A letter from.....

Hey there missus, may I ask you "how do you do?",

Here I am writing a letter that wouldn't reach you,

In a place where the skies are always light blue,

But no telephone, no postbox, no communication tool.

60 odd years that I had to spend with you,

Those last 60 days that I had to put you through.

I heard every single word, felt your every light touch,

Though my dear blur one, you hadn't the faintest clue.

The morning paper always found its way to my breakfast table,

You somehow knew that without it, I just couldn't do,

For 60 mornings when my body had refused to move,

I heard your voice reading me every page of news, 

Silly woman, you read even the weather forecast too.

Your voice was the balm to all my aching wound,

I hated the sound and smell of my hospital room,

But the moment you walk in even before sunrise, I knew,

I'll be comforted till twilight by the smell of your perfume,

& listening to the soft sounds you make when you gently move,

I looked forward to the caresses of your callused palms,

How they were simply made to perfectly fit mine,

Through our slippery path and rough rides through time,

You were my unseen strength, my hidden source of calm.

You apologized, that our Alan ain't smart like the rest,

Well, he has always been the dullest in our little nest.

He takes after your father, I realized later, no fault of yours nor mine,

It's random gene selection, probability was a little unkind.

I see you now, walking around our house looking for things to do,

Is your knee troubling you? You have 3 legs now, not 2...

Stop checking the doors again and again... like you always do!

I sit on our porch at night, no harm will come upon you.

When the time comes for you to say your last goodbye,

Don't hold back, don't try to breathe and please don't cry.

Trust me on this, this one time you'll love to lose the fight,

It's the  answer to the wish you made to the stars last night,

I'm coming to take you with me in about a fortnight,

To a place where the moonlight shines through daylight,

Once again we'll laugh till we cry, we'll fight, we reunite,

Our new life begins, my dear, the minute after you die,

Come here... love me just the way you had loved me till my death,

Come here.... let me love you the way I had till my very last breath.

paranoia......

"Ok, boss. See you tomorrow...... ;-) "

The short message had given her a tiny jolt last night.

Friendly wink? Cheeky wink?

She did the next sensible thing. She checked his other folders.

SENT ITEMS : EMPTY

OUTBOX : EMPTY

DRAFTS : EMPTY

There's something that she was missing. It was woman's instinct. 

Reading between the lines was exhausting. And now, 19 hours post-message-reading, she was drained....after another day with Trish, listening to her complain about her apparently cheating husband. A husband whom she had no intentions of confronting. It was difficult to lend a shoulder to cry on to a friend who doesn't cry. Tears that are shed within are but wasted water, a weapon that could have easily been used against a man. Yet dangerous... like internal hemorrhage. The damage can never be easily assessed, until it is too late for a save.

The 5 worded message was like an ant-bite on her cortex. Small and stinging, persistently and painfully itchy, inconveniently unreachable.

Tiny things that were overlooked were acquiring new meanings.

His "staying back at work" for an hour or two.

His conversation 2 days back that consisted only of "ok", "ok" and "ok. Don't worry. No one will know."

The deleted sent items folder on his phone.

She recognized the girl's name, it was his new colleague. At least she deserves a point for remembering.

Any woman of today would do this, she thought to herself and logged into Facebook.

She was in his friend-list alright.  Score: 2/0

Her photos were not for public viewing. She logged into his account and clicked on the witch's "album". Score: 3/0

(somewhere along the way, the "she" had become a "witch")

She inhaled sharply, hands turned cold and her feelings were hot coal.

Screw the score, this was war.

148 photos. Witch was a cross-breed, Chinese mother and an Indian father.

Good complexion. Nice figure.

Her own plans of making dinner flew out the window and swam under the door. If she skipped dinner, she can save herself the much un-needed calories.

The mercury level of her temper-meter was rising like there was no ceiling. Heart thumped against her chest, head pounded with an unbound fury and curses that she hadn't voiced out, being alone at home.

She felt a desperate need to punch the witch, and him, or at least the wall. She slammed shut the laptop instead. After all, it was his laptop.

