High Tide - Low Tide

A light rain fell on the town in the cold, grey light of the early morning.
Another day slowly dawned. It dawned on the still slumbering masses, safe in their beds. It dawned on the early rising milkmen, huddled against the cold in their milk vans. It dawned on the birds in the trees planted along the riverside as the driving force of nature brought the first notes of the dawn chorus to their throats. It even dawned on the still form of James Fletcher but he could not appreciate the start of the new day nor the singing of the nearby birds to herald the dawn. For just when James had thought that his life could not get any worse as he had wandered his way miserably back home, he was proved wrong.

The water lapped gently against the sides of his body. His middle-aged face looked calm and peaceful, its lines somehow softened, smoothed of care and worry. James seemed to be sleeping, but the blue tinge of his lips suggested that it would be a very long sleep indeed.

A figure sat on the riverbank quietly regarding the body lying amongst the mud and rocks and water. He hugged his knees tighter to his chest and, sighing, started to rock back and forth gently. Neither the rain nor the chill of the morning seemed to worry him as he watched the water slowly start to fill the river again nor did he make any move as a tall, dark-haired man in a long black coat stepped up behind him. Without turning, he raised his arm and gestured towards the body in the river.

"What a pointless way to die," he said his voice flat and devoid of emotion.
If the tall man had heard him, he made no indication. He simply stood staring impassively out across the river, watching the sun start it's weary climb into the sky.

"He was attacked by a gang of kids, you know," said the sitting man as he continued to rock slowly back and forth. "A gang of kids. Not much older than school age."

The tall man inclined his head towards the voice but remained silent.
"They got angry when they found out he had no money on him and threw him into the river." The sitting figure shifted his gaze to a rather shabby, leather object floating in the slowly rising water, next to James' body. "And his wallet," he whispered and sighed deeply.

He lowered his chin to rest on his knees.
"I guess they didn't know it was low tide," he said quietly.
His gaze returned to the body which was now starting to move in the current of the water refilling the river. He watched it thoughtfully. After a few moments the corners of his mouth started to twitch and he tried to suppress a smirk. He turned his attention to his silent companion in an attempt to regain his composure but this did not help and, if anything, seemed to make it worse.
The smirk became a smile; the smile became a manic grin, the grin a giggle and then finally deep throated laughter-the laughter of someone who has finally got the joke.
He toppled over backwards onto the damp grass clutching his sides, doubled over with silent mirth.
The tall man watched him, speechless and without emotion. His dark hair waved slightly in the light breeze, seemingly untouched by the drizzle.
After a while the laughing man stopped and slowly uncurled himself to lay full length on the cool, damp grass.
"That's the story of his life, I'm afraid”, he said softly. "Low tide."
The tall figure regarded him quizzically.
"A nobody, killed for nothing in an empty river. I suppose he broke his neck in the fall," sighed the prone figure, slowly running his fingers through the blades of grass. "A pointless death for a pointless man with no purpose to his pointless life. I mean what a way to die. Some people die heroically. Their deaths make a difference to other. You know, saving lives or protecting people. But who will mourn for him? No wife, no lover, no children, no family." He shook his head. "Quite frankly, who would notice, who would care if he had never been? Who would care?"
The tall man seemed to consider this for a moment, a long drawn-out moment, and when he finally spoke, in a voice the man lying on the grass more felt than heard, it seemed like the only noise in the universe.

The passing of one, touches and changes the lives of all those whom they meet.
The figure on the grass lay quietly for long minutes.
"But he accomplished nothing," he remarked eventually. "He will be remembered for nothing. Who will remember him or even speak his name in a hundred years time?"
The tall, dark man shook his head slowly and spoke again.
“A name matters little in the universal scale of things”, he said. “And even if no-one does remember, the actions of the life have already influenced those met and, in turn those they meet, and so on. An expanding ripple on the lake of existence. Some ripples may appear larger than others but all will reach the edge of the lake eventually, no matter how imperceptible they have become.”
The man on the grass sat up and stared at the dark figure.
"You mean he did leave his mark on the world?" he enquired earnestly.
Yes, nodded the tall, dark man. But why do you keep referring to "he" and "him"?
The man sitting on the grass thought about this for a moment.
"I don't know," he shrugged finally. "I suppose it helps me to deal with the situation better."
He turned back to the body floating quietly in the rising water.
"Poor James Fletcher," he sighed. He seemed to think for a moment. "I mean, poor me."

Life is just a cycle of birth, death and rebirth, said the tall man.
He briefly inclined his head towards the water and his pale features seemed to soften slightly.
Like the tides, he whispered. The tall man straightened up.
“JAMES FLETCHER”, he called out.
The spirit of James Fletcher stood up from where he had been sitting on the grass watching his own body, bobbing gently in the rising tide.

“Your time is over but a new tide will arise”, declared Death.
James’ spirit nodded to Death. "Thank you. I'm ready now."
Death smiled slightly and reached. A scythe with a blade like a sliver of night appeared in his pale hands and, nodding to James, he swung it in a lazy arc.

The spirit of James Fletcher stepped forward to meet his destiny, and behind him the tide continued to rise...

~~Reflection~~

It had been unsettlingly easy to get hold of a gun, Adam thought. The new gun laws were supposed to stop people from owning hand guns but all he had had to do was go to one of the seedier areas of London and find a pawnshop. The shop owner hadn't asked any questions or for any identification and within minutes, Adam had left the shop with the gun weighing heavily in his pocket, and what had just happened and what was yet to come weighing heavily on his mind. Jack had been there of course. There was no getting away from Jack or his actions.
The cold steel of the weapon felt alien beneath Adam's fingers and contrasted strangely with the warm colour and texture of the wooden hand-grip. Adam slowly turned the cylinder of the revolver, his fingers brushing lightly over the head of each bullet in turn until he came to the chamber with the spent round in it.

"That's three hundred dollars well spent mate," the pawnshop owner had said as he handed the gun towards Adam and placed the money in his pocket. Adam had reached for the gun but Jack had picked it up.

"That's a forty five that is," he had grinned as Jack had slowly loaded the pistol. Jack thumbed in the last bullet and spun the cylindrical chamber.

"You hit someone with that mate and they won't cause you any more trouble". The pawnbroker had smiled. Jack had smiled too. Then he had raised the gun and fired.

"No more trouble." Jack had put the gun in Adam's coat pocket. Then he had recovered the money, now damp with the pawnbroker’s blood. "We should leave now," he'd said with a grin and had hurried from the shop taking Adam with him. All the way to the underground station and for the rest of the journey home to his flat Adam had listened for the sound of sirens telling him that Jack's crime had been found out but there had been none, and as the door or his flat had closed behind him he had finally relaxed enough to allow himself to think about what had happened. Jack's laughter had rung in his ears as he had leaned over the toilet retching.

Adam lay the gun down on the bedside table and walked across to the window. The darkness outside seemed to huddle in corners, away from the street-lights as if trying to shelter from the heavy rain falling upon the city. The water poured down to one side of the window where the gutter was blocked with muck and filth. Storm clouds gathered overhead as if promising that this was just a sample of the dark times ahead. Jack smiled as the first of the lightening cut through the sky.

"This is my kind of weather," he remarked with a grin. Adam closed his eyes on the scene.

"Why did you kill that pawnbroker Jack?" he asked-his voice no more than a whisper containing no emotion, just a great sense of weariness. Jack snorted in derision.

"You know exactly why I did it," he muttered. "I did it because you couldn't."

"But why Jack?"

Jack sighed in exasperation. "Because he was scum Adam! The dregs of humanity. All the stuff in that shop, all the rings, the watches, the televisions, were stolen. Either stolen directly and fenced through that slug or stolen by him for a pittance from people who couldn't afford not to sell. The man was a leech, a parasite. He deserved what he got!" Adam sighed. He found it so hard to argue with Jack sometimes. All too often when he looked inside himself he found that he agreed with the sentiments if not the methods.

Adam reached out and drew the curtains closed, blocking out the world outside for a while. Moving over to the bed he lay down and stared silently up at the cracked and crumbling ceiling above him. Slowly his mind sorted through the events of the day again, searching, questing, and probing for what? For something, for anything that he could hold up before Jack to stop what he knew was coming, but there was nothing. Jack was right. The pawnbroker had deserved it. And as he decided this, a tear gently rolled down Adam's cheek and he wept for his own morality. Sometimes he really hated Jack. Adam turned to look upon the gun-Jack’s instrument of retribution. It would be so easy he thought. So easy to reach out and take the gun-to take the gun and kill Jack. But he knew he would not. Adam knew that in Jack’s death lay his own demise. They were together now as they had been since Jack first appeared in Adam's life. That day would burn forever in his mind.

