Monday, May 26, 2014

The bomb maker

He stood over the ruins of his life. Stood over what was left of it. The memory relentlessly thrust upon him, he fell back into his chair. Thinking, criticizing and going over all the tantalizing details of the event. He had killed 62 innocent people. No matter how hard he tried to register this in his mind, he could not let it pass through his consciousness. On another thought, he did this in the first place now, didn't he? He signed up for the inhuman act. He switched on the old television in front of him. It had lost all its lusture which was now converted to a thick layer of dust. "I was fucking desperate for the money"- he thought to himself. He slowly picked his body up, with the shameless strength and life left in it and walked up to his wardrobe. He picked put the belt he wore in his army uniform. He looked at it and laughed. Laughed like a demon, slowly the laugh dissolved into a howl. It came from the deepest part of his soul. He stripped down in front of the mirror and picked up his leather belt. Raising his right hand, he smashed it right across his back and it hurt him. He felt agonizing pain. That is what he wanted to feel while he thought of how he had made that monster of a bomb. How he had used science in a way that left the mothers crying and the children whining, with hands stretched out. Hoping their mother would hold it. All the men that were on their way back home, with their wives preparing their favourite kheer for dinner. He had peeled off all the skin from his back by now. It was bleeding, like the hearts of people who had lost someone, like the colour the mud turned into when there lay lifeless bodies on it. He'd gotten a new phone for himself with the money those bastards gave him. A new phone? He smashed the belt once more.

Sunday, May 4, 2014

Reminiscence

She held back those little precious tears that would leave her eyes any minute. "Big girls don't cry", she thought to herself. Her temple was bursting into madness. Every tick on the clock strained and pinched her nerves. It was a plain disaster. She looked around- lying on the rusty old bed which clearly hadn't been dusted off since India's independence. A wooden chair, with the same dust layer over it lying beside her. Pink coloured walls with flakes of it coming off on the corners. She sat down. Looked around once more with the expression of utter hopelessness than disgust in her eyes. She wanted out. She wanted to get away from all those things which bounded her like the wildest lion of the lot forcefully caged somewhere. Somewhere where he could only dream of the never ending savannahs, the herds of deers and the rush of catching one of them. Her books lay wide open beside her with used steel plates of day before yesterday's dinner. It yet had the yellow stain which the maggi left. She decided to shut her eyes. And then she dreamt.
Dreamt of the city. The one which she knew would be the only place she ever wanted to be. Just with a sight of it, even in her dreams, her lips curled into a smile. She remembered how she felt like she was from here the first time she stepped into new york. The crisp chilly air which hit her with the first step outside the airport. She fell in love with the wind which made her numb to the core. "This is mine"- she'd thought to herself. The feeling of pure delight. Yes, delight- in its purest form. Those strangers who smiled at her- without even knowing who she is. The subways, which always had one homeless person singing with a guitar in his hand. The kind man who played "Jana Gana Mana" outside the statue of liberty. The man who kissed her lips right below the statue and told her she's the one. Oh, the man. She shuddered, the smile fading away now." Haah, the man"- she thought. Something wet rolled down her cheek which was red with blushing a moment back. Now, drained of colour. She opened her wet, bloodshot eyes- to the pink wall which had flakes coming out at the corner.