Heat - Haiku

Passion re-ignites,
Invites heated power play,
Souls unite in love.

Long lost touch, back,
Forcing its way through the maze,
Carefree, warm, wonder.

Tears caress her cheeks,
Salty, sweetened with kisses,
Heart numb, contented.


This Haiku is written for Sensational Haiku Wednesday and the Prompt is Heat.

I Have Not Been Taught To Complain - Final Chapter

Story So Far:

Chapter 2
Chapter 1

Now Read On:


10 Years Ago


I met Raj in the school canteen.

He was a cute guy. He had a cracking voice, but that would change as he grew up. Guy’s life changes for better as they grow, but it’s just the reverse for a girl.

We were introduced by a common friend, and it was love at first sight. I liked his lean athletic frame, those bright eyes that spoke a lot, but most of all, it was his mischievous smile that bowled me. The friendly canteen gossip soon turned into outings with common friends, and subsequently to romantic dates.

It was on one such date that he held my hand. It was an electrifying sensation, and felt different. I had never felt the same before. It was uncomfortable too, didn't know why, and so I quickly freed my hand from his grasp.

The next day he again held my hand. I didn’t resist this time. I had started to love his warm presence. He made me feel like a girl.

Time flew. Our relationships flourished, and love augmented by leaps and bounds. Those were the happiest days of my life. We kissed a couple of times, at school toilets, in empty classrooms, and behind thick bushes in desolate parks.

Then one day I committed a mistake. I made Raj angry.

We were sitting in a park, kissing each other. Suddenly his hands started moving down from my neck, towards my chest. I panicked and my heart beat started racing. I got frightened. I had not anticipated this so quickly.

I moved back.

Raj tried to persuade me a lot, that he will just touch me; he won’t do me any harm.

I said “I am not prepared for this now, Raj. Please try to understand. Let’s not do it before marriage.”

As always, I realized I was wrong. After all, how can the fairer sex ever be correct? We are supposed to be slaves of men, to obey all their orders. We are not allowed to obey our heart and mind. We are not allowed to think and feel.

I decided I would let him do whatever he wants the next day. The next day never came. We broke up. I loved Raj, but he loved my body.


5 Years Ago


I got a good job in a reputed software firm. It provided me a decent salary, and a designation that sounded good. But nothing changed really. Hungry men still stared at me as a prospective prey. I was still made to feel uncomfortable in public transports. My male colleagues talked dirty about me in hushed tone. I kept following what my mom said – to ignore these. It had become a part of my life now.

I learnt to cope with these day in and day out. I tried to think that everything was normal. But somewhere deep within me the pain and humiliation had formed a deep crater. A crater which I dreamt could be dissolved by the love of a man, whom I would marry. We would be a happy couple. I dreamt of giving birth to two boys. I wished I had no girls. I couldn’t see my girls facing the evil which I face.


Present Day


I got married a couple of years ago. The crater is still there, only it has grown bigger in size. The dreams that remained have been burnt to ashes. I am no longer a human; I am not supposed to live like one. I am a woman, a sex object, nothing more.

I love the festival of Durga Puja. Those 5 days my husband goes out partying with his friends. I don’t go. I love the solitude that I get. I remain at home and switch on the TV. I look at the different idols of Maa Durga and am mesmerized by her eternal beauty, the absolute power that she signifies. She appears to be so strong and dominating.

It surprises me. How can Maa Durga be so powerful even though she belongs to the fairer gender? Why is she worshipped by millions of men across the globe? Is this worship by men fake?

I don’t have any answer to these. I return back to the present time and prepare to take a bath. I love my husband. I can’t complain about being raped by him. I, being a woman, am born to endure, not to defy.

I have not been taught to complain. I can only tolerate.



************************************************************************

I Have Not Been Taught To Complain - Chapter 2

Story So Far:

Chapter 1

Now Read On:


15 Years Ago

I was 12 years old.

While returning from school, I boarded an auto rickshaw.

Two men were already sitting in the back seat of the auto rickshaw. The bald uncle whispered something to the younger uncle. The younger uncle got out and let me in. I think they let me in because I was a small girl, and sitting in the corner of an auto rickshaw can be dangerous at times, with vehicles passing by you at full speed.

I sat in-between, with the younger uncle sitting on my left and the bald one on my right.

I owed them a thank for their gentleness.

As soon as the auto rickshaw started, something happened. I didn't know what and why, but something wrong seemed to be happening.

