Archive for the Category »The Journey «
A long dark alley stood before her, as she tried to put together her scattered self in the corridors of the hospital. Her beeper had gone twenty minutes before, and she had slept early hoping no distractions of the world coming to an end today. Two hours later, she find herself standing in the hospital, quiet and not as swarming as she had left it in the evening. She walked towards the morgue, somehow the remains of the life with heartbeats numbed in the plastic bags intrigued her in a way she had never known. There was no rush, no panic- for the worst had already happened. She saw herself one day zipped in one of those blue plastic bags, with her beeper in her apron’s right pocket.
He was seventeen years old- attractive, athletic, popular and in the yellow body bag. The yellow indicated that he was found by the relative, close or distant and he would not have to depart alone. The ones in Blue body bag were those consumed by the electric crematoriums of the hospital. The yellows were like a  parachute, bringing the soul closer to home, while the blue ones were like an ocean, swallowing the whole life, never to be found again by anyone.
The charred remains of this boy’s life was revealed as the director unzipped the body bag. She didn’t remember the boy’s name, she remembered the sound of the opening bag and the sound of his father’s gasp as the bag peeled away from the corpse.
Raul, the Director at the mortuary, had brought the body up from Burgess Rd  at the request of the father. She was supposed to be available if he needed anything . She stood, behind the father, as he stared down whispering to the corpse in the open bag.
She looked at her shoes, embarrassed that she was wearing her casual white Nike and Levis. Raul had told her that she wouldn’t need to dress for this call but she felt awkward, uncomfortable and disrespectful. She felt that at least she should wear a tie if she were to view such an intimate moment.
The father whispered quietly to his son’s blackened, burned remains, his voice rose only as he choked back tears or held his sobs with slow, controlled breaths.
Raul turned and looked at her with concern at first, seeming to notice her discomfort and he leaned over to whisper in her ear. “You need to go get some tissues.â€
She lifted her hand to her nose in dismay and looked up.
“No, no.†his voice was a sharp whisper. His face and voice was serious but his eyes showed amusement at her misunderstanding. “Just bring them back†He pointed silently back to the offices and she scurried over and found an open box and returned. She handed it to him and stood back in her place – out of the way, wishing herself invisible.
They waited just outside the calling room as the father spoke to his son for five or ten minutes, leaning over the body, or whatever remained of it. These remains that could have been anything – they barely resembled a human being- let alone his strong, handsome son.
The air of the lobby was dense and she wanted to throw up. She clinched the right corner of the table behind her and wondered why the boy’s mother was not there.
When the father’s words had dried up and he was left staring, he leaned forward and kissed the face, then touched what was left of the arm and tried to shake his son’s hand. He stepped back for a moment and absently brushed the dry, charred flakes from his fingers and they fell to the tile floor. She noticed those flakes, parched and devoid of father’s last embrace.
The father’s lips, nose and chin were flecked with ash and his face was red and blotchy with tears.
Raul pulled out several tissues from the box and handed these to the father. He subtly indicated the end of his nose, lips and chin drawing line down them with his finger.
The father accepted the tissues and wiped the black away, crumpled the tissues – crushed them in his hand. He dropped them carefully into the trash as he walked away.
Raul zipped the bag and wheeled the body to the back room as the father left the mortuary. He said he would wait in the car for the body. She retrieved a broom to sweep up the dust on the floor.
Tomorrow they would cremate what was left of his body – all that the fire in the van hadn’t consumed – for the funeral on Thursday.
She had to walk through the calling room in order to get back to her apartment and she passed picture after picture after picture… She tried to put a face on the body but failed. She wondered if the father had. She wondered if the father had ever spoken the whispered words to his son when he was alive – and she figured that he’d never said them before – and never probably would say those words again. She crossed the ward where she saw an old man sitting on the chair besides his ailing daughter but she knew she would get well. This old man probably too would never say those words again.
When she went back to her apartment, she turned off all the lights, blew out every candle in the room, and listened to her heart pound in the darkness. In her mind, she counted the number of yellow bags to blue bags and was glad that the yellow bags were a unit less.