The fact that the witch had amazing hair did not help one bit. Anger that was previously directed towards the witch had now turned to him. Targeted and locked. It was consuming her as she sat staring at the tv that she wasn't watching, waiting for him.

HIM......

Driving through this hell after work is like.... well, HELL!! Every Tom, Dick & Harriett has a car now and has decided to flood the highway today. All at the same time! Gotta leave early tomorrow morning.... Have to run through the presentation once. Hope Eric has reviewed and mailed the final copy.... Damn! Internet bill!! F*CK! Forgot to cash in the rent! Ah, hell! Will make an online transaction. If those idiots have not disconnected my line, that is. Have to call Leena and remind about the remaining scripts. *sigh* or maybe I'll just complete it myself tomorrow. MY GOD! How can someone with Indian AND Chinese genes be so slow and dense. Ok, not that bad, maybe semi-permeable. Doesn't understand anything assigned to her, what she is doing and why she is doing it. But is very good at complaining about her boyfriend and his mother and his dog. Argh! Women!

Why the f*ck is this lane so damn slow?! Great, traffic light is fucked. Excellent timing....

My neck is killing me. Is there aspirin at home? Have to stop by at 7'eleven. 7...er.... oh yeah,7th is her brother's b'day. Must call. Remember... remember... Don't want another my-family-is-important lecture. Did I leave my external hard-drive at work? Nah... don't think so. Bloody c*ck!!! hey, hero....!!! Overtaking from the left, no signal, no nothing!!! tere maa ki...... ? shit man... Oh, female driver. Stupid creature. Is my blue shirt ironed..... The presentation.... Eric... Have to give Eric that money. Poor guy. Hope there's chicken for dinner at home. Hope she's back already. Just need to get home. *SIGH* Oh thank god for home.....

"There are some books that refuse to be written. They stand their ground year after year and will not be persuaded. It isn't because the book is not there and worth being written -- it is only because the right form of the story does not present itself. There is only one right form for a story and if you fail to find that form, the story will not tell itself...."

A tiny lens in a machine....

I saw her standing there, trying hard not to cry,
Today there's a purple shadow around her right eye,
She comes on monday afternoons and friday nights,
There's always something new to mark the new fight.

He looks more than twelve and less than fifteen,
Straight hair, fair skinned and unmistakably feminine,
Comes in a group of ten, everyday at around one,
They push him around, grab his cash and run.

Thursday nights - a tanned guy with a silver nose ring,
Broad shoulders, long hair, a cuter version of Dhoni,
Smiles like he has a personal joke that he aint sharing,
Looks right at me, blows flying kisses just before leaving.

Chinky old uncle with his 3 inches specs,
Has bout 10 strands of hair on his shiny bald head,
Something is definitely very wrong with his sight,
Punches his numbers ten times before he gets it right.

You must have visited an ATM machine,
What you don't see is the tiny camera within,
I'm the one behind the surveillence device and screen,
I know some of you a little, even though I'm unseen.

7 floors down.....

Sitting on the floor in front of the closet,
Looking at your shirts, many shades of russet,
Never did notice that your were so partial to brown,
Next to you I must have looked like a colourful clown,
I can almost feel you here as I hold ur soft cotton pants,
Remembering you wearing them during our last dance,
I'm folding your socks, the blacks with the blue,
Knowing if they're mismatched, it irritates you,
An intoxicating scent was brought in by this wind,
Your cologne was made to make women sin,
I see our bed at the corner of my eye,
A towel lies there, by now it must be dry,
Your Robert Ludlum's "The matarese countdown",
Is left at our nightstand, folded at page 121,
I'm still living with you in this room for two,
How I miss your constant instructions on what to do,
People think I'm crazy, sinking in suppressed sorrow,
I really am not that upset we didn't have our tomorrow,
You left me here with a roomful of memories,
I thought I could go on living like this for centuries,
Sometimes I can still feel you hugging me tight,
And those careless and clumsy, sleepy kisses at night,
Just coz I love you, it doesn't mean you're off the hook,
I'm still angry that you didn't teach me how to fish and to cook,
What am I doing alone, answer me if you can,
What now mr perfectionist, what happen to your fool-proof plan,
Our account book is not done, but the bills are paid,
You know I hate numbers, oh! and I've sacked the maid,
Living like this, surrounded by everything that's you,
The temptation to come to you is killing me too,
One day in this room when your scent is not found,
I'll put my feet at the balcony railing to make my final jump.

