An Evening In Winter

A winter evening, silent and sombre.
The trees stood, with branches bare.
Dead leaves and small, broken twigs
Crunched under shoes, old and frayed.
Icicles hung from the branches above.
Pale fingers brushed against a trunk-
Hard and damp, icy to her warm touch.

Drew her scarf closer to her neck.
Her hot breath melted in to the air.
Hands close to her body, brows knitted.
She walked on a winding path, desolate.
Stood by a frozen lake, its secrets hidden.
Flanked by dying weeds, yellow and brown.
Like worn - out soldiers they stood withered and bent;
Bent under the weight of flakes and hail.
The winds sang, the trees murmured.
They told her stories, of secrets unheard.

They whispered and chuckled, shrieked and howled.
They created a din, a cacophony of sounds.
She whispered to them, "Tell me more."
With a cracked voice, she urged for more.
Her lips turned blue, her eyes watered.
Her throat parched, yet she wondered.
Yet she stood in the woods for long.
Waiting for answers to questions she didn't know.

Nostalgia

Sitting next to the window with the rain pouring outside and music streaming in through your earphones, you close your eyes and take in a deep breath. You feel homesick, all over again. That’s the thing about spending your holidays away from home. No matter what you do, whoever you talk to, whatever you do to distract yourself; you will be engulfed by this wave of nostalgia that washes over you and makes you pause and catch your breath. Birthdays, Durga puja, Diwali, Bhai phonta- these are only the beginning of the countless occasions that you’re will be celebrating away from your family.

You try to make yourself be indifferent to all this. Just as the way you've been trying to be indifferent about other stuff. “It’s alright”, you tell yourself. “You’re making a big deal out of this. Pfft.” Yet, you find yourself staring into the distance, your books lying on the table, all forgotten. You start creating all these imaginary scenarios inside your head. Boarding a flight back to Kolkata and surprising your family by your unannounced visit; all the deadlines and obligations swept aside, temporarily. You imagine spending time with your family, going out on long walks with your friends; laughing and talking as if the months of separation never existed. You imagine yourself relishing on phoochka, maach bhaja, gorom khichuri and beguni, biriyani, ilish maach but not shorshe ilish; rather, you like the way your mom prepares it; the pieces floating in a curry of chopped brinjal, onions and capsicum. You miss the way your dad made you breakfast on weekends. You miss the omelettes stuffed with fried tomatoes, capsicum and peas. You miss the pasta and the noodles. You miss the sweets that were prepared by namma on numerous occasions. Payesh, nadu and peethe- things that she would make every time you came to visit her. You miss the aloo bhat and pepe korola shiddho.  You miss the way how dadu would greet you with a warm, tight hug and a gummy smile and every time that happens, you  feel happy and sad at the same time; happy to see him happy by your presence and sad by wondering whether this was the last time you were seeing him alive.

You even miss your brother Neel. You spent your entire childhood fighting with him; engaging in vicious fights that would put wrestlers to shame. The mortal combats; running around the house dodging each other’s hits and then the subsequent retaliation.  An eye for an eye .A tooth for a tooth. This was your war slogan. However, now you miss him. You miss your little brother though he’s not little anymore. He’s taller than you and he’s not modest about it either. He reminds you all the time that you’re short and fat. He’ll show his flat stomach and grin with glee. You show your middle finger and smile sarcastically. You love the way he turns shy when you probe him about his crushes. He turns red in embarrassment when you ask him shamelessly about other stuff.  His nostrils would flare and his lips would stretch out in a sheepish smile; wondering what he did to get a sadistic and shameless sister like you.

You miss your dad. Though you've never been close to him, you can no longer maintain a cold disposition towards him.  You can’t ignore the fact that as you’re growing up, he’s growing old. Both of you are turning mellow with age and beginning to see eye to eye on more stuff lately.