The jeers of the other children had rained down upon him with almost as much force as the fists and feet that struck him. He had tried to flee, to escape the torment but had been tripped and as his head had struck the concrete they had closed in with the eagerness of the ignorant. Then there had been Jack. Most of Adam's tormentors had fled with minor injuries. One had received a broken arm. Two others had been hospitalized. Adam had been expelled. Jack had gone with him to his new school though and again to the next after a similar incident. After that there had been no more trouble. Bad news like Adam tended to get around. And all the time Jack kept Adam safe from harm.

"They deserved it too, Adam," said Jack his voice perhaps a little softer for just a moment, then back to its normal harsh self. Adam sighed. Jack always knew what he was thinking.

"They were evil," yawned Jack turning toward the gun. Reaching out a hand Jack caressed the cold metal and smiled darkly as the weapon glittered in the light of the bedside lamp.

"That's what they said about you after what you did to them," accused Adam but with little conviction. This conversation had played through to often and he knew both sides of it by heart. But then, deep down, he always knew what Jack was going to say. Jack just laughed.

"That isn't what they said and you know it," Jack retorted with a wicked grin. Adam lowered his gaze from the gun.

"No," he breathed, his voice no more that a whisper. "They said that I was evil. No one ever blames you." Jack shrugged.

"Can I help that?" he asked with a smile. Adam fell silent.

For long minutes there was silence. Jack reached out and picked up the gun. "Time to get started," he muttered, his voice suddenly serious. Adam rose from the bed and walked over to the window and peering out through the crack in the curtains.

"Why us?" he whispered, staring out at the rain soaked streets as another peel of thunder rolled across the city.

"If not us then who?" growled Jack, his voice low and menacing. "The law doesn't work and the police can’t deal with the spreading evil." Jack raised the gun. "Only you and I know how to fight evil, and that is to fight it on its own level. Our evil against the evil out there." Jack gazed out of the window, his eyes pits of darkness in the shadows of the room.

Adam sighed weakly, again feeling the weariness of his spirit but knowing there would be no rest for him now. Slowly he moved over to the mirror and gazed at his reflection.

"I won't kill," his said his voice resigned but resolute.

"You won't have to," replied the reflection of Jack. "I'll do it for you."
"As long as we are clear on that," whispered Adam with a nod at his reflection. In the mirror Jack nodded back.

"Agreed."

Adam reached out with his empty hand and picked up his coat and he pulled it on. Jack removed a bullet from the pocket and replaced the spent round with a new bullet. Adam pulled up the collar. Jack put the gun in the coat pocket and smiled. Adam took one last look around the dingy flat. Then Jack stepped out into the night and Adam went with him in silence...

The Curse

The Tower
Nadira felt the tower walls edge closer, imagined the spiders creeping from their damp beds to crawl over her skin. The fever strangled her once more. Fighting it she struggled to the window and collapsed - breathing in the icy air. Outside the fields stretched for miles, laughing with silent scorn at her weakness.

For twelve months Nadira had waited - endured her suffocating prison - hoping that each night would be the last, spent in a place she imagined equal only to hell.

And so the days were torn away, the nights plagued her and she had to acknowledge defeat. No one was coming. As always her thoughts turned to those who had betrayed her and her father. She had never expected him to keep his promise of banishment. It seemed his love was not as unconditional as she had thought. Perhaps she could have borne this pain - if only he had not deserted her also. She closed her eyes; a fierce refusal to meet the vision of his face, slowing drowning in an army of sparring thoughts.

She made a vow to herself in that dungeon, witnessed only by the silent, solid walls of her prison. She would never trust anyone with her heart again.
Looking out at the sweeping fields - licked with icy morning dew - she recalled making another promise. A promise that was everything and nothing….

A Chance Meeting
Leaving her three cousins behind in a giggling heap Nadira left the dwindling game of bowls in search of Alfie, the Palace’s groomsman. He was in the stable-yard, lowering the stirrups on her frisky bay gelding Pixie who snorted with impatience at her approach. Alfie’s face bore a look of reproach as he saw her fine dress but he pursed his lips and said nothing.
"He’s in a right mood today miss, he’ll be playing you up, I’m telling you."
"He’ll be fine once we’re out there, he just hates being cooped up in the stables all day."
"Hmm I hope your right. Now I don’t want you cantering down those ditches again."
"Alfie stop worrying we’ll-"
"It’s far too dangerous not to mention improper for a lady."
"Improper! Alfie-"
"Especially if you’re riding side saddle as you’re meant to be Miss Nadira."

With a ‘no more nonsense’ look he gave her a leg up, produced a whip and frowned at her obvious haste to get going.
"Honestly, you encourage that horse Nadira, you really do."
Eventually he nodded with satisfaction, and without a second’s pause Nadira had smacked the bay’s flank and left the stable-yard. Sighing Alfie turned his back on the pair and strode off in search of a task less provoking.

Half an hour later and streaked with sweat Nadira pulled herself up from one of the muddiest ditches she had ever encountered.
"Pixie, you don’t know how lucky you are, if I’d have hurt myself..."

She had to laugh, it was her own fault, and she was constantly being warned about her "adventurous" riding. But with such extensive countryside surrounding the palace she just couldn’t resist a fast ride and a few jumps.
"That’s enough for today Pixie, we’d better get back before father threatens to give you away again!"

Nadira leapt up into the saddle, one foot in the stirrup. Just as she was reaching for the other, a flurry of trumpets blasted out from somewhere in the distance distracting her. She leaned forward to listen; suddenly a loud shot rung out - unnerving Pixie who surged forward into a hasty gallop. Losing her footing, Nadira was violently flung over her horse’s neck and landed hard in a crumpled heap on the damp ground.

Her eyes swam and she struggled to see. On hearing a voice she tried to sit up but an aching pain in her side forced her to sink back down.
"Hey, be careful there, you had a nasty fall."

As her eyes slowly regained their focus, she looked down to the arm that was gently helping her sit up. She assumed it must belong to one of her uncle’s men - sent out to search for her. Looking shyly into the face of her rescuer, she caught her breath and quickly averted her eyes. The man helping her was no servant of the king; he was a young, handsome man and from his exquisite dress and private crest, most definitely a noble.
"I’m so sorry to disturb your journey sir, I, my horse was scared and I lost my footing."

The young man remained silent but his eyes danced distinctly with laughter. Feeling extremely embarrassed she attempted to rise with dignity and flushed at the offer of his hand to help her up.
"You’re clearly in pain. Please let me help you. "

Realising that she had no idea where Pixie was, or just how far from home she’d ridden, she accepted his hand - cringing at her dirty one and wishing she had taken Alfie’s advice to avoid the muddy ditches. Gently lifting her up onto the saddle of his horse, he leapt up behind her, supporting her bad side whilst urging his horse on at a brisk walk. Nadira awkwardly leaned back into his chest, aching too much to sit as rigid as was proper. She stared at his hands - not knowing what to say. It was a feeling alien to her; only that morning she had been teased about her constant chatter.
"You could talk the hind legs off a donkey, that’s what father says." The laughing voice of her little cousin Ella, trying to mimic the grave baritone of uncle Ivor made her giggle.

"What’s so funny?"
The question brought her back to reality with a jolt and she mumbled a weak excuse that it was nothing. A feeling of confusion began to attack her senses. His very voice sent tiny tremors across her skin. It was as if ants had somehow crawled into her veins and were somersaulting in her blood. She had never been so close to a man before but never had she felt so safe. Again his deep voice interrupted her thoughts.
"Where do you live? I just realised I’ve been heading towards Umbar and I don’t even know if you live there."
"You live in Umbar?"
Nadira could guess at his answer but still hoped she was wrong.
"Yes, I live there with my father. I assume then that you don’t?"
"No, I live in Keir. Actually my uncle is the king."
"Your uncle is king Ivor?"
"Yes, do you know him?"
"I know of him."

