The revenge of the rose

It was the year 2012, and I woke with a craving for junk food. My eyes opened to a sparsely furnished dull room. The bright pile of clothes lying on the corner of the bed contrasted starkly with the dirty faded white of the overlooking wall. Dust had filled up the empty space on the floor, where it lived along with the wrappers and other knick-knacks I had abandoned. The slightly pungent smell of untouched worn clothes irritated my nose. Stretching myself, I shuffled out of the now empty bed and traced a path through the maze on the floor. I splashed some water on my face, and stared at the man looking back at me in the mirror. My eyes were the red of mud. My cheeks were getting shallower, and the pouches under my eyes seemed to grow larger by the day. Oil coated the entirety of the available surface, and accumulated along my wrinkles. I seemed like a monster right out of a cheap Hindi film, but with lanky limbs and a melancholy posture. Sighing, I brushed my teeth and got ready for another day at the office.

I was almost ready, and was combing my hair, when the overbearing sound of the horn shredded my eardrums. "Aa raha hun", I shouted and ran down the stairs. It was no relief, for the horn stopped only when the driver spotted me. I had grown tired of asking him to let off the horn, but like in most things, it seemed that people simply ignored me. I sat quietly at the back of the cab, looking out of the window. I neither had the energy nor the urge to talk to anyone. Five minutes later, she climbed in. I didn't know her name, for I had never had the courage to talk with her. Her face was somehow familiar, and her body was a work of art. She seemed too good to be true. I shook my head back to reality, and sighed in wistfulness. I did not have the courage to talk to a woman, much less one whom I desired.

My mind shut off as I settled into my desk. It was going to be another long day. At least the weekend followed this, and we would have our routine inebriation tonight. "Hi sir, how may I help you?" I put on my British accent, letting go of my Delhi roots. The rest of the day passed by in a hazy blur, which I could not have remembered on my life. After what seemed like an eternity, my colleagues and I boarded the cab to our bar. There were a couple of new faces, and my eyes opened wide on seeing her with us. Maybe all hope was not lost yet. I could not help a smile from creeping across my face as the possibilities loomed before me.

It was one of those typical dark, overly expensive nightclubs which was only know for its clientele. I had downed a couple of drinks, and it was enough to get my speech slurring. The rest of my party was dancing in reckless abandon in the small circle in the center of the club. It looked like a colony of worms, with all of them struggling to stay on the floor and fumbling within their own rhythms in the space they could squeeze out. A feminine silhouette detached itself from the jumble and moved towards my table. She had just gotten off the dance floor, and as I was the only one at our table, she came and sat beside me.
    "Don't usually dance?" She asked.
    "Too many people too close" I replied.
    "Oh, Mr. Anti-social thinks he's better than us?"
    "The opposite, in fact" This would throw her off, I thought.
    "And why is that?"
    "Those stories don't help with my first impression"
    "Okay, be dark and broody. But give me a chance get a second impression." She seemed drunk. And unusually interested in me.
    "Your wish." This would be interesting, I thought.
    "I'm Rooh. How do you do?" I began ...
I did not realize when it was closing time. We were the only ones left from our group still at the table. I paid for our drinks, and was about to offer her a drop when I saw her face and my body froze.

It was Chhaya. My mind reeled in its hazy state, and I couldn't speak. My sight blurred, everything had grown quiet around me, and I had to put my head down on the table. Nausea filled my throat and I could feel it getting stronger with every pulse of blood hammering inside of me. It couldn't be her. I took a few deep breaths, and looked up at her. It wasn't Chhaya. She peered back at me with a concerned expression, and I grinned back at her. "That was a power nap, in case you didn't notice" She grinned back at me, pulled me up, and we left the bar. My head had lightened, and I could now manage to think. It was just a trick of the light, wasn't it? That, and I'm exceedingly drunk today, I figured. We hailed a cab and ambled into the back seat. I closed my eyes for a second and a tattered Chhaya stood in front of me. Her eyes were voids, trying to engulf me, but I fought back. On the edge of my consciousness, I heard a voice calling "Rooh, ROOH!", and I managed to open my eyes. She was sitting beside me in the cab. Her eyes were half asleep, her hair spread all over her face. With a streetlight peeping in from the window, it seemed like a halo floated around her head. I smiled at her, "I'm all yours, promise". There was hesitation in her eyes. "Are you sure you're all right?" I nodded in agreement and wrapped my hand around her, pulling her into a bear hug. She snuggled in between and we whispered sweet nothings till we reached her place. I led the way to her apartment, and as soon as she closed her door, she pounced on me. The next thing I knew, I was staring at her in the darkness as she turned on a dim light and turned towards me. Seductively biting her lip, she undid her buttons one by one.