You miss your mom the most. You’re a self-proclaimed momma’s girl. You’re really close to her. You share your secrets with her. She knows about every boyfriend and every heartbreak. You can deduce her mood by the sound of her voice. She knows you like the back of her hand. Sometimes, your roles reverse and you start preaching her. Feeling lonely? You call her. Feeling happy? Call her again. Feeling tensed about your exams and can’t sleep? Well, you've even called her at 4 in the morning (it’s worth mentioning that it was the third call).

You miss your family. You miss your friends. You miss your city, Kolkata. You miss home. You take in a deep breath and sigh. You stare at the raindrops as they hang from the window frame. 

Introspection

With her earphones plugged in and hair tied in a messy bun, she made her way back to her hostel. It had been a busy day. She had classes throughout the day and then had worked in the lab till 5 o'clock in the evening. Her neck was stiff, spending hours preparing culture media and performing serial dilution in the lab. The results weren't satisfying and she knew she had to work hard to ace the class. She hummed to the tune blasting in her ears and she lowered the volume to delay permanent ear damage. She looked at the faces passing by, mostly those of strangers. She smiled at the familiar faces and occasionally greeted them by waving her hand. She turned her head to the left and caught a glimpse of herself in the large windows of the book store with overpriced books. Her reflection smiled back at her.

She came back to her room. Turning the AC on, she fell face down on her bed. She turned over and drawing her feet towards her chest, she slowly unbuckled the straps of her shoes and tossed them on to the floor. She stretched her arms and legs out and sighed out of exhaustion. She heard her joints pop and she pushed the hair out of her face. For a minute or two, she stared at the white ceiling. She raised her arms and brought her hands close to her face. She observed her half-chewed fingernails and the skin at the back of her hand. She turned her left hand around. She looked at the wrist. Her fingers brushed against the skin near her hand, touching the blue vein that was barely visible through her skin. Her skin was soft and smooth, the scar had faded away. Her fingers circled around the spot where her scar had been or so she thought.

So much had changed in a year, she thought. She had changed too, she realized. Leaving the safety of her home, she had travelled to a strange place to find some purpose in her life. She came to a new place away from her family, friends and acquaintances; in the hope of getting her life together again. She had a lot to prove to people, especially to herself. She was afraid, very afraid. Afraid of what waited in the world outside.  Initially she had found it hard to wrap her head around the changes that took place. It took her weeks to get comfortable around the strangers who shared a room with her. It took her a week to adjust to the mess food, not to forget mentioning about the mild food poisoning that took place in her first week away from home. She sat in a class full of strangers; she listened to professors who gave lectures in strange accents. Everything was strange and new to her. Yet, gradually she grew accustomed to her new life. Her love life was a constant strain to her mental peace. Her life took another turn after he left.  Only that he never did, coming back again and again until she finally closed the door shut. She was determined to walk away with her remaining ounce of self-respect and she did. She distracted herself by immersing herself into her studies and she started performing well again. She grew mature and more understanding. She found new friends, travelled to new places with them and she started to like the person she was becoming.

She still has days when she’s crippled by feelings of self-doubt. She still has those days when she feels a bit lonely, maybe that’s a feeling that would always be tugging at the corners of her mind. However, she knows how to deal with the monsters inside of her head. She learnt to trust again. Trust people but trust herself, mostly. She was no longer a rudderless boat stranded in the middle of the ocean. She learnt to let go of things and of situations that were not in her control. She’s still learning. And….she learnt that one can fall in love again. She did too. 

