Falling.

Falling.

Wind screaming around him.

Whooshing.

He looked at his arms, flailed them around. He was strangely calm considering he was falling.

He didn’t have any idea of time. It seemed like it had been forever and it seemed like it had been no time at all.

The wind rushed about his ears, a howling sound now.

Read More

The deluge was mighty. The smell of barsaat was in the air. The sound of constant patter as the raindrops hit the concrete, the stone, the steel pipes. As they splashed against one another, against puddles, forming ripples. The rain was so fast, so much, it was almost blinding. You couldn’t see past the curtain of beads of water that were everywhere. There was so much water on your head. You would wipe some away, whether by hand or arm or by blinking, more droplets would fall to take its place. You almost gave up. Strategically wiping your eyes, so as to have visibility but without always having your hand up on your head. The water tasted cool, a little metallic, but cool. It felt malleable on your fingers. Skin swelling because of all the water it was absorbing.

Read More

Thunder cackled like witches screeching. The clouds were hanging low and were noxious. Electricity sparked in the air, giving off a dangerous feeling. The hair on one’s neck and head rose along with the perpetual goosebumps. This was a dangerous place. This was also one of the epicenters. To the naked eye, once, the shadow rajah could not be seen. Now, you could almost make him out. He was standing tall and proud. Chest out, long, soundly legs. Huge arms. You would feel a fear rising, closing up your throat, almost as if you were going through anaphylactic shock. You would rub your eyes and nine times out of ten, he would disappear. You would sigh, hoping to be relieved. You would not be relieved. The fear would be there. It would not go away. In fact, it might get worse.

Read More

She sat and stared. Cross legged. In front of her was the papyrus tablet. By her side was the reed. It had been shining when it had appeared in front of her. Brand new. As if just made. A gleaming silver pen. In this place, things were not just one. They were many. They took many forms. Their true names remained the same. It was a utensil for writing. It had taken many forms. But it’s condition was the same. Brand new. Now, it was spent. Even if she had tried to write with it, she couldn’t have. As it was, she didn’t need to. She had written the story. As far as it could go.

Read More

It was the highest polo field in the world. It had a storied past. It was one of the wonders for those who knew. Most didn’t. Most didn’t care. What was polo to them. But the ones that did, they worshipped this place. Most figuratively, some literally. It was chilly with winds strong enough that you would want to zip up your jacket all the way up to and beyond your neck. You would try to pull the collars over your neck. But the air here was fresh. So you wouldn’t mind the cold that much. Breathing in that much clean oxygen would make you dizzy as blood pumped through your head faster and more efficient than you had experienced yet. The field was green but you could also see the sparseness of the greenery all around. Patches of green surrounded by cool dirt. Dust rising as the wind blew over it.

Read More

He loosened the strap on his watch. His fingers came away moist. The gas hissed. The fan whirred. The flames were blue, and slithering. The steel container was gleaming. Soon, it would be covered with mist. Soon. Until then, all he could do was to wait. He was done with all of this. He could not wait for it to be done. But wait he had to. Otherwise, it wouldn’t work. A bead of sweat dropped from his chin. He looked down at the stain on the cloth. Another dropped from his matted hair. The first was dark , fast becoming light. Another. He wiped his cheek on his left shoulder. His brow with his forearm. He could smell the water boiling. Underneath it was that deeper smell. Of something rotten.

Read More

The lake was beautiful. Surrounded on all sides by mountains. A few log cabins by the shores. It was peaceful, quiet, and clean. There were usually ever disturbances on the surface of the lake. Today, there were ripples.

The log cabins were empty. They would soon be populated. The weather was finally getting better. People would come to their summer homes. People would have the time.

Read More

The fireflies were glowing beautifully, like wisps of snow. The green was all around. It was strange. One of the busiest cities in the world. He could see the last avenue. This one was quiet. At least here it was. Further downtown, it was a mess. A quagmire of people and cars. Jumbled. Honking, chattering. Noisy. Nothing but sound and traffic. Stuck in a loop. Twenty four hours a day, seven days a week. But here… that Avenue was quiet and peaceful. Old money lived here. An avenue away, he knew, was bustling. He could hear the sound drifting off from there to here. Less intense. Nicer. As if he were removed. Which he was, in a way. Which he literally would also be soon. The fireflies were glowing beautifully, like wisps of snow. The smell of dusk was in the air. The sky was colored a musky, burnt orange. He could feel them glowing past his ear. He would bring her here. His heart leapt with joy at the thought of her. It would be a nice little evening. The dog pranced around, galloping into little coves and bushes. Fireflies took flight, higher and higher, glowing and blinking as she approached them. She was confused at first.

Read More

He had been killed. He had offered the girls a nicer place. With a beautiful smile and kindness in his heart. It hadn’t been his fault. They were after him. He was running from them. But a man had still died. And someone was to blame. He hadn’t seen the body. He hoped they hadn’t either.

He walked the streets at the storm closed in. The poisonous fumes in the air behind him. He walked faster.

The man had showed him a beautiful smile when he had tried to check in. Nothing but smiles. And very helpful.

Read More

The kitchen was stuffy. The water was boiling. It was seething and hissing. He wiped beads of sweat off his forehead with the back of his palm and acted. There were two pots, glistening and gleaming. A shade of fog covering the outside. The smell of spices as the water bubbled. He stood by the corner, arms folded, and watched. The floor was cool and smooth under his feet. He shivered a little as he thought of the rat that had recently been found roaming around here. It had left. But what if it hadn’t. Speaking of crawlies, his spine tingled as he wondered if there were roaches too. Or other things. He knew there weren’t. But that didn’t stop his monkey brain from being a little scared, and very repulsed by the idea.