I closed my eyes for a second and the vortex of memories dragged me in. A dark road faded into sight. A yellow light filtered in from somewhere far away and I could see people standing around a fallen figure. Voices filled the air.
    "Bhaiya please mujhe jane do. Maine kya kiya hai"
    "CHUP SALI KUTIYA. Itne chote kapde pehenke aati hai, aur fir na bolti hai"
    "Yahi chahti thi na tu, daaru peeti hai kya koi sharif ladki"
    "Abe tu haath pakad mai chalu karta hun, fir tu aana"
    "Han chal, isme jyada dum bhi baaki nahi hai"
Suddenly she shrieked and shouted "BACHAO, KOI PLEASE BACHAO MUJHE", which was answered with a hard slap to her face. It still did not stop her from continuing to shout, to which the man balled his fist and pummeled her. The cries turned into quiet sobs as one of them held her hands from above her head. The other bent over her and tore open her white shirt and undergarments. He mauled her chest and she squalled in pain. I moved closer to the spectacle, unable to speak. She started weeping as he dug his long nails into her soft flesh. A ravenous expression covered his face as he forced himself into her. Each defiling thrust was met by loud whimpers of repulsion. It didn't seem to affect him, as he continued his onslaught. His claws found new places to immolate on her body, and each transgression seemed to bring her closer to acquiescence. With a loud groan, he finished, and her body spoke of relief. and looked at me.

"Chal ab tu aja", he invited. I went closer and looked at her. She cheeks were red from where she was slapped, and her entire face was filled with bruises and swellings. The rags could barely cover any part of her, and blood was oozing out from her torso. Her entire posture screamed defeat, but what terrified me was her eyes. They shone with an abhorrence and she looked directly into mine. It did nothing but anger me as I thwacked her and said "Dekhti kya hai be, aankh niche kar". Spreading her legs, I reveled in the power which I possessed as I entered her. She was nothing but a toy which I could use as I wished. Peering at her disdain, I groped her breasts to elicit a reaction. Her grimace of pain was satisfying. As this power blanketed my head, I began disfiguring her as much as I could. Furrows lined her bosom. There were red nail marks from her collarbone to her waist, where I had gouged her. She had finally accepted defeat, and lay quiet. A smirk of revulsion filled my face as I came.

My eyes opened, and an involuntary gasp escaped me. Tears were brimming at their edges, and She came into focus in front of me with her hands on her hips. "I need air, let's go to the terrace", I managed to force out and stumbled outside her flat and up the stairs. As I opened the gate to her terrace, and fell to a corner, it suddenly dawned on me that this was my building, not hers. "Bola tha na, akele nahi chodungi" she hissed softly, suddenly sitting beside me; and my eyes snapped open. There was only one other time that I had heard those words.

That fateful night came back to me. I saw the disfigured, torn body of our victim, struggling to stay conscious. She had put up a fight early on, but there was nothing but acceptance now. It seemed that she was drained of whatever it was that her kept her going. As if each desecrating pump had sucked out her life force; and with the final thrust, she had been completely drained. "Khokli ho gayi hai", I had whispered as one of my partners brought forth a metal pipe. But she wasn't finished yet. She had flown into a rage on seeing the pipe and declared in a ghastly voice "Chhaya hai mera naam. Yaad rakhna, tum mai se kisi ko akela nahi chodungi. Sabko lene aaungi mai". The pipe had made a squishy sound as it connected with the top of her neck. "Ab chilla na sali, kya hua?" he shouted. "Tujhe uska mazaa nahi dungi", she had rasped out her final spark. He had raised it again, and brought it down with overwhelming force upon her head. Repeating once more for good measure, he had started laughing maniacally, "Mujhe dhamkayegi sali, samajhti kya hai apne aap ko". As the blood which dripped from the red hole in her neck coagulated into a pool, I had felt the finality of our action. No trace would be left of her. She was ours to use, and ours to dispose.

