I, murderer

I woke up. I was sweating.

“What is this place? Whose bed is this? Is there anyone except me?” I was slightly frightened and shocked. I was never a big fan of shocks.

I got up from the bed and tried to find answers. I had been to this place earlier but could not remember where it was. The place was dark and I could hardly see anything. I tried to find the lights but could not find anything. And then I stumbled against something and fall. I was both happy and terrified, happy as there was another person except me and terrified as I had no idea if that person was my friend or foe.

My search for the lights continued and could finally find the switches. I switched the lights on. The room was full of lights but only red coloured. It made the place creepier and more chilling. I could finally have a proper look of the room. There was the bed where I was lying before, a chair and a desk with some papers and pen, some crushed and crumbled papers all around and an uncannily huge mirror. It was more than twice my size. And there was the other person who was lying down with his face facing the ground. His face was covered by a large brown bag. There was no way that I could see his face. His whole body looked wet and the red colour of the room made me feel that it was blood.

I don’t know why but I suddenly picked up a crumbled paper near my feet. There was something written on it which I could not make any meaning. My troubled mind could only realize that it was some story or poem written by a young, raw brain. But the thing which struck me the most was the handwriting, I was so acquainted to it once. It was the handwriting of some young kid I used to know. I was great friend with him but then one day he left me without even informing me. I still could not find where and why he went away. He was much younger than me and I never paid much heed to his disappearance in my busy schedule but even now when I was alone and take a walk down the memory lane, I pretty much think about him a lot.

I was staring at the mirror when I finally came back to reality from the thoughts of that boy. There was something on my face and my hands which was still unseen to me. I looked at the mirror closely and was shocked, horrified; I could not even breathe properly. I looked at the other person in the room who has still not moved a bit and that sent chills down my spine. I tried to find a way out of the room but all I could find was four walls, which all looked like painted red.

There was blood of my hands, still fresh and red.

Had I murdered the other person in the room?


I tried to remember how I ended up at that place, I could remember nothing. It was like I have forgotten most of my past and present and my future looks so grim and eerie. All I could remember about myself was my family, my name, my education and that I was a successful money grabber at a MNC. The more I tried to find answers about me ending up at this not-so unknown place, there was a piercing pain inside my head, as if it would burst. But I had to find the answers. The intention to escape these horrors was subdued by my quest to find the answers.

I went near the man and slowly turned him around. I jumped away from him and hit my head against the bloody walls. There were stab marks all over the body and there was a mark of rope around his neck. He was both stabbed and strangled by a noose. How can be a death more dismaying, more alarming! How brutal was the person who had killed him, the level of torture the dead man endured was worrying!

I tried to see his face and did not have the courage to do so. The pain was so intense that I thought my head could burst open anytime now and that fragments of brain and blood would be splattered all over the place. My death would be such a sad and insignificant event; nobody would know why and how I died. People wouldn’t even get a chance to shed a tear, not that I want people to shed tears on my death but I would have gotten to know what people really thought about me and how many cared for me, besides my family. I suddenly remembered that as a kid I used to dream that I would make some name and fame by making big in the fields of literature and that people would reminisce me forever before getting caught in the web of money grabbing.

I tried to think if I had killed that person. Then I thought how could I. I was a pathetic, spiritless regular person who worked in the MNC to earn shitload of money to have a materialistic life but was never happy in his life. How could that person have the courage, determination, spine to kill someone? He was not allowed to get angry, emotional, intolerant, loud voiced. He was basically the yes man to his peers and disrespected by his juniors. All he had was his family and money.

There were still more shocks to come.


I finally accumulated some nerve to look at his face. It had become a need for me, as if my whole existence depended on the revealing of that dead man’s character. My head would erupt anytime soon and at least I would have the peace of knowing who was the last person I was with before I died. My inconsequential death would have some meaning. I went near his cold body and removed the bag, rather tore it open brutally. I found that my destiny had continued to play the rude games with me. I was not sure what pleasure was it getting to torment me in my last few moments but I was helpless, powerless, weak.

The dead body was mine. Well at least it looked like me.

I pinched myself, it pained. I hit the wall, it pained. I scratched myself, it pained. I tried to shout, I could hear my voice. I tried to stop my breathing my covering my nose and mouth, I felt suffocated.

I was alive.

But I had to find the true identity of that person. I always knew that I had no twin brother. My parents would never lie to me, there was no reason to lie. I tried to find answers, I searched his whole body, his pockets. All I could find was more such crumbled papers with either poems or stories written in them. I was frustrated, I was irritated.