“Hey You Ok?â€
Steven called out to her, that little squirmed figure by the road side.
“Lost your dog? Or lost yourself?â€
She sat there, still.
“You look sad.â€
Steven just presumed so, her eyes gave way more than that.
“Want some ice cream?”
And then, she rose up. An attractive woman, in her late twenties or may be less. She had been crying and he had to ask. He knew an ice cream parlour two blocks away. She wore Blood Red shoes, which was funny in the afternoon summer.
“What’s your name, little red riding?”
Steven thought it was a funny name to call her, but it was more on the spontaneity of the Redness of her shoes. She wanted the Old fashioned Butter Pecan ice-crean, which was funny for her taste. Or for her shoes. The Butter Pecan ice-cream was more of a man’s thing.
“Do you like your ice cream, little red riding?”
She was a pretty girl, pretty more so as she did not talk much. Steven liked those kinds. He did not believe himself, cheering up a stranger with an Old Pecan. And he did not seem to mind it as this was not his first time. She was a real feast for his eyes, and she didn’t have much to say. She was very gloomy and self-obsessed.
And they sat there, he could not get her to talk to him or say her name. She sat there still, her only life rolled  in the layers of her ice-cream.
Steven was beginning to lose his interest. He was late for his routine poker game and rounds of beer at his friend’s place. He thought about dropping her off at the bus station on the wrong side of the road.  But the way she crossed her legs on her stool at the ice cream stand brought his attention back into focus. His attention was back to her shoes, that looked now pleasant and not so Red.
She enjoyed her ice cream cone ever, oblivious to Steven or anyone around her. For her, the world did not seem to exist. This was the end or beginning to her. And she flashed her sad eyes on him, as if she was trying to thank without showing any joy whatsoever.
She was a real drag.
He asked her where she lived. She did not seem to listen to him. And Steven felt morose in missing his beers and being stuck. It was over thirty five minutes now.
“Would you take me back to your place!?†She spoke as slowly as if eating her every word.
He wanted to take her back to his place. But she seemed funny and drugged. This should probably would help him in some ways. He could use her in his nights of loneliness or as a home keeper. He had been staying alone and she seemed pretty enough for a company or for being his mistress.
A life, or its sort formed in his mind as she let another tear fall from her eye. Â This made him re-think his plan, he did not want a whiny, depressed wreck in his house. He convinced himself that he would not get his life disheveled in her emotional breakdowns.
“I would, I guess I could use some help around the house. Do you feel better now, little red riding.”
She seemed to appreciate what he had done for her and timidly asked if there was anything she could do to repay him for his kindnesses. He figured a thousand man ways for repaying him and he thought he would get them all sooner. He grinned and said he would like to read his poetry to her. Â He didn’t have any poetry , but he knew there were three drug stores along the way. They would offer the dreamy words of literature he needed for the perfect seduction.
Once they were in the car, she took off her red shoes. Depressed people always spend a lot of time polishing their toenails and hers filled him with a borderline sensation of awe.
He lit a cigarette and offered her one. He liked the way she blew the rings of the smoke. He knew he wasn’t going to hurt her. He just needed her to make the world go away for a little while. And may be she needed him for exactly that. And may be that’s why they met that day.
Her name was Marcia.
She was born in a cheap motel.
Her mother sold herself for drug money.
She never saw her father.
The church in her neighborhood was burned down.
The minister retired and took her God with him.
And her favourite color was Red.
Steven had a dog named Capricorn. He had built a shrine for his ex-wife in the backyard of his house. Â His wife died after something horrible happened to her white blood cells. They told him she would be happier where she was going. Steven tried to believe she went to Vegas. His wife was a saint amongst sinners, but right now he was just trying to get himself a little something going with Marcia to kill the time that passes too slowly between birth and death.
Somehow it seems that everyone needs a little help, or maybe someone to carry them over the finish line- in their Red Riding Shoes.
And her grandmother told her stories about the Stars. Stars that she loved every night, stars that shone just for her. Stars that did not disillusion, and disgrace love.
Oh, she hoped they existed for her sake!