The Maple Tree

Peals of laughter filled the air as he ran after her in the park. They weaved through the crowd, jumped over puddles and laughed at the grumpy expressions of the people walking by. Wearing a white frock, the ends of which trailed behind her running legs; she glanced back.  She gave him a lopsided smile.  He took a deep breath. He looked at her pretty face; her almond shaped, amber eyes adorned with thick, long lashes; the freckles on her cheeks and the small dimples that accentuated her dazzling smile. She giggled again and danced around the big maple tree. He followed her and joined her in laughter. It brought back some memories…

A six year old boy was sitting at one corner of the outdoor cafeteria, glancing around furtively before taking out the lunch box that his mother had packed for him. He took a whiff and smiled at the tuna sandwich and the chocolate chip cookies. He emptied the juice box in three, loud slurps and burped.  He was about to start on the sandwich when he felt a hard tap on his shoulder. He turned around and in a flash, someone grabbed his sandwich which broke in half and ran away. He stuffed his face with the remaining portion that was left with him and ran after her.  She looked back at him, giving him a toothy smile. He smiled in return...

They were in the park. Lying in the shade of the maple tree with his head on her lap, he was slowly drifting in and out of sleep. It was a nice day. It was bright and sunny. There were kids chasing one another and parents lounging on the grass, talking and keeping an eye on their children. He closed his eyes.  He felt a tap on his forehead. He opened his eyes and saw her face inches away from his.  Wisps of hair fell around her face and her brown hair gleamed in the sunlight. She was looking at him with an amused expression; her face tilted to the side, her eyebrows raised and eyes widened.  He smiled and tucked a lock of hair behind her right ear. He pulled out a maple leaf that had been fluttering in the breeze and got lodged in her hair. He cupped her chin and pulled her in for a kiss. She leaned back after some time, blushing scarlet. He flashed his most winning smile but got smacked in return. They started laughing…

He comes back to the present when he hears her calling him. " ....You have to be fast to catch me!" He laughed and said, “Sweetheart, let’s go home now. We’re getting late.” “Don’t be a spoilsport, daddy. We still have time to sit on the swings again.” She hung her head to her left and smiled. He chuckled in response. Sally was growing more like her mother every day. “We need to buy flowers and visit your mom, remember? It’s her birthday.” He hoisted her up on his shoulder and she laughed with glee. They made their way to the parking lot.

Serenity

Twigs snapped underneath her boots as she made her way down the meandering path she hadn’t taken in a while. Shafts of sunlight broke through the canopy of trees and dust motes twirled in mid-air like a ballerina performing a pirouette. There was a fresh, earthy fragrance that reminded her of rain. It’s called petrichor, she remembered.  

She stumbled every now and then over the uneven ground, even slipped one time when she tried climbing over the moss covered trunk of a fallen tree and stepped on a puddle. She wiped the dirt off her sleeves and shook the excess mud off her boots. She resumed walking again. Soon enough, she found a small break in the tree line and as she stumbled through the opening, she found what she was looking for.

The tree was still there. A decade older, a few branches less and still as graceful as before. The soft, cool breeze that created ripples in the water of the lake shook the branches of the tree and as a generous friend, the tree parted with a few leaves to welcome back an old friend.  She was home, at last.

She sat on the ground, near the trunk of the tree. Shafts of sunlight that streamed in through the leaves caught on the strands of her hair and added a soft, brown tinge to her hair.The dews hanging from the blades of grass glistened in the sunshine. There was a small, black bird perched on one of the top branches of a neighbouring tree, chirping away merrily.  She observed a heron near the bank of the river, standing motionless and exuding calmness.  Suddenly his head went into the water and he came up with a fish. He swallowed the fish as it waved its tail fin frantically but in vain. After a moment, it was silent again, as if the stillness was never broken.  The predator resumed his hunt, oblivious to the eyes of the young girl resting underneath the shade of a tree.

She cupped her chin over her right hand and with her left hand; she drew abstract patterns on the mud. She found it oddly comforting, feeling the cool earth against her fingertips.  She wrapped her hands around her knees.  She was filled with a serene calmness, something that she hadn't felt in a long time. Stealing a couple of hours away from the cacophony of a busy, hectic life, she finally found peace, however temporary it was. At this moment, she was free from the burden of responsibilities; she was free from the shackles of expectations.  She had no deadlines to meet and no pretences to keep.  She didn't feel overwhelmed any more and at the same time, she didn't feel the emptiness that often loomed at the periphery of her consciousness. The only thing she could feel was peace. She shut her eyes and sighed. Peace. She had finally found her inner peace.