The silence that ensued made Nadira feel uneasy - what could have happened for the mention of her uncle to provoke such a reaction? She knew that King Baruch and her uncle didn’t get along, but hadn’t realised the bitterness had seeped into the two kingdoms as well. Just as she was beginning to feel hot and slightly panic-stricken, she felt him gently take her hand in his. Something in his touch silenced the rising blush creeping to her cheeks. As they rode on, she felt herself relax and begin to notice the beauty of the woods around her. Usually she rode so fast her view of the land was a blurred mass of colour. Now she noticed the bird nests carefully sown amongst the branches, and the damp moss lying at the oak trees’ feet. She was trying to decide whether she had just seen a deer or a stag, when a sudden trampling of hooves made her startle. Coming toward her at a fast canter was Alfie, astride a disgruntled and heavily panting Pixie.
"Miss Nadira! Thank goodness I’ve found you, your father went nigh on mad when the damn horse came back without you."
"I’m sorry Alfie, Pixie took a start and I fell. This kind gentleman helped me."

Alfie looked at the "gentleman" in dismay, and after uttering a mumble - and Nadira felt - rather abrupt thank you, he insisted on carrying Nadira home himself on Pixie. She turned to look up into the stranger’s face, wishing she could say something. The ants were sprinting through her veins now and all she could manage was a hopeless silence. Seeming to understand the unspoken words she herself struggling to grasp, he squeezed her hand and whispered into her hair.
"I’m sure we’ll meet again."

Before she could snap herself out of this uncharacteristic dumb show she suddenly found herself in, he was gone and she was left staring at the mud flicked up by his horse’s hooves.

The Banishment
Nadira shook her head violently, hearing the persistent trample of his horse’s hooves in her mind. She wished she hadn’t let herself remember. The fresh air brought in through the open window that morning had stilled. Feeling hot and clammy Nadira lay down on the floor; pushing her cheek against its damp, cool surface and willing the memories to leave her alone. Yet again her strength failed her and this time it was her father’s enraged voice that disturbed her wandering thoughts.
"How could you betray your family this way Nadira, for a young man you hardly even know?"
"Father I do know him and I know that whatever Uncle Ivor thinks-"
"What, you think your Uncle is wrong? You think that you know better?"
"I don’t mean that I know better, but I know Leon and if you gave him a chance you’d-"
"You’re nineteen years old, what do you know about men? Do not try to interrupt me again Nadira. I am your father and I forbade you from seeing him."
"I love him. I had to see him Father - I’m sorry."
"You’ve gone against my orders - all those weeks - lying. Against the wishes of your uncle, Against a King Nadira, and that is no small matter. You will stop seeing that man or Lord forgive me what I must do."

Tears tickled her cheeks and she shut her eyes tight, wet eyelashes dusting the bare floor, struggling to forget the rest of that horrible day. Her father had ignored her pleas, refused to even meet Leon himself. It was then that she had let slip their plans to marry. She hadn’t meant for it to come out, but somehow the words had escaped from her mouth before she had even felt them on her tongue. Her father’s fury had erupted - a tirade of accusations screamed that she was a traitor. She had been cast out. A servant packed her things and within hours she was bundled into a carriage and driven throughout the night to the tower. Believing in her father’s love she had waited for him to realise his mistake. She had waited for Leon to search and find her. She had waited…..

An Escape
The days passed, and with them came the spring. Nadira woke from fitful nightmares to sunbeams dancing on the tower walls - urging her to join in their joy. Birdsong filled the emptiness of her prison, and even the water she hauled up from the well tasted somehow fresher. Slowly her tired body began to revive. Each week she felt herself grow stronger, like the sunny daffodils outside her window - poking their heads up from their earthy beds to display their colourful petals.
One particularly warm morning - noticing she had run out of water - Nadira began to descend the winding, stone staircase to the well at the tower’s basement. As she walked past the oak door, heavy metal bars in place as usual - blocking from her the world outside - she noticed something strange. At the foot of the door in the right hand corner was a small hole; probably a mouse had gnawed its way through she decided. However on closer inspection, she saw that in actual fact the wood was rotting away. Further up the door splintering gaps were appearing too. Nadira held her breath in desperate hope, and gently applied some pressure to the door’s rusty hinges. The wood began to sigh and the hinges seemed loose. Leaning harder against the door she felt the wood beneath her give slightly, and in a joyous panic she began to throw her weight at the door with all her strength. After several attempts she had to rest, her arms were grazed and some splinters had nestled their way into her skin, but she was so excited at the thought of seeing the sky and touching the grass, that soon she was battling the heavy door again. It was definitely weakening, but after a whole day of resting and pushing she had to give up.

At first light Nadira was running down the steps and again throwing herself at the stubborn door. After four days of repeating her efforts, she told herself that it wasn’t going to work. Forcing herself to try one last time she summoned the last of her body’s strength, threw herself side-on at the door, and finally it gave way - bursting open with a great crash.

Nadira stumbled forward, stopped herself from falling and then flung herself to the ground regardless, kissing the dewy blades beneath her in sheer delight. Jumping up she ran, tears streaming down her face and screaming at the top of her lungs. She was free. After months of longing to feel grass beneath her feet and wind on her cheeks she was free. Looking around her she suddenly remembered her situation, and her joy simmered down into unease - what was she going to do now?

The Hidden Village
After two days of walking through nothing but fields and woodland Nadira began to grow anxious. As a child she had never been further than 20 miles outside of Keir. The local countryside she knew well, from her rides out with Pixie, but none of her surroundings here looked at all familiar. What was even more disturbing was that she couldn’t see a single cottage, or even a farm house anywhere.

After a short rest - and having eaten the last of the raspberries she’d found - she was at a loss as to what to do next. There were no roads, no signposts and no people to ask for directions. In front of her were more fields and to her left was a rather dark looking forest. Deciding that at least she may find something to eat in the forest, she set off at a brisk walk - hoping to get through it before the evening fell.

It felt like she had been walking for months, not days and Nadira began to wonder if she’d been better off in the tower. Realising the sheer stupidity of her thought she gave herself a stern talking too and carried on walking. A few miles on and she was sure she had gone round in a big circle, when suddenly she thought she could make out a track up ahead. Stepping carefully over some fallen branches, she came up to it - muddy and disused as it was - it looked as if at some time a woodsman had cleared it, for it was big enough to drive a cart down. Clearly however, it had not been for a long while. Weeds grew across the path and dead branches lay strewn at its side. Once though it had been used, so it must have led somewhere and this thought gave Nadira the drive she needed to work her way through the boggy ground. She kept slipping and falling in the mud and most of the berries she’d found in the forest were inedible. Slowly her energy was draining away and just as she felt on the verge of collapse, she thought she heard a noise. Listening closer she heard another sound and soon she was running through the mud, out of breath with excitement. Bursting through a thicket of bushes, she stumbled into what looked like somebody’s vegetable garden. Scurrying around the side of the adjoining house, she walked out into a village square. All along the edges were tiny cottages and here or there was the odd shop.

The sound of bustling life surged through her veins. A woman was coming out of one of the cottages - a writhing ginger cat in her arms. Nadira crossed the square and watched the woman knock on her neighbour’s door, a heated onslaught followed whereby the woman dumped the cat into a confused looking boy’s arms and stormed back over to her own house. Nadira ran over just as the lady was closing her gate.
"Oh excuse me, excuse me!"
The woman ignored her, walked up her pathway and shut the front door with a loud slam. Nadira assumed she hadn’t realised it was she being called and looked around for somebody else to speak to. An old man was coming out of a grocer’s shop across the street and a flurry of people further down the road seemed to be heading for a little church on the corner.
"I wonder why they’re all in such a hurry."
As Nadira mumbled to herself, a mother rushed past her - trying without success - to clean her son’s face with a wet cloth.
"Come on Iwan, it’s the Queen’s coronation today - we need to be in church."
A Queen? As far as Nadira knew there had never been a Queen in all the history of Keir. Her uncle himself had prayed daily for a son, for he said "no woman had ever been a successful Queen." Where was this place, for surely she was nowhere near her home? Passing the grocer’s shop she heard the shop keeper call back the old man.
"John, you’ve forgotten your apples."
"Ah thank you, no doubt I’d forget me own head if it weren’t screwed on!"
"Not going to the church today?"
"No. I was a full supporter of Old Ivor. You won’t catch me celebrating a woman on the throne, even if it is one of his daughters."
"Ay I know what you're saying, but the King’s been in his grave these past two months. We can’t be without ruler forever."
"Such a shame his brother was taken too. He would have made a fine King."
"Ay, but they said he was going mad after all the trouble with his daughter."

At these words Nadira stopped listening. Her uncle was dead. His brother was dead. No, they had to be wrong, her father couldn’t be gone. She turned to the two men who were shaking hands and turning away from each other.
"Sir, please, what you just said about the King. You must be wrong, you have to be wrong!"
The tears poured from her eyes but the old man carried on walking, shaking his head sadly. She longed to run after him, tear at his shirt, force him to speak to her, but her body was weak and she leaned against the grocer’s wall for support. She had to get home. Somehow she had to get home.