She stood still in her garden, bending forward as if admiring a dead flower- or almost dying. The moonlight caught the hem of her dress, sparkling at the corners, giving it its own whites of melancholy. Her hair, golden as a hay, was pulled up into a knot high on her head leaving a neck as graceful as a swan’s, as vulnerable to the hunter’s arch.
And the west wind blew.
He approached her from the west with the wind and his scent and his steps were carried with the autumn leaves. He moved soundlessly except for the winds that were carrying him forward before his steps. He brought along a faint jingle of silver-white necklaces, as a token from a parting lover. She stood along, did not seem to move but left a deep sigh, as if an acknowledgment towards him, and his weight carried in the winds. Her back was turned to him and the west winds.
His cloak was of a warrior, shining and crisp. It was as if he was leaving for a far away battle, as if this was just a temporary home for him. His hands were brown and smooth and longed for her last touch. He smiled vaguely in the moonlight, but the moonlight shone on his agony more than the pretence of his smile. Had her back not been turned to him, she would have seen the moon shine on his smile, she would have seen the light in his dark aura and she once more had been dazzled and heart-broken. She was prepared and did not turn to look, she only said, “You are leaving,” it was not an indictment.
His smile faltered, but only for a moment. They always knew that the Warrior left them alone; never before had there been one who did not beg, who did not ask in vain for him to stay. Smiling wider, he stared down at his brown, smooth hands and said, “I am leaving.”
At this, she nodded, her silver-white gown shimmered faintly in the moonlight. She closed her eyes and bowed her head, as if in approval. There was silence except for the faint jingle of necklaces and the sound of the west wind doing her part of begging and beseeching.
And the Time stood still, as if capturing the last moments of love frozen in the garden of autumn winds.
He broke the silence, awkwardly, as if he were unaccustomed to speaking, “Since you have not begged me to stay, I shall grant you a wish”. He was surprised at the tone of his own voice, tender and shaking. He added quickly, “but do not ask me to stay. I may return some day, but I will not stay.”
She smiled a strange, secretive smile, the kind that always accompanied a tear drop. But did not turn to look at him. Her voice sounded as if it came from very far and she spoke very slowly, “I ask that you never again return this place, and you never again seek me out.”
His smile fell, and he wrinkled his smooth, brown brow. He stared for a moment at the merciless back of the one who would not beg and felt a sudden loss. The arch of her neck killed him with its own bend, sharper than the swords he ever fought with. He turned on his heel and walked away, the winds carrying his footsteps farther, he thinking of moonlight and her stories, knowing that he would be, at last forgotten.
It was a chance that I met you, totally unforeseen but welcome. It had to be at the most unexpecting places, at a grocery store and you stood by the corner. Lost but inviting. I could not believe myself that it was you. I had to come closer; and you did not move a slight. As if you expected me to be there, finding you. It was not the first time, but before it used to be more planned, and scheduled. I knew exactly where to meet you, mostly you used to set up the time and place. I hated to call you back home; I never did enjoy the meeting as much as I did when I was out in open with you. It gave you an extra dimension, a feel, a life to you. Your eyes, the wrinkled look was sexier in open then in inside of a living room. No one else approved of you much, I never had been sly about my relationship with you. I remember telling my best of friends that I am good with my bond with you- knowing that I can never have you but meeting you in a month or two gives me my achievement, seeing you in your life happy and playful gave me my own accomplishment.
and you know she’s half crazy
and that is why you wanted to be there
But that day, I had to call you home. You asked me to come and meet you, week after weeks but it was good 250miles and I never did take that too seriously. I was occupied, lazy and dismissed your tempts. But that day, seeing you at the grocery store was a surprise, a gush of life through my head. And I asked you to come home, as much as I hated it. You were unwelcomed; people at home mocked you and me likewise. I felt bad for you and more for myself. They could not comprehend you and they failed to understand me. I left you alone in the room for a while, giving me time to prepare myself to meet you. Making others understand to be more acceptable of you. But others don’t change. You didn’t seem to mind them. And you were ready for me..and for others too.