I came back to the present as I felt her hands combing through my hair. Her face covered the moon, and I couldn't make out if it was Her or Chhaya. "Does it matter?" she asked. When I looked at her, She was Chhaya; and I realized what she meant. I began to wail. As the sobs racked my entire body, I felt powerless and devoid of energy. This seemed impossible. I couldn't make out whether this was a cruel trick being played on me or if it was real. "Lene aayi hun mai tujhe" she mouthed, with an innocent smile on her face. I could see nothing but her now. My thoughts were moving too fast for me to grasp; I was not my own master.

She held my hand and we stood up on the ledge, looking out over it. It was a beautiful sight. The darkness was complete but for the little pockets of light peeking out from solitary windows. It looked like a collage of black and white, and was mirrored in the sky above. The wind howled by me, but there was a deep silence which permeated every iota of my being. Trees danced noiselessly in tune with the wind, participating in a tribal ritual which I could not comprehend. Somewhere, a cricket chirped, and the sound passed harmlessly through me. Shadows shifted behind corners, as if hiding just out of sight. A joyful hum emanated from Chhaya as she walked forward. The sound suffused through me, and brought a smile to my face.

The last thing I remembered was the air pulling me faster through it as I hurtled towards the inviting ground. Chhaya glowed with triumph, and I smiled as I touched upon a long forgotten feeling. It felt right.



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In case koi bahut load leta hai, yeh fiction story hai. Matlab maine banayi hai ise.

The Owner

The old clock started it's song at exactly six thirty. Champaben woke up at six thirty one, and her day began. Quickly getting ready, she woke up her dependents one by one, dealing with each of them in turn. They were all like her children, and she was responsible for their day beginning properly. Years of practice had set her schedule just right. She started the stove, and put the cut vegetables on the pan. Simultaneously, she started preparing breakfast. Her hand moved of its own accord, accustomed by years of the same action, and pretty soon the simmering sound of vegetables in oil filled the house. She took her husband's clothes out of the almirah and laid them on the bed, shouting at him to take a bath quicker. Going into her daughter's room, she combed her daughter's hair, finishing just in time to the vegetables getting ready. In one swoop, she took the vegetable bowl off the gas, and put the roti tawa on it. With practised determination, she rolled the rotis into an almost perfect circle before heating them on the tawa. Skillfully fluffing the rotis to perfection, she put them all in a bundle; each of them almost exactly alike. Filling up the respective tiffins, she brought them out and put them in the bags. Laying the breakfast, she beckoned both her husband and her daughter. She didn't need to look at the clock to know that it was seven six.

Having finished breakfast with her family, she said goodbye to them, and finally took a long breath. The time was seven thirty two, but it didn't matter for a long while now. She had shifted into a more leisurely pace. Clearing the table, she put the dishes in the sink for the maid to clean. She prepared a cup of tea, and sat down with the newspaper. To an outsider, it would look like she was just idling away the time, but that was not the case. In a while, the doorbell rung, and she let the maid in. She could now perform the most essential task of the entire day, her puja. She washed the flowers gently, applying just enough force that the petals didn't break off. She sat in front of the mandir, and decorated every god. It always seemed like each one of them was her friend. She spent time with them everyday, no matter what. After cleaning them all, she prayed to them. She went outside, carrying a single flower, and some puja water. She went outside to the small patch in front of her house, and turning towards the house, she bowed down, and prayed to it.