Both the uncles pressed closer to me. The younger uncle was constantly trying to take out something from his right trouser pocket, but it seemed he was not able to find it. He kept on searching frantically, his fingers brushing against my waist, quickly creeping to the upper part of my body. The bald uncle stretched out his arms, his fingers touching my thigh.

I sat stiff. I was too frightened to react.

When I returned home, I told mom. She said “Try not to get close to men, and don’t think of such things. It will corrupt your innocent mind. Forget and ignore these. You are a girl, you have to face these. Concentrate on studies. Anyways, you should be more careful, you are growing up.”

Two days later, I woke up with blood sticking on my leg.

My mom saw this and smiled “Don’t worry, its normal. You are a grown up girl now. We will go to the chemist in the evening”

I couldn't understand then what the relation between “blood in leg” and “growing up” was.

I understand it now. The more you grow, the more blood mark you have on your body. I counted 27 such marks on my body in the mirror today.

I am 27 years old. I don’t want to grow any more. It hurts.


Chapter 3

I Have Not Been Taught To Complain - Chapter 1

I unbuttoned my blouse and looked at the mirror. It was me, bruised and battered. My pale skin was marked with purple scratches, my eyes were sweltering red. Red because of the crying I had to go through. Well it had become a daily routine now. I was raped, again.

I looked into the closet and took out the first aid box, my only companion these days. It contained a roll of cotton, a Dettol bottle and few pills. I soaked a small amount of cotton with Dettol and applied it on the first mark on my chest. Dettol burns, and my soul burnt too.

I needed a good bath. In two hours time my husband would come home for lunch. I had to be presentable. I love him, a lot. He is my protector, my savior, the man who has given me a new surname, along with food and shelter, the man who is supposed to be my Lord of worship. He is the man who has every right on me. He can do whatever he wants to me; after all I am his wife. He is the stronger species, I am the weaker one.

Last night I resisted. I was punished. My husband raped me. I deserved it, ‘cause I am a woman.

I have not been taught to complain. I can only tolerate.


Chapter 2
Chapter 3

Balloon

                                                         (Image Courtesy: http://balloonsandmoregifts.com)


He stood at the crossing,
Besides the old tea shop,
The white shirt tucked neatly,
And eyes that smiled mildly, hopefully.

Holding in his hands the specks of joys,
Inviting the rush of little girls and boys,
"I want the white one," "Red for me,"
Parents too joined the fun, often buying at a time three.

He used to be my favorite,
A childhood hero I suppose,
Waving the colors that circled over his shoulder,
Playing the part of the mystical Pied Piper.

The balloons rose high, higher,
Taller than the winds permitted,
They defied gravity, the laws of science,
They danced magically to the balloon-seller's rhymes.

Time has moved on, I have grown up,
So have the other kids in the neighborhood,
The crossing still exists,
Where elegantly stands our old balloon-hero.

His shoulders drooping with burden,
Perhaps they were now lighter than air,
The colors turned disobedient, cruel,
Refusing to rise up on his commands.

He looks patiently around, shouting as hard as he could,
Trying to attract the kids with his myriad gifts,
Hardly does he realize the changed pattern of the game,
Where playing with balloons appear just too lame.

Xbox and Playstations, consoles and computers,
Have become toys of the current generations,
"Why shall I be satisfied holding a balloon?
When 3D games can easily take me to the moon?"

Yet, he still stands at the crossing,
Besides the old tea shop,
The white shirt tucked neatly,
And eyes that smiled wearily, hopefully !!!



This Poem is written for One Single Impression and the Prompt is Balloon.

Vital - Haiku

                                                                        (Image Sourse :www.superstock.com)


True motivation,
Vital to a child's progress,
Leads towards right path.

Child grows into man,
With courage and confidence,
Ready for the world.


This haiku is written for Haiku Heights and the Prompt is Vital.

Canvas

                                                               (Painting by Subrata Gangopadhyay)



Tonight the canvas bleeds in pain,
Swelling in the memories, inviting tears of rain,
The colors are disoriented, vague,
Locked away in a tightly knitted maze.

Do you still listen to the beats of my heart?
Miles away, yet nothing could keep us apart,
The days of glory, of love and lust,
The music of my cries, the passion lost in dust.

Tonight the canvas bleeds in pain,
Swelling in the memories, inviting tears of rain,
The colors are disoriented, vague,
Locked away in a tightly knitted maze.