But you had changed, with a grey tone around you and your wrinkled eyes looked older than ever. But your smile was just the same, saying you understand why I had to meet you at home and why I could not come where you asked me to come for weeks. You understood it all. You gave me the same rush but it made me uncomfortable as no one else could understand how I did feel with you around. And I could not have them or myself with them against you. I had to drop you back at the same place where I found you…Sadly you were not even finished. I just gave you ten minutes and I had to stop it.
I left you at the same corner. I understood why your eyes were more wrinkled and I spotted that tinge of sadness then. I understood it all. And you did not complain. May be you knew that this time I would make my trip. People at home asked me to move on but I was stuck. Looking at you, dropping you off, tore my heart. But I could not accept you in the grey tones inside the house. It had to be at your place, at your time with your extra dimension.
And I would come.
“Yes, many loved before us
I know that we are not new
In city and in forest, they smiled like me and you
But now it’s come to distances
And both of us must try
Your eyes are soft with sorrow
Hey, that’s no way to say goodbye.”
I inherit
The loss of a family with living deaths every night
I inherit
The loss of faith with fidelity blown off in a spite
I inherit
The cries and shrieks in the walls of a broken clamor
I inherit
holler of missed cries and vices of a malevolent devour…
It happened again..Sometimes she wonder how a person can mar you with the same distress all over again..In it, out of it, a big quagmire which leaves u nothing but some mud in the feet and lotta loam in the face. May be its THE time to introspect and severe some ties forever. Coz the broken ties hurt a lot less than the ones, which are there, dying a Death of its own every day. But forever never comes, she was called egocentric and cold-blooded—may be there were no justifications of her action, no redemption for her sin. The walls were closing in and she was stuck. Her only life support was crashing by, but she did not move to cease the last breath in her lungs. It was escaping; the tears were something she had to make her peace with. Letting go is never easy, but staying together seemed harder. She was torn once again with the choices she had to make, but the choices were so potent, so indispensable….
“I been caught sideways out here on the crossroads
Tryin’ to buy back the pieces I lost of my soul
It’s hard when the devil won’t get off your back
It’s like carryin’ around the past in a hundred pound sack
Today, I’m gonna keep on walkin’
I’m gonna hold my head up high
Gonna leave it all behind
Today, I’m gonna stand out in the rain
Let it wash it all away, yeah wash it all away
I’m gonna let it go, I’ m gonna let it go.”
- Tim McGraw
Its so dark in here.
I am in a jail, sentenced to death for brutally killing a family of six, two kids and four adults. I am sentenced for the debauchery, a crime against society and the humanity. I stand guilty, counting the moments, till they decide to pull off my life in the snap of the finger, in the grin of the uniformed men, their whims and their caprice.
Only I do not know, when would I be dead? I do not know when would be my last living day, I just exist in as if everyday was my last. The Jury determined that I should have been dead, but was furtive enough to do without the seal on my Death date.
I wake up every morning, sinking in it as the last sunup I would have woken up to. My last sunshine, my last shower, my last prayer, my last breath, and my last everything.
It was one of those mornings, only a little less still. The restlessness outside made my heart sink a little more. The four walls were closing in; there was a premonition in my head that Today was It. I made a mental note of everything that I wished to do, when this realization would sound a little more impending, a little more unfortunate. I prayed, my fingers rummaged for the last human touch, for the last whiff of “mouthful of air.†And The Last Long Kiss Goodnight…!
My morning cereal was missing; the same insipid nibble that had marked every dawn, for last years, seven in counting. I missed it more today than everyday else. It was raining outside; I could feel it pounding on the lay of roof.
I think about my mother. For her, I was already dead. Seven years is a long time, she would have made her peace with a Dead son. I had never heard from her once, or from anyone else.
I thought of killing myself in my first month here. The feeling was too strong, my hands too weak. It was cowardice, undeserving for the fate I was embarked upon.
I clutch on to my journal, every word scribbled on to the pages for last every year. “The Assassins Handbookâ€, my only priced possession by the end of it all. It should be 11 in the morning, the thunder was deafening outside and I laid on the floor, gloomy and misty.
The knock on the door; “Its Time†shouts the guard outside. I skip a beat , thinking of the Life that was getting over, that got over seven years back. I step out, the rain on my skin, the life awash in the soil. I walk to the other side, shackled and restraint.
