The Darkest Night: Why do I Write?

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I just want you to be happy. . .

I’d be gladder, if you are that with. . .

ME. . .

“Men do not bother Heaven, They never do . . .!” Those are my own words written while creating a cold blooded monster for a work I’m working on, and, I mean them, I do.

Humans are the people whose basic intention to live is not just served by the ‘need of breath’, but there is something other, which they crave for, they desperately search for, and I, name it as, “Happiness.”

People talk of good and bad, wise and unjust, Heaven and Hell. They want to do good deeds, they want to be wise, and finally. . . They want to be “Heaven”. Or simply, they just be wise and good to be in that milky-white, happy-clouded Heaven!!?

OK!! You say you don’t want Heaven or not even a penny in return, and you say that you do everything for “inner-peace” or “satisfaction”? Which is what I say is not indirectly, but directly linked to that “Happiness”. The very thing which “every human” crave for. . .

“And I’m craving, craving. . .

Craving something I can feel.

Where do I go, what do I need. . .

Is it ecstasy or is it real . . .?”

  • James Bay.

If you put the same question James Bay had put himself across, what do you answer to your “soul” . . .? What are “you” craving for? Ah, I don’t have any interest in your answer, I just wanna talk what I wanna talk, and I wanna talk to the one whom I wanna talk. They say this is what “your arrogance” is, yes I agree the next moment they utter the statement, but. . .

“Is this arrogance? Can somebody be arrogant at everyone?”

No. . . . Hm. . . . I can’t. . .

I can’t let this “someone” go as she wanted to. I want to stop and say “It’s okay. It’s okay even if we fight. It’s okay even if we cry. It’s okay even if we die. . .” Of course, I won’t let her die, that’s something different.

If you just leave because you don’t wanna fell sorry for me, just you can’t take our little “cute” fights anymore, and. . . . Ooh, I don’t wanna think of reasons and lift them why you wanna walk away. “I may not matter to you, but you do matter to me.”

“In this concrete jungle – you do know (If you don’t know, then know this now), you are alone without me idiot, and. . . I already am feeling I’m lost without you.”

Hey, what am I talking about actually? This is not the topic right? I started about something Heaven and Hell thing. Ah . . . Why the heck do I drift myself while writing about something? Ooh, on the first hand, “why do I write something?”

I don’t know. . . Just like many other kids (Kids, I say about myself and “you”). I can fell the heavy fall of thoughts getting dumped inside me and. . . . I just couldn’t compose all of them properly in a virtual vision and I’m trying to do that on a paper, and still. . . I’m a failure.

“I’m a failure damn it!!

And. . . .

I know that before this

      God’s Green Earth was ever created. . .”

If men do bother about “Heaven”, if they really do. . . Why do they fear death? Why do they crave to live? Why do “we” cry to die?

There are different reasons people say, “They fear of Hell and their sins,” “because humans actually don’t know what’s in there after life.” In this way, many more. . . But the apt thing I feel is. . .

“They can’t leave their loving ones alone and go somewhere alone, forever.”

Yes. . . That’s the true thing. . .

We do fear what is going to happen to our loving ones in our “absence,” and . . . . What we are going to be, in “their” absence. We may fight, cry, say sorry, feel regret for being with them, feel ashamed, be embarrassed, or . . . hated them at times. Still, we do cry and “fear” to be “alone”, without “them”.

If it is so my “Night”. . . If it is so. . .

“Come, just be with me even if you are facing the brightest of the suns, deadliest of the tides, destructive of the winds or. . . Darkest of the Nights. . .

Cause. Here.

I’m made only for you. . .

You are made. . . Only for me.”

Only for “ME”. . . My Darkest Night.

When I knew what your name truly meant, haha . . . You don’t know what I had felt. “I’m a guy who work in darkness. . . I’m glad, I’m going to work with it. . .”

For “ME”

Smile Please . . .!

BEST FRIEND

BEST FRIEND

Glad to be back after eight long months. . . . .!

Wicky

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Hmm. . . My Grandpa Died: I didn’t cry.

Grand Pa

June 14th, 2012.

It’s the day my Grand pa’s dream fulfilled. He always wanted to have an own house in his Village. After great hard-ships, several combats, we’ve succeeded to fulfil his dream. That day is the happiest, important and the last day of his life.

“Nagabushana Nilayam” (House of Nagabushan) Our uncle read the Name carved on the building.

“Yes, that is my name,” said my Grand Pa, his voice weak and shivering, but ecstasy flowing through it. Today his voice is much more trembling. He is looking again and again towards His building, His dream.