A surprise encounter
Nadira marched stoically towards Keir. The odd signpost carved into a piece of wood marked her progress. Weary and broken she listlessly managed to put one foot in front of the other. The days and nights dragged on like a waking nightmare. She was back again in the tower. The walls were closing in on her. The spiders were crawling over her skin. She couldn’t breathe. Her body was thinning from lack of food and her mind continued to play tricks on her. She’d hear her father’s voice scolding her for riding too far, or his laugh as he ruffled her hair and told her she was stubborn just like he.

Finally, as the moon shone down upon the tree tops she caught sight of the castle’s battlements and knew she was home. Reaching the palace gardens her body finally broke from lack of food and water and she crumpled with relief and pain onto the grass. The sun’s light touch awoke her several hours later and she heard a familiar, sweet voice speak, yet it was unmistakable tinged with sorrow.
"Poor father, if you could only see what your Keir has become."

It was Bethany, her eldest cousin. She was standing over a gravestone laying down some snowdrops. They always had been her favorite flower - the palace gardener used to grow furious when she picked them. Sighing, Beth walked a few paces to another grave and bent down to replace some dead flowers with fresh ones.
"Uncle, why did you leave it so late to save her?"

Nadira saw the tears on her cheeks and tried to lift herself up to embrace her cousin, to tell her it was okay, that she was here. Yet her voice would not awaken, the words wouldn’t come. Beth moved onwards, still clutching some flowers to her chest. Soon she came to another head stone. No one else, Nadira prayed, please let no-one else I love be gone.
"Why did you have to go and love him? Now everything is lost. What sort of Queen will I be? I have no strength to rule. The war has drained us all."
What war? Nadira felt confused, delirious even. Who was Beth talking to and what did she mean by a war? As her cousin laid the flowers down and prepared to walk away, Adaira forced herself to rise and stumbled towards her cousin.
"Beth, it’s me. I’m back."
But Beth turned away from her, shoulders stooped in silent pain. Thinking perhaps she hadn’t heard her, Nadira tried again.
"Beth, it’s me, Nady! What’s been happening? Beth, please!"

Her cousin walked onwards, up to the castle, leaving Nadira in an aching confusion. Dragging herself painfully over to where her cousin had been standing, she read the slanting words etched into the headstone.
Nadira rose. She rubbed at her eyes, she squeezed them shut tightly. She pinched herself to see if she was dreaming, but the name was still her own. Thoughts leaped before her mind’s eye screaming for attention, yet her body couldn’t take the shock. She fell to her knees, fighting to breathe, and then she heard the whispered voices. Looking up she saw the castle’s cook with another lady she didn’t recognize.
"Such a shame, such a dear shame; she couldn’t help who she loved."
"Ay and her dear father, he loved her. He didn’t mean to leave her there so long."
"I heard it was the fever, me two sons had it also god bless. And when he got to her it was too late?"
"Ay, of a broken heart she went they say. And that was it, all fell away after that. Her father went mad, made Ivor declare war."
"The King died in the battle, but what of her father and the love?"
"Fought each other to the end; both loved her and blamed the other for her death. Even after everything they couldn’t make their peace." Nadira couldn’t focus on their words anymore. Her heart was beating too loudly and she felt too hot. The spiders were crawling towards her, scurrying from the earth by her grave, through her mind and making their way down to her broken heart. There they rested, weaving a tight web around her heart - a heart made for so much love. A heart now broken and empty: finally free and finally home - yet eternally lost...

DEATH BITE CAFÉ

Driving home late one night after a long day, Cindy noticed for the first time an old cafe at the corner of the street where she lived. There was something familiar about the cafe, but Cindy couldn't put her finger on it. She continued on her way home. After having dinner she went to bed, but as she drifted of to sleep she dreamt about the cafe she had seen. She dreamt that she had gone into the cafe and was served by a very handsome man with dark eyes. Suddenly however everything changed and the man in her dreams began to grow old. It started with his hair and then the rest of his body. Cindy started screaming and she got up from her seat to leave. The man grabbed her neck with his wrinkled hands and began to strangle her. Cindy woke up, covered in sweat. She got out of bed and spent the rest of the night looking through some papers she was going to need the next day at work.

At work the next day Cindy couldn't concentrate. She kept on walking around her big well-furnished office deep in thought. Her secretary Harry knocked on the door. "Come in", she said. Harry was a tall, thin man and had been trying to get Cindy to go out with him ever since they had met. As Harry informed her of the appointments and calls she had received, Cindy walked around her office apparently admiring her furniture. "Your mother called and she wants to know why you haven't called her back. Mr. Luther says he wants to see you in his office and if you ask me, that's not all he wants to see you in.", he said. Cindy turned round faced Harry and said viciously, "Nobody's asking you Harry." Harry quickly finished what he was saying and left. Cindy then sat down to do some work but she ended up sitting and staring out of the window still thinking about her dream. Cindy had grown up in superstitious environment and believed that all dreams had a meaning, but she didn't know what to make of this one.

Few weeks later, Cindy saw the cafe again while driving home, but this time she decided to go in. She parked her car and then walked down to the cafe. For the first time she noticed its name 'Felix's Cafe'. She pushed the door open and noticed that there were a few people in the cafe. Cindy realized that it looked exactly the same as in her dream. She also sat down in the same seat. She looked up and the same man from her dream came over to her. The first thing Cindy noticed was that he had startlingly light blue eyes. "What are you having?" he asked. Cindy stared at him for a while and then said she would have a smoked salmon sandwich. She had her sandwich and as she was leaving the cafe she noticed the man staring at her. She walked quickly away from the cafe and to her flat.

That night Cindy had a dream, and it was the same one she had had the night before and the one before that. This time however, when she woke up she got up and looked out of her window. There standing across the street looking up at her window was the man from the cafe. The man who had plagued her dreams for the last five months. Cindy became hysterical. She grabbed a butcher knife from her kitchen and ran down the stairs in her night suit. By the time she had got outside the man had vanished. Cindy was about to go back upstairs when she caught a glimpse of the man running towards his cafe. She followed, her knife held firmly in her hand. As she caught up with him she raised the knife up in the air and plunged it into his back. He fell forward, Cindy smiled at herself. He lay there, Cindy turned him over. She then realized that the person lying in front of her wasn't the man who worked at the cafe. This was just an old man. Cindy heard sirens: the police arrived at the scene. They arrested her. She found out later from them that there wasn't any cafe near her flat and that the man who had taken control of her life for the last five months didn't exist.

Cindy Nightingale was sitting in the defendant's room in the County Court. The door in front of her opened and a man entered the room. She stood up suddenly, wrenching the handcuffs that tied her to her chair. The man was her lawyer Mr. Tyler. "The jury hasn't decided yet." he said as he sat down. Cindy looked around the room and her eyes settled on the woman sitting opposite her. She was also handcuffed. She had long auburn hair and dark brown eyes. She didn't look like the average prisoner. Cindy turned to Mr. Tyler and said, "She's probably innocent like me." Mr. Tyler looked into Cindy's eyes and said, "Or perhaps not" and for the first time she noticed how startlingly light blue his eyes were.