The guard smiles at me, So Long! He whispers something to his fellow man. He looks at me, pity and disgust is a funny combination. I am walking still, my eyes at the sky, closed to the raindrops on my face.
I could hear the chants of the priest, wishing for my better after-life. He asks for my last wish, I had nothing. I just asked my journal to be sent to my wife, the lady who truly loved me, for what I was. He nods at me “May Peace be Upon you, My childâ€, and I was led to the execution room.
I did not feel a thing when I died. It was quick and painless. Less pain than these seven years, good years with every moment stretched to the eons unfolded.
And I did not float up, as I thought I would. I did not sink in to the Cosmos Infinitum, like I wanted to. I just lay there, as cold as frost, as stiff as a frozen meat. They lift me up on a stretcher, I was headed to the Morgue for “Unwanted Souls Unrest and Discarded.†My journal was swept in the pile of trash.
I pass through the room where I was housed for last seven years. I sit in the corner, looking at my belongings, my rug, a broken cup, a plate never used.
And I cry.
It had stopped raining.
………………………………………………………………
And then there was a knock on the door. My Breakfast was slipped from the doorway, cereal as bland and as inviting. I had been dreaming, my end is not as close as I wanted it to be.
Another day for the waiting to the end of this vile cycle, and it is so dark.
….And the Train pulled from station. She stayed close to the window, for the rustle in the Platform’s disquietude eased her mind. Her hands stayed near to the pane, it had been raining since this morning. Her fingers played with the mist outside, the drops of rain closing on to her skin and dissolving. Her book lay folded, unread and unwanted. She was just living the past, wanting it to be soaked out of her, forever…
The life, falling apart, and the twine of hope effacing its fate. Another waft for the weakness symbolized in the moan and hurt inside that could not find its way out. It’s sickening with the burden on the Self, a lampoon on the life. Just another farewell would slay her, that’s all she needed for the life to have slipped away. Her footsteps were dragged, her baggage too heavy. She was looking for solitude to brave her enemies, but the vacuity of the soul was too profound to fight for. Her mind was struggling out to be frayed away from the cadaver, for the mind ruled a life of its own: Life too significant for all the pain and hurt inside, life shadowing the life. Her coffee was cold, but not as cold as the hoarfrost she feels planted inside, her memories defeating her the smile that she truly pined for. The work was piled, the tasks all undone, the duties unattended, but she seemed not to notice anything but the plenitude of the void afore.
The train had picked up the pace. The world was slipping by, world where she was not wanted, the world she had left. She did not know her purpose; her life was as hauled as the wheels of the train she was on. Her hands were still playing with the raindrops outside, the rain still steeping her touch.
“Excuse me, is the seat taken!!?†She was awaken to the present by an old, frail voice. “I am sorry, but I am too tired and I want to rest. Can I take this seat beside you?†asked the old man. The plea in his voice shook her out of the reverie. She smiled and made some room for him to rest himself. He sat there, relaxed and mumbled something and she continued to gawk on the life slipping by through the window.
“ I am sorry, I did not mean to startle you. I am just exhausted and perplexed. My daughter is really unwell. She is small, so puny and she is just counting her days closer to death everyday. I do not know how to prepare myself for this. I am just too tired.†The old man was crying, he had a piece of paper he was holding on to. His face looked older than his years, his furrows on the forehead were crouched together to make the impression of bereavement, an irreplaceable loss.
She stayed quiet; she did not know what to say. “How old is your daughter? I would pray for her.†The old man gave her an undersized look, held her hands and said “Thank you! Please pray. That’s all she need to make it through.†She smiled at him, and offered him some coffee. The old man hesitantly looked at her and took the shuddering cup. He was still holding to that paper close, folded, writhed and so tight.
It was the photograph of his daughter!
She closed her eyes for a moment and organized her thoughts, and rummaged for something in her bag. She took out her cell-phone, switched it on. “We are waiting for you. Please come back home..Momâ€, beeped her phone.
And she stood up. She thanked the old man, blessed his daughter. “I am sorry. I have to be somewhere!â€
And she left…
