beings filled with a sympathetic or understanding heart.  The world of perfect man or women reinforces this flawed belief of Being The One. High time to demystify this fucked up crap, 'They lived happily ever after'.

The mass media, be it novels belonging to another era and good old romantic films reinforced by society is taking away our human side, emotional intelligence, and individualism. This whole bullshit about ideal love or perfect person makes us so fake where we muzzle our own voice or emotions, be it anger, crying, fearing heartbreak which not only blocks our growth but pushed us to compromise or hurting ourselves. In short, we have become people pleaser in the name of love ripping apart the genuine human traits. Be real has gone for a toss.

http://cdn-webimages.wimages.net/051ac9a3412c52259346a807c405df8225a9dc-wm.jpg?v=3
Image credit: Google


We are not allowed to lust for someone, feel sexually desirable and we censor our deep emotions for the fear of being judged. It is similar to the open-and-shut world of marriage and locked in marital bond. Happily after ever is another way telling a widow or spinster and a divorcee has no right to fall in love again. The perfectly romantic notion of prince charming or woman of our dreams belongs to a regressive mindset and enforced by the patriarchal society stomping on our right to love, lust and think of a second or third person. Another way to repress our sexual desires and reinforcing this traditional mindset permeating through a society which has seemingly lost the way on how to evolve and enrich itself. 

The whole issue makes for an interesting debate where perhaps the intelligentsia in our society, business leaders, filmmakers, writers, artists and even politicians should come together to question the established romantic rules. The debate will make sense only if all of us chuck for a second our marital status, religion, caste or values to be this unique individual filled with emotions and perspective giving wings to pursue its taste for life or human desires. Just be yourself for a while and offer an honest perspective on happily ever after or the ideal person kinda theory. Isn't it time for all of us to debate, discuss and question, 'Darwin's theory of evolution?' Forgot who we are, whom we ever loved or married and for that matter chuck our social status or educational achievements. Just remove the label. I am sure we will have so much to say about this flawed Happily Ever After or The One.

We have been taught that being selfish is wrong and be selfless in our quest to grow as model people.  But, I ask, being selfless at what cost? Does it augur well for our own spiritual, mental and physical well-being? The truth is that we have stopped being ourselves and creating mental shackles within which is preventing us to love as entire human entities. We have put barriers that lusting for someone is immoral and taking away from ourselves the most natural feeling residing inside us. In the entire process, humans have massacred their own souls for decade and ruthlessly taking away our own individuality.



No wonder, this whole idea of The One or perfect love is the biggest fallacy that has continued unabated for decades. As a society or humans with emotions, we have been wearing blinkers and swayed by concepts which are becoming increasingly irrelevant to our sanity. It’s rogue love with conditions attached. We have no one but ourselves to blame for making love or relationships so unreal in the company of humans becoming fake much like our relationships.




2017-12-09

A battered warrior





Sleepy afternoon,

nursing the wound,

unplanned battle,

riding high in the enemy camp,

bruised and battered warrior,

conquering life,

 tribulations,

defeat knocking me down,

unexpected victories,

souls defining me,

vivid images flashing,

harking to the distant past,

it feels like a caged dream,

friends who equipped and accompanied me in the journey,

memory is the swallowing pill,

waking me up and

jostling the body into action.

unrequited love,

time to move on,

experiment a new chapter,

call what you may,

love or adventure,

thousand heartbeats,

dreams are never shy,  

soaring in the sky,

to rejuvenate the mind.

Love

Vishal

2017-12-07

Thousand heart beats



Sleepy afternoon,

nursing the wounds,

unplanned battles,

battered warrior,

riding high in the enemy’s camp.

conquering life,

tribulations,

defeats,

unexpected victories,

gentle souls defining me,

vivid images flashing,

harking to the distant past,

a caged dream,

friends who accompanied me on the journey,

popping memory’s pill,

waking me up and

jostling the feckless body into action.

unrequited sentiment,

time to move on,

experiment with a new chapter,

call it what you may,

love or adventure,

a thousand heartbeats,

dreams never stop,

it soars in the sky,

to rejuvenate the mind.

Love
Vishal

2017-12-04

Love Shot: Daddy's little girl in red stilleto




The red stilettos almost tripped on the wooden plank inside the bar and the round body pressed on the bar. She perched towards the barman and the voice slurred, “I need a whisky...a large shot...anything will do.” She swerved left, right and almost stumbled on the stool almost pushing the occupant off his perch.

The whisky spilled on the white shirt tucked inside the blue Levis Denim which shook off Raju. She turned around and jerked her body towards him, “May be you don’t know. Listen! I don’t need to tell you. I am Ankita,” she giggled. “I am not hitting on you okay and will slap you if you ever take advantage of kissing me.

