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The Same

He gained his consciousness to the ringing of his alarm on his phone and opened his eyes. It took him a few seconds; and then he was sitting on the edge of his bed, staring at the floor until he took a deep sigh and got up to the start of his monotonous day, just like yesterday and the day before and all of those days before them, of which he had forgotten the count. He got ready for his office and left the house.

He walked through the same roads, down to the same metro station and waited with familiar faces for the same train that he took everyday to his office. He stood outside a huge building and entered into a big gate that led him through narrower corridors into a very small cubicle that he called his office. Grandly decorated with an old computer that he worked on, a stack of files and a picture of himself on the desk, from an ancient time when he was happy and could smile. He spent the most of his life there; and probably a little in the cafeteria where the people grouped together and talked about other people; which was almost the same everyday; they appeared like murmurs to him now. Nothing was exciting anymore. The dreams had been eaten alive by his personal needs and expenses, and his smile and excitement, by the monotony of his life and by his office.

At night, he would walk out of the office along with his colleagues, alone; distributing fake smiles to the people around him, just like he would when he came into, in the morning. This is what you have to give in return along with your services for the pay that you get from the company; and the ignorance from your pain to the world in return for their acceptance of you. So he walked back to the station again, on to the same train that would lead him back to his den; nowhere new, nowhere exciting.

As he entered the house, he got ready for bed, had his dinner and found himself sitting on the edge of his bed, looking at the floor. One deep sigh and then he lay down, waiting for sleep to take over him.


The next day he woke up to the same ring, sat up, gathered the courage and got out of his bed to the same day as yesterday. He walked to the station, took a train to office, worked with numbers the whole day, listened to murmurs in the cafeteria and went back to work again. With the same fake smile, he left the office at the end of the day, walked the same roads to the same station; took the same train and walked on to the same destination and found himself sitting on the edge of the bed till that deep sigh, and then lay back to wait for sleep.


The next day, while walking down from the station back home, he met an old acquaintance. As usual, he tried to avoid any contact because he wouldn’t have anything to talk about; nothing has changed in his life since 4 years. He has been the same. But it became unavoidable, so he stopped when his acquaintance started waving at him and calling out his name. His friend told him about the things he had done since they last met, opened an old wound when he talked about his long lost love, who has apparently moved on with her life, progressed, fallen in love again and was getting married. It was a long long time ago, but it still hurt. It hurt more to see that it was only him who hasn’t moved on at all, who was stuck with this life of no change.

As they bid farewell again, not knowing when they’ll meet again, they wished each other the best for their lives. He walked back the rest of the way, alone, with her thoughts, racing all through his mind. It all came back to him, once more. She was right, he couldn’t change; he didn’t have it in him, to change into something better than that. But he loved her with his whole heart, that should account for something.

He was standing outside his apartment when he came out of his reverie. He ramaged through his pocket for his keys and entered into his lair, finished his chores and found himself holding on to the edge of his bed looking at the floor and sighing, still thinking about the news. With the same thought, he lay down and fell asleep; a little later than the usual.

He woke up the next morning, late for work. Cursing himself and the alarm, he left for work. On the way, the sole of his shoes came out. Running out of time, he faltered all the way down to the station, caught an unusual train, with unfamiliar faces and entered his office with a genuine frown instead. All this led to him working overtime at the office, leaving the office alone, and catching the last train back home. He recalled the warning he got from the boss for coming in late and all the rush he had to be in the whole time to make up for it. He had totally forgotten about his shoes. He walked back home, with one shoes in his hand and the other in his foot, snailing down the alley.

When he finally reached outside his apartment and ramaged through his pockets again, he realised he had forgotten the keys to his apartment. He cursed himself again for forgetting it inside and stood there a couple of minutes, thinking what to do. Finally, he went next door asking for help from his neighbours who probably talked to him for the first time. It was an inconvenience that led to breaking the lock with a hammer that the neighbourhood man helped him with, but at last, an hour an a half later, he was inside the apartment.

He finished his chores for the night, a little more in rush than the usual; and finally found himself holding on to the edge of his bed, staring at the floor, with so many thoughts and events of the day going on inside his head. He finally paused and lay back on the bed, without a sigh and waited for the sleep to take over him.

Before he went into the slumber, something struck him out of all the inconveniences he had faced the whole day, and he smiled to himself, ‘ atleast today wasn’t like all the other days!’