Someone to Care for

My friend Natalie can't see the point in you. She says that all you do is burp, fart, dribble, grin inanely and emit a series if unintelligible noises. Admittedly she hasn't seen you at your best, but I still think that's a little harsh.
The first time Natalie came to visit you were asleep on your back, gurgling little spit bubbles, a thin strand of drool running down your chin. Natalie just stared at you as if you were a creature from another planet. She made no secret of the fact that she wasn't impressed.
The second time she came to visit you crawled across the carpet towards her and vomited on her expensive new shoes. I tried to make light of it, explaining that it's mainly just liquid and wipes off easily, but she really did look quite appalled.
Natalie likes being a career woman, rushing between meetings in her power suit, clutching her Starbucks Coffee and her laptop. She's never wanted a husband or a baby, but if she could see you on a good day I'm sure she'd feel differently. If she could see the way you clap your hands and squeal with excitement when “Tom and Jerry” comes on TV; then she'd find you just as adorable as I do.
Instead she thinks you're smelly and have a strange shaped head. She looked revolted when I said you like putting your toes in your mouth, and finds it disturbing that you're always staring greedily at my breasts. It upsets her even more when you stare greedily at her breasts. I tried to explain that you're a man and that's what men do, but she wasn't having any of it.
If I'm honest, I think you could have made a bit more of an effort when Natalie first visited our house. I know it was the morning after ablution, but I thought you could have at least lugged yourself into the bedroom instead of lying sprawled on the sofa in a curly wig, a pair of women's shoes and a magazine with a photo of Britney's bare body on the front. If you'd had some trousers on it might not have been so bad. Natalie and I were comfortable enough perched on the wooden chairs, but it was quite distracting to have you snoring over our conversation, and I think Natalie was a bit uncomfortable when you started mumbling and fiddling with yourself.
When Natalie left, giving me a kiss on the cheek and a look of pity before rushing off for an appointment with her personal trainer, I removed your stilettos, covered you with a blanket and wiped the drool from your chin. Later, when you woke up screaming about a pain in your head which you assumed must be a brain haemorrhage; I gently explained that you had simply hit your head on the side of the wooden bed. I then sat by your side, holding your hand and stroking your forehead in a bid to reassure you. Three days later when you had recovered, I firmly reiterated this link between lager and suffering and said I hoped you had learnt your lesson. You looked ashamed, said you wouldn't do it again and then promptly got up and hurt your chin at the very same place.
I'd secretly hoped that things would be better the next time Natalie came to visit. I thought she might like you better if you had your trousers on and were conscious. To be fair you didn't let me down on either of those counts, but if I'm going to be picky then I wish you'd been sober and hadn't vomited on her.
I assumed that when I told you she was coming for dinner you would finish your dinner and a round of nap before ten o'clock, but of course you were too excited of all the colorful lighting and you decided to celebrate with all excited loud gurgles. I understand how important these things are to you, and I do appreciate the fact that you called me from your bed six times with a string of terrible excuses. Instead you fell from the front bed attempting to remove your diaper, addressed Natalie as Bob, crawled towards her on all fours and then chucked up all over her feet. It wiped off just as I said it would, but I don't think that made Natalie like you any better.
Once Natalie had left - which she did at great pace - I cleared up the mess and sat you down at the kitchen table. You clutched my fingers tightly and tried to put one of them in your mouth, mistaking it for the digestive biscuit I offered you. I should have been furious, but when you grinned stupidly at me, your mouth surrounded by biscuit crumbs, my heart softened and I forgave you. At the end of the day, however badly you behave, you're mine and I love you.
I can understand why Nathalie thinks you're an idiot, but it's easy for her to judge. She already has everything she ever desired. I never wanted the impressive job title, the sports car or the big flashy house. All I ever really wanted was to be a mother. You might not be the most sophisticated man in the world, but you have a good heart and all the other necessary parts to help me fulfill that dream.
I know exactly why having a baby is so important to me: I want someone I can take care of. I find it incredible that another flailing, helpless human being could rely on me to look after. Babies are so utterly incapable of looking after themselves, so dependent on others for their wellbeing. From their failure to control their bodily functions to their inability to use their tiny undeveloped brains, they are so completely useless without someone to care for them. I want to be needed like that.
Natalie says, “I don't need a baby to fulfill my dream. I’m already there.”
I have no idea what she means. I just don't think these career women understand.
Being a mother is striving to be a true reflection of God, so that your child will look into your life and know love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, self control and to never give up the fight for what you believe in. Mothering is protecting, nurturing, teaching, and loving. It is a sacrifice~it’s pouring youself unselfishly and unconditionally into the life of another.

Enjoyment

In how many ways you may roam round

At long last

And unfailingly

You have to reach your nest.

In how many times you may wet your eyes

Today or tomorrow

You must necessarily

Wipe the tears.

So I stoutly advocate you

To learn the ways to realize

And not go on ruminating

them all the while at all times.

As long as you moan

The whole world appears to be in despair

If you culminate in happiness

Greenery gets pinnacle space in your thoughts.

The agonies won’t get brushed off in seconds

So let us sound silence only in all their whimsical tunes

Repentance need not be mixed with ways of penance

So heartfelt joys can only be celebrated by experience.

Yearning

I unfolded my arms

aloft desperately!

Yearning to hug

the ethereal blue sky,

where I can shed

the fragments of

my constructed being

and let it scatter

into the unrelenting expanses

of distant horizon

like myriad stars,

which no human can ever number.

Christmas awakening

In her reverie, Allie was about ten years old. Some parts of her skin were clear and others marred with blemishes. She was thin, always had been thanks to a good metabolism. Her hair had always been in the shades of blonde except for the time she’d dyed it black in an attempt to look different.

Committing suicide was really too extreme. She sort of believed in God, at least in the way she experienced the divine, but taking her own life would be an insult. She certainly didn’t believe in that rationalistic bullshit that dismissed the notion of a living God, as if people could explain everything--as if God could die. Because she didn’t like herself didn’t mean she’d been a mistake.

Deep down Allie wanted to see how her life would end. If everything has a natural course, then her life had one too. And she liked New York City too much. She’d grown up in the Bronx, which she used to hate but had come to love over the years. No more talks of moving to islands and faraway places. New York was the place, even if she could barely afford it.

Allie picked up the phone after ten rings. She was stoned and hung over from last night’s get-together. One of her friends, Chris, was in a garage rock band. He’d scored a record deal after eight years of slaving to his music. He was good-looking with bedroom eyes and a full mouth, but was permanently stoned which made her wonder if he could be as good as he was without drugs. She’d slept with him once on a long ago drunken night. He found a new girlfriend.

She felt as if her head was about to drown from her sad thoughts mixed with toxins from last night. On the phone was her friend Jane, who she’d bonded with recently. She and Jane were on the same page most of the time. Twenty-five isn’t too old to meet your best friend.

A smile crept on Allie’s face. Good friends don’t come around often. Jane had quit junk two years ago and managed quite well, considering she was living as if something irreplaceable had been ripped out of her. She needed people like this in her life-- survivors.
"How are you doing?" Jane asked.
Allie rubbed her forehead. "I’m tired. Craving for a smoke."
"How was the party?"
"Great. Sarah was there you know, but they make a good couple. There’s something about her. I can see why he’s with her."
After a pause, she said, "You still love him, don’t you?"
"He’s a great guy you know," Allie said in a monotone voice. "It never would have worked out between us, but I still love him."
"Same here. I still love Brandon, but hey, what the hell do you want me to do? We need to start over, turn the page. Start the year on a blank slate."
"Yeah."
Allie’s hands quivered. She was overwhelmed by her jarring thoughts and that her best friend in the world was on the line. Handling too many emotions had never been her strong suite. That’s why she smoked dope on occasion and drank the hard stuff.
She loved Jane, but she wasn’t queer. There was something about female friendships that made life so much better. You could be famous and still feel swallowed up by emptiness.
"I got to let you go. I have this nasty headache."
"Are you sure everything’s all right? You’re not mad at me, are you?"
She glanced out the window and said, "I’m not mad. I’m just a little tired. Like I said, my headache’s bad."
Allie wanted to tell her she loved her, but she was feeling too sick right now. When she’d get out of this mess, they’d have a drink in a quiet place in the Village with cozy couches and coffee music in the background. They’d be back to being young women in their mid-twenties.
"Well call me back then," Jane said with casual concern.
The truth was Allie wanted drugs. She was craving a fix of anything that would bring back that invincible high that crushed the lowest of self-esteem. The devil was laughing in her face. Her veins throbbed. She’d rather vanish in thin air than overcome this temptation.

She didn’t feel like worrying about the rent, cleaning up, searching out cockroaches, what to wear, and how to fix her hair. She would rather be creative and doped up and not think about worldly things in a context of post-party dreariness. Such parties nearly always sucked the life out of her.

Allie wiped the film of sweat from her forehead. As her attack began to wane, her rash began to lessen. She was gripped by thoughts of rehab, which she’d had her share of. A single fix would plunge her back into that inferno she’d tried so hard to escape. She didn’t want a life of rehab on and off, meeting with different supervisors who’d look over her case. She no longer wanted a nauseating case that made supervisors wonder how she’d ended up a wreck.

Big deal if she slipped once in a while, since that’s not what made her an addict. What made her an addict was thinking that she couldn’t live without junk, booze, and cigarettes, and even coffee.

