As a candlelight flickers alight

As the ray of hope in the darkness of night



Isnt it strange how sometimes its like you just temd to see a big big problem looming in front of you?

All the paths now in darkness.. no light to show where tge shining way of happy and free world is in…

The demon of tension goes on building its house in that plateau of your brain… 1 storey..2… 3… and much more taller than the Effiel tower itself…

Talking of balance of that house of tension demons.. well surprisingly its made of concrete cement called as Self-Thoughts that holds it right upto the very top…

The house is being made but its a magical one where the demon can be seen only by you… and also the progress of the storeys of the house adding up…

You try telling others the house exists… but in vain…

People would either give a damn… or if they do care – well they would acknowlege your ‘fantasy story’ as politely as possible… in short even they wouldnt give a damn of what big house you are trying to tell them about…

Then comes that moment of disaster… The earthquake of Realization from the epicenter of the core of the mind…

The curse of love

Perhaps she was right,

She always was and so is now

I was born on that cursed night

With a cursed heart and a cursed mind

It wasn’t so true before

Or maybe it was me who didn’t notice

Day by day here my silence reigns

And I start underatanding life has much more curses to say..

It was all right or so I imagined

I was blessed to be born out here

But it was hard to know I was wrong

And she was right

Everything is pure and blessed

Except me- A dark spot in the white..

The drapes of white forever in life

Is what I get of loving someone- just once

Not a smile, not a bubble of joy

Everything plain and plain just white

Perhaps a bit color wouldn’t have hurt

But no! I am cursed!

It has to hurt

No wonder love stranded me so deep

Alone.. alone.. alone..

I have all life to cherish

With curses and endless tears to weep..

There must have been my fault somewhere

For why would i be cursed just like that?

I ask her again and again

But only answer is silence…

One more curse to my agonized pain..

I watch the blessed ones pass by

Cursing me? Or perhaps my broken life..

I am incapable of love perhaps

Always alone.. alone.. alone..

Being nobody’s lover nor anybody’s wife.

Where can I free my curse?

I want to know really bad

But who has the answer to my question?

Well nobody.. and this truth has me all hopeless and mad…

I shan’t want to die -loveless

For i know i can love as well

But who’d give a cursed one that love?

It’s again with an answer no one can tell….

The Puppet show

There goes up the advertisement

High up the bulging walls

The excitement runs beyond

With happy or sad tear that falls

A long long wait it was

But there its coming through at last

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 and 9

Can’t imagine!!

How the show finally has arrived so fast

Wonder if there would be a big big crowd out there?

Or just a mere 2 -3 of audience to see?

Would there be cheers when the theatre curtains reveal finally?

Would there be claps perhaps?

Or ooohs and aaahss maybe?

The cry of the puppet rang off the theatre

The show finally started- with

Surprisingly a lot lot of audience!!

Strings started to dance and dance

Along there was the puppet tied around

The music of time played on and on

Here to there in reality and mind

The puppet with audience danced along

The puppet thought its string had just one master

Yet it was wrong..

The hold on strings was changed

With every change of the time song

Beginnings of the show was yet so soft

Then the holds all changed..

And it wasnt that soft.

Came the tune of time blaring out so loud

And the strings started to twist and turn

The puppet swayed

To and fro

Side by side

Round and about

But it was a puppet on strings

And there was no way to shout

Shout out the pain- strings attached gave it

Shout out freedom from the place it didnt fit

Shout out the torture it did feel

Shout at the music of time to shut down its reel

Yet this was the climax…..

Of that one puppet show…

The puppet was in agony

And the audience laughed at you

The twists and turns was a mere joke

Even the music of time laughed

Laughed until it did choke!!

Poor poor puppet dangled and swayed

Yet it was the climax…

Nobody would want that moment to fade

Who cared to listen to that silent pleas

Shouting out loud to please set the strings free

Strings of society and obligations

Strings of stereotype thinking and human creations!!

Puppet is you and yes you!

The audience is looking with mocking laughter

To that joke – only you know isn’t true

The music of time would stop!

The curtains drawn back again

And there would be that end of puppet show

The tangled puppet would stop!

Relieved finally from the pain

And there would be no smiles to see and know

Obsessed Cheater!!