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Posted by on December 19, 2018 in short story, Uncategorized

 

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The Graves

His 45th birthday! A day which mocked him yet again, reminded him of the time that he had wasted, all those years that he had not utilized. He sat up on his bed, resting back at the headrest, staring at that face of her’s, which was still beautiful. Oh! The love of his life! He had done everything right in his life. A decent job, a decent lifestyle, a decent income and a decent family. He had fulfilled all of her needs and of his sons. They respected him and loved him and so did his parents. They were proud of him. He had fulfilled all the promises he had made to them, and all of those promises he had made to her; but what of those that he had made to himself! He sat there, his eyes drifting towards the darkness, thinking the same that his eyes could see, nothing! When else was he going to be that bestselling writer that he had always promised himself he would be. Where is that fame that he always thought he would achieve. Where are the fans. Where, the luxury! And when he thought about it, he realized he had actually achieved nothing in life. He had merely wasted his life. Those big plans, had never materialized. Those dreams, never came true.

He got up, breaking his reverie and snailed across the room into the washroom. The sound of the water from the tap filled his ears. He collected as much water as he could in his palms and splashed the water on his face trying to break out of the negativity that was drowning him. He stared right into his eyes in the mirror. It was suffocating. This monotonous breathing of his. He moved away from the eyes and stared at the wrinkles on his face. The futility of experiences that he had gathered, locked among these wrinkles. He stood there blank, without a frown or a tear or a smile, for he did not know what to do nor what to think of himself. He had wasted it all. All his years; in achieving everything! In being one of the rest. He wasn’t any different. He wasn’t special. Bound to be forgotten. He couldn’t face himself anymore and so he turned and walked into the darkness of the room again; the darkness which resembled more the inside of his mind. He got into the bed as slowly as he could and stared at her face once more. His treasure. She opened her eyes slowly and looked right into his eyes. 

‘Something wrong?’, she asked.

‘Nothing at all!’, he smiled with all the strength he had left in him and kissed her forehead.

She closed her eyes and buried her face in his chest, into that heavy heart of his. He held her close. The only fan, the only achievement of his life, his only treasure.

And then he went to sleep, with the love of his life and the graves of his dreams and desires.

 
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Posted by on March 14, 2017 in short story, Uncategorized

 

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The Wanderess

A laptop on the coffee table waited for her, along with the rest of her belongings. An old TV which was always there when she needed it, a bulky one seater sofa which resembled that she was all she had, a small wardrobe that held all of her moods and a laptop that she could never convince herself to switch off. It was a one bed room apartment in the outskirts of the city where the rent was cheap and which certainly cannot be called the most suitable place for a girl like her, young and beautiful. 

The doorknob turned and the door creaked open as she entered the apartment after a long day at work. That smile looked out of place on a tired face. She took off her coat and threw it at the wardrobe, probably expecting it to catch it. Her keys and her bag almost fell on the coffee table and she, on the sofa. She turned her face towards the laptop that had her list of mails on the screen and stared at the resignations she had sent over the years- all for one simple reason, because she was leaving the city; because she was moving.

She had changed occupations and workplaces more than a common man would have gone for vacations through out his lifetime. But it wasn’t about the occupation to her. It was about the life, a way of living, how you adjust to a given environment, in a given locality, in a given city, in a given state; in a given country. She had lived so many lives in that one lifetime of her’s; and this still wasn’t the end. She longed, for experiences, for novelty, for something that would be out of the ordinary, at least for her. She was like a tornado, blowing around, in a chaos, who didn’t want to come to rest. She wanted to get more from life than what it had to offer. She couldn’t think about staying, leading her life in a monotony, her whole life, in one place, with the same set of people, with the same routine, over and over and over for the rest of her monotonous life.

It was time again. She had stayed here for too long. Her last day at work, she had made it a point to say goodbyes to everyone she knew. Specially the ones who were closer to her; but she couldn’t stay back because of them: she loved herself a little more than she loved them.

She picked up her phone, took out the cover followed by the sim card and lay it gently on the coffee table. They’ll never get to see her again, she thought to herself. But she was used to it by now, all of it. The goodbyes, the pain of leaving, the memories of the people who cared about her; but she could never get enough of the excitement, of the anticipation, of the risks and the possibilities of the future. She touched the mousepad and reached for the inbox that showed a plus one. The first one was the appointment letter for her new job. She smiled, got up picked up her coat from the floor, her keys went inside the bag, and the bag on to her arm and she opened the door. A final glance she took, turning back at the apartment, which resembled the life she was leaving behind and closed the door after her. 

 
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Posted by on November 27, 2016 in short story, Uncategorized

 

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