I looked closely at him, he definitely looked like me. The only difference between him and me was those tattoos, his body was full of them and mine had none. There were basically some things written all over his body. There was also something etched on his forehead but it was hard to read it although perhaps that was the only tattoo curved in English, the rests were in some other languages. I thought if I could decipher their meanings, I might be able to find his identity.

In his right hand, it was written rêver (French), in his left hand was written traum (German), in his chest was written somnium (Latin), in his neck crossing the noose marks was written sognare (Italian), in his right cheek was written мечта (Russian), in his left cheek was written sonhe (Portuguese).

I looked closely at what was tattooed on his forehead. It read DREAMS.


I woke up again covered up in sweat, in my own bed.




Can love Be this pure!

“Why do we meet at this same place every day?” there was a sense of complaint in her voice.

He tried to dissolve the situation a bit, “It’s because you stay near this place. It’s easier for you to meet me here.” There was his warm smile glowing his face.

“Yes, but why always in this graveyard? I don’t like this place at all. Why can’t we meet at someplace else? This has been going on for so many years.” she replied back.

“See, we are meeting after so many days and all you go to do is fight and argue. This is why I did not visit you the last 3 days,” there was some discontent in his voice. He continued, “We’re two old people and this world has moved way ahead than the both of us. It’s so hectic and loud and narrowness at any other place you want to go. People will laugh if they see that two old people romancing. The young kids can do anything at a public place but we oldies, even holding our hands, people raise their eye brows. And I don’t like attention unless it comes from you. This is the only place where we can sit a talk peacefully. But look there, someone at a distance is staring at us. Does not he have any other work or any other place to be?”

“Really, you feel this for me? Then where were you when I got married? Where was your love when my father forced me to marry that bastard? Suddenly after all these years, you confess your love for me?” She shed a tear from her milky white eyes.


“Have we not discussed this repeatedly? We’re free now to meet. Why ruin them over our past sadness? We can discuss our college days, the times were together; they were filled with so much fun and dreams. The dreams which we saw together.”

“How many of them could we fulfil? Not even one. You left me for your career, for your dream; you never even asked what I wanted. It was always what you thought. How many times did I try to stop you to go abroad, but you did not listen to me once.” She was in no mood to stop.

“Are you doing this because I did not come to see you for 3 days? I am sorry,” he again tried to make the situation light.

“No I want the answers. I really do want.” She retorted.

He paused for a moment. He knew what he had done and what he could have done. But he was helpless, poor. He had to be the man to show this world that he is successful, capable. Most of all, he had to show her family that they were equal. That was the criterion which he had to fulfil to get married to her.

The silence was unbearable. He broke it. But he was calm and reassuring.

“Do you really think it was easy for me to leave you, to leave our dreams? Do you really think I was happy when I turned blind towards your teary eyes? What else could I have done? I had to prove to your father that I was perfect for you, that I was equal to his family? He gave me 2 years to prove it, how would I know that he would trick me? He was supposed to keep his words. How would I know that his grand scheme to make me prove to him was a way to throw me away from your life so that he can get you married to someone else?” He slowly said in his defence.


“I know, I know. But it’s just that I could never forgive you. Or maybe I was and am still trying to vent my frustration on the only one person who I know genuinely cares about me. You knew my dad, did not you for once think that you should have listened to me? Did you really not understand that it was all his big scheme?” Her voice had more of sadness than anger.

“Tell me, please tell me, what would have I done? Run with you? With your father’s clout, have you ever thought what he would have done to my family just to show his power and rage? He would have somehow found us and destroyed my whole family. I tried to fight for you in the most peaceful way possible and I had no other option back then other than to trust him and my luck. Well both stabbed me in the back for which I am still hurt. I could never love any other woman. I found staying a bachelor was better than to destroy another woman’s life whom I could never keep happy.”

She slowly kept her head on his shoulders. That was all that she always wanted.


“Remember the 1st day we met at college. You were my senior in the Arts section. You pretty much kept staring at me till your friends made fun of you. How you waited outside my class and tried to talk with me after the period was over! How I tried to act smart and brave in front of you! I was frightened inside as I was scared that seniors would rag me.” She finally smiled a bit.

“Ours story just rocketed. We knew there was a connection the moment we first had a decent conversation. Within a month we were dating and it felt like we were inseparable. Those days were awesome, we had so much fun, we had so much to share, our conversations went from one topic to another but they hardly ever ended. We had our share of fights but even the fights were cute. The memories are still fresh and there’re so many of them. Those 5-6 years were the most priceless years of my life.”