For a middle-class family like us, those are very big dreams. We are people who just live on dreams and fights to get them true with as less trouble as possible. We (they) don’t have courage at least to think about their family falling into some trouble.

“At last you’ve made your fathers dream true.” One of my father’s friends said to my dad, and I was just standing beside him.

I expected pride in my father’s face, but no, no trace of pride was found. My father, with a weak smile turned towards his father, my grand pa. My father’s eyes were filled with moist, if you call them happy-tears, then that works. He was happy for his dad, and he just was happy for himself for getting succeeded in getting his father’s dream true. “A duty, which must be done by a genuine son,” So, there was no trace of pride in his eyes.

My Grand Pa, with his weak walk and breath, was walking and rushing all over, to all his family members, family friends, and friends of his old Village. He was some kind of ‘Unstoppable’.

He already was suffering from an Artery failure and was already twice stricken by major heart-attack. Doctors say; it is a miracle for some weak guy like him, surviving seven years after two major Heart-attacks.

“Babai (dad), cool down. Don’t rush. They all will be here all the night and tomorrow morning too. Don’t strain yourself dad.” My dad and my dad’s sister kept on warning him, how-ever, he denied their request. Yes, that is his house, his dream, his breath of course, how and why the fuck must he get his excitement down? But, it would be good, if it got down.

He wore a gleaming White Shirt and White dhoti and kept a mark of Vibhuti (Sacred Ash) on his forehead. He gathered all his old friends and his-aged family members, and started explaining how this house is important for him and his-father and to his next generation. Every time when I saw him smiling wide with glittering eyes, it made me tearful. “Grand pa, I love you.” I said this a thousand times in my heart. As if he heard my heart, he nodded at me every single time when I said these.

The night fell and we all were set up for a sleep. There is a tradition that they must not sleep in the warmed house for the first-night in there. So we kids arranged ourselves on the terrace of the house,, elders and the others divided themselves in different friends’ houses, and my Grand Pa planned to sleep in the house which is just beside ‘His-House’.

As it is a Village, ones’ house is everyone’s house! I swear you will love that environment. I can also swear, if you show up there, not even knowing who you are, they will feed your mouth by their own hands, showing the love which you can never imagine or find between these concrete jungles!

The last time when I saw my Grand Pa before sleeping is from the roof, he still was revelling his already-hundred-times-said-stories with the same weak breath and weak gestures, but he was exhibiting a furious energy. But his friends never complain; they will sit before him listening them for the hundredth one time! True friend’s yaa!

“Grand Pa became a child this day,” my sister, Usha said to me. She was one disciple of my Grand Pa for whom she can die too. Even Lord Hanuman cannot respect Lord Ram in such a way!

“Yes, he is. . .”

“What happened, say me I can take It.” asked my aunt, sister of my dad.

“No, nothing, just we admitted him in the hospital,” said Surayya Grand Pa. This old man, is the one who can be decorated by the ‘Gunnies Book of World Record’ for lifting innumerable dead bodies of his friends and family members. Just as Sachin Tendulkar sticks to one end of the crease and on the other end collapses all the team wickets, he stuck but all the friends and family members were leaving in peace. Still, he is a strong man, till the date. His breath too neither trembles nor shivers.

“Tell us Surayya, we can take it,” insisted my Grand Ma, who already was sobbing continuously.

He did not change his word, “Kamala (my Grand Ma), why will I lie about him at you? He is fine.”

It is mid night, we were suddenly awakened and said that my Grand Pa was suffocating and was taken to our town’s hospital by my mom, dad and other uncles, and we (me, Usha, aunt and my Grand Ma) too started to them. Surayya already went with my dad and mom, and he returned to take us to them.

Everything in the car was silent, except the tears flowing down my aunt’s and Grand Ma faces. I and my sister were in confusion, not trying to make any conclusions.

Everything was eerie, as if our home was conjured by an evil-super natural power.

The car was not going towards the hospital; it was going towards our home in our town.

“If he is in the hospital, why are we going to our home?” my aunt screamed, tears with fear flowing down her face. “Why Surayya, why are going to home, why are we not going to the hospital?”

Suddenly, Usha too broke out crying in confusion, making stupid conclusion in her mind. Grand Ma cry reached its peaks, she was sobbing. My breath was rising, gaining speed, and body was getting cold, and even eyes were getting dizzy.

“You are frightening the kids,” he shouted. “Nothing happened.”

“Then why are we. . .?” before my aunty could complete the statement, he motioned to be silent. Her words were dead in her mouth itself.

We were at the street’s end, and the house was crowded by people in white shirts, and everything was silent; silent as the darkest night itself.

Suddenly a huge cry, “Babai, don’t leave me, I will die as a lone. . .”