The Sniper

Crouching near the parapet, he waits in anticipation. A bead of sweat rolls down his temple and he presses his lips together.  His hands are steady as he takes aim. His fingers curl around the trigger of the AS50 that he keeps close to him, even in his sleep.

Sleep.  When was the last time he slept? His mind was always alert and his body would tense up even at the sound of rustling leaves.  His eyes would fleet in all possible directions, trying to detect a faint movement. There was no time to sleep in this game.  The game of survival, which had only one motto- “Shoot or get shot at. Kill or get killed. “

He rolls his shoulder and curses softly.  A stray bullet had just grazed by his right shoulder, the previous night. It still stings, every time he moves his shoulder. He remembers how he had almost shrieked in pain as he dabbed a bandage soaked in iodine over his wound. Remembering that, he feels better almost immediately. This sting seems like nothing in comparison to that! How he wished he was away from this place, away from the game of life and death and busy playing houses with his little angel.  She was two years old now, and had never seen her father. She had never felt his arms around her, never had him whisper into her ears that he loved her with all his heart.  Of course, she never missed him. She didn't even have the faintest idea of his existence.  Her mother was smart enough to marry a decent man as soon as she conceived her. He doesn’t know much about the husband except that he has a stable job at a bank. He knows that the only things that keep him up at night are unpaid electricity bills and a cheating wife.  Maybe he is still unaware of the latter though, he chuckles.  He feels a pang of jealousy, sometimes, wishing that he had a normal life like that fool.  However, he knows that he would soon grow tired of it, normalcy bored him. He needed some thrill in his life.  And yet…

He snaps out of it. There was no time to get distracted.  Every second counts when you’re stuck in the crossfires.  He narrows his eyes and takes aim again. His target was lurking near the bushes. He’s a fool if he thinks his camouflage would actually work, he thought. It was clever, no doubt, but not clever enough. Though he was covered from head to toe in a dirty green uniform that blended into the background, he forgot to take into account that the gun had to be well hidden as well. It was almost undetectable amidst the long blades of grass, but a shaft of sunlight had streamed in through the leaves of the tree he was hiding beneath. The light had caught the metallic barrel of the rifle and shone brightly like a diamond for a second before it was moved away in haste. But, it was too late. His position was revealed and the monotony was broken. The game had suddenly turned exciting.  The blood lusty eyes of the sniper were focussed on his prey. His steady hands never shook once as he pulled the trigger. A wheezing sound was heard and after a split second, the head slumped to the ground. The semi-automatic rifle rolled away from him and the body grew still. Blood pooled around the head and the lifeless eyes stared at the dust on the ground. Meanwhile, the foolish soldier was still lying on the ground, below the tree; waiting for a faint movement to break the monotony.

Crimson

Sitting on a pedestal, she looked at the reflection in the mirror that stood in front of her. She watched herself as she delicately brushed her long, raven black hair that tumbled down to her waist. She put down the hairbrush and picked up the Kohl pencil. She bent forward and started lining her eyelids. She rubbed away the excess from the corners of her eyes and then took a bit of foundation and dabbed it over the skin under her eyes to hide the dark circles. She took some foundation and applied it on her cheeks and then on the blue bruises that had started to appear on her neck and near her collarbone. She applied lipstick, a bright, crimson shade that complimented her pale, fair skin and then applied perfume behind her ears and on either side of her neck,  near her shoulders. She stood up and winced, the pain reminding her of the ravenous events of the previous night.