She took a siesta everyday after lunch, which broke when her daughter came back at around four in the evening. She prepared some warm milk while her daughter freshened up. After talking about what was taught in school today, she took her daugher's dabba and cleaned it, letting it dry. She then took a look at the teaching, and sat down with her daughter to revise what was taught. It grew tougher for her each year that her daughter grew, but she persevered with a mother's will. This continued till the time her husband came home, at around seven. She greeted him with a smile, and taking his suitcase and coat in hand, asked him about work. She knew this always helped him relax, and brought a smile to his face. As her husband finished, she moved to the kitchen to begin dinner preparations. Dinner was always a good time, where all three sat down together to finally end the long day. Her cooking, flawless as always, ensured a good night's sleep for her family. Or maybe it was the feeling of security the house gave them.

It was, after all, a family home, built in the midst of the booming city. Her husband had inherited it from his father, and he, in turn, from his father. It looked dilapidated when seen from outside, with its thatched roof, and old walls, and the paint crumbling from them; but gave a warm sense of homeliness inside. It seemed like it would fall down any second, but she knew that it was built, and cared for in a time when things were made to last; and she trusted that her home would not give up on her so easily. They had received many offers for that particular piece of land, but she would not hear of them. To her, this was the family home; the only place for her to raise a family. Her husband had almost given in to an offer once, but she had flatly refused to move out of the house, and that was that. She shared a special connection with the house. She made it a home, and in turn, the house never failed her. She had an extraordinary sense regarding the house. She knew which tile would be loose; she knew when the water pipe was going to clog; she knew when a bulb was about to burn out; nothing escaped her notice at home. And her home did not escape her care. All of it was under her protection. It was another member of her family.

Times change; people do not. Many years passed by seeing her follow the same routine. It was a good life. It was a simple life. And she lived it as she had always known life to be. But contentment breeds stagnation, and in turn, decay. Her daughter had grown up. Champa could no longer teach her for school. The day came when her daughter moved to college. Times were hard, and with their daughter's fees and other expenses, the only option left to the couple was to move to a cheaper house. The day they moved, the house was put on the market. It was also the day she cried as she hadn't in a long time, for she had lost family. She touched the walls one last time, and whispered her sweet nothings to the house. The farewell wrenched her heart out, but there was no reply. As she turned away, never to set sight at her beloved home again, she felt some part of her being lost forever. That night, the water tank developed a leak, and flooded the garden.

The house was in a very prime spot, and was soon bought by a young, working couple who were just getting comfortable to a married life. He was a technology consultant. She was a banker. They hardly had the time to eat food, let alone eat it together. They woke up at their respective schedules, got ready and left for their jobs. The house sat silent all day till the time they returned in the evening. For a few weeks, everything was hale and hearty, and the young couple's life went without incident. Unnoticed by them though, cracks began to appear in the beams and pillars. They day the couple noticed that something was wrong was the day the air was filled with the stench of the septic tank. It had cracked on top, releasing the noxious fumes in the entire house. A mason was called to fix the leak, and he did, but he highly recommended that they repair the entire house, for it was a surprise that it was still standing. The couple did not have time, and forgot the advice. A few days later, all of the paint which barely clung to the walls, fell down in the afternoon. That evening saw a look of disbelief in the couple's eyes when they came home. They called a contractor to know what was going on. The contractor couldn't say why the paint fell off, but advised the couple to move out, as it seemed the house was old, and dying.

The house was put on sale again, but rumors spread that it was haunted, and none would touch it, even with a ten foot pole. The state of disrepair that the house was in gave it an even more sinister look. Weeds grew in the courtyard. The bare cement and rods which were visible now that the paint had fallen off, gave an eerie feeling of looking at a skeleton. Scales from the roof fell down, leaving no defense to the interiors against the elements. Only a shadow of the former house was left, deprived of any care and tending. Locals avoided it at all costs. No workers would even demolish it. It stood there against the urban landscape, a ruin of a house, the spectre of a home. The house detoriated, till one night, it crumbled quietly. Neighbours did not hear it fall. But a lone figure standing beside it, clad in a black robe, heard its final sigh.

The next day, an obituary was published in the newspaper. "We regret to inform you of the demise of Mrs. Champaben Patel, who was a mother, a wife, and a homemaker. She had won many battles in her lifetime, but she lost her final one to cancer."

END

For my grandmother, who understood me.