Read More

The sun was setting on the hill. Strewn all across it were toys. Shards of glass. Pieces of metal. Remnants of a past wanting to be forgotten. Remnants of a life well lived. The sky was colored auburn. The sun was burning still but it seemed weak and aged. The wind was soft, gentle with its caresses. Whispering slowly in your ear. It tickled. It smelled of memories, a whole host, a rollercoaster of memories and emotions. The hill was green, the sky was orange and brown and red. The tree standing, keeping guard, gnarled, and brown.it was halfway across the hill. It had leaves that had turned yellow, had holes in them. As if burned by age. Burned by the ravages of time.

Read More

First, a disclaimer. I really don’t feel like writing this. Like there’s not the passion or fire or spark. Not the switch flicking on. So pardon me if it doesn’t come out as eloquent. But I really want to get this done and dusted. Out the way. So that it’s truly and finally over.

Read More

“Are you fasting?”

“I’ll think about it.”

“So that means no. You said the same thing this morning.”

One parent held a look of resignation, the other of indignation, like how could our son not fast.

“You should fast. Tell him.” She turned to her husband.

I should fast? Ha

“He’s going to his grave alone. As are all of us.”

“At least tell me this. Are you still Muslim?”

Silence. “Yes.”

Read More

It was nice outside. Windy. Cloudy. The sun was out, but not in full force. In these parts, full force meant a heck of a sun. Hot, sweat inducing, sweltering. It wasn’t like that today. Bright, cheery. Irregular. The stone driveway was smooth under his bare feet. He loved walking on it. He loved walking outside barefoot. To really feel the ground underneath him, whether it was dewy grass, or dry earth. Little blades of grass, soft earth. Freshly manicured earth, or irregular patches of ground. The sound of traffic hurtled outside. Far away, it seemed, even though it was only one street away. The infrequent chirping of birds. The laggers. The slow ones. They would get the worm too. The work being the sunflower seeds, he thought, as he turned around, and looked up at the wall to the house. Clay bowls hanging from strings. Five in all, just on the house. Then two outside the walls. All filled with sunflower seeds. There were only a few birds on the electric wires. He could smell the different scents in the air.

Read More

The steel door was loud, beckoning. Glistening. Unfortunately, there was no crevice or handle he could use to try to push it. He didn’t know if it would move at all from this side. He knew what was on the other side, and because of it, he saw flashes from how he got here.

They had been in the car. He had really wanted to hold her hand. He had an almost overwhelming urge to look at her. Instead he looked out the window. They were almost there. Wide, open fields. Barley and wheat growing by the barrel. Dirty water in small canals that went nowhere. Stray dogs running around, tails in equal parts up, and cautiously down, whenever a car passed them by, or some humans that smelled angry and like they wanted to lash out at the world. He grabbed hold of his right hand with his left. He began to scratch it slowly so she did not read his mind and figure out what he had wanted to do.

Read More

She thought of the other one. She could have saved him. Could she have? No. There was no use worrying about the past. But she couldn’t help from worrying about the now. She thought about the other one. Strung up, upside down. Ropes on his legs, his arms. A reverse da Vinci man. No signs of blood or open wounds. Cold as if all the blood that rushed through the veins of a vibrant person had just stopped. Body temperature lowering. The paleness, and morbid stillness that comes with death. She wasn’t worried about whether or not she could have saved him. This was her life. The game they played was brutal. She was concerned about her sister. Her sister was involved in it too, now.

She closed her eyes and winced hard as she tried to shake away the thought of her sister strung up. Upside down. She grimaced. She needed to protect her. But how.

Read More

He sat at the table looking over. They were having lunch and talking. Across from him sat his girlfriend, soon to be wife, and also his cover. She was in on it too. His tablecloth was white and clean, the silverware glittering. He was looking at them intently. The man who was clean shaven was sneaking glances at him. The agent had been told to wait for a ‘john’. Him, he was not John. He knew all about this operation. He was just there. He was watching intently, he could not hear what they were saying. He should not be looking at them either, but he couldn’t help it. What’s worse, the agent shouldn’t be looking at him. It was too obvious. He was looking over and mouthing John. As if on cue, the man he was sitting across from turned around, and gave him an ugly sneer.

Read More

Grief comes in many forms. Grief comes in all weathers. It does not discriminate. Grief is blind to worldly possessions. Grief is color blind.

The tides of the ocean swell and fade. They bring in all the worries and trash of the ocean, and deposit them on the shore. Then they slowly slip away, fading into the sand, and just as fast, even the traces of them fade. Then they return.

Read More

The car hummed and roared, a horse kept back by the reins, kept in check, raring to go. They were headed to their home, three hours away when they had left the factory and now almost two hours away. The city of the Mughals, one of the most extravagant series of rulers to have ravaged the earth. Beautiful gardens, big magnificent mansions. Sure, there was poverty and decay now. But in the locales that were rich, you would see the newest models of the German, Swiss, American cars. You would see lush trees. Manicured gardens. Terrible city planning. But the air smelled rich. Pregnant. Money growing on trees. Scattering first the few that were caught in the crossfire. The car raced to go. Held back by speed limits, and by the traffic, that, even on a Sunday, even in a global emergency was still fairly heavy. Their city was lined with trees. It smelled of food, delicious meals that even the Mughal emperors of yore only had on special occasions. It was poor too.

Read More