#fearlesswednesday

“This is the time of our lives

This is the night where we shine.”

These are two lines I wrote a long time back, and I still can’t remember what made me want to pen those down in a piece of paper. It is hard to figure out why these lines popped up all too soon in my head again.

We’ve all come a long way; some of us don’t talk to each other, or run away in the verge of a meet. Some of you maybe in other district or country and we may not talk as much as we used ro. Some of you might have not even seen me. Over a year or so, things have changed, maybe for everyone. As most people say, change is inevitable. Some of you may have lost faith in yourself, built faith on a wall that crumbled down, making you numb. We are bitter over the loss of someone or something, a chance or a belief.

Yet we breathe every second. Everything inside us bear us, embraces us every moment. Your heart beats for you. You are not alone in this world. There are millions of stars watching us, a thousand songs with words that are meant to heal you from all the troubles.

There may be a person who heard a joke from you and still remember it, a person who got carried away in your voice, a person who wishes for your presence, a person who misses you dearly.

When all about us are trying to cheer us, why shouldn’t we do too?

Muster up courage, burn your egos and hatred, ignite the bit of love in you and share it with someone today, everyday. There may be a person out having a bad day, and you might be able to make them happy.

ENDLESS DREAMS. 

Sleepless, the night yawns

Dragging me to the pit

Of endless dreams

Eyes, they scan the sky

Watching out for the rise

Of the dreamless being. 

I hear the stories of the night

Told by the legends of their child

A fool falling for the charm

Of the endless dreams of mind

But you still keep me up

With your joy and sorrows.

And now all that remains is us

The pieces of broken heart

Trying to find the right match 

To mend each other, to fall asleep. 

IN AN UNJUST WORLD. 

That day, I saw him answer to the judge’s question.

It was my fault. I taught him to be bold and to react, to dream and to think. That day, the lessons failed me. And I, his master, failed him.

His eyes dawn upon me, helplessly. He is not native to this country. His ancestors ruled us years ago; and I began to rule him ten years ago. Better yet, I became his friend. He was fifteen, and I was twenty five. I taught him pickup lines when he taught me cool stuffs. We became each others’ master.

He first walked to my room with a camera bag and a hard disk. “View my photos and give me a chance.” He didn’t even have a beard back then/ His eyes glowed reading my name on the plaque that stood on my desk. “Farooq Shah.” Beneath each picture, his name was embedded, “Stanley Schiffer.” His view of sunset became my personal favourite, and I decided to be the wind beneath his wings.

We travelled the world with cameras and lenses, we saw the world in a perspective others couldn’t see. We became the dream catchers of the nature, each caught up on the ink imprinted in  a photo paper. While we spent our life trying to bead the stories of each city, we forgot to dream. In those moments we found our will to leave; the firework to beat the darkest shadow. People of Palastine smiled for us, the saints of Shanghai opened their eyes for the lens, and the Llamas of Himalaya became the new trend.

Llamas of Himalaya. It was the day we set foot to India/ My home country, and his ancestor’s favourite nightmare. We deciphered the cave painting while we walked with lamp torches. We taught them about the state of being fearless; my first big mistake.

We went to the west and saw the deserts. We ran to the east to escape the heat, and ended up craving for Pani Puris. We stayed at the centre for a while, which was my second mistake.

“I’ll bring us some food. Why don’t you get some rest?” Stanley asked, tying up his shoelace.

“I have to send the photos to the studio. Oh, and no more pani puris. I can’t get addicted to them,” I told him with a laugh.

“Yes boss,” he replied with a smile.

Then I saw him, stranded on the street with a woman lying on his feet. He had dropped the food packets on seeing her. His trembling fingers stalked my number, and I ran for him. Shaking, sweating... he stood like a clueless child.

“Did you do this?” I asked him, looking at the woman lying down like a piece of flesh. Her face smeared with dirt and blood, her eyes empty of wishes. I noticed his jacket lying on her bare body.

“No!” he yelled. “We need to take her to the hospital.” I agreed with him.

No vehicle stopped for us. All men and women looked at us, some yelling words in Hindi. We didn’t understand them, for my second language wasn’t my national language, but my own mother tongue. Someone mentioned a hospital two kilometers away. And so we walked, holding her blood drenched legs with our hands. Soon, the cops came, and then the media. I heard one say that we are the rapists. Moments later, I broke a finger and the journalist walked out with a bloody nose.

I overheard a senior officer mention the name of the person behind the unjust act, a name so famous it shouldn’t be heard in the court. Stanley and I stood, clueless and hopeless. In my arm, a voice recorder rested.

