The suicide

I folded the letter into two and gave him. He was looking dull and sad. I could read it on his face that he didn't like the idea of committing a suicide together. Unwilling, he too signed it and I snatched the letter back, put it under the pillow. Pulling him by hand, I made him walk out of our home. We had been there for sixteen years, together, celebrating, playing and jumping around. The memories were embossed onto every brick. Our parents loved us.

He paused to have one last look, deep and long, and we moved on. He was panicky, his heart weighed heavier, his pace slowed down behind me. A few minutes later, on the dark road, he finally collapsed onto his knees calling out for me. I was quite busy in my own thoughts to notice that he was lacking behind me. I turned back and called him to catch up. He looked up at me, a blaze raging in his eyes that dug the guilt of taking him along with me.

"If that's how it ought to be, I'm not coming.” he shot the words with a power I've never seen in him. Yes, I am the one who was guilty. I didn't study well, I failed my exam. The pressure was too much on me. Father hated me. Mother felt that I was insensitive to their concern. I indeed was. But, why him? It's been sixteen years and father still fed him. Deep in the heart, a soft corner to let us cherish was always evident in his jovial smile.

"Why are we to die brother?” he pleaded. I was stubborn and I was already speaking before I realised I was. I uttered, “We have failed an examination. We are losers. All we knew was to be a nerd. Today, we broke that only title. Who are we now today? Losers. Why live? Let's die. Come.” I stretched my hand out for him. He didn't move. Instead he muttered, “It’s been a boon to live. Since ages had a man lived without passing any examination. Our parents wish we live. Remember how dad and mum would feel at the death of our cousin? The house went gloomy for what I felt like ages. They are two smiling people who wish we live and let them rest when they need to. They don't expect us to feed them, all they expect is for us to live and earn a living. They are not going to be happy with what we shall do.

After all, what did we do? We failed an examination. A girl didn't like you. What about the hundreds of those worthless exams we cleared in a higher distinctions? Don't they count? Don't we deserve, thus, to live a hundred lives more. Don't we like each other? How add a life to each when die for someone not liking you? I am not coming. We had seen lives devastated. We had seen how crippled could live. We had heard of people, learnt of many more who grew their own food, ate and survived. We have a life today. We are humans. To err is human. We shall correct it. What do you think is easy? Jumping off a cliff or laughing at yourself on a Facebook post that reads, "A failure is all I need, to dry my bottle and throw the weed"? I prefer the second. I am walking back. I can live. You can come back." he stood up, turned away and walked.

I was determined and walked to the edge of cliff. Today, looking down at it, I feel afraid of death. Living a life is much easy. I close my eyes and jump in, but only after I turn around. "Here I come, world." I hopped and danced and ran back to my home. He disappeared into my own deeper self. Quickly I pulled out the letter and burnt it to Ashes. "Life is a gift, live It." the oldest song played on the radio and I slept in peace.

I lost my little examination. I will pass the biggest, my life.

P.S. : It is not about me. I was trying to just reproduce the old suicide note, if you remember.

Telangana

The Irani chai flowed down the mug into the glass, and back into the mug, jumping, being rocked back and forth, as if on a tree swing, as I eyed it intently. The foam was brimming out of the age old glass and the aroma diffused dancing in the air. It's been long I had been in Hyderabad. Ravi's chatter was running since we got down the bus. I barely listened for I was busy looking out at everything new and interesting. He paused and punched my arm. I looked up at him, his face animating a question mark.

"You want to come back?” he asked, the second time, I guess.
"Where to?"
"Hyderabad, of course, after all this Telangana thing?"
"Yes, I love Hyderabad." I replied with a surge of confidence.

I was back on my way in the bus and I turned on the radio. Earphones in my ears, staring out into emptiness, the little ticket wrapped into a ring to my thumb, I thought. "Am I going to come back to Hyderabad?" the question ringed in my mind. I wished it had been a yes. I had a doubt deep inside. What had happened to my city? Where was all the life? The kites were still flying high, but who snatched its sheen?

Telangana was the answer.

I know it very well. It's like seeing a girl, a beautiful innocent adolescent girl, growing into her teens. A perfection. A God's gift. She was the only daughter of a couple, the two parents being, mother Telangana and father Andhra. The city was a legacy of Nizams. When she was born into the house of India, she was full of glamour. She had everything. Yes, she was born smart, beautiful and splendid. She was glorious.