I was the good boy.. the best from the days of my childhood.. the school.. the college.. the firat boy always and the good son among my 3 brothers.
I never had that rough edge like my big brother who insisted that i was too soft like a girl.. i didnt care for i never liked the scratches and scars portyaing on your hands and legs. He was proud of them and called it his identity. I never understood what is so fascinating about that.
As for my younger brother, his identity was laziness and lying. He had that sculpted face with body like a Greek God. He could just get away with excuses with a wink and some display of smooth words. I did envy his body and face but as for habits i prefered being active. I never liked how he made excuses and got himself out of trouble.
As for me i was the middle son and as i said the good one. I was soft and emotional too. I never liked to bang the doors out hard. I liked helping mom do chores. I was a nerd too engrossed in books in free time. The boy who came first always in school and college..
My brothers always envied me about the marks. They didnt really read and prefered cheating. My younger brother cheated taking my notes in exam and the older one cheated when teacher wasnt looking but the boy next to his seat was surely looking… they were used to cheating and even were obsessed i’d say
I never cheated. Everything i did was on my own. I dont like cheaters too. I had planned my life to go simply with no need of cheating on my own as easy as that..
Until she came in my life. The girl that fitted my liking. The short curly hair, the slim body, the contagious laughter and the good looks. Exactly my choice.
I cheated first time for her. I cheated with the romantic talks and sweet words from my brothers chat history to his girlfriends. She got impressed. This cheating was not a big deal i managed to make her happy so its ok i told myself
She made me cheat on my mother. I lied to her about liking this girl. Just a friend i told her. Eventually i will tell her not a big deal i told myself.
I was going low on marks for i had my exams and she insisted on spending time together. And i did. So a day before exams i had no idea what to write so i cheated like my brother from the boy sitting next to me. Next time it wouldnt happen this was not a big deal so i told myself.
I became obsessed cheating and all just for her.. It was not a big deal so it seemed to cheat if it made her happy. I cheated my dad taking money to buy her gifts. I cheated my brothers to impress her even more. She loved me i was sure and she loved i was cheating for her. It made her special. I wanted her to feel special.
I was the obsessed cheater now.
Then cheating happened again… but this time it wasnt me… it was her. She cheated on me.
Always had been for it was no big deal to her. She had many lovers and i was one of the one whom she loved. She was my special one but i wasnt hers. She had many who made her feel special i was one of them.
It wasnt a big deal she must have cheated because i must not have made her feel special. I told myself. But i knew watching her being intimate the same way with me wasnt something about special. She was an obsessed cheater too. She made me one of them and i let myself be too.
I stand in front of the mirror now watching the obsessed cheater look at me.. Who are you? It questioned.. What made you a cheater? It asked.. Why did you become one? It enquired…
And all i could answer was … Obsessed cheater because i loved her.

Those questioning coffee eyes!!

I stirred the coffee again and again unable to drink it…Especially when the colour of the coffee resembles her lost eyes…
How will I ever be able to forget her…? As she entered 9 weeks back with her coffee eyes… So vulnerable…so innocent… Her files portrayed the fragility that I couldnt fathom… so many scars already… even though her dress tried to hid her body scars made by cigarettes, her eyes betrayed the hidden wounds from all these years…
Her silence hung onto my thoughts everyday compelling me to think how lucky I am, to have hot coffee to sip while her coffee eyes sipped the bleakness of life…
I tried connecting and communicating with her so I could reduce the burden she carries within herself…I tried to empathize her to my best ability and my efforts didnt go to vain. A week later, she shared…

She shared her life story and I could find myself relating to her life… losing a family at mere age of 15 because her sexual orientation was Transgender, forced to drop school because they didnt want her… denied of a job because of the sexual orientation..
She had no option and thats where she chose to work as a sex worker for livelihoodShe started it gradually and as she went on with it she started enjoying that life, the money, the survival..
The last night she was brought to me with fresh wounds from her client who upon taking service denied her payment saying he was not satisfied… and when she protested she became the victim of sexual torture being brutally beaten and thrown on roadside… Her eye questioned in silence, why the discrimination? Why was tortured? But I had no answers

I recall that particular day her heavy yet soft voice echoing her pain and agony…her eyes turned a shade darker like black coffee with the cream of sadness, helpless and confusion asking me silently as to why she couldnt live a dignified life of sex worker?
Why is she treated inhumanly? Why has she got nobody to seek help? Why is she labelled as criminal though she is the victim?
And I had to look down, for I had no answers yet again…
And today I regret not being able to answer her questions… when she had looked upon me with those black coffee eyes… I could feel the bitter taste myself…That was the last I saw of her…
She was gone, but she left with a lesson of our failure towards the future generation…
We as an individual and system have ignored this vulnerable group and ignored their rights all along… We have ourselves chosen to keep ourselves in dark… and also dragged them along with us to join the darkness…
It is time we all brew up a new cup of coffee with cream of development… And its time we create equality and understand the LGBTIs and sexworkers…