Allie walked toward the sink, where she ran the tap. The dead cockroach was still on the counter, turned on its back as if it had been zapped and left to roast. She gulped down water and let out a deep breath, feeling as though each nerve in her body had twinned into one solid mass.
"It’s okay," she thought to herself. "It’s okay."
It was okay to fight temptation, to live with a weakness. All she would have to do is overcome each struggle. With enough willpower, she’d build enough immunity to live a quite normal life.
"I’ll be fine."
She stepped outside on the balcony for a change of air. The sky was a mixture of November-grey clouds and sunny breaks. Despite the motion all around, her street seemed so still. Allie was struck by how dull the day was. How so much goes on behind closed doors.

Then she grabbed her pack of Marlboros on top of the fridge and lit up outside. She took a long drag, releasing what felt like more than just chemicals and smoke. If she were to die tomorrow, she wouldn’t write a rambling letter that risked never being read. Instead she’d call up everyone that had left an impact on her.

She’d call up Chris to wish him the best with his band and tell him not to let fame go to his head if he’d become even just a little famous. She’d also tell him that he could be a good musician and singer and songwriter without being under the influence. Hopefully he’d mention her name in the acknowledgment section of his CD. She’d also ring her three other exes, Matt, Bosco, and Lenny and admit to them that they’d meant something to her despite everything.

As for Jane, she’d tell her that they were insanely good friends and hoped to pursue their friendship till the end. Someday, when they’d save enough money and actually learn how to drive, they’d take a road trip somewhere. Allie wished to live in New York till the rest of her days, with Jane playing a part.
The next big problem was her father, whom she hadn’t seen in over a decade. He’d occasionally pop in whenever he found himself in New York. She so wanted to tell him that he no longer was the source of her heart disease and that his absence, selfish ambitions and womanizing ways were all forgiven, otherwise she’d never be all right.

"You might be my father, but it doesn’t mean that I have to feel like a freaking victim and tragedy because you walked out on Mom, Shelly and me," she would say to him. "And if you’d like to go for a drink sometime just to hang out, I’m fine with that."

Allie’s mother was all right, a good friend even. She’d raised two girls pretty much on her own. She’d made bad choice of husband and other mistakes, but she wasn’t bad. She still looked like a model that should have been discovered in the city somewhere. She would thank her mom for having raised her in New York and for never forgetting her birthday. For calling and visiting whenever she had a moment. For having done the best in her circumstances. "Mom, I no longer wish you were different. You are the sweetest person," she’d say.

As far as Allie was concerned, there was a lot to put forth: I am not ugly, though it took me long to realize it. I will stop abusing my body with mindless torture and drugs and clean up for good. Next time, if I like a guy, I’ll tell him. I won’t fear rejection. I’ll stop thinking I’m abnormal. I’m not a failure because I didn’t try hard enough to be a rock star and I quit playing guitar and sometimes feel strange and androgynous…

As far as she knew, Allie wasn’t dying. She was beginning to look forward to Christmas, the lights in the trees, and the cosy nights.
And the rain, the sun, the snow, the moonlight.
And the mysteries of life thriving slowly like a tightly petalled rose bud…..

Staying with the belief...

Both women breathed a grateful sigh as their sixteen year-old daughters slammed the car’s rear door and simultaneously yelled, “Bye, mom.” Ruby and Beena watched the two girls head for a group of animated, similarly clad teens, all waiting for the Doon’s High School bell to ring.

“God,” said Beena Bhargav. I can’t believe how calm it is in here when those two get out. Blessed relief!”

Ruby, still watching through the window, responded only with a nod, and then quietly said, “You know, Beena, except for the skimpy clothes those girls wear now, that could be us— twenty years ago.”

Beena was quick to answer. “Yeah, but you know what? I think what the kids are wearing nowadays beats the hell out of the stupid stuff we wore back then. I mean, those ugly granny dresses and sandals—”

“Headbands and fifteen hundred bracelets.”

“Right, and no makeup.”

“At least we wore our bras on the inside!”

“You mean when we were actually wearing one.”

Both women laughed at the memory, and Beena, whose turn it was for the car pool, re-started her ancient Mercedes 300 diesel. She turned it, clattering, out into traffic, complaining. “Listen to that, Ruby. Sounds like the garbage truck that’s always late getting to our block.”

“Bull.”

“I wish. I guess we had our own version of peer pressure, didn’t we?”

Both mothers had another chuckle and fell silent. It was Friday, and Ruby was glad of it. On Tuesdays, Beena drove, and on Thursdays, Ruby did. They both rode together on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, dropping the kids off, and then going to their aerobics class at the YMCA. Ruby looked forward to the Fridays, for two reasons: First, she and Beena always finished up the morning part of their routine by going to Polar Bear Ice Cream Parlor after the exercise class, where they promptly destroyed most of the workout by consuming huge banana splits. And second, Ruby knew she would then have some respite from her old high school rival over the weekend, knowing Beena usually went out of town somewhere with her latest boyfriend.

While they bounced and semi-seriously high-stepped through their class, Ruby Jagpal allowed herself another smile over Beena’s recital of the teasing rhyme she had once so despised, which, until this morning, she had deleted from her memory file. She wasn’t at all certain that Beena hadn’t been the original author, either.

Beena, Ruby reflected, had tried hard. She was always trying hard. Ruby knew that Beena, who still had her cheerleader’s figure, needed the aerobics class not so much to keep it as to have friends. Well, at least one friend. Beena Bhargav couldn’t stand to be alone, even if it had to be Ruby who supplied the necessary company. Yet, Ruby also recognized the feminine phenomenon of her own need to have a rather close confidante, and therefore had perpetuated the co-dependency. She knew they would never be totally honest with each other, but also knew they would always use each other as sounding boards for their frustrations and foibles—without having to pay the high price of betrayal.

This tacit arrangement, with all its air-kissing superficiality, was not deep friendship, certainly, but in a small town like Doon, it was enough. For both of them.

They left the Mercedes parked half a block from Polar Bear. “Aren’t you going to take your keys in with you, Beena?”

“Nah, that car’s too old for anybody to steal. After my divorce, I got a real kick out of driving it. You know, it was a new Mercedes after all, and I knew it pissed Jatin off to see me driving around town in it, the bastard. I keep thinking I’ll get rid of it someday, but it’s still reliable, it’s well insured, and the heater and cigarette lighter still work fine. Come on, let’s get that banana split. I’ve been looking forward to it all week.”

They took their usual booth and were not there two minutes before Polar Bear’s Balli brought the coffee and twin mountain peaks of pure sin. Between bites, Ruby commented, “Old Balli doesn’t look a day older than he did when we were in high school.”

“You’re right. It’s good to know some things never change.”

“Just the prices.”

“It’s worth it. God, this is good, but I’ll tell you something, Ruby, we’re gonna have to start doing this once a month instead of once a week.”

“I know. It takes more and more work to get it off.” Ruby looked down at the chocolate and caramel-covered goo, wondering how long this time it would take Beena to bring up the subject of their marriages—the last part of their Friday ritual. Ruby could do without that, but she knew Beena needed the weekly catharsis. Eighteen years ago, Arpit Jagpal (the most wanted, tall-dark-n-handsome guy) had surprised them both by marrying Ruby. Furious, a rebounding Beena had swiftly seduced, and married Jatin Bhargav, the fattest boy in their class— and the son of the richest man in town. Back then, like every other girl in their school, they had worshiped only tall, good-looking boys, especially quarterbacks of the football team.

But quarterbacks on small town high school football teams rarely make it to the big time, while chubby sons of small town bankers who follow in their dad’s footsteps often become quite wealthy. Some of them, like Jatin Bhargav, eventually realizing they married the wrong woman, go to the fat farm and trim down, and though it was costly, get a divorce. Beena had gotten her daughter, the big house, a large cash settlement—and the Mercedes.

After her divorce, one of Beena’s early boyfriends had been a broker who had helped her make some shrewd investments. Then, she had run through a ten-year string of lovers. However, to her everlasting credit, Ruby reminded herself, Beena had never made a play for Arpit.

Walking back to the car, Beena said, “You know what’s coming up this weekend, don’t you?”

“Yep. But this time I think I’ll skip the hen party.”

The previous year, Ruby had let Beena take her into a trip to Delhi at The Taj during the Christmas weekend. Arpit hadn’t minded her going, having already planned hosting all his pals for the big game. “No,” Ruby added. “I thought I’d never finish cleaning up all that mess they made last year. I’ll pass this time, Beena.”

“Too bad. You’re a helluva lot more fun when you have a couple drinks and let go. I’ll never forget when you stuffed that five-dollar bill in that stripper’s jock strap. You sure took your time doing it.”