Dogs

I have always been afraid of dogs. People say it's because I'm a girl, but I don't believe that's true. I remember a few drunk friends of mine, female, ferociously attacking dogs when barked at, so I don't think that stereotype holds for most girls. Anyway, it does hold for me. I am almost paralysed when dogs come running to me. They might be called cute, but in my eyes they are ferocious creatures which have no shred of mercy in them. If you've ever experienced a dog running towards at full gallop, mouth open, teeth bared, barking a blood-curling howl, eyes fixed on you, ready to tear you to pieces; you know what I'm talking about. I've had a few encounters with dogs in my day. It usually involves a bunch of hungry dogs sensing my fear, and surrounding me, ready to strike. A passerby, or a bystander usually comes to my rescue, as I'd be frozen in place. For this reason, I never walk alone in isolated places.

I have this friend, one of those people who gets lost from time to time. He is usually quite coherent, but there are phases where he seems to get off the sane train, and talk in abstract ciphers. They do seem to make some kind of sense, but I cannot guess the context, or his meaning. He is a nature person, and I've often felt like he's better off with nature than with us. Anyway, our interactions are somewhat sporadic, since he doesn't like to talk using modern implements. He prefers face to face. So whenever he'd come around, we'd meet, and talk. He lived in Mumbai, and I in Bangalore, which is a huge distance. But he'd usually visit about once every two months, so we'd meet up to have a drink. He was one of those people who was always calm, so I always felt safe around him. I've never seen him so angry that he'd lose his wits. He's handled every situation I've seen him in, in a composed manner, much like a conductor gracefully handling his orchestra.

He had come to visit this September, and as usual we met up for drinks. We like to try new places, and this time, we went to a bar in a somewhat remote area of Bangalore. He was happy as I had never seen him before, for he was getting married to the love of his life. He was particularly outspoken in his joy, and we spent a lot of time in the bar. I had never seen him open up like that day. In his infectious zest, we both ended up drinking a lot. It was quite late, and the server ushered us out saying that it was closing time. The sky was pitch black, with no moon in sight. There were flickering street lights at long intervals, and in the distance they looked like an airplane landing strip. The whole sight was eerie, and I had a strong sense of foreboding. We started walking along the winding path, following the lights. It was a kaccha road, a mixture of mud and asphalt which threaded the line between making you feel like you were walking in slush, and yet it was solid enough to be called a road. We were too drunk to care anyway, and we started walking. It was a few kilometres to my place, and we decided to just walk, for it didn't look like we would be getting any transport anytime soon. I was scared, but he had this reassuring aura about him, so I felt safe. We walked, chattering about trivialities, and remembering past times.

We had reached a wide spot of road, just under a street light, when I sensed movement around me. I don't know what it was, but there was definitely something moving around me. There was not a soul all around us, and it was deserted as far as the eye could see. I got scared. The first indication of what it was, was a growl rising in a crescendo. The sound brought the world around me into sudden focus, and I could now make out the outlines of several dogs in the fringes of the light. The single growl was joined by more, each more wicked than the last. I felt the pangs of paralysis rising up within me. They gained complete control of me once the dogs started barking. I froze in place, my eyes locked on the dangerous creatures in front of me. There were six dogs which I could see, and they were poised to strike. Their jaws split wide, teeth sparkling in the light, saliva dripping to the road in large dollops. Their eyes were trained on us, as if waiting for us to make the next move. Standing in a loose circle, they seemed to be closing in. I felt trapped from all sides, and unable to move. This was the end.

I felt a warm hand around me, and looked to the side to see him holding me. He whispered slowly, "Don't worry. You're with me. I'll take care of this." I should have been relieved, but I was in survival mode, and in no mood to trust him. I don't remember what exactly happened next. He raised his hand slowly, like politicians in India do to quiet crowds. Slowly murmuring "Sshhh...", he turned to each dog, as if pacifying them. His voice was mesmerising somehow, and in my muddled state, it was inviting. He was firm and strict. I don't know how it worked, but the dogs were starting to shut up. The ones who were first addressed stopped barking, and the effect spread to the rest of the pack. They all looked just as ferocious and blood-thirsty, but they weren't barking. He pulled me forward, holding me tight, and we walked out of the circle while all the dogs were watching us. I did not comprehend what had just happened, just that we were out of the circle. We kept walking. I felt exhausted, and in no mood to talk. Holding me, he dropped me home, where I instantly fell asleep.