It is my dad! His cries were audible till the street end. My Grand Pa died! He died! Real, hm. . . . Really died!

Cries rose in our car, all the three ladies were crying to death. It is a death shock to us! A death giving shock!

Car stopped before the home and dad ran towards Usha furiously, “Usha, your Grand Pa died,” he screamed holding her. “He died leaving us alone. Leaving us. . .”

She broke into tears. Everyone ran into the house, falling and crying before the dead-Grand Pa, but me, I stood outside, I stood outside and did not cry.

Everyone was holding one another and was crying, but no one came to me. Then came my uncle, a man who often influences my thoughts and deeds. He held my shoulder tight and looked into my eyes. I know; my eyes were blank and as empty as a never-ending-pit.

Holding his hand tight, I stood with him all the night.

Till today, I did not cry for him. I don’t know why I didn’t cry that day, but I know why I didn’t cry till this day. . . May be because, I didn’t miss him. He always is here, I feel truly. He always is here appreciating my work, appreciating my good-sense, appreciating my travel on His pure and smiley Guidelines!

Bone Voyage Grand Pa!

Hmm. . . Exactly after two-years-seven-days, my Grand Ma too died!

Joke of the month: I am nominated! Haha. . . Look inside for the true face of mine!

Thank You for your sweet ‘accident’ Artyy: https://feelingsoulmate.wordpress.com/  (Nimmi, she is actually, but I call her Artyy! Friend Ship!)

liebster-award

Now, I am copying and pasting the ‘Rules’ content from her blog. . . Easy peasy!

Rules:

  1. Put the Liebster Award logo on your blog.
  2. Answer the questions given to you and then come up with 10 new questions for your
  3. Nominate 8 other blogs for the Award.
  4. No tag-backs.
  5. You must tell all the blogs that you have nominated them.

Questions I must answer: I think I must type on my own! The most worst answers you can ever read!

(I have an idea, I won’t answer any of them, will you declare that I am failed? It’s okay for me!)

1) What does your Blog mean to you?

Ans: One of my good time passes and sometimes a burden! I mean, I want to be before it all the time and when I can’t, I feel heavy inside! So I just used synonym of heavy! I didn’t know a single replaced word can change the whole meaning!

2) How do you start your day?

Ans) My dad revolve around me muttering ‘waste fellow, worst fellow, no use except eating. . . and so on! I know, it is one great inspiration!

3) Do you love travelling? If so, how often you do and what travelling teaches you?

Ans) I don’t like travelling much! I just travel on occasions or on works. . . I am answering you Artyy because you asked me, I don’t learn from travelling, I learn from people I meet in my travel!

4) What is your perspective about life?

Ans) Life? Especially for you darling Artyy, Life is ironic! Sometimes it shows you the colours of rainbow and the next moment, it locks us in the room of darkness. . . But darling, it gives you candle inside, you just have to lit it and take rest in that room!

5) According to you, what makes a person beautiful?

Ans) As your question is a bit obscure, make-up of course! Hahaa. . . .

Hey. . . . I am skipping to ninth question okay! Thank You! (Edited)

6) How had blogging impacted your life till now?

Ans) Yes, I know I had a great impact. . . But I couldn’t say how. I feel the change, a bit of sharpening in thoughts!

7) What is your favorite color?

Ans) Green ya! That is what makes our mother (Earth) beautiful!

8) What do you find inspiring about writing?

Ans) Hm. . . First thing to say. . . I have a lot of heart touching stories in my daily life. . .

When I keep my pen on paper or fingers on the key board, the deepest feelings of my heart and the minute things captured by my eye flows out,. . . And, at the end, I’ll touch your heart with the story which already had touched mine!

9) As a person you are?

Ans) Good, and. . . Average. . . . Hmm. . . Below average. . . No, the more I think, the ‘Worst’ I feel!

10) Best compliments you have received till date?

Ans) For this I answer genuinely,

“If my son is half the good as you, I feel like I am the best father,” One uncle said me, and of course. . . Tears rolled down my eyes!

But this is not crying time! This is one F****ng Nominated time!!

My 10 questions for nominees! Please don’t skip as I did. . .

1) The one person you hate most in life? Why?

2) The one place you want to see in life? With whom?

3) The one thing you want to achieve? How?

4) The one person you want to hug now? And say what?

5) The one person you want to be? What are you now?

6) One love you want till your last breath?

7) 1st best friend?

8) When did you clean your house on yourself last time?

9) One thing you want to hide from your parents?

10) Answer this genuinely: In whose hands do you want to die?