“Did you see the person behind this?” The judge asked. I mentioned the name, and the whole court simmered down to silence. “Is there any evidence?” Judge asked again, and I presented before him, the voice recorder. He listened to them silently with earphones. “Not enough evidence,” the judge concluded. “Detain these men for a week and release them to their state of origin. Court is adjourned.”

I heard a woman wail and a man faint. They say he is a heart patient and the girl’s father. Stanley and I stood both helpless, like the cold body of the girl. 

It is a well known fact that most of the last words are heard by the nurses. Here is a story of such kind. Not based on a true story, and continuation of DEAR DIARY. Enjoy. 

LAST WORDS.

All there is between us is silence. Awkward silence. Though there is a regular beep from the heart monitor, saying that he is alive. Since I am in my fifty’s and a nurse doing the work for twenty five years, I am supposed to watch him.

The boy has been attacked badly by a group of men. The doctors try to keep their mouth shut, but every now and then, a word reaches my half working ears. There is a woman outside drenched in tears and pacing, and a man in his suite summoning up all Gods as though he is t he ultimate priest.

I try to read the boy’s mind; and I almost see what he sees:

I am walking on a road with two stone walls on either side. Creepers are hanging low, and the song ‘Reign Of Love’ is playing somewhere. There is a beach at the end and I see a boy and a man play. I can say from the hair that he is the same that is fighting for his life. I touch the boy’s bony shoulder, and the landscape changes to a swimming pool.

The man in the suite is playing with his son. There’s some vibe making my vision blurry, something pulling me back from the childhood of innocence.

My eyes focus on the boy again. There is a small scar on his right forehead, something of crescent shaped. And his face glows like one too.

I remember some last words said by some people on the same bed. Mr. Issac, on the year 2007 said “I can see her now,” and I knew he was referring to his late wife. Mr. Hussain’s last words were “Goodnight sunshine.” He was one of the wittiest patient and a stroke took it away. Ms. Narayan yelled her last words, “It’s Ms. Narayan! Not Mrs.” She had a way with humour too.

The beeps bring me back to the room. The boy is breathing hard, and struggling. His mother’s face pressed so hard onto the window as though it may break it, worries me.

I page all the doctors at once. The boy’s eyes are open and I can see that are blue like the ocean.

He sucks in the last bit of air and asks “Is she alive?” and I say she is though I have no idea who he is referring too. It wasn’t the time to give the boy bad news. I had to give him the last bit of hope.

His eyes are closing and his shaky breath pierces my ear, “Tell Ma and Da that I’ll see them soon.”

I stand now motionless. In the list of all the best words I’ve heard, I’ve never noted down a young boy’s. And the first one etched onto my heart.

Slowly, I walked out, mustering up the courage for a conversation. 

As I stand by the beach, I feel a wave of satisfaction wash over me. The sun blazing down and the stars of the earth shining up. My brain feels something new. A feel of getting high without drugs; being happy unreasonably. A feel of one way unconditional love; my love for the waves. I can feel it in my eyes, in my heart.

The wind blows gently, and I see a father and son running around. They are playing with a beach ball. The innocence of time rests with the boy as his laughter makes the creator’s heart melt. In a nearby tea shop, sits a man and his daughter; him feeding her with crumbs of whatever there is available while the child pleads to feed a kitten that is licking onto its paws. The unseen faces of the world unveils, a scene no camera could catch it perfect, than the eyes of humanity. My heart skips a beat, for the beat has fallen for the boy and the girl, for their enchanting innocence.

A sudden jolt of emotion pangs like a lightning bolt. I realize there are emotions like happiness and sadness. And now, I’m curious in unlocking the sacred path to them, and the catalyst of mind gives me hope and confidence. Suddenly, I’m ready for experiments and taking risks. I want to jump in the moment where the sun kisses the sea. To see the utter silence of both as they meet each other after hours; the outburst of their emotions drawn in the colour of shades of red. Of how they fool around and fiddle with each other until it’s time for him, the ultimate source, to hide under the arms of the sparkling sea.

I notice the sun descending, and the sweet joy of the sea. She is calling him by raising her heart beats; the waves are excited too for they are now able to caress the soul of the sand. The beach and the sun; now I realize that what they have is the epitome of all love stories.

I look around, smile at the boy, wave at the girl and finally go for it. To witness the euphoria of the sun and the sea, the sand and the waves. I leap onto the gush of water singing to the sand. 