Raju stood and held her hand, gently pushing her body to slouch on the stool. “You didn’t take permission to touch me but thank you for making me sit. I am not drunk just sloshed.”
He smiled: “Ankita! Easy babe! You are drunk like a fish. No! I cannot let you have another shot.”
She protested and her body twisted, “Who are you to tell me not to drink? My illegitimate Dad! No! I just want a last one...please. By the way what the fuck you told me? Drinking like a fish. You want me to jump into the Arabian Sea. No listen to me.”

Raju was amused: “I promise to buy you a drink tomorrow. Where are you putting in Mumbai?”
“It’s a question with a big Interrogation mark. I wanna party for the whole night. Take me to some happening pub man. It’s dark everywhere. Take me to Andheri,” she frolicked.

Ankita’s lifted her middle finger which flittered upward towards the tiny bulb coated on the wooden roof and shouted, “I want this bulb...it’s the star in the sky I am my Daddy’s lil girl...everything is for me.” Raju tried to hold her from falling off the chair. She raised her palm in protest, “No! Nah! Nah! Don’t hold me. It will give people wrong impression that I am tripping drunk.”
“It’s okay! I am not your boyfriend,” he reassured.

“But, why?” she yelled.

“Just one peg. You are such a ruthless man and a murderer. A woman, a human is thirsty! I am not asking to smooch you,” she blurted out.

Ankita fell asleep on Raju’s shoulder. He lifted her on his shoulder and carried her inside his humble Maruti 800 car.

The car disappeared in the distance, far away from the arch light and Paparazzi. Raju skirted in the dark night and waded past the lights in the city, intelligently averting the scandal of a film actress caught red-handed drunk and travelling with a stranger. 

To be continued

With Love
Vishal
 

2017-12-03

Chitchatting random strangers






It’s the first Sunday of the last month in 2017. December is the time we step into party mood, yay! It got me thinking how we have become technology ridden mortals who lost the art of a good conversation.  We prefer to deck our head deep on phone gadgets while sipping coffee rather than smiling to a plain stranger for some chit-chat.

https://www.themodernman.com/wp-content/uploads/the-right-attitude-for-approaching-women-in-coffee-shops.jpg
Image credit: Google 

 The truth is we have lost on so many counts, whether calling a friend or randomly walking to a chick at the bus stop to exchange Hi. Wait! It doesn't need to be a chick or dude for some playful flirting but just exchanging some good vibes or asking someone out for coffee. It may look weird, for sure to ask a stranger out. It whittles down to fear, social construct and the blockage shit we put inside the wired brain or for that matter, our own communication skills.

 Guilty as charged. I am doling out gyaan here but will be the last person to converse randomly with someone in a public place. It makes me wonder how the routine and stressful world of slogging the ass and moral values fetters us to believe in the stupid crap that has turned us into robots. We are the product of a failed system, read faulty education or religious values. 

 There is the fear of rejection and sometimes it's fun to be turned down. Repeat it a second time and be prepared to be ignored. And, the third occasion, revel in the fun of someone's reluctance to speak to you. But, challenge yourself and walk to some stranger to be ready to face rejection. Stoke up the conversation and be human. Yeah! Right!

 Just be yourself if you want to impress this chick sitting at the next table or standing at the bus stop. You don't need to be a dude lying indecently to impress someone. Hey! Everyone carries a mobile nowadays and gone are the days of not wearing a wristwatch! Just smile and say Hi. Behave in a normal fashion and just speak in a casual manner over almost anything under the sun. Be creative and don't go overboard. We are humans who appreciate people who don't try too hard to be themselves.

 Time doesn't wait for anyone. Heard it and done this. But, we are trapped in the so-called busy humdrum of life and have exaggerated this adage which is detrimental to our mental sanity and balance.  In this entire process, we are forgetting how to live life and enjoying every moment whether it’s gazing at the stars, watching people who trudge happily or indulging in joyful moments.  Dare to stop for a while, breath free and talk to people, not technology. Stop being such enslaved beings but be a happy soul. It doesn't cost a single rupee to be this mindful soul who shed all barriers and clutter.  
We are more fearful about the others perception of us rather than what we think of ourselves.  It leads to a low self-esteem that prevents us from growing and deter us to do daredevil acts, be a fun-loving sport and approach someone with confidence. It is something which is holding us back and the mental block of the conservative society which perpetuates our thinking which we have internalized within. We need to get out of this comfort zone which is destroying our soul.  

Joining a club or volunteering for social work is a good opportunity to meet and discover new like-minded people to hit it off. Often, new relationships can kick-start by working for a common cause if you are too shy and it doesn’t harm in greeting a plain stranger at the jogging park.