I sometimes still get flashes of what happened that night, but those dogs never barked at me again.

The moonlight field

I was on another one of my moonlight strolls through the asphalt streets of the city. My companion walked beside me in absolute silence. Words were but a hindrance in the absolute oneness of our companionship, and we were silent. The roads were completely deserted but for us, making us feel like gods. We walked along, our breaths misting in the cold air, our bodies walking parallel.

An empty field crept up alongside the path, making it seem like the world ended on that side. It had a wall along it's border, one of those dilapidated things which have become one with nature. They have no sense of beginning or end, simply rising up off the ground. The trees are intertwined with the large stones forming it, as if the architect had planned it all along. Even their shapes, formed by the ruthless tides of nature, seem to be their destiny. It felt like we were meant to be gazing on it at this moment. We took a seat on the wall, huddled together, blowing warm breath onto our hands.

Staring back at us from the light mists was a dark foreboding of not being alone. It was almost pitch black, with only the eerie light of the moon lighting up the field. The wind slowly shook the fog like a puppet master tuning his strings. We could see a few plants large enough to be seen on the field. Apart from that, the field seemed entirely empty, with the uneven floor like waves frozen mid-motion. The mists seemed to crystallize, and shapes formed before our eyes. I blinked a few times, just to make sure, but it wasn't a trick of the eyes. The shapes seemed to be moving around without any apparent pattern, just flitting from one place to the next. Some of them collided, and wisps seemed to emanate from them. The longer I looked, the sharper their features became, till I realized with a start that they looked like children. Little children lost in some game they were playing. Sounds wafted in our direction; inhuman high-pitched shrieks which would have otherwise worried me, seemed perfectly fine tonight. Unaware of our existence, they continued their rambunctious play, sounding like the joyous wail of a new-born on his birth. They looked like little puffs of clouds, but on closer inspection, one could see how unnaturally they bent the light, and how they stood out from the mists in the background. They were translucent, their bodies shaped like ghosts from the kids' show on television. I couldn't make out their faces, but there was definitely a human face there.

Floating around each other, one chased another, to the point where they collided, and then started chasing another. The collision broke the form of the ghost, like a smoker's smoke disrupting the existing flow temporarily. A trail formed, like the ghost had just dived in water, and drove the water apart. The form combined again out of the smoke, and the game continued. There were those standing on the edge of the playing field, who moved but little, and inside, who were running like ants toward food. The shrieks came from those inside, as if they were the only ones having fun. The outer ghosts were quiet, standing protectively in a circle, guarding the ones inside. The children made sure not to break this line. The outers made no sound, but silently hovered in a large circumference. They seemed like guards protecting the innocent play. Silent spectres, they gave off the scent of danger which so easily scares me. I don't know what it was; whether it was the cold in the air, the sense of danger instilled by the outers, or my disbelief at the sight before me, I started shivering. My companion held me tenderly, patting my back to stop the shivers. Our arms entwined, we went back to the sight before us, mesmerized by the strange game in front of us.

The sound of tires on asphalt came rumbling along the road, followed by headlights from a car making a turn. We turned towards the light and were temporarily blinded. Accustomed to the darkness, the light seemed bizarre, like a bad cherry in a perfectly baked cake. It went by as soon as it had come, but the effects lasted longer. We turned back to our playground, but it was empty.

The mists had become bare again. The sounds had been muted. Where ghosts were twittering about earlier, there was only silence. The scene was as drab as a cemetery from an old black and white film. A crushing sense of loss filled me. Those forms had been my life for a few moments before, and now they were gone. Where they had being playing in gay abandon, there were now depressing mists idling by. I didn't understand why beings who were separated from me by an unconquerable abyss affected me so much. Beings who were so different, formless, and shapeless, so deeply affected me. I didn't have a connection to them before this night. They had not influenced me in any way before this. This would possibly just be another memory which would fade away as time passed by and life went on. It could have just been my mind hallucinating at night. And then it came to me.

I was closer to them.