“He wouldn’t hold still long enough for me to—”

“That’s a white lie, Ruby. You enjoyed it. Why won’t you admit it?”

Ruby smiled. It was true. She really had enjoyed it. All of it; getting really dressed up, the drinking, the brief stab at gambling, and yes, even the male strip show. A taste -- one tiny glimpse of life-in-the-fast-lane after twenty years of Doon -- was fun, but that’s all it was. A surreal, temporary lark -- for two days and one night, like watching a home movie of someone that wasn’t herself. Plus, the headache she had suffered on the drive home the following day had convinced Ruby that once every twenty years was enough!

Beena wouldn’t let it go. “And that cute guy from US really liked you. You should have made it with him. You know damn well none of us would have told anybody. Joe would never have known.”

“Maybe not, but I would have. He sure tempted me, though.”

“That man could have tempted a nun. I don’t know how you’ve stood it all these years, Ruby. I admit I was mad as hell when Arpit chose you over me, but when I saw what he turned out—Oops, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

“I know you didn’t, Beena.” Of course you meant it, you silly bitch. You didn’t have to actually say it. Arpit dropped out of college, didn’t he? Couldn’t hack it, could he? Best he could do was open Jagpal’s Dry Cleaners and plug away all these years… But it was a decent living, wasn’t it? We did okay. Hard work for nearly twenty years, but we made do. With me working alongside of him most of those years, we managed a modest little slice of the Indian Dream in spite of it all.

“Sure you won’t change your mind and come along with us? My treat this time.”

“No, Beena. I’m going to help Arpit this time around with his Christmas party. Less clean-up hassle. Besides, if all they drink is beer, it won’t be so bad. It’ll be good to see Arpit having some fun. Maybe next week we can go see that movie you were talking about. The one Shah Rukh is supposed to be so good in.”

“Sure. Why not?”

Beena drove the Mercedes carefully into Ruby’s still ice covered driveway, honking the horn at Arpit, who grinned, waved, and continued shovelling the last remaining snow from the sidewalk in front of their small bungalow. Both women sat there in the warmth of the car for a few more minutes, mutely watching Arpit’s methodical work.

With a soft sigh, Ruby opened the door on her side and started to slide out. Just as she did, Beena reached over and grabbed Ruby’s hand. In almost a whisper, she said, “I’ll never understand you, Ruby Jagpal. Why did you settle for so little when you could have had so much more?”

Ruby got out of the noisy car, and before slamming its door, she leaned back in and answered, “Well, Beena, I guess he’s a lot like this old Mercedes. He’s too old for anybody to steal, but he’s reliable, well insured, and you know what? His heater and cigarette lighter still work just fine. See you Monday.”

Anticipation

If ever should these waiting lips,
Touch softly on your face;
They'll leave a trail of passion,
Time never will erase.
For they have waited for so long,
And hungered for your touch;
Ached with anticipation,
From wanting you so much...

If ever should these empty arms,
Be filled with loving you;
You'll never want another,
Each time will be brand new.
For I have waited for so long,
And longed to feel your touch;
Ached with anticipation,
From wanting you so much...

If ever should these hands of mine,
Across your body linger;
You'll know the heat of my desire,
With the touch of every finger.
For they have waited for so long,
And hungered for your touch;
Ached with anticipation,
From wanting you so much...

If ever should my body,
Lay touching yours alone;
As we explore each other,
Like two souls coming home.
For I have waited for so long,
And longed so for your touch;
Ached with anticipation,
From wanting you so much...

SECOND TIME AROUND

Each step in life we've taken,
The paths that we have roamed;
Have always led us to this place,
Where our hearts have found a home.
A common destination,
Two hearts searched so to find;
A destiny that leads us back,
Each and every time.

Sometimes our paths still wander,
And take us far apart;
Yet it always seem to cross again,
As if led by these two hearts.
The path at times is rocky,
The road seems paved with tears;
But each step toward each other,
Has been worth it through the years.

Keep walking on the path you're on,
It leads you back to me;
For in our hearts we will always share,
A common, unknown destiny....

I searched the whole world over,

All my life I dreamed of you;

Of someone who would share my life,

Now my dreams have all come true.

I never gave up hoping,

That one day you'd be found;

And love would be much sweeter,

The second time around.

Now I've put my hand in yours,

And we've joined heart to heart;

I give my soul, my love to you,

As we make a brand new start.

Now every dream you ever dreamed,

I promise will come true;

For I have searched and found my heart,

It's beating there in you.
The second time around….

It pays to be FREE

Zahir, in Arabic, means visible, present, incapable of going unnoticed. It is someone or something which, once we have come into contact with them or it, gradually occupies our every thought, fills our entire being, until we can think of nothing else. This can be considered either a state of holiness or madness.

While I was fighting for a cause, I heard other people speaking in the name of freedom, and the more they defend this unique right, the more enslaved they seemed to be to their parents’ wishes, to a marriage in which they had promised to stay with the other person ‘for the rest of their lives’, to the bathroom scales, to their diet, to half-finished projects, to lovers to whom they were incapable of saying “No” or “It’s over”. To weekends when they were obliged to have lunch with people they didn’t even like. Slaves to luxury, to the appearance of luxury. Slaves to life they had not chosen, but which they had decided to live because someone had managed to convince them that it was all for the best. And so their identical days and nights passed, days and nights in which adventure was just a word in a book or an image on the television that was always on, and whenever a door opened, they would say: “ I ‘m not interested. I’m not in the mood.”

Staring at the mirror everyday,
She hates the one looking back at her face.
Her imperfect features, her dull eyes,
Which beauty magazines don't seem to embrace.
She tries to be someone everybody adores,
And in the event losing her own identity.
Look inside you, not the mirror,
You might find the person you were meant to be...

I do not regret the painful times; I bear my scars as if they were medals. I know that freedom has a high price, as high as that of slavery; the only difference is that you pay with pleasure and a smile, even when that smile is dimmed by tears.

Freedom. The freedom to be wretchedly alone.

Happiness

Happiness, to some, elation;
Is, to others, mere stagnation.
Days of passive somnolence,
At its wildest, indolence.
Hours of empty quietness,
No delight and no distress.

Happiness to me is wine,
Effervescent, superfine.
Full of tang and fiery pleasure,
Far too hot to leave me leisure
For a single thought beyond it.
Intoxicated! Forgetful! This is the bond:
It means to give one's soul to gain
Life's quintessence. Even pain
Pricks to livelier living, then
Wakes the nerves to laugh again,
Rapture's self is three parts sorrow.
Although we must die tomorrow,
Losing every thought but this;
Frayed, triumphant, drowned in bliss.

Happiness: We rarely feel it.
I would buy it, beg it, steal it,
Pay in coins of dripping blood
For this one transcendent good.

And fill my every bit of breath,

With the everlasting moment

of commemoration.

The parallel tracks

I slowly exerted pressure on my calf muscles and raised my body. I swayed a bit but I controlled myself and started to walk along the tracks even as the ballast hurt my feet. I stared at the tracks, when somebody held my hand.

“I Love you… Baby,” Akrit said, the word baby personifying his love towards me. There was this particular grin plastered across my face which meant I was the happiest girl in this world. Akrit clasped my hand and held it close to his heart. I could feel the warmth of his love. At the moment, I had only one wish.
Leave behind everything and walk with him down these tracks till the point where they meet. He wrapped his hand around my slender waist and pulled me closer to him when my hair doused his shoulder as my head rested on it before my eyelids dropped dead while we started to walk along.

There was a loud sound. Yet I never cared to open my eyes. I can go the distance, blindly when Akrit’s with me.

The honking became incessantly loud when I felt a force pushing me and the next moment I was off the tracks. I stared at the tracks and pushed myself along them. The knee length milk skirt which I wore was tattered. Blood oozed from the calf area and I pulled myself.
“Are you short of the slab? Can’t you see a train coming your way?” Tina hollered at me.

Ever since Akrit broke up with me, I was out of my mind. Two years of love, how could he ever forget? I have given him my heart and soul. They say, love is blind. For me, faith is also equally blind.

“I am too emotionally attached to you, Akrit,” I said and paused for a while. “You will always be there… for me?” I wasn’t questioning his faith, I thought. He looked into my eyes and held my cheeks with his fingers. “You won’t ditch me right?” I asked him. I was frightened. He was nicest guy I have ever met. And he loved me a lot too.

When you have something which you hold above everything else in this world, you always have the fright of losing it. So you are possessive of it, never let it go away from you.