Oaths, confessions, promises,
Your sincerity then are now sheer misses,
How much I said, how much you lied,
I thought you loved me, when you were by my side.

Tonight the canvas bleeds in pain,
Swelling in the memories, inviting tears of rain,
The colors are disoriented, vague,
Locked away in a tightly knitted maze.

Kisses in dark alleys, by-lanes, here and there, everywhere,
Our eyes meeting umpteen times, catching your breath when you were near,
Lost in a trance, the two souls united,
The dream broke, and then you departed.

Tonight the canvas bleeds in pain,
Swelling in the memories, inviting tears of rain,
The colors are disoriented, vague,
Locked away in a tightly knitted maze.

The mask you wore now lies naked,
Urging me to a new sensation of abhorrence and hatred,
Yet, how can I detest you when I loved you so true?
I still don't know what happened, my innocent heart renders no clue.

Tonight the canvas bleeds in pain,
Swelling in the memories, inviting tears of rain,
The colors are disoriented, vague,
Locked away in a tightly knitted maze.

Somewhere down the memory lane,
I unearth the traces of the game,
Trying to learn, to not be a fool again,
Identifying a new me, a new life, away from this world of shame.

Tonight the canvas bleeds in pain,
Swelling in the memories, inviting tears of rain,
The colors are disoriented, vague,
Locked away in a tightly knitted maze.



This poem is written for Ekphrasis - Poetry Writing Contest - 2.

Kite

                                                                           (Image Source: www.wikipedia.org)



Flying high,
Flapping its wings,
Violently, passionately,
Soars the kite, up, up, up in the air,
To the ocean of stars,
Fading away in the break of dawn,
Losing itself without a soul to mourn.

The kite gazes down,
Up, right and left,
Not a single feather in sight,
The powerful arch it so possessed,
The pride in its eyes, the blood in its beak,
Perhaps it was time to go down,
The kite had already covered the peak.

Perched on a branch, it noticed the clouds,
Inviting it to the valley of heaven,
Standing on the brink of extinction,
The days of glory lost, the lonesome beast thought,
"Is this my fate, the hunter becomes hunted?"
Tears flowing through its eyes,
But alas, birds don't cry, they are meant to feel the pain,
A dagger suddenly in sight, pierces its heart,
And the last kite falls, beauty lost in dust.



This poem is written for One Single Impression and the Prompt is Kite.

'm Back !!!

Phew!!! What a torrid week it had been, without the services of my computer, away from the beautiful world of bloggers.

Yeah, life is tough when you are forced to change the daily habits that you have been so religiously following over the course of time. Talking about me, I have got into the habit of checking my blog every now and then, visiting the blogs of people I follow, and also finding new blogs that suit my taste (my taste changes all the time, though). Blogging thus has been a learning experience for me over the last few days.

Last Wednesday morning when I woke up to find my computer disobeying my orders to turn on, I received a massive blow to this learning curve that I was trudging along smoothly. The passage suddenly felt narrower, and the route longer.

The problems seemed aplenty, and the solutions scarce.

- What would happen to my blog? Will it die of idleness?
- The writing habit that I had developed by typing daily, will that fade in oblivion?
- Shadows, my first short story series, that too a genre that I always liked but never tried - Horror, was this the abrupt end to it?
- My blogging friends, how long do I need to stay away from their magical writings?

Haunted by these thoughts, my mind galloped, raced and dived. I had to write, or at least log in to blogger. I found a way out, using a low-configuration machine for the purpose. However, the problem was the slowness of the system. At times, I felt myself faster than that computer.

Somehow, I typed and finished my Horror Series - Shadows. Horror or not, that's up to you to decide, 'cause, I, along with many of my lovely readers would say that it's more about life than about ghostly elements. True, I had started this as a horror story, but midway through the plot, I realized I could do something different out of it. I didn't know then how it would turn out. Even now I feel I could have done a better job with the plot; but isn't that what learning is all about?

I am lucky to have such nice friends like you, who read and appreciated my work over the last few days. I am really grateful to you all. Never had I imagined that this story of mine will get 350+ page views. Never ever. I heartily thank you all for your moral support and encouragement, that motivated me to write and write.

I am glad I can read all your blogs too now. It wasn' possible using the low-configuration system. I love your writings, 'cause they teach me a lot, help me be a better person.

Thanks for providing me company in this world. I am now more confident about my writing than I was when I first made this blog. Kudos to you all !!!