My Liebster Nominees are:

Lylyellyn: http://lilyellyn.com/

Hargun: hargunwahi.wordpress.com

Peace Please!: http://aaghazahmed.wordpress.com/

Tessa: https://lovewhatislove.wordpress.com/

Luke: https://lukehood83.wordpress.com/

Prakash: https://itsphblog.wordpress.com/

Dave: http://daveastoronliterature.com/

TJ: http://thetjblog.com/

(If I spelt any names wrong! I’m sorry)

Thumbs Up!

The Pencil Boy! I Love him!

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“Hey, Pencil boy…” He shouted loud.

The pencil boy ran, in pleasure, towards his only customer he hardly got in that whole day. They were very large pencils of thirty centimetres long, and of different colours. Vicky changed his gaze from pencils towards the boy and passed it all over him. His hands were filthy, lots of sweat on face and all over dress, salt linings all over shirt were precise, neck full of dirt, at least his legs were not slipper worn.

“How is this business?” He asked.

“Hmm….” He sniffed, with distress. “No one shows interest in buying these kinds of pencils sir, not even kids. But, I must live only on this sir”

“Hmm, good,” In reality, Vicky didn’t understand a bit, why he must live only on those. “Each pencil costs how much?” He asked with smug look, expressing his offer.

“5rupees sir, just five rupees” Pencil boy said, trying to make a positive impression.

“Give two.”

That all, pencil boys face was delighted, he was in sky. “Take these, sir” he handed two pencils of orange and red colour.

“But I like green and white.” Vicky smiled. But expression on Pencil boy’s face didn’t fade.

“Take them sir.” He handed Vicky’s desired colours and tried to retake the previous two.

Vicky yanked his own hand, “These are your first sold pencils of this day, your first money, Lord Lakshmi’s sentiment. You must not take them return.” Vicky said confusing pencil boy. “It means I’ll take all the four.” Vicky said amusing him.

“Thank you sir, really thank you.” He said, emotionally delighted.

Tapping his shoulder with smile, Vicky turned towards his left casually, there he saw a board. His smile faded a little and an idea struck his mind. Then again, he turned towards the pencil boy, “My Deepu loves pink and Subbu ji loves Black, do you object if I take another two?” He asked over whelming him. “Thirty, right?” Vicky handed all the money he got in his pocket.

Enthralled pencil boy slowly walked certain distance, and turned back.

“Sir,” He shouted. “Yes,” Vicky turned back.

“It’s been two days, since I’ve eaten something sir. Thank you.” The guy’s lighted face filled Vicky’s heart. He smiled and pointed towards the board he saw before sometime. It read “Full Meals just for rupees 30.” The boy was much delighted and he was inside it in few minutes.

Gangster: Origins. . .

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(My first writing ever, ages ago!)

On a real sunny day, sun was shining bright, high in the sky. Blazing in that mid day a black metallic Benz was gaining intense acceleration disturbing the settled sand and the silent wind of the sleeping desert. It was looking as if the car’s roof was on fire, burning and blazing in that high noon sun. It was dusting the sand of desert with its fierce velocity.

An isolated wooden room present in mid desert was its destination. The black Benz broke its speed before the wooden room. The whole pace was filled with dust disturbed by the dusty Benz. Nothing happened for a long time. Silence hovered all around. After laps of time, the door of black Benz was opened. A tall man in a black suit stepped out of the car from the back seat. He buttoned his black suit glaring towards the door through his black sun glasses. He took out a small black silver lined heavy suitcase with his right hand and exchanged it to his left. He wants his right hand free to hold something else more important. He closed the door of car. He turned towards the sun, which is shining in his blue eyes through glasses. He walked towards he wooden door.

His height made him look attractive. His muscles suited his height. His frozen lips reflected his attitude. Continuous gaze towards the door and gun in his right hand revealed his intention. His yellow hair with black lining gave him the look of a ‘Gangster’

He didn’t utter a single word standing before the door, the long hair stands moving randomly before his eyes cause of the dusty wind didn’t at all alter his gaze through his glasses or his frozen attitude.

After a long time, the door opened at a sudden. A thin, muscular, long black haired hat-man with a long black cloak up to his knees opened the door having a cowboy hat on his head and a with a tooth pick in mouth. Stranger didn’t alter his gaze. He gently shifted it towards the hat-man. The hat man was still holding the door with his right hand with his face towards the ground and his hat towards the stranger.

The hat man looked towards the black silver lined suitcase and raised his head towards the stranger with a long grin. He welcomed the stranger into the wooden room motioning his hands inside with the same smile. Then the stranger slid his gun inside his pocket. He adjusted his suit with half smile and entered the room leaving the dusty wind out.

