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Love Truly

A beautiful face with a golden complexion that literally shone in the sun. Hair that could defeat the darkness of the darkest of nights. A body that could be envied by the goddesses. She was perfect. “What do you buy someone who is that perfect?” he asked this middle aged man who stood on the other side of the counter. With a sleek figure, he stood almost in the perfect centre while his eyes ran a marathon across the showcases in the most expensive jewellery shop in the city; a place where one could find the rarest of stones, for the people who were closest to one. He was a decently earning man. Yet he had had to make his wishes wait because the wishes of the people you love always come before your own. “We’re about to close sir!” interrupted the person who had been waiting on him to choose that perfect gift for his perfect wife. “Can I have a few more moments?”, he requested with an expression that was hard to overlook or turn down. “Sure”, he had bought himself a few more moments, but the question remained, “What do you buy someone who is that….. ” there it was. A beautiful necklace that would be highly complimented by his wife’s neck, because nothing, according to him, could possibly compete with his wife’s beauty in his eyes or nearly represent the amount of love that he held in his heart for her. He was delighted, overwhelmed by this beautiful finding of his, that would make his dear Cassy, so happy. He could not keep himself from wanting to call her up and tell her that he’s got something special for her and that she should be ready for it. It had to be special. After all, it was their anniversary. How could he forget. He never did. She might at times because of all the work she had to look after at home and at her office but he, how could he. They had been in love for 2 years before finally getting married and it had been 2 more and oh! How happy he was with her. How he loved her. He just couldn’t think of a life without her.

He completed his transaction and rushed outside; jumped into his car, took out his phone and gave her a call. It rang till it got disconnected automatically. Working at an office isn’t an easy job after all. Why didn’t he think of it earlier! He could give her a surprise. Oh! How happy she would be and how she would blush. The red on her face would shine like the perfect apple from the garden of Eden. The engine roared and he drove off to see his beloved wife and the tyres screeched right before his house in excitement. He jumped off the car and ran to the door and suddenly stopped. All the excitement fading away including the smile from his face. How thoughts play with your emotions. He shrugged off all the negativity that had come upon him and gathered his smile back on his face again, took out a key from his trouser pocket and entered into the house yelling out her name, “Cassy! Cassy! Look what your baby’s got for you!” He heard a noise from his bedroom and shouted out again, “Baby?! Are you in the bedroom?” He heard the bedroom door shut as he was climbing the staircase that led to the section of the house where their bedroom stood with two other rooms out of which one was turned into a small office in which she would spend her time completing the works that she could not complete at the office. He stood right outside the bedroom door, his face white and furious and sad; holding the door knob he asked softly as if hoping to be wrong or wanting to avoid something, “Baby? Are you in there?”. He heard the nervous voice of his voice, “Baby I’m changing, Just 2 minutes.” His head bowed down he waited, as he heard noises coming out of the bedroom until finally the door opened and he saw her. How beautiful she was, how he loved her. She looked tired and out of breath. He took out the necklace out of his coat pocket and gave it to her. She opened it and hugged her out of joy. He held her in his arms, his whole world at once. That was when he saw a man’s watch on his bedside table and he closed his eyes as a tear rolled down his cheek. He wiped it off and asked her to get ready for the dinner. She went off with the necklace in her hand as he stared out the bedroom window that overlooked their backyard where he could see a silhouette of a man sneaking out. He stood there with his hands inside his trouser pockets and a heavy heart inside his chest. He just stood there without an expression, without a word or an action, staring out the window. He could not forget happy he was with her. How much he loved her. He just couldn’t think of a life without her.

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Posted by on August 30, 2015 in short story

 

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Alternate Lives

“I’m glad I went through all those miseries.”, he said half waiting for her to ask the reason.

“And why is that?”, she asked, just as he had predicted she would. She was a curious one; intelligent and fond of crazy theories just like him. He liked forming them, she liked listening to them; and they would have long discussions on concepts that may never exist; a whole world based on merely one single assumption. After such a long time, he had found her; someone he could be completely himself with.

“When I think about it, I’m glad I have you.”, he said and looked at her smiling through the corner of his eye. “Look, I have had so many choices over the years and I have taken so many decisions during the years that I have lived, right?”, he paused for her to understand, “And for every option that I had, my life could have been so different. So, for every single option that I left out, there would have a been a completely different life that I would have been living. A different life, if I did take the options that I left out.”, and his eyes stared at hers; begging them to understand what he was saying.

“Alternate way of living?”, she asked.