She readjusted her blouse, that was so low cut that a bigger part of her cleavage could be seen through the semi - transparent cream coloured sari that hugged her sides suggestively. She readjusted her hair and let it fall over her right shoulder. She looked at the clock above the door. She still had ten minutes to herself. She sighed and walked across the room and touched the black grills of the window. She peeked outside, peeked at the hawkers sitting on the pavement on the opposite side. She watched the men sitting on a small, broken wooden bench, enjoying cups of tea and watched the rings of smoke that rose from their lit cigarettes. She watched a little girl holding the hand of her mother who was busy haggling with one of the hawkers, creating enough din to scare away the crows that were sitting near the railings only moments ago. She scrutinized the little girl, watched how her eyes fleeted across her mother and the hawker. After a minute,  she kicked a pebble and let it fly on to the tarred road. She smiled at the child and realized that she bore some resemblance to her own little sister. She wondered how she was. Was she safe? Was she still going to school? Did her parents sell her off too? She fervently hoped that fate had been kinder to her sister.

She heard a sharp knock on her door. She heaved a sigh. She dragged her feet towards the other end of the room. As soon as she opened the door, she was greeted by the stench of alcohol. She led him to the bed in the centre of the room and laid down over the green quilt. The mattress creaked as he got on top of her. She could smell the faint scent of cigarettes in his breath. She stared at the cracks on the white ceiling. She closed her eyes.

The Homemaker

"I bring food to the table.  What do you do? Sitting at home,  all day long,  what would you know how it is to be in my position?" She listened to his words that reverberated inside of her. She hid a tear as it accidentally escaped from her right eye and brushed it away. She turned around and resumed chopping the vegetables. Yes, she spent the whole day at home, working in a kitchen with poor ventilation and wasted hours dusting the furnitures. She had nothing better to do.

She remembered what her parents said to her the day they fixed their marriage.  "Marry him. He comes from a decent family. He earns a good salary. He will keep you comfortably." "Job? What job? Why would you need a job? Well, your job is to stay at home and look after your family. I can't spend any more money on your education", he said to his 20 year old daughter who had spent her entire childhood reading in a government run school.

She was reduced to the position of a housewife,  a crude, demeaning version of the word 'homemaker'. Unlike proper jobs, she received no salary, she worked throughout the day, kept the needs of her family ahead of hers and never got a vacation either. Of course, that's an awful thing to be in this century. It requires no skills and no degree. There's no glory and there's no pride in it.  How could there be? Her family didn't appreciate her. She was taken for granted. Growing up in a joint family which favoured a son, her needs were always secondary;  her requests flicked away as childish wilms. She got married to the son of a 'modern' family where she faced another sort of hypocrisy. The daughters were encouraged and the wives were pinned down under the weight of responsibilities.
Throughout her life, she had others to make her choices, take her decisions.  She was reduced to a mere puppet, the strings controlled by hands that often changed. "This is your fate. Accept it." "This is your fault. Face it.You never had a strong personality." She looked for a solution; she received preaching. She looked for support, she received nothing.

She wanted her own identity. She longed for individuality. She wanted no one's sympathy. She needed no pity. She wanted to be her own saviour. And today, she became it. She put down the knife, wiped away her tears and turned around. "I have had enough," she thought. It was her turn now. 

Matters Of The Heart

It was 1:30 and in the last two hours, he had barely solved 7 problems. He was sitting hunched over a book on 'Multivariable Calculus And Differential Equations'. In the silence that surrounded him, there was nothing to distract him.  Yet, his pen was lying on the table and his head was resting on his left hand. In the copy in front of him,  there were scribbles and lines scratched out. At the top right corner of the battered copy, there was a doodle.  A pair of eyes stared back at him. He was good at sketching but even the beautiful eyes that stared at him seemed dull in comparison to HER eyes. Her beautiful,  beautiful eyes. Lined with kohl, they seemed to be the prettiest eyes that he had ever laid eyes on. Her dimpled smile was just as heartbreakingly beautiful. When she laughed, he would hold his breath and listen. Just listen to the sweet sound which made his heart grow warm. She had raven black hair that fell down in ringlets on either side of her narrow face. Sometimes she would braid it, other times she would let her hair fall down to her waist.