Say it isn't so.......

Sunday morning, "F.R.I.E.N.D.S" marathon on tv. She was leaning against him, he had his arms around her.

She: What would you do if I die?
He: *silence*
She: Tell... tell.... what would you do?
He: Are you trying to pick a fight with me by asking this unbelievably stupid question?
She: Are you trying to pick a fight by being unbelievably rude?
He: *keeps quiet & starts flipping the channels*
She: I was watching that....

She gets up and sits on a different couch, letting the distance tell what her voice isn't. That she is angry and irritated and she wants him to feel the same. Angry. Irritated. It isn't fair!

She: Will you marry someone else?
He: *silence*
She: Coz I don't mind you know... coz you should, move on.
He: *silence*
She: After a decent amount of mourning period...
He: *silence*
She: Will you tell her about me?
He: Who?
She: Your wife. Do you plan on telling her about me?
He: I'm not planning anything. Can you please stop this crap and listen to Chandler....
She: It is really your wish. You can..... like, not tell her as well.
He: *silence*
She : But you cannot use the names that I have picked for our kids. Though I won't be having any if I die.
He: *silence*

She waited till the end of the episode.... Rachel and Ross kissed, his ex was bald, the gang left the beach...

She: Will you miss me if I die?
He: *silence*
She: Tell na..... At least the fights? Or my terrible cooking? Hehehehe....
He: We haven't fought for the past 7 days. Is that too long a fight-free period?
She: Whoa... where is that coming from..?
He: You just died, married me off to somene else, have me have kids, warned me not to use the names that you have already picked for the kids that you think you are not going to have..... all in your imagination. What the hell is wrong with you?
She: *silence*
He: Match is starting.... lets watch this ok.

She: I might be dying. That's what's wrong with me. I don't have the courage to open the sealed report that I got from the oncologist today. I'm afraid of what I might find in there. I don't have the heart to tell you what my "hair treatment" appointments have really been. I wish I could just sit with you and watch "Friends" or a cricket match, carelessly, carefree. And not think about medical reports.
Most of all, I am scared to die. That is what's wrong with me.

He: What's wrong...? *frown*
She: Can I ask you something?
He: As long as it isn't your million dollar silly questions...! *laughs nervously*
She: What would you do if I die....?

"starry starry night...."

The sound that echoed in the field,
The lead pellets that are buried in his chest still,
Were his savior, for he, they did not kill.
Though the shot was deadly,
Still the blood had flown very slowly,
His body took 2 days to stop its bloody cry,
In the end it understood his need,
His desperation to rise and to fly.
He crossed over, leaped into the unseen,
It was alot more than what he had imagined,
Was nowhere close to where he had been,
Brighter were the stars, bluer are the skies,
Better than his beautiful "Starry night",
He saw the sun rising over the mountains,
And slowly sinking into an ocean so wide,
A place to fall in love with, he had found,
The seas that don't beckon him to drown,
Or the hills that don't entice him to die,
Flowers that sing, colours that are alive,
Seas and trees were teasing him to again try,
12 sunflowers and lilacs, daisies and daffodils,
Sunset village, autumn lanes and old windmills,
Falling leaves, willows, hills and wheat fields,
Rivers that flow, landscape of snow,
Everything reincarnated, where he chose to go.
"fatal circumstances" and all that he had to see,
In the time he was here before he had to leave,
A grieving brother, in a lethal sorrow he sank deep.
On the walls and in our hearts he shall be,
In heaven made by angels,
is where he shall forever sleep.....
Though it was a life that defines tragic,
All he left behind was framed up magic....

(vincent van gogh.... birth of an art....)