Monday, 24 February 2014

The quill trophy

The audience was surely impressed. The standing ovation that longed more than the normal few moments revealed how much they loved his words. The award winning author Madhav smiled to himself as he was ushered to the dais. This day was something unusual. He always was keen on avoiding interviews and very politely declined to chair any such functions. More or less he found them an intrusion midst a life he was comfortable leading undercover, known by none. Surely he would have turned down this invitation too, but he conceded to attend this particular award function for a reason. For her. He knew She would love it. And how better could be a birthday gift for her than this beautiful "Quill" Trophy!

A moment of silence took over as the prodigy walked over to the mic. After all, they desperately wanted to hear their favorite author speak! Though a debutant, the appreciation earned made him quite popular and his work was even rated as one of the finest crime fiction of the decade. Finally he spoke. And his words once again conquered many a hearts! His words brimmed with love for his wife and the world "aaaww"-ed at the husband's heart.

And he went on to talk about his "child", his novel. He felt an air of palpating speculation rising around when he called himself a liar. Yes, he said. Lies was what made up his work. Else how could he just frame a crime fiction! Well that pun was taken to hearts, at least the short laughs told him so. The protagonist who loved his wife rather too much, decides that he wants her to himself. This brews quarrels and arguments to which the solution he finds seems unbelievable to the sane society. He believes that silencing her forever would make her his! He executes the murder of his beloved. He preserves her corpse and what follows is a brilliant manipulation that makes the world eventually forget her. And the crime remains undercover. This is what forms the gist of his tale, he explained. He hoped, never such disordered minds exist  and so he said concluding his - what the media called magical - speech. 
Liar I am, he said to himself once again, but none just heard! 

Away from the glitz of the night he drove back home, to his beloved. He beamed as he held the "Quill" trophy, showing it off to her - pickled in alcohol, away from the vulture eye of the world. She was all his! 

Wednesday, 5 February 2014

Summer Shower


Two roads diverged in a wood, and I— 
I took the one less traveled by, 
And that has made all the difference. 

Meera penned the lines of her favourite poem, once again in her diary. The words seemed to have a lot more to tell her and each time she read them a new upsurge she always felt. She felt free and happy.

Showers of summer. She could hear the rain talking to her through the window. She fondly capped her pen like she once used to dress up her doll and drew her curtains open. And she sublimed in the petrichor that lingered in the air.

In the breeze, the pages turned. With a soft hustle they went on to halt at the day's entry. The day that changed everything. And even amidst the music of the drizzle, her words of the day echoed in an aura of eloquence.


A lot of questions to be answered. But whom to answer first! Family? Society? Or my conscience that all ceased to bother about? Answers seemed too futile even to think of. After all they wouldn't matter once this was all over. I looked hard at my own reflection in the mirror. Pale and frail, was I just another corpse that had a live heart? I ran my fingers over the countless bruises that adorned my torso. No rogue nor powder could mask them from the people who knew my grief, yet they were masked from the world,brilliantly, by a dead smile and mere art of pancakes! The wounds but were nothing in par with the trauma that leeched my soul. Marriages are made in heaven? Oh! But I know nothing of it. But life could be made a hell by the tying of a knot. And sometimes all you can do is perish to the feeling of the knot being tightened around you. Sour was his love, bitter our relation and silence was my loudest cry. "The man of dreams" people wish their partner to be, when all I asked was to be treated with tenderness. No, nothing much as the petals of flowers you savor, but a very little more than the status of sheer flesh. Maybe that too was beyond the horizon I was granted to even think of. Long and hard I survived. But this heart whose fuel had worn out long before, could endure this saga of violence no more. All this had begun with tying of a knot and I decided to end this too with a knot. The latter would liberate me from the anguish the former had bestowed. And it was time for the curtain to fall.

"Mummaa" .... "Wha you doing up theere?" .... Rihaan in his naive accent questioned, nabbing whatever part of my saree, he could get hold of.

Among all the questions I had to answer, I couldn't turn a blind face to this one. No, not to this one. I loosened the knot and held my 2 and a half year old, close to my bosom. Now there won't be a look back. It was time to loosen all the knots.

I took out the document I had safely kept folded inside the cupboard. Buried deep down the clothes, for I hadn't wanted to entice this option, for the sake of "norms of society"! Why to adhere to the norms that never heard my pleas? I signed the petition.

“Hope” is the thing with feathers 
That perches in the soul 
And sings the tune without the words 
And never stops at all.

Hope was synonymous to tomorrow. The next rays of sunshine would gift me a new life. Freedom, peace and a life. A life with and for my Rihaan, sans the bondage of my wedding ring.

Yes, she had chosen the path less trodden and that had made all the difference.

This post is part of A significant turn.. on