They were good friends. They were classmates and sometimes bunked boring lectures to catch a movie or sit in a small cafe and talk. Hours would pass by but their stories would never end. He loved the sound of her voice, but it was her stories that captivated him. Her myriad stories that kept him mesmerised and longing for more. They had their fights. Meaningless bantering on their favourite bands, football teams or movies. He would sometimes let her win. Just to see her face light up and how she would scrunch her nose and tease him. He was hopelessly in love. However like any other boy,  he was scared to tell the girl how he felt. He was afraid, he didn't want to lose what they already had  in the pursuit of something more. However, the heart yearns and he craves for her. There hasn't been a day when he didn't talk to her.Maybe she likes him too...maybe, she's afraid too. ..But he can't know for sure. Maybe it was time for him to finally tell her about it. He couldn't bear to imagine seeing her walk away with someone else. He wanted to be that 'someone else'.He checks his phone again. An empty, illuminated screen greets him, signalling no reply to the message he had sent 10 minutes ago. He waits.

She woke up disoriented. Grabbing the phone, it didnt light up when she pressed on the power button. "Battery must be dead", she thought. She checked the digital clock. It read 1:30 A.M . She turned to her side and she peered at the light coming in through the cracks of her bedroom door. "He's still studying. I'm so proud of him. " She smiled and turned around and went back to sleep.

Rain

Leaves rustling. Winds blowing.
Sky rumbling. Heart sighing.
You sit with a cup of tea nestled in your palms. You watch the steam rising slowly, making circular tracks that disappear within a second. You watch the raindrops as they strike the windowpane and race against each other, each desperate to prove their agility.
After weeks of unbearable heat and humidity, it's finally raining; and raining heavily. The clouds are all grey and occasionally bolts of lightning illuminate the dark sky and the rumbling thunder break the monotonous pitter patter of the rain.

You set down the empty tea cup and stand up. You walk towards the window and push the doors wide open. You let the cool wind ruffle your hair and caress your skin. You let the raindrops kiss your face like a lover. You close your eyes and take it all in.

Suddenly you hear the sweet chorus of laughter echoing from somewhere. You open your eyes and see a group of children playing, in the rain, in the road opposite to your house. Some were wearing school uniforms, others wore flimsy garments and tattered shorts. They were drenched to the skin but having the time of their lives. Jumping on the puddles, dancing in the rain; things you don't remember doing yourself. How long has it been, you ponder.  You watch the grown-ups standing under the shade of the tea stall; enjoying cups of tea and shaking their heads; all imagining the scenario when the children finally went back home. A shrieking mother, feet shuffling towards the bathroom; euphoria replaced by bouts of regret. Didn't they know, that the kids knew what awaits? But they choose to ignore it. They see the rain, seize the chance to enjoy the moment; unmindful of the consequences. You watch the scene outside,  you watch the smiles plastered on their faces.

Moments later the grown-ups witness another grown-up turning into a child again. 

Biscuits

It was a sultry afternoon. The sun was at its glory, shining directly over the heads of the people of Kolkata who were sweating profusely in its presence. Horns were blaring and traffic was at a standstill. The din of the hawkers trying to make a living, the whistle of the traffic sergeant, the blaring horns and the jostling pedestrians- all created a pandemonium that was both an annoyance as well as a thing too common. It was just another day in the middle of August.

At the corner of Sudder  street, stood a young nine year old boy. He was dressed in tattered clothes, wearing a ripped shirt and shorts, too short for a boy of his age. His face was covered with a thin layer of dirt while his hair lay plastered to his scalp, drenched in sweat. He was missing an incisor or two. His eyes were chocolate brown and his nose was a bit crooked. He had a habit of licking his lips and tilting his head when deep in thought.  At the moment, he was gawking at a child standing with her mother. The girl had her one hand wrapped around her mother’s fingers , while in her other hand, she had a chocolate bar that was melting and dripping all over her fingers and on to the pavement below. She was in the middle of the process of licking her fingers clean. The boy, on the other hand continued to stare at her, while his stomach rumbled.