SOME DAY

All the memories remain scattered; and I wish they would disappear rather than join to become the perfect puzzle. We were the odd piece, and now only I remain, staring at what could’ve been, if we two had joined. The impression of his head on my shoulder remains, as he moves away from my sight.

Few years of spontaneous and blissful reactions would be the perfect explanation of what existed in the face of humanity. Endless talks, priceless moments and piercing smiles. The tattoo of these remains still in my heart, as scarred as it is. The scar through which he escaped from my little sense of imaginations.

His old shirt still smell of detergent and perfume, with a speck of hair gel. It is wrinkled and covered in dirt. But the perfumes holds me like marijuana.

It was the first day of the tour; our little world tour. Backpacks and cameras hung on us, as our hands held onto each other. We feared the world, of course, for we didn’t know what awaited us. Us, just two wanderers, capturing the faces of humanity and beading it with words of mankind.

And now, I stand on the midway, staring at a Polaroid photo of ours. And the memories fade from the film, as you move away from me.

A moment of betrayal, that’s all it took. A sweet betrayal, to be precise. To surprise me with a red velvet cake with vanilla icing. You knew as I munched into it, my teeth would come across something hard, and I would poke around the cake. Then my hands would pop out with a ring, and you would say “Yes, I’ll marry you, but will you do the same?” and would laugh. Both our eyes would be filled with tears, and we would embrace each other as the three letters you craved to hear the whole evening spilled out of my mouth : Yes.

And my fingers would tremble, etching down a story of our journey, from a rickshaw, to horseback and furthermore. With the ups and downs, the essence and the defects.

Us, two flawed humans, joining to be even more flawed, so flawed, eventually we’d be flawless.

And then, I saw you again on the other side of the window; your chest, where I rested my head that morning, now covered in something that looked so close to the  batter of red velvet. And my fingers tremble again to the pace of the heartbeat. And as my heart quickens, yours stop. ‘One flaw down,’ I hear someone say.

Maybe it was my inner conscience speaking to me; or it was the maddening thought of being left alone after years of yes and elevations. Now images flash by my eyes, all the horse rides and the short walks under the lamp of the street where we captured the soul of the city hidden under the arms of monsters.

I see you move away from me, the Polaroid fading, and my eyes closing. But the memories remain close to my heart. And I know one thing for sure; we’ll meet again in some world, some day. 

AFTER LIFE

So the night ends, just like any other. Time goes on, as ruthless as he is. Can’t even wait for a minute so that I could say goodbye to those I love. To those I’ve loved. I feel like I should’ve kept a goodbye letter at this point, but I guess it’s a bit too late.

The sun is coming up slowly. I can see it from my window. The music from the nearby church begins, and a day begins. In the midst of life and afterlife, the prayers seem to be a joke. Here I am, waiting to reach a state of higher perspective, a state where someone is taking me to; and all are praying to that someone to not take me.  All I can think about is a good meal.

Hooked up to a machine and bag canteen food surprises me with a wave of memories, for all I can remember is my name, and that too barely. They say my brain is dead. I knew this would happen at some point when I was in high school, and I labelled all the parts wrong.

The machine laughs, and my heart weeps. There is a crisis going on, and no one seems to acknowledge. Nevertheless, the neurons are on vacation and I don’t sense any emotion.

I see the doctors rush in and my life line looks flat and lonely. I see them all staring at my body. And my soul feel inspired for the first time. The sense of weightlessness gives me a sugar rush to fly high, and I yell out from the top of my lungs. Though now I wonder if a soul has lungs. I shall check it out at the hospital made of clouds and candy canes.

I see them all shedding tears. Smile! I yell out. I am happy in this new world! Though I miss you all, my well wishers and my shooting stars.

I see my old friend Karan here. Karan left me three years back when he took a trip to a village. On the way, he decided to change his route to heaven. He is making cloud castles with his magical hands; he lost them in his time in army too. He seems happy! I shall chat with him after my exploration.

It’s so vast here, and the earth, my earth, seems lonely. He even looks blue. Then I remember from my textbooks that three-fourth of it is water covered. Could they be teardrops from heaven? I wonder.

I feel happiness, not that I was sad when I was home. I’m happy I got to meet Karan and I got to see my earth. I’m happy how my little accident closed my brain so I could store memories in heaven. There are people in love here, regardless of gender, caste, religion or any of the man made concepts. And I see turmoil in my earth, and a confused child looking for happiness. I used to be that boy.

I send my wishes down to my earth, and I feel someone is seeing it. Some are even singing it. I hope I can spread joy from here.