Remove every blockage in the mind and reach out to people to overcome the burden that you may have carried or accumulated from the past and flush them out in the drainage.

Ciao
Vishal






2017-12-01

Burden lost to smiles






Dark alley,

Serenaded by a line up of muddy thatched and bamboo structures,

lesser humans call it home,
feeble light surfacing,
cattles grazing on burnt grasses,
peasant life,
cut off from modernity,
and humdrum of city life,
dwellers squatting on mud,
under the roof of jamoon trees,
wrinkled faces,
children drenched in a pool of mud,
clothes slapped on hardened stones,
aspirations lost in translation,
nursing wounds of destiny,
no modesty to wear on the sleeve,
rummaging through the barren soil,
to feed hungry stomachs,
cooing of birds in the night,
a humble lullaby to the ear,
timid smiles and grins hiding pain,
unburdened by guilt,
happiness is heavy barter to trade for.
 

2017-11-30

Flash Fiction: A letter (imaginative) to an ex-lover




Dear ex-Love

Ain’t wishing you a heart attack! I know you have moved to greener pasture with your new boyfriend...I stalked you last night, not on Facebook or Whatsapp...nah! I am that desperate you know. Followed both of you in the crowded mall wearing Santa Claus get up and saw you guys holding hands and smooching.

https://images.gr-assets.com/hostedimages/1464714649ra/19268106.gif
The ex-looks like that after reading/https://images.gr-assets.com/hostedimages/1464714649ra/19268106.gif

It would be such a lie to pretend I am the new maju Dabbang version of not getting heartburn. See, I was seething with jealousy and my face went red the moment you glowed pink. I didn’t check my face in the mirror, though! Feel like Arvind Kejriwal when Modiji won Delhi and that moment pierced my heart.

Now, who sends letter to an ex by post office? I am the one doing that and feel exactly like you are finding me, a certified jerk. Cut the crap, will you! I am not asking that both of us should let bygones be gones and get together after all the fracas and stupid fight. I am not drowning myself in alcohol...Devdas is passé and was such a chutiya. You know na way hotter and sizzling options in the world. You see, babe, it’s such a toughie and I may end up being single for the rest of my life...so much to chose and I am one-man-woman. I mean, I asked you out since there was no option...the sex was ahem! ahem! okayish, I’d say. I am not a terrific kisser, so are you...dunno why you breathed heavily during the act as if inflicted by some malady.

Idea! Yes! Tube light moment right now. I think your virus has hit my nerve...amnesia you see. The gifts, quite expensive you see, branded perfumes, lingerie, wristwatch, lipstick you left in my house. Wait did you leave it or gave it back? You wanted to fling all of them on my face right. I give you an offer...too tempting to refuse! The gifts...super expensive ...I burnt my pocket yet they have resale value next to zero on the market...can’t even get a Jockey brief if I sell all of them. 

So, why don’t you fucking come over and pick them up! I am just being self-deprecatory and since I cannot recover a single penny spent, you can always burn them or give it to some homes...that too, I ain’t sure people will accept since donations in kind might be illegal. Waise bhi with the entire notebandi by Modi-ji you can just send it to his doorstep as revenge for not being able to change your 1000 notes. Are you standing in an ATM queue? I feel for you babe and it cannot beat the joy of seeing you sweating...you hate doing that na!

Trust me, honey, it’s the perfect revenge for me to see you sweat and dripping on your flawless skin. I did the last time and stopped the car, halted the traffic and the cop gave me a challan...was fucking slapped twice for halting the traffic.  But, all good for nothing beats the sadistic pleasure to watch you sweat and nurse the tears.

Planning to tear this love letter and curse me? You can always keep it for posterity when you in a mood to kick balls.

Ciao
Your now ex-lover

 

Flash fiction: The last local





The railway station was packed with commuters storming to catch the last local train at 1.40 a.m. It lashed heavily in the Mumbai outskirt on that night and the station wore a chaotic look with people scampering in all directions to hop on the last train. Water has choked the entire track and percolated to the surface.

There was not a single local train that could be spotted and worried faces longing for the last local raised a hue and cry at the station and barricaded the railway officers who stood like silent spectators wearing a blank facial expression. A young man in his late 20s abandoned all hopes and slouched on the empty bench with his head deck on a huge bag.

The fan on the tin roof ceiling slowly whirred to life. He chased off the flies hovering above his head and sucking blood on his skin with his hand. Water tapped on the tin roof. He fell asleep on the bench and bore no distraction by the whining voices, wail of a baby and loud steps running heavily on the stairs. The man slept peacefully on the bench. The old clock fixed on the ceiling was on the verge to strike 2 a.m.  