He continued as she started to weave their dreamland, “I still remember our first date, it was another of those rainy evenings. You looked like an angel in that white dress. I fumbled to talk as I was bowled over by your beauty. I never ever felt that you were so beautiful, neither before, neither after. The movie we watched, how our lips met, how shy we both were before they met. The walk towards your home with the cool breeze making the moment so very romantic. It was an amazing evening.” Then he added, “the only other time I found you prettier was when our souls met, when we became one. And I still remember; it was another of those rainy evenings”

There was another pause as both were far away from their realities. At some distance, that person was still staring at them.


“You met with my family about a month ago before you left with your job. From the very next day my dad started preparing his plan to get me married to the one he chose. He started blackmailing me emotionally, threatening me about destroying you and your family. He can be pretty ruthless when he wants to. I needed your support to fight against him but you were nowhere there. In a fit of anger and fear I said yes to his proposal of marrying that bustard. I know I married her and I was also angry with you for not being there when I really needed you. So, I wanted to make peace with the situation and tried to keep him happy. But he was never the right one for me and none of us could be happy with each other. His pride was everything for him and that I loved someone before him hurt his pride which brought out the devil in him. He basically used me to satisfy his physical needs, to suspect and abuse me all the time.” She started sobbing profusely.

“I told my father about all this but his repute was more important to him that his daughter. In all the 10 years that I spent with that prick, not one single went by where I did not had to cry. I begged to my father to take me away from him but he became deaf to my words. I sobbed, I screamed silently, I started hiding my pain under the layer of fake happiness till I just could not take it anymore. So many times I thought I would ask for your help but my hurt ego never allowed me to do that. Finally, I left all of them.”

There was a sense of relief in her voice. It was like she was still living those days of horror. She had not been able to completely get rid of them even after so many years.


“When I came back to this city, I was so happy that I could be with the love of my life. Nobody ever told me that you had already gotten married. Imagine the shock I got when I came to know about you and your husband and kid! So many time I wanted to meet with you but I did not have the courage and or the mentality to stand in front of you. I could never think of you as someone else’s. I had a stack of letter which I wrote but could never post them as I did not want to disrupt your family’s peace. And see how these ifs and buts have taken us. You escaped all of them and did not notify me either. Thank God that I came to know about it from your friends. We can finally meet now freely. I tried to marry you but you did not give me a chance.”

The warm embrace of each other made them feel safe and complete. These people were from times when love was sacred and real, when people could sacrifice their happiness, their dreams just to be true to their partner. Their love story never got the true meaning it required and had more pain than pleasure. But does not all the famous love stories are marked with agony and loneliness? They were finally together and as they say all’s well that ends well.

“Hey I brought you these flowers, your favourite, bunch of red roses. Be careful there might be thorns. How time passes when we’re together. I must leave now as I should visit the engagement of my nephew. We will meet again tomorrow. Bye, my love. Take care”

She left without saying a word.


At some distance, the undertaker kept staring at the old man talking to himself all along. He was about to leave as he placed the roses over the grave. He had seen this for more than 2 decades now. He smiled to himself, “Can love be this pure!”



My Loving Uncle

I am my uncle’s daughter.

I lost my parents even before I knew what parental love was or realized how they looked like. All I have seen them is in the framed picture in my uncle’s room. From that very early age, I was brought up by my uncle. He is the best uncle one could ever have. He loves me a lot, takes a lot of care. He prepares me for school, plays with me at evening, feeds me with his own hands, tells me stories of ghosts and evils. I am very scared of ghosts and I know that they come at night to haunt naughty children but I know my uncle will protect me against them. Although I don’t understand the reason but many of my other relatives tell me that he did not get married because of me. They also tell me I am lucky to have such an uncle otherwise my future would have been wasted by now.

Every Sunday I go to the nearby park with him and he buys me ice cream. My room is full of dolls and teddy bears, my uncle has bought them all for me. Whenever I am sad for any reason, he will hug me tightly or kiss me or tickle me and immediately I burst into laughter. He helps to get my homework done correctly. He allows me to play while having bath as he applies soap. He buys me new set of dresses, so colourful and beautiful they’re. I really thank God for giving him to me, he has given me the care of my father and the love of my mother.