Room was too small in size which can hold a maximum for six or seven persons to stand. A table was placed at the centre of the room with two chairs facing each other. Two completely head-shaved fatty goons were present inside the room gazing towards the stranger, holding shot guns leaning to their shoulders. Stranger didn’t bother them. May be they are not his interest or maybe they are ‘nothing’ in his concern. He sat on a chair as the hat man too did on the other. Hat man rested his left shoulder on the chair and pulled his right leg forward resting on the table too much and kept his silver pistol on the table and rested his right palm beside it. Stranger too took out his gun from his black suit and handed it on the table. The hat-man knew the story of that pistol. After a few moments of silence he placed the silver lined black case on the table and opened it facing himself. Then the two goons pointed their guns on stranger with smug smile. Everyone in room except the stranger was wearing the same smug smile. Then the stranger gave a sly smile looking towards the hat man. Then, they fell in confusion. The stranger partially raised his hand raising two fingers towards the sky and his smile grew.

May be that’s the first time he had ever smiled then. Yes, he likes killing. But he loves killing the people who tries to kill him.

In few seconds, the small wooden room as flooded away in the hurricane of bullets; except the wooden pieces behind the back of the stranger, everything was destroyed, made into pieces. The fatty goons died without knowing how. May be hat-man was facing the stranger and the stranger himself worked as shield to him. He was alive. No one spoke. Stranger was still in the same position while hat-man was stumbled in fear and was panting in confusion.

“Aaaahhhh…….” he growled and dragged his silver pistol in moments. The next second he pointed it on the stranger. Nothing happened. Sun was directly projecting towards them. Wind carrying dust was touching them through the broken wooden pieces. Again smug smile possessed the lips of that hat-man. Stranger didn’t utter a glance. The next very moment, all at a sudden the stranger dragged a pistol from the case and shot the hat-man’s head. Body of the hat-man sank down. Stranger was still for some moments looking towards the hat-man. Fixing his gaze on the dead body, he stood up angrily maintaining his attitude. He replaced his pistol in case took his silver gun into his suit pocket. Adjusting his suit he walked towards the car. Again he started dusting the settled desert.

GANGSTER ORIGINS……

(To be continued. . .)

Actually, I don’t know weather I will continue or not, I just wrote the statement when I first wrote this!

Ooh, thank You for your encouragement, I’ll try to continue!

The Boy Who Want to Dance with Whores!

“Yes, he really wants to dance with whores.”

“No, idiot. . . I don’t want to dance with whores! I want to dance with a single one! Whore. It’s a singular form!”

“Ooh, not whores, just a single one?”

“Yes, only one, now continue your writing!”

“Okay, sorry.”

That’s it, you yourself heard him, and he wants to dance with a whore! Singular form, just one!

One day, he says, he saw a whore accidentally, and was in love with her.

They are four friends, who make articles for a local magazine. That month they wanted to make an article on Hijras (A strange choice for a group of college students!). It was idea of Mani Ratnam, the one who chooses the prompt of the article every time. And with him all the other three team members were sailing.

“Where can we find them?” Vicky asked one guy who was walking across the street. It was not so easy to find their community in the town; they do not live with different people here.

Looking strangely at them, “I don’t know.” He replied and walked off.

“Are we asking him to take us with him? What is there to show us the route?” Mani scowled.

“Wait yaar (love or friend) I’ll call the auto-uncle.” Vicky said, slipping his phone out of his pocket and started dialling that auto-uncle’s number (the one who named the area of Hijras).

Before he could dial, “Wait, look there.” Jaggu stopped and pointed towards someone walking across the road.

She was a Hijra, wearing green saree, having tattoos all over her body.

Mounting off the bike, Mani and Vicky walked towards her, while Jaggu and Mouli did not dare.

Hesitatingly, “Sister” Mani called out.

Vicky too felt a bit fear inside. Not fear of getting beaten or something, but fear of facing the un-experienced! We all have that, and it takes a bit to get along.

“Yes,” she turned back towards them.

“Sister, we are making an article on Hijras.” He said politely. “I want to talk with your head or leader or, or someone like that.” He ended stammering.

Vicky’s legs were stretched, his body slightly turning back, arms parallel to ground and he was getting ready to run!

“Jaya ji!” she said, “Go straight and take that turn.” She said, her face delight.

“Thank you.” They were much delighted.

They went all the way, and the road split into two, and they didn’t know which is that that turn. On Jaggu’s advice, they took right turn. The area was completely different. It’s the true slum of India.

In some distance, they saw huts, and one Hijra standing on mid-road. Vicky sipped in fear courage, but Mani’s face was glowing like a thousand watt bulb. “God, save us!”