He felt a smack on his head. Turning around indignantly, he was greeted by the sight of a hawker who was annoyed by the presence of the little ragamuffin, who according to him was driving away his customers.  The little boy walked away quickly and crossed the road. On the other side, he again resumed on his endeavour to collect a bit of money from the generous pedestrians. However, generosity was a bit rare these days.

After roaming around on the streets for a few hours more, he finally stopped and sat down at a quiet corner and in the light of the street lamp; he counted the coins that were jingling in his pocket. He was gracious enough to have had a family till the age of six but poverty drove him far away from them. Unable to feed him and his siblings, his mother sent him off with a man who had posed as a well-wisher. They were promised that he would be gone for a short while only and that the family that was hiring him as a servant boy would feed him thrice a day. After three days, he found himself in the midst of several small children who, just like him, were taken far away from home and who had horrible things in stored for them. He managed to fight off and run away and since then, he had been wandering the streets of Kolkata and sleeping on the pavement. Sometimes he was lucky enough to collect alms that could provide him two square meals a day….on the other days he would fill his stomach with water and stand before the big sweet shop and look longingly at the various sweets displayed.

He counted once again. 15 Rupees. He was overjoyed.  It was enough to buy him a dinner and maybe, even squeeze in breakfast. He walked towards a shop and bought himself a packet of biscuits. He rinsed his mouth and his face with the water that was trickling down from a broken tap and made his way to a bench in the park. Dusk had fallen and the park was almost empty. There was a group of college students, smoking at one corner while a young couple was making out, making good use of the darkness.  He settled down on to a rusted bench, far away from both the parties and ripped the packet open. He took out one biscuit at a time and nibbled on it. He had a habit of eating slowly, savouring each morsel. He watched the moon peeking through the clouds and let the cool breeze ruffle his hair. He was down to his third last biscuit. He was about to put it into his mouth when he heard a small whine. He looked down and saw a pair of eyes staring at him. He squinted and realized that it was a puppy.In the dim light of the streetlamp, he could make out that it was a few weeks old and then realized that it wasn’t actually staring at him. Rather, it was staring at the biscuit in his hand. He was about to pop the biscuit into his mouth when the puppy whined again. It came a little closer and nudged his right foot. He was about to kick it away but he changed his mind and with a sigh, he offered the biscuit. The puppy immediately bit the biscuit and he let it drop. The puppy ate the biscuit with relish and then licked the crumbs on the ground. It looked back at him, wagging its tail. This made the boy give a toothy grin and he took out another biscuit and offered it to the puppy. After a while, he took it in his arms and petted it. It licked him on his nose and this made him laugh. He had found a new friend.

And Life Goes On...

You remember those nights? Those sleepless nights. Spent in the dark, with a pillow soaked with tears. The hot tears streaming down your temples, the choked feeling in your throat and the way you bit your lips to let no sound escape. To keep it inside. The anguish. The pain. The heartbreak. The betrayal. To hide the emotions. The myriad emotions that clouded your mind. The memories that fleeted across your mind. The good and the bad. The ones which used to bring a smile to your lips, would then give you sleepless nights. You used to wonder whether it was your fault.You cursed him    and blamed yourself. You loathed him, and yet cared.

You remember those days? The days you adorned a mask and faced the world. The days which passed by, with the sole objective to appear strong. To be strong. The days when a smell, a picture or a thought could trigger the onslaught of memories. The days when your mind would try to find bits and pieces of his face on those of strangers walking by. It overwhelmed you, the way your mind was playing games.

..........But life goes on. The memories don't haunt you any more. They don't trigger your tears any more. You've grown a little stronger. You walk a little taller with your chin held high. You wear a smile on your lips as you , finally, said goodbye to him and his memories.