Voice whispers were heard behind the snoring shadow that propelled him to leap on his feet. The station was suddenly deserted.  A couple of railway and army officers stared at him and tried hard to conceal smiles. He was hesitant in his tone, “What happened?”

The officers looked at each other and said, “The rain has put you to sleep like a lullaby sang to a child. The last local came immediately after you dozed off and already left the station. There was so much noise and some people tried to wake you up but to no avail.”

He felt stupid and cursed himself. He didn’t have any choice but to wait until the morning. The officer gave him a cup of tea in a glass and he gulped it. He sat on the lone bench and watched at the empty railway track.

With love
Vishal

2017-11-29

Farway destination




A faraway destination,

a smile hidden behind the tiny dot of stars,

 morning mist,

 blue sky,

 emerald stone,

 where shall we ever find you?

Stop laughing at us,

mourning at your disappearance,

 powerful memories,

 the times we laughed, sang and boozed together,

 the voice that vividly pierces the ear,

 still vivid even today,

 a feeling that you never left,

you are here forever,

now tell it to them,

send a sign from the sky,

throw a paper chit,

burst crackers in the middle of the night,

for they think it's hallucination,

 smile like a maniac,

 you always do that,

 man! that powerful gaze,

 strut the feet,

drop of tears,

your unique way to make the presence felt,

what's happening in the sky?

 nah! you shall give no answer!

 one day we shall tinkle glasses together,

 dance and make merry in the sky,

 till then buddy,

 listen to this rant with a smile

Love

Vishal




Clipped wings




https://i.pinimg.com/564x/6f/16/74/6f167433daa304756347a1fe9c71ff25--pigeon-tattoo-moth-tattoo.jpg
Image credit: https://i.pinimg.com

Clipped wings,

Caged pigeons,

desire to soar in the sky,

a quest for happiness,

borderless language,

of love and friendship,

to reach heightened destination,

admiring the city’s skyscrapers,

nestled and bundled under the roof,

gaping at the seas and sky,

crazy city life,

a populace constantly on the move,

flying may just be a dream for the fluttered wings,

white,

yellow and

black pigeons,

only one emotion,

an empathic heart,

a quest for freedom enjoyed by humans,

bizarre men and women,

imprisoned in their thoughts,

come and free us,

they implored,

we belong to the skies and stars,

free your mind

Love
Vishal
 

2017-11-26

Love shot: A silly date




Love shot: A silly date

“What a silly date,” she loquaciously tells. I smile and wink to conceal my awkwardness. She persists, “No! I am serious. Guys lack the spine to be creative by calling for a plain coffee date. I hate coming to meet over coffee.”

“Still you came,” I playfully say.
https://i.pinimg.com/474x/d8/b0/e3/d8b0e36b01d46e92448e3e7b4f6f778f--coffee-date-coffee-break.jpg
Image credit: ttps://i.pinimg.com


“Obvio...I was bored sitting home alone on a Sunday and gorging over pizza on Netflix,” she smirks.
I gaze at her pink skirt and was amused looking at the matching shoes.

“What are you looking at? You are lusting at my shoes,” she catches me off guard.

“Nah! I am looking at your pink colored lipstick,” I blurt out.

“Simple. I am not Aishwarya Rai wearing Purple at Cannes,” she lashes out.

I am drawn to the spicy words flowing from her mouth effortlessly. She pouts venom rather than saccharine. “I love that?”

“Stop lusting and be bold. You wanna smooch,” she pulls the last one. She wades effortlessly and her leg is pressed on mine. I am shaken off the ground and feel a rush of electricity running down my body. Our lips are cupped together and my hand running over her bare back and naked shoulder. She presses her lip. I am whacked on the mouth.

“Baby! Time to leave. I never expected the first date to end like that,” she seductively flits on her legs and picks up her Gucci bag.

I call out, “Hey! Phone number.”

She turns back, “I have yours. As it is, just not interested in another silly coffee date. Find something better next time. I will call you when my day is not happening.

I am too stunned to speak. A second cup of silly cappuccino is ordered and the sea breeze wafts flutters my unkempt hair at Chowpatty. 

Someone nudges me from the back and turn around to see a hot female flashing a smile. The feminine voice soothingly says, “I’ve been waiting inside and thought you would never turn out.” I am confused. The short hair woman plonks herself, “Your whatsapp date...oh! you having the cappuccino.”

“Silly coffee. I prefer a latte on this not-so-silly date,” she guffaws.

“Now, who is she?” I wonder. “Who was the one I kissed?”

Love
Vishal