They went near her, and slowed their bikes down.

“I. . .” Before Mani can say something, she approached them in an instance.

“Two are free, she is three hundred and. . .” She pointed towards a girl.

“No, no, we are not here for that.” Mani said, panicked. “We are here to meet Jaya ji.”

As the discussion went on between the Hijra and Mani, Vicky saw towards the girl towards whom the Hijra pointed.

She sat on a half broken, plastic stool which is placed on one side of the road. She had a beedi in her mouth, smoking out. Widening her legs, leaning her body on to her knees, her eyes were cold as ice. “They were no feelings in them, except hatred towards the entire world. May be she wants to burn us all?” Vicky says till date.

She was not at least nineteen in Vicky’s expectation. She wore worn out dresses, her hair uncombed, and her face was rusty. She was smoking all the time. She saw towards Vicky into his eyes, angry. . . . Always!

They turned their bikes back, and they were on the way towards that Jaya ji.

Vicky didn’t spoke all the way.

“300 is a pretty good deal!” Mani said laughing, but Vicky remained silent. Then, Mani saw Vicky through his rear mirror, Vicky’s eyes were red and he remained serious.

Breaking the bike’s speed, “What happened?” Mani asked in horror.

“That girl. . .” He said, his voice stumbling.

“What?”

They all hovered around him. “What had happened Vicky?”

“I don’t know, I don’t know.” He screamed. “Must she be like that till her death?”

Silence remained.

“I want to live with her. I want to hold her tight.”

“Vicky, you are a bit moved, that’s it. Everything will be alright.”

Lowering his head, he remained silent for a while. “No,” he said. “No Mani, one day, I will return to her, I will hold her, I will be with her, I will be that one guy who makes her world beautiful, who turns her world around, who makes her feel, this world is not as hard as her hell. I will be with her till her end.” He said, confidence emitting in his voice.

“Why?” they frowned. “She is a, she is. . .” they slowed down, “A Whore,” they whispered.

“Yes, maybe that is why. . . I love her. . . I want to dance with her in the moon light.”

“What?”

“Yes, I want to dance with a Whore, do you care, or do you dare stopping me?”

I don’t know properly who this ‘V’ guy is, but I want to know him completely, why he was moved by her and loved her so deep!

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In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Fireside Chat.”

“Write something about HUMANITY in your Free-Style” she said.

Berk

Humanity Lives.

Does it??

Just as Sir James Jean said in his ‘The Dying Sun’, “Life does not seem to have any part in the plan of the Universe.”

He says that, we are all the creation of a mere accident occurred in the universe expansion. Then, what are we? Are we not the part of this vast universe? Are we strangers in our own home? Doesn’t our own family care about us?

No, no young lad, nobody cares you in this universe, except another earthly human!

Humanity Lives, I wrote on a piece of paper, and started thinking in air, what to write next. I really don’t know what it does. Sustenance of humanity is as evident as its Death!

Before I started writing, I myself am not certain on which path I was standing on.

“What must I argue about? Must I say that humanity lives or it is dead already?” I asked my little sister who was sitting before me chatting with her FB friends.

“Hmm,” she thought for a while. Looking at me, “Lives may be.” She said.

“Why must I not say that it is dead?” I frowned. “It is as apparent as ‘Lives’ is!”

“How are you going to keep that irony on a paper?”

Shrugging, “Of course, I can.” I said. Not so confident, but yes, I can. I can talk the ‘dead way’ better than saying it is alive.

“But that won’t be true.” She said, leaving on some purpose. “Humanity always lives, doesn’t it?”

“I don’t know.” I wanted to say, but before that, I got her leaving.

I couldn’t answer her properly, what can I answer her? I can’t, but I thought it would be a very good begging for something which I’m going to write now.

We are alone in this vast universe, lost and not able to find out whom we really are. We are the ‘uninvited guests’ here. But one thing we managed was, to conquer the planet which gave birth to us and destroying the land, water and air on which we are living, drinking and breathing.

Living in darkness, filling our hearts with the same, we grope for power, we grope for superiority, and we grope for sex. Finally, we strive to scream, “We are the superior ones in this whole universe.”

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We hold placards high in sky, protesting to save the water and food. We walk miles and miles revolting against ‘hopeless government’ whenever a panic attack or unfavourable thing happens. We light candles and stand all the night in silence, snow and cold praying for the soul of the girl who is raped and dead! We keep on talking about the historical persons who taught us about humanity. We listen and move our head in rhythm to the songs which encourage us to look deep into our soul. We keep on thinking about philosophies of our own about human enlighten! And finally, we honour movies and men with different kinds of awards which/who tried reflecting the lives of suffering people, and asking us to help in their enhancement.