“Close.”, he smirked, “Alternate lives.”

She nodded. “So?”

“So what if, for every single combination of all the choices that you make in your entire life, there is a change in the life that you live. And what if every single one of these alternate lives is completely different from the other; and there can be unlimited combinations of choices, right?,” she nodded. “What if, for instance, this is the only combination of all the choices in my life for which I would have you in my life?”

“A coincidence then?”, she asked seriously thinking about it and glared at him through the spectacles that reflected her intelligence.

“Isn’t it?”

She merely nodded. So many thoughts going on inside her. What if he had never noticed her? What if he hadn’t told her that he had a crush on her? What if he hadn’t broken up with every single girl that he had ever been with in his entire lifetime? What if anyone of those relationships had worked out? What if everything hadn’t gone south in his life? How coincidental their love was. How coincidental this entire thing between them. How she would’ve meant nothing to him had it been for one different choice. The thoughts just wouldn’t stop. There is a downside to being intelligent. You just can’t stop thinking.

She slept with a heavy heart that night not knowing whether she should be grateful to fate or to be scared.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………

And this time he did not go to that party which was on the night before his exams. He studied the entire night; and he did well.
He did not have to go into some crappy college; and this time, he went into a renowned one.

He boarded his usual train back home from college one day and as he was getting down, he stumbled into this beautiful girl who missed the train because of him. He kept apologizing, over and over again, and waited for the next train with her, to compensate for what he had mistakenly done.

She found it really sweet, he was in love with her beauty already too.

They fell in love.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………

And this time he walked into a coffee shop with his friends; and they dared him to talk to the pretty girl who sat there with a book and a coffee on her table looking outside the glass window. A bunch of rich brats having fun; how typical.

He couldn’t just back off; so he went and stood right beside her table. He mumbled instead of talking and turned twice to look at his friends while standing and trying to talk to her. In a manner of joke, she gave him her number on the tissue she had on her table; just play a prank on those rich brats who had created a mess in the coffee shop.

He thanked her a million times over the phone that evening for not making him look like an idiot in front of his friends. The evening talks grew longer and the drifted through the nights. They slowly grew fond of each other.

They fell in love.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………

And in this one; his first love had just broken up with him and he had no one to go to anymore. He was in tears and heartbroken and did not know what to do with his life anymore. He was devastated and alone.

His first love’s friend genuinely thought that he was a very nice guy and that he never deserved this. No one deserves to be heartbroken. Or maybe she just couldn’t bear to see anyone in pain. So she consoled him and told him that he would find the right girl and that maybe she wasn’t the one.

She was right. Her friend wasn’t the right girl. She was. It took them some time to realize it, but they eventually did.

They fell in love.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………

For every choice that he made, there was an alternate life. Thousands of choices and thousands of lives; and he had her for himself in every single one of them. In every single one of them, they were together.

 
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Posted by on April 28, 2015 in short story

 

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Dark Love

She merely saw the bright side of it in the darkness that she sat. Her smile, her face, brighter than those headlights that were on the outside of the cab that she sat in. Those posts that ran backwards so fast only seemed to glow brighter now, probably to compete with the glow on her face. The rest was just darkness; darkness that seemed to freak her out before, made her lonely; but not anymore. She felt safe now, she felt the companionship of someone. She felt that there was someone who would save her from everyone else, everything else that would try to harm her. Someone who will always be there. Those were the promises that were made by those few texts. She will never be able to forget them. She will never be able to explain them to anyone either. How stupid and silly; yet so deep and beautiful. She rested her head back and closed her eyes and went back in time.

*beep beep*

1 unread text message.
The light from the cell phone lit her face up like the sky of 4th November. It was him.

“It was very nice meeting you!” She read out loud to her friend.

The girls smiled at each other and quarreled at what the perfect answer would be. But before they could finish, the phone lit up again. Yet another message.

“Gotta tell you something!”

“Hmmm…” she wrote.

“Roses are red.”

“Oh I didn’t know that! :P” she wrote and overflowed with giggles.

“Facebook is blue.”

“Tell me something I don’t know”

“I love you”

Her eyes widened at the screen. Her friend moved her eyes to her friend’s face. She herself, was stunned. Her face showed a mix of all the feelings that one could possibly imagine; all of them, all at once, on that young little face of hers. She blushed and half smiled and fear filled up in her eyes. She could hardly breathe. How exciting, how terrifying; the million possibilities filled her up. Her face lit up once again with the smile and then the fear took over; then came the comfort of some sort that she had never felt before. It is as if we are born with the depth of love; only in need of someone to show it to us, to make us feel how deep we are. How deep our feelings can go!

