Anaahat

Freedom. There is a free falling to the word itself. Tasting like mountain air. Like the cool sea breeze. Like the salty majestic waves at the coast. A feeling of being empowered. For your own life. To take your own decisions. Of faltering and of finding your own ground. Of living with freedom...

I will not do as you see right, I will not live as per your rules. Neither for harmony, Nor for peace. I will pay the price of believing in And wanting my right. I will sacrifice, Compromise, For something I believe in Not for what you think is right, Not for what you think is right...

I am the daughter. I am the sister. I am the wife, they say. Am I no one else than all that? Am I someone who is none of them? Where is the ‘I’ in my life? In my existence...?

A laptop is lost. In the train. Mumbai’s Local train. During the rush hour. All factors compounding the outcome - the loss of the laptop. Panic. Run to the police station. Run to the Railway Police. Write an FIR. File a complaint. Maska marofy the constable. Watch him make calls to various police stations. See him nod and shake his head. And hear him sigh. “What are the chances?” I ask. He shakes his head. “Cant say” “Has someone ever found their laptop before?” He looks at me for a second and then looks away disinterestedly. “No Madam. We havent found any till date. I wont lie to you.” Thank you for being honest Mister Policeman. But I didnt want honesty. I wanted reassurance. Something which can calm my nerves. Something which a policeman should do. And find my laptop too. But he does not. He is not interested in calming my nerves. It is 8:30pm. Perhaps he is wondering what is in his tiffin. Or when can he have his dinner. Or when can he go home. The least he is thinking of is my lap...

My dearest Ajoba It’s been a long time since you’ve gone Your touch has become a ghost, your smile a memory Aji misses you, Your ashtray and your chair misses you too It’s been years Ajoba Since the doctors asked you to stop smoking cigarettes And you started smoking beedees instead Years since I visited your death. I look at your picture with Aji You are somewhere in the South of India Your face devoid of smile, the steel watch glimmering in the sun Aji standing behind you, shyness concealing her smile. I tell you so that you know. I hope your pain doesn’t eat you as it used to Ajoba I hope you are happy Though Aji is not She cooks and she reads She laughs and she smiles And then at an unexpected moment Her eyes become moist When she hugs me, she holds on a bit longer. I tell you so that you know. She has grown a little older than you remember With much grey hair and wrinkles under her eyes She still sways when she walks But she walks a little straighter Her knees pain but she doesn’t...

Secretly, I think of his fingers, his shoulders, his smile, as I see his name printed on the envelope in my hand The curves of the letters taking shape of his eyes and that smile I so adore I secretly look at him when he isn't the way his frown meets at his brows, the way his shirt is crumpled at the back, the way his hair meet at his nape the way a tear lies stranded at the corner of his eye I purposely cross his path One day I'm sure he will notice me So sure that I am And everyday I see his smile, I hear his laugh and, when his phone rings, I wonder who has called...

The morning news, News at 10, Newsreaders read of blood spread across many arms and eyes. Like fish in water, eating each other swimming in this sea of time. Were we like this all along? From Darwin's theory of the fittest to survive to the wars which killed millions galore sowing revenge for the future  near or far. Is it difficult to digest now? Why can't we live when someone else is orphaned? Why do we carry their bruises? Why do we nurse them more? Why does it stun us when someone kills reasons his own? Reasons we don't comprehend. Can we justify any killings? Even the ones in the name of laws created by us alone? Even the ones which have reasons in our eyes? Yet, we can still carry on. Not to stop for any. Yet, somewhere in the midst of the thickest forest, Somewhere in a temple on a high mountain, in a monastery prayers are offered and Gods are called, for peace and silence and children and rains for floods to subside, for people to find the threads of th...