What do we do after that?

Carefully, we fold the placard and place it in the dustbin!

We go home, and take rest for the walk and slowly the fire comes down!

Wax melts, resembling our pain for the dead girl, and we all assemble after the next gang rape!

We slowly drift the topic from the historical person towards the new-released movie!

After the completion of the song, we go to the next one, and again shake our head for the mass-beat!

We think so much, and finally, standing our collar up, we ourselves won’t follow our human-philosophies, but we probe others to do so!

We cry at the movie climax, we say that we had learnt so much from that film, and slowly our mind gets drifted and then we switch to a porn site, continuing or human-pleasure!

We clap for the person, honour him with the award, we talk great about him, we make speeches, just speeches, but we never look into his soul. Though we do, we don’t bother!

Pity on you human!

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There is a person called Scott Harrison, who is once king in his own life. He used to live selfishly and arrogantly in his own way. Living in a huge room, spending his night’s promoting night clubs; he drank vodka of $365 every night.

Accidentally, by the fate’s wish, he sailed to Africa, as a photojournalist for some charitable medical camp. Then is when, he saw the diseased, crippled and deformed humans who could never being earning a total of $365 in a whole year.

“Enormous, suffocating tumours – cleft lips, faces eaten by bacteria from water-borne diseases.” He says remembering their suffering.

He thought about them, he kept on thinking about them all the day and all the night. Their shadows never went away from him. Their courage inspired him. He learned life from them and then, he decided to do something for the people who taught life to him.

Charity: Water is one of the most successful water crisis organisations in the world. Now they’ve funded 13,644 water projects in 22 nations!

This is what the power of true humanity is!

We are superior to the God! Commit to a pure destiny deep inside your soul, the whole universe becomes the path paving towards your Goal!

Do you talk about the cuffs binding your hands?

Once, I read a story of a 12 year old kid, who did not celebrate her birth day that year to fund for some charity organisation.

She collected a little sum to donate, a very little in those little hands. She, with her parents started from their house to donate the amount through her hands.

Accident occurred. . . The kid died!

But her soul did not!

The world which knew her story, raised funds of some millions and till today, that charity organisation receives money on her name on her every birth day!

Not her, but her impeccable humanity did not die. It is still breathing!

I don’t ask you to do all those.

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I don’t ask you to do something which is beyond your reach. No need to solve the crisis. No need to hold the wars, or no need to do something which is ‘Mission Impossible’. But just see your neighbour from your soul. Help the needy. Give the other human hope on humanity. Then, humanity lives!

If possible, give a bottle of water to the thirsty. Give a bread piece to the hungry. Give a hope to the desperate. Give some smile to the sobbing.

Walk with a smile, and sleep with trueness.

Make the world a better place.

Then,

Humanity Lives!

She is gone, and he too knows it. His eyes said, “I need you”

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“I’m leaving,” he said standing at the window of the bus, “forever.”

Turning her face off, “Yes, I know that,” She said. Her voice clearly heavy and we all know that it was the lump in her throat.

“Lalitha,” he called her. His eyes were red as blood shot, and were nearly at the edge, ready to drop off their burden.

“Satish,” she said, sipping her pain in. “Good bye.” She said, throwing him into the endless pit of pain.

He is leaving today, to U.S.A for his further studies, and he (we) knew Lalitha would be married at the time he returned. We endeavoured every single possibility to fetch her for him. But we couldn’t. She is from a backward class family and her fate was already written. Though I don’t believe in these, “Nobody can never ever change the written script on our forehead.” Still he tried. But she didn’t. She gave up. But he is still trying to balance the huge slab just on his two hands, but how long can he do that without the remaining two pillars?

No, not so long.

“Look mere yaar (my friend), now there will be a romantic tragedy track between them.” I said to Pessy, another friend of ours on whose shoulder I was leaning.

He smiled, just for my concern. “Stop it Vicky.” He said, shrinking his lips. “That is not funny.”

“Ooh, is it not?” I laughed out. “Why won’t you see straight into my eyes? Why won’t you reveal the pain you are hiding in your tears? Why won’t you say out my name with your love? Why won’t you leave the world, wrapping me up in your hug?” I sang out. (Yes, that really is one good stanza, thank you!)

“Vicky!” he said, gesturing to be silent.

“I can’t be without you.” He said. I feared if he would cry. I know if he starts crying now, no one can ever control him.

“I know,” she said, her voice getting heavy every second.

“I Love you Lalitha.”