Oh the comfort that she found even his absence; the feeling of safety in this crowded little world even when he wasn’t holding her in his arms. It was inexplicable. She was too young, too inexperienced, too short of words to even try to speak of it; so she settled for tears. Words were kept safe in her for she could not let those feelings out; feelings that were a result of him and he, was too precious now.

But she only saw the bright side of it. The beautiful expectations, those dreams that take over someone’s mind along with the heart and take you to great heights are not always fulfilled; but she did not know that. How could she know, she was only a kid; a kid of 16. How could she possibly know the darkness of love. How could she know how black it becomes when the intensity of red increases. She was unaware of the lengths of the nights that one cries through. Unaware of the sufferings you bear when your love doesn’t understand you; when he walks out on you, when he gets over you. How could she possibly know the wicked schemes of the cupid or about the evil that resides within the beauty of love. She was unaware of the darkness of love.

She opened her eyes and stared at those three words. They made her smile. There was only so much she could do now. She replied back.
“I love you too!”

 
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Posted by on October 1, 2014 in short story, Uncategorized

 

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Oh no! Not me!

Oh no! Not me!
I don’t feel bad that we broke up,
No, not even a little,
I don’t regret you leaving me,
No, Not even a bit!

No, I don’t sink myself in your thoughts,
No, I don’t do that.
And I don’t curse myself for letting go,
No, I cannot do that.
And I don’t treasure your memories,
No, I wouldn’t do that.

All I feel is, if I do, the futility,
Of the feelings,
Of meanings,
Of those lines,
That I write,
For you,
For us,
For the love,
So Disastrous.
Of the promises
That were made,
Of the love
That is dead.
Of the heart
That bled,
Tears,
Tears red.

And I don’t regret me being sad,
And then I think, I’m really glad,
The weakness is gone,
The insecurity,
There is no fantasy,
Just reality.

I don’t regret falling, nor the lips that I’ve tasted,
But I do regret, in a way, all the love that I’ve wasted.

 
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Posted by on August 18, 2014 in poetry

 

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Oh Clouds!

The clouds cry love,
For those who can’t cry,
For the ones who’ve shed,
Shed themselves dry.

And they cry, the clouds,
For the pain that they see,
For the emptiness; and
The pain they see in me.

The clouds soar above me,
Far, so far above I see,
Mocking me, reminding me,
Of you, so far, away from me.

And dark they turn, the clouds,
Resembling my heart,
For you and light are the same,
Exactly the same, apart.

You may go now, your way,
On your way, to those others,
Others who suffer of the same,
Others who chose to be lovers.

 
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Posted by on July 13, 2014 in poetry, Uncategorized

 

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Without You!

I held you in your worst,
At your best, you left;
Tears of joy at your arrival,
At your leave, I wept;
Your coldness broke me down,
Yet towards you, I crept;
How unbearable seemed reality,
For your dreams, I slept.

I slept with you in my heart,
I slept with your memories;
I slept with you in my dreams,
I slept, my love, in your memories.

The truth breaks the heart,
The remorse seems soothing,
Apathy, the only cure,
The heart, unwilling
To move out of this darkness,
Into the sun of hope;
Hope of love, hope of life,
Hope to have another hope.

Hope of yet another hope,
Hope of you returning back,
Hope of you accepting me,
Hope of us coming back.

This resilient heart of mine, never submits,
That love for me, your beauty, never admits.

 
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Posted by on May 23, 2014 in poetry

 

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The Fight

He strolled down the lonely road filled with emptiness and darkness except for the occasional suns on the sidewalk by the street lights above. Life hadn’t turned out exactly the way he had imagined it would. The love for numbers had slowly faded away, they drove him crazy in his office now; the woman who waited for him back home did not seem very attractive anymore; the children merely seemed a duty; stood for the love that they had once shared. How monotonous was life, how unattractive; empty. He found himself in need of something different; something that would relieve him of this monotony, and offer him something interesting for a change.

When he got clear of his thoughts, he found himself in a bar. The wooden colored counter on the right stretched to the very end. The broken jukebox occupied some space and the dart board stood so gallantly occupying the wall. On the other side of the bar were lain a few tables which provided for groups that were crude, both in nature and in looks. He made his way to one of the stools at the counter and felt insecure turning around and finding himself being pointed out by a group and being called a drunkard and laughed at.