My uncle sleeps with me at night to save me from the bad ghosts. He loves me a lot at night. My uncle says that when someone loves a lot, it pains at times. Sometimes I scream, sometimes I faint. He tells me if I tell this to others I will become naughty and the ghosts will bite and scratch me and even he will not be able to defend me. I fear ghosts and don’t want to face them ever. I trust him, he is my nice uncle, my lovely uncle; may be when I grow up I won’t feel this much pain.

My uncle loves me a lot, every night.


Scared young girl with an adult man's hand covering her mouth

The Surprize Birthday Present

She was restless, she was edgy. She constantly kept fidgeting with her phone as she lay on her bed. She could not sleep properly. When would the call come? Why was it taking so much time? The call should have come by now, it was already 15 minutes past 12. It should have been delivered by now. It was supposed to be delivered at midnight; it was his birthday present, her husband, the love of her life. Had the delivery guys messed up? Aaarggghhhh!!!!!!

And then it finally came, the call from his number. She was delighted, ecstatic. She was so eager to receive the call that it fell from her hand. She quickly picked it up and received the call. She was not able to catch her breath.

She could not wait to hear his lovely, romantic voice. She said hello but there was no response from the other end. There was a huge pause. She thought that he might be in awe with the sudden surprize gift that she had send on his birthday. Things were not going well between them and she thought this gift would end the tensions once and for all. But the wait to hear his voice was becoming unbearable. And then, he spoke. Rather smiled, an impish one. It so husky and cold?.

She thought that the plan had failed.

She became tensed, afraid. Did he not like the gift? She chose the best gift she could give him. What did go wrong? He should say something. How else would she understand if he liked it or not? She was getting more tensed; he might be playing games with her just to make her more jittery. She was getting angry now.

She was sweating in the cold of December in Delhi. She started thinking if the delivery guy did any harm to him. She had seen in the crime related television series-es that these delivery guys went to the house of the single girls and boys disguised as delivery guys and then harmed them and looted their belongings. Some psycho types even killed their preys. She started screaming for the person on the other side to say something. All she got was another cruel, devilish smile. She had no idea what to do. She thought about calling the police but what would she tell them. She knew nothing about what was going on there.

She somehow got used to the situation, she stopped panicking. She still waited to hear something from the other guy. She was sure that he had been harmed and that son of a bitch who harmed him was enjoying the time spent on phone with her. It was like his victory trophy. She stopped and waited till he spoke anything. And finally, he said,

“The birthday gift has been delivered.”

The line got disconnected.

She could not believe just what she heard, she put down the phone. She really did not know what to do. She slowly laid down on the bed where the comforting and peaceful arms of her new boyfriend was waiting for her.

The plan did work.



That Auspicious Day

How much we longed for that auspicious day!

The day we would become united forever.

So many plans to travel together, all the way;

Nothing could happen to our bond to sever.


The friendship was getting a new meaning,

Wanted to scream to the world that I love you.

Tension of the big day hid behind our smiling,

The dreams seen were about to become true.


The never ending call the night before,

Recollecting the memories of our mushy romance.

How we wished we could talk a bit more!

The rising sun forced us out of our trance.


The journey to the destination, a long one;

Lost in the thoughts of the moments to savour.

Happy faces around soaked in the fun,

The enthusiasm was too much to wait for.


But fate had some other plans for us,

Where is the fun in the happy ending?

A speeding truck hit her wedding bus,

I suddenly wake up sweating, screaming.


I stand down from my bed to find her,

There is medication and beeping monitor.

4 Liners-3


We all feel that it’s my life, my rules;

The whole world is a bunch of fools.

I am superior, smarter than others;

The world is beautiful with happy brothers.


There is mud in politics, filth in society;

We despise, we debate, but do nothing.

We clean our house when it gets dirty,

Hope the world becomes a better place for living.


They said a pen is mightier than a sword,

The powerful used swords for their gain.

The moralists used pen to solve discord,

Till the swords cut all hands to hold a pen.


The sun shines, the wind blow’;

Change is constant is what they say.

The moment you flow the other way,

The system will make you follow.



4 Liners-2


We need permission to speak, to write;

We can’t use logic to decide what’s right.

We need to be eternally phoney to live,

But the world is a democracy we all believe.


The world is the biggest ever playground,

Where the rich play with the economical,

The influential have power as their pal,

The mire of destiny gets the broken drowned.


The oppressed believes in the miracle of God,

Day and night, he worships, sings His hymn.

His blessings will protect him against all odd,

Busy for the affluent, He has no time for him.


We hope for equality and peace,

We carry silent marches for justice.

We act blind towards the deaf people,

Who have anyways made us cripple.