“Ooh, here the Rambo goes Romeo, so romantic.” Do not think twice, it was me.

“Vicky, stop!”

“Okay, I will. But what is Mani doing? Is the kitty crying with cutie?” I laughed out again.

“Who knows? Be silent now, don’t mock them.”

“Ooh, fu. . .” I was about to complete, but Pessy slaps me every time when I use them. So, I must be careful. “No freedom at all.”

“What?”

“Nothing” I mumbled.

“Lalitha, please, say me that you really want to be with me.”

“Satish,” she turned for the first time. “Please,” she placed her palm on his hand, “please.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“What can you do?”

I thought he will read the list of the things which are impossible but enough-to-impress a girl. But he didn’t, he lowered his head. Then, there was a long span of silence. A tear rolled down his eye, and reached the ground. Soil wetted and the tear sunk inside. Don’t know why, my heart was heavy then.

“I can do nothing.” He said. Biting his shoulder controlling the weep, he turned towards me, unknowingly. Our eyes met for a few seconds. I swear, I saw his mourning heart through his eyes.

“Pessy,” I whispered.

“What?” he asked, simply.

“He is crying yaar.”

“Ooh, are you caring?” he asked, stunning me.

I didn’t know what to say. “No, I’m not.” My voice stammered, due to the hesitation inside me. “But. . .”

Before I could say something, he gestured to be silent.

“Then, why do you fight?” she said, her face was pink and her cheeks were shivering, due to the cold inside. “This is a worthless fight. . .” before she could complete, the bus engine revved.

Satish’s eyes started bursting out, slowly.

“Pessy, the bus is leaving yaar.” I said, pain was increasing in my heart and I was not able to say “Ooh, fuck this love!”

“It goes anyway.”

“Stop it!” I shouted, not even knowing to me. “How can you say that so simply? He is our friend and he, he is crying just wanting to be with her, and she, she, and she is going to cry yaar. She is just controlling before him, just not to make him much weaker.”

Pessy did not speak out, but looked deep in my eyes. As the bus revved again, we got distracted towards them.

“Lalitha.” He said, his voice trembling terribly. “Be with me Lalitha.” He begged. “Please Lalitha, be with me. I can keep you happy in my smile, I can keep you safe in my heart, I can keep you. . .”

Before he can complete his heart’s words out, she closed the window. I know, she was sobbing inside.

He did not move, “please,” he mumbled.

“Pessy,” I said, looking towards Mani, who was a bit far from us, looking at them. His eyes were wet, his nerves were pounding, but he too knew, we can’t do anything.

“Let him be at least when you are not.” He said.

“Am I not?”

The bust jerked. Satish lifted his head, with tearing eyes. Bus started moving slowly. For the first two seconds, he did not do anything; he was moving his head in confusion and fear of missing her. Then, he started knocking the window. “Lalitha, please”

She did not open the door.

“Lalitha, please Lalitha, please, Lalitha.” The bus started moving much faster.

Then, we heard the breaking cry from the other side of the window. It’s Lalitha, I’m sure.

“Lalitha, open at least, give me a chance of seeing into your eyes for the last time. Please.” He ran along the bus as long as possible, knocking the window, but she did not open. My eyes were crying. . .

She did not open.

My eyes were tearing; I wiped them immediately, without anyone’s notice, and stood recklessly as I did never bother.

With weak walk, he reached us. Mani’s eyes were wet as were Pessy’s eyes.

Satish walked straight to me, and stood before me with crying eyes.

I didn’t know what to do. “I’ll leave then.” The most stupid thing I’ve done in my entire life. (No, I’ve done much worse.)

He just looked straight into my eyes, and his eyes spoke to mine. “I need you.”

Dream Reader: Pirate, Detective, Spy, Soldier, Immortal, and My Audience.

This really is Mission Impossible to ask about ‘Dream Reader.’

Dream reader? I don’t know actually. May be I need a pirate who comments me ‘Aye,’ but do not bother what ever is written in the post. I want a detective who just spectated my post to draw conclusions about my mind, but not to grasp the feel I’ve compacted in the post. I need a spy who spies my work, but remains silent just with a ‘Like.’ I need a soldier who can really feel my inner heart though I laugh outside. And I may also need an Immortal, who goes on reading my stories right after my death to keep them alive forever.

No! I don’t want any of them.

When I stand on the polished wooden stage, the shining steel mike right in front of my lips, ready to take in the voice which I leave out. I want to see the drunken audience who waves their body with respect to the rhythm I play. I want to see them forgetting their pain, and I love to contribute my voice helping them.

In the same way, I want my reader just to smile a bit when he completes reading my post!

Mission Accomplished!!