Her father took her life in his hands. It's been many years since, he considered, no wait, assumed her to be his own. He cared for her. He earned to buy her gifts. He loved her. He gave her everything she wished for. Even those comforts that he himself did not enjoy were sacrificed. He gradually gave up helping his wife live. The marriage was not out of liking. It was a union, just because the father couldn't have a kid and the mother couldn't earn a living. The child grew beautiful and great. The mother grew old and dull.

It should not have been so, but it did. The mother wants her daughter. She had been born to the mother. She is her sole property. The father offered to care back, but it was late. The fury mother raged. She wanted her daughter completely. She locked the beautiful daughter in the prison of movements, and the daughter sobbed. Her hair dishevelled, her cheeks shrunk, her happiness gone.

The father was separated from the daughter, he was in tears with what his wife did. The wife was upset that now his daughter doesn't look like she was. And I mourn at the loss of the adolescence to sheer jealousy. Father did a mistake, he should have not ignored the wife, for whatever the reason be. The mother did a mistake, she should have seen that he was spending every penny of his in making his daughter more able. And so my city lies today.

The kite still flies, but the thread is bound to a branch. The chai still bubbles, the aroma is nowhere around. The buildings still soar high, there isn't quite enough market and companies to lease them.

Just Love

The mist was settling on the lake as the sun was slowly dimming into the West, still above the temple's beak setting. The winds hushed through the well set rocks, those steep stepping ones that wound end in the still waters of the lake. In quick long leaps, she stepped down as he trailed behind, enjoying the cool warmth of the lake.

She sat down ten steps high from where waters washed the rock, knees straight, her elbows set over them themselves supporting her chin as she but her nails in a panic. He came and sat in front, his back to the lake, one leg folded onto the other stroking his old shoe's leather staring at her. The camera was unveiled and the position set in his firm palm.

She was ready to rehearse her character in the play. The first time she was set, blew out a deep breath and started. His intense gaze firmly set on her every move. She soon realized with a helpless smile and said, "Take 2." he quickly replied, "it's a play honey, and like life is a play, never will you get a take 2." she remembered it but somehow, the takes went on. Every time she tried to think of him, think of them, they had to replay. 

Take 13 it was. She missed it again. She had to say, "Stop looking at me, I feel tensed. It's embarrassing." The next, he was conscious on the camera screen and the play moved a little further. Every time she set her professional look breathing a huge puff, the stillness of the heart got disturbed as pleasure struck it. He watched calmly noticing her every little moment, being pixelated and displayed. 

The silence would have made it so pleasant that every loaf's rustle could have been recorded. Take after take, her voice was getting feeble, her act more clear, and his love deeper. "The end", she suddenly declared as he realized that it was more than two hours they started. He hadn't followed since pretty long. All he was after was her movement, every fine smile and heartily giggle.

She snatched the camera and went through each of the shoot setting up her material to practise that night. He turned to the hazy lake and sat with his knees hugged staring into the emptiness, his heart enjoying what was witnessed.

She zipped the camera and walked to his side, his long frame letting her touch his hair. "I'm perfect", she spoke confidence echoing. He looked up at her without any movement. She looked back too. His gaze wasn't intense anymore, she felt a pull of the aura. "What’s it my love?” she asked in a caring tone. 

He replied, "I was thinking that there is nothing special about you but yourself. A plain little child girl who reacts out to everything she meets. There is a beautiful girl one guy would like to check out, and a cute sweetheart inside he would like to check in and live forever. Just sitting there looking at you in the sunset for all evening wouldn't be enough, Such is my love for you And that is why I love you, how much ever you irritate me, how much ever you get naughty, that aura lives forever. It’s not about being fair, talking nicely and being romantic all the time. It's about making someone able to feel that even a moment of plainness should repeat forever. And that's what you make me feel, along with all others my butterscotch. You always ask me why I love you, don't you? This is why I love you, Because of the charm around you, Because of the never ending joyous world that you unknowingly create around yourselves. I love you. “She was smiling back.

Books

Heaped together are words in books, meaningful books,
wrapped in covers that marry my looks, my mind hooks.

Exquisite words that convey every feeling, my strains healing,
some teach love some dealing, else potato peeling.

Details too high for any expressive art, too secluded to bart`,
bulls eye is such a writer's dart, right into my heart.

Out of the dreams fantasy, a loners ecstasy,
love drama and philosophy, making my cheeks puffy.

A life inked onto the finest bark, the light of the dark,
some to forever imprint the mark, naked stark.

Lessons to be learnt in the deep, memories to keep,
they are medicines to reduce sleep, to let you weep.

Books are the treasure I found, as life's rewound,
to them am I spellbound, spellbound!!