Do keep writing your magical words.

And as always, love your life and live your life :-)

Shadows - Chapter Last

Story so far:

Chapter 8
Chapter 7
Chapter 6
Chapter 5
Chapter 4
Chapter 3
Chapter 2
Chapter 1


Aunt Padmini squealed with a mixture of emotions that comprised of relief and wonder when she saw Sapna sitting on the bed, talking with Swapnil. She couldn’t believe her eyes. Just a few moments ago Sapna had disappeared, leaving behind her shadow. The shadow had gradually vanished, and Sapna was back with her.

Tears of joy filled her eyes, and the warm drops flowed through her cheeks, soothing her skin that had turned cold and numb with fright. The children sat talking as if nothing had happened. They were giggling, laughing and joking. Aunt Padmini finally could smile.

“Are you fine, children?” Padmini asked, just to confirm she wasn’t dreaming.

The children answered in unison without looking at her, “Yes aunty, absolutely fine.”

So that was it. It was all probably a bad dream, a nightmare that she had evolved in her mind. There was no need of sacrifice, no need of worry. The kids were safe, hale and hearty. Aunt Padmini turned around, and walked towards her room. It had been a strenuous day. She needed rest.

Things were finally back to normal according to Aunt Padmini. If only she had looked closer, she would have known the truth.

“What happened?” Swapnil asked in a low voice, once he was sure Aunt Padmini was nowhere around their room.

Sapna looked back at him with her big red eyes, “I do not know. Somehow I found myself transported to the world of humans when the lights went off. It was difficult there. People stared as if they had never seen a dark creature. Some even ran in fear, thinking me to be a ghost. At the same time, the human Sapna was transported to our world.”

“Ha ha ha,” Swapnil laughed. He found it very amusing. There had been instances when he too was transported to the human world, and had noticed his complexion turning all black. People had gazed at him in wonder. But before they realized anything, he was transported back to his own world – the world of Shadows.

They belonged to the world of Shadows, where they lived with several other beings of their kind. However, when humans played with their shadowy forms, some entities from the Shadow world were instantly transported to the human world, and their human substitutes took their place in the Shadow world. The switch lasted for only a few hours, and the shadows and the humans exchanged their places to get back in their own surroundings soon after. The humans never realized that they were moving from one world to another, as they visualized this as part of their dreams.

Aunt Padmini had accidently invited the shadows to her house through her act of misdeed. The shadows used it as their key station now. Every now and then, a new shadow would come and live in this house with Aunt Padmini, some visible to her, some she chose to ignore.

Padmini had suffered a major mental shock when her mother died. She never recovered from it. She couldn’t differentiate between dark and bright, between real humans and real shadows. Every day her mind framed new stories, and she imagined the shadows to be her human relatives and friends.

Sapna stood up, and walked towards the mirror. The room came into view. “Humans use this to view themselves,” she said. “So ignorant of them to consult their shadows regarding how they look.”

Swapnil got down from bed and held her hand, “Where are the human forms of Sapna and Swapnil?”

Sapna looked at him, and smiled, “They are fine. They are in their home, sleeping.”

That was true. The humans Sapna and Swapnil had never come to live with Aunt Padmini. They were safe with their parents, at their own residence. The kids were sleeping in their bedroom, with Sapna tossing and turning as if she was seeing a nightmare. When her shadow was transported, she had taken its place in Aunt Padmini's house. However, she comprehended being in Aunt Padmini's house as a bad dream, just because humans tend to conclude what they couldn't explain as mere figments of their imaginations.

Things would have been so much simpler if the humans didn’t interfere with their lives. Why do they play with shadows when they want to and then treat them as non-existing objects the next moment? Shadows have life too, they too live and survive. Each day, they have to fight alongside the humans in their struggle to achieve their dreams and goals. They stay with humans when it’s dark, but do they get enough respect for that? Don’t they deserve to receive their due for the constant companionship they provide to humans?

The clock struck twelve. “Let’s go Swapnil,” she said, “the other shadows are waiting for their turn to enter the house. And we also need to prepare for our Shadow School on Monday. We will come again, soon.”

"And humans shouldn't play with us. We are not toys," added Swapnil, a bit annoyed.

Aunt Padmini was lying on her bed. Her eyes closed, she muttered, "I need to prepare for tomorrow. Meera's children Mukund and Anand will be coming in the morning."


The End (Or The Beginning) !!!