“I promise,” he said with a kiss on my forehead. And we continued walking down the tracks as there were tears in my eyes, tears of happiness that cascaded down my cheeks. I wiped the tears off my cheeks. I was always frightened that I would lose him and so did I. Not that I never had faith in him, but that’s the way of love.
Tina, my best friend is trying to console me. “I will never let him marry another girl,” I said.

Initially, I was angry with him. But as days passed by, the ephemeral anger subdued and the abysmal love surfaced. I missed him. I loved him so much.

“The tracks are a way of thinking in life. Both the tracks should run parallel. From either side, there should be love. Only then a journey called life becomes meaningful on a train called love. He doesn’t like you anymore. Whatever you do, he isn’t going to come back. And you will also forget the pain in a few months if not years,” Tina delivered her speech and continued, “So trash these feelings of yours and resume your journey on these tracks called life.”

“But they tend to converge as they approach the horizon. My love for you will die only at that point,” he said with a smile.
“Poetic, huh?” I raised my brow.
“Romantic,” he replied.
“And you will be very well dead at that point where it dies,” I looked straight into his eyes.
There was a lot of commotion around. I have reached the platform but I still walked from between the tracks. People were aghast to see a girl in a skirt drenched in blood walk along the tracks.
Drops of blood trickled down the knife.
“What are you doing?” Tina rushed towards me. I just slashed my wrists.
“Look at this…” I showed her my wrist.
Everybody could see was a speeding train coming along the tracks.
I told this story to my husband as we waiting for the train, on the platform.
“How do you know her story so well?” he asked me. I worked as a psychologist.
“And you mean to say she’s dead?” he asked me one more and kept bombarding, “What happened to Tina?”
“Tina is an alter ego of her. Tina never existed. It was her own self which kept convincing her that she should go on with her life even after the break up,” I replied.
“What happened to Akrit?” he asked.
“Akrit’s dead body was found a few miles from the station. Police ascertained that he was stabbed by a woman, most probably the same girl. But she was never found again.”
“Why did she slit her wrists? She killed herself?” he said winking at me, “the last one, please”
“Every one else were of the same opinion,” I said as I rolled up my sleeve and looked at the scars on my wrist.
The train slowly pulled itself along the tracks and I resumed my journey.

Just let it be

Last night I was enveloped
in questions
that almost felt pre-natal…
I felt like I had not emerged
from the womb of life…
I felt the amniotic fluid surrounding me
life was non-existent…
I had not known it yet

In bursts
I felt the meaning
of my existence
stand out in relief
… as I tried to plunge deeper
the ignorance eluded me…

I knew
I could have gone deeper
into that state
but chose to return to life
and away from the chasm…

That trance like state
could have pulled me deeper inside it
it seems to offer answers
for it brings forth so many questions…
but no answers it gives…
only the feeling
of being able to reach somewhere…
but not taking us anywhere…

Our best bet
is to be close to reality
close to the truth of our lives…
if any answers we'll ever find
we'll find it in the midst of life.

Perhaps we should do nothing.
Just let it be.
Let it be.
Let things happen at the
pace at which
mother nature intends
them to be.
Watch the things
unfold at their own rate
whether hurried or late.
Hurry not things
that are meant to delay
and delay not things that
are meant to happen
in a hurry.
Just let it be.
Let it be….

When I Am Gone

One day I’ll be gone, as we all have to go –
Then do not be sad or afraid, my dearest,
For I will always be around you.

You’ll find me in the promise of the rainbow,
When the sun shines thru’ the gloom of dismal clouds.
So don’t let cherished hopes ever forsake you.

In the hazy mist on hilltops you’ll catch glimpses of me,
Flitting by the moon I’ll be the shining cloud you’ll see,
Gathering stardust to shower blessings on you.

I’ll flash by on the dazzling blue of a kingfisher’s wings
To fill your heart with memories of joyful things.
So keep all sorrows at abeyance from you.

With the breeze I’ll waft in thru’ your window
To plant gentle, caressing kisses on your brow,
And softly whisper my true love for you.

When you lie in bed, I’ll glide down a silver moonbeam,
And alight upon your tranquil lids - serenely dream.
I’ll chase distressful thoughts miles away from you.

As darkness mellows into the rosy flush of dawn,
I’ll smile up from crystal dewdrops on your lawn.
And cheer will adorn the new day for you.

In gleeful abandon I will chirp with the birds,
So begin each day without pain and hurts.
Let life be an endless celebration for you.

When velvet petals are kissed open by the wakening sun,
You’ll see me in their tender hearts, my loved one,

I’ll never ever be too far from you.

Just for a while

Let me sit by your side only for a while
Today whatever work I have
I shall do later
As long as I don’t see your face
My heart knows no peace
Even dipped in a lot of work
I feel I am lost in a sea
I will let the day flit by
Spring has come to my window
Surging
The lazy bee has come to my garden
Humming
Today it is time for us to sit twined
Gazing into each other’s eyes
Today is the time to hum in peace
The song of our mutual gift of love....

Yours with love and rancour

He had been angry.
But then he laughed, and there was madness in his eyes, like magical swirling stars, spiralling through space.
He smiled more kindly, and calmness pervaded.

She had been lost in the darkness, dancing to the musical sound of Nature, aroused by its sensual beauty. But then the music had stopped, the energy was gone, and now there was nothing but her heavy breathing.
"I was watching you dance" he smiled again, more gently, but she could tell, though divine madness touched his soul, that he was amused.

His eyes seem to penetrate hers, and she felt his gaze turn to her body. She felt his eyes on the exposed curve of her neck and her subtle face and suddenly through her mind flickered the image of the man, his hand taking hers, pulling her close and gently kissing her lustrous lips - she shuddered and blinked, breathing heavily, breaking his mesmerising stare. He smiled again and she sensed, as their eyes touched, that he knew she lusted for his strange tender touch.

"Shall we walk by the stars and stare lazily at the sky, for I am told it is a most grand sight, and I must tell you a short sad story" he thus spoke. And she nodded without voice, for his madness had touched her, stolen her words and replaced them with breathless space.

So they escaped together into the darkness of the night, and she felt the comfort of this strange man's hand in hers as they walked together through the devil's dark space. Until they entered a path into a plantation of pines, and though the trees disturbed him, still they were silent sentinels standing tall in the night, calling them, “Come to me, come to me, come to humanity ...”
"Let us lie in soft scented pine leaves and watch the cosmos dance" he spoke seriously and she sensed that he was somehow disturbed by his own thoughts.
"For you know that you have added the essence to the, and their burning beauty resides within" he said softly, and he sensed the shimmering stars in her eyes.
"But now I must tell you a story of this space, this nature that you love. For while these trees have beauty, they do not belong" And she sensed the heaviness of his voice, and the burden that he carried.
"For once, long ago, people like you came to this place, and they danced and celebrated in nature's beauty, and they thought it was for them to consume for their pleasure."
"And so they consumed, without thought for the future and knowledge of the past, in joyful blissful ignorance they consumed, until at last there was nothing left."
"And then they left, and the machines came, and the plantations came, the noise of factories, until nature finally died" and tears blurred his stars, distorting the world he now saw so clearly.
"So it is true, as you say, my once startling cape of kindness and gentleness and compassion is full of holes and torn at the shoulder. For I can no longer live with those who consume without thought, who destroy with their ignorance, and dare chide me for clinging to my broken humour"

What strange simplification and falsification mankind lives in! One can never cease to marvel once one has acquired eyes for the marvel. How he makes every thing around him bright and free and easy and simple!

"I must leave you now, for I have serious work to do, dangerous and it requires a brutal mind. It is not a work for one so young who wishes only pleasure and lightness, without consequent or thought"
"Perhaps one day you will come too, follow to begin, and learn and help, and one day lead. I cannot say. But it is no longer a game to me, for the world I love is dying"
And he cried as he walked through the darkness of night, but still his eyes burned brightly, watching the stars, his lonely friends, in their endless cosmic dance...
He murmured silently,

“Gradually the poisoned fabric dissolves, and I feel
the fresh morning air caressing my closed eyelids.
But by nightfall my obsession would rouse itself once more,
and thousands of ants would crawl across my lips;
the mirror showed me bursting with health,
but a hidden disease was rotting the marrow in my very bones.
My face sometimes looks so vacant, so expressionless.
At times all my endeavours seem vanity,
Happiness becomes a false lure, and the world wears a
Mocking, illusory mask of Nothingness.
Misfortune and misery has erupted into the world,
Philosophy and literature have become as essential to
Me as the very air I breathe.”