“That’d be me mate.” He turned his face to see a middle aged man with a glass in his hand and a bottle in his front. He looked at him and said again, “Perhaps they are referring to me.”

“And you say nothing?” he asked in a tone which proved him to be not one of the calm ones in the world.

He smiled and turned to the bartender instead of replying to his question, “A pint for my friend here.”

He did not look like a man of a bad reputation. He was dressed decently enough to sit among the finest of the city and his voice had a tone of command that would overpower anyone; and yet he sat there drinking, all by himself.

“I would be a liar if I say they’re wrong you know.”, he said finally breaking the silence between them.

“So you drink a lot?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

He looked at his face with a surprise in his eyes. No one had ever asked him that before. They had called him a drunkard, advised him not to drink, even maybe avoided him at times. But no one had ever asked him this before. His red eyes came back to their own shape and he turned his face back to his glass.

“Why did you start?”, he asked again, “When did you start?”

“Almost a year. I lost my wife and my two sons to a car accident…”

“And so you drink in their grief?”

“I drink mate,” he replied with his hand on his shoulder, “because that is my thrill.”

“Your thrill?”, he asked not completely understanding his point, half thinking to himself to be the whiskey talking and not the man himself.

“You see mate. Everyone of us has a thrill, a passion that they so profoundly love that it drives them crazy. You will do anything for it. You see the man seated in a brown jacket behind you”, he said pointing at someone, “he is an editor. His thrill, on the other hand, is to observe people. To deduce the lives of strangers. The diary on his table that you see, is his life long work, filled with assumptions of every stranger he has ever met.”, he paused and then asked, “Don’t you have a thrill too mate?”

He thought a little and then replied, “I don’t think I do.”

He smiled at him said, “Everyone does mate. Some of us just don’t know what is yet. Have you never loved something that you would do anything for it? Have you never loved someone that profoundly?”

“I have. But…”, he stopped realizing that he was only talking to a stranger and then started again, “So that’s your thrill you say? Losing your senses and being called the drunkard by others?” he asked rather sarcastically and enjoyed it, covering his smile by taking a sip of the whiskey in his hand.

“You get me wrong mate. It is not the unconsciousness that I long for. It is certainly not the reason why I drink.”

“You drink in grief, don’t you? Of your wife? Of your son?”

“I have their memories, yes. Pictures of the beautiful times in my mind that do not give me even the momentary reliefs. But you get used to it over the time. You see mate, it is not a healer; the time. It is rather a harsh reality that you have to face and time gives you that exposure. It makes you face your fears, your wounds, things that had hurt you so much once that you thought you would never be able to go through them again. It gets you used to that pain, to that harsh reality.”

“So you do not miss them now?”

“I do. It makes you numb, the time that you spend with all that pain within you. It makes you indifferent to the world around you; make it seem like nothing else matters to you. It kills you. It makes you accept the pain. But I couldn’t allow myself to betray the ones I loved the most. What kind of a father would I be if I let myself out of the pain of their absence?! What kind of a husband would I be mate?!” He stared him right in the eyes which bore the pain of parting from the ones he loved so dearly. “You see mate, this keeps me alive. The thrill of being in the darkness of their memories. The liquor tries to take away the consciousness and with it, the memories. I, on the other hand, strive. I strive so hard and cling  to them; to my sons, to my wife, to my consciousness, and to the pain, as a token of my love to them. I fight the intoxication mate. I do not give in. The world spins with all its might and people talk things that I do not understand anymore and my eyes betray me as well. The body fails to struggle with my spirit. It becomes heavy, and shaky. The spirit never fails me though; my heart, never fails them; my beloveds. Love, you see, isn’t about showing it off. It’s about the battle that you fight for them, for the people you love. It’s about the fight.”

And he rose up from his stool and turned around with a glass in his hand that he held higher than his head. “Mates” he shouted, “To the fight!”

“To the fight Mr. Mayor”, came a reply from the people in a loud support. He turned around after placing a bill in the counter, smiled at him and said “It was nice talking to you mate.” And then he turned and started to the door while he sat there going through the words of the man in his mind when he was disturbed by a beautiful face. “Are you alone here?”

He thought to himself of the wonderful opportunity that brought a smile to his face. His eyes fell on the ring on his own finger and then came to his mind the thought of his love that waited for him back home. He stared at his wedding ring.

“Hey mate.” came a voice to which he turned to realize it was the man that sat beside him earlier, “It’s always about the fight.” he winked and turned away.

 
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Posted by on April 9, 2014 in short story, Uncategorized

 

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