Zestful

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Rohan carried the tray with crispy, buttery masala dosas and filter coffee to the table where Tara sat waiting. “I can’t believe we are catching up on our lives after almost a decade!” He found it strange that he felt immensely happy to bump into his long lost friend who had meant the world to him not too long ago. He felt a pang of guilt for letting their friendship fade with time.

They talked animatedly stopping in between only to savour the delicious dosas and piping hot coffee. Tara reminded him of those days when they had been extremely eager to do many things in life. “Do you remember the promise we made by the lake?” When he seemed puzzled, she reminded him.

“We had vowed never to lose the zest to live. We had promised to keep in touch with our silliest of wishes and passions and to never get bogged down by hurdles. You remember?” Tara was bubbling with an excitement and energy level that he felt he couldn't catch up with. He learned that she had followed her heart living all her dreams, taking up challenges with a smile, never belittling her resilience.

He felt tired to chase those dreams now. He felt old. Having settled for a comfortable desk job he had seen everything else in life as a burden. He had always chosen the easier route and compromised on his dreams. Every situation had been just a problem to be solved.

But now in a little coffee shop talking to her, he wondered if he had lived or just existed. Tara, the bubbly teen who he had once loved secretly, who he had rejected for fear of her optimism that he thought was blinding, had just made him fall in love again. With her, with life and with himself.

P.S: Today I have successfully completed the Ultimate Blog Challenge and A to Z challenge. It has been one hell of a journey with crazy moments, a true roller coaster. More than the destination, I enjoyed the happiness that the journey brought- the tiny ups and downs, the friendships that it fostered, the lessons I learnt, the confidence I gathered and some amazing blogs I read. A big thank you to my fellow bloggers and my readers :) Cheers to zestful living!

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Yearning

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The fireplace crackled to life, glowing a fiery orange and spreading much needed warmth in the living room. The chimney of her little cottage puffed out smoke that soon blended with the dark stillness outside. Esther donned her apron and got busy in the kitchen. She had done up the house with holly wreaths, bells and fairy lights; in a corner stood a beautifully decked Christmas tree.

Occasionally, she stole glances at the window. It was snowing heavily outside and the streets were empty. Had she just seen some one at the gate? She wasn't expecting any one but she couldn't stop herself from hoping. Her husband was long gone, leaving her to raise their only son who ended up featuring in the “Wanted” list of the state police. He spent his life moving in and out of their village, dodging the cops playing a never ending game of hide and seek.

Her thoughts lingered around her child, refusing to dissolve. Darling Danny. The one with blue eyes that easily melted mama’s heart. She felt a sudden yearning for him on that Christmas Day. There was no way she could reach him. “That could prove dangerous for both of us” he had said when they met a few months ago. Nevertheless she laid the table for two and made his favourite dessert.

The wind chimes sang into the night as she sat down to have dinner all by herself. She had been staring at the empty chair in despair when she heard a soft knock at the back door. “Merry Christmas mama!” he whispered and hugged her tight much to her joy. “You’re home at last, Danny!” She couldn't stop the tears as her fingers felt the warm wetness of a fresh bullet wound.

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Xenophobic

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At the sound of the bell mom ran to the door, excited to receive my friend Kiran. We went to the same college in Bangalore and shared a room in the hostel. My mother was very fond of him and made sure she made his favourite snacks whenever he came home.

But things hadn't been so rosy three years back, when I had just joined college. While waiting for the bus from Palakkad to Bangalore, my mother showered lavish doses of advice that sounded like threats to me.“Befriend people from our own community. Beware of students who drink, smoke and eat meat. Dear Lord, I hope the ‘modern’ kids there don’t spoil my son.” she had said. According to my mother, people of other faiths couldn't be trusted. I had tried to erase the xenophobia that plagued my family but in vain. They were extremely orthodox and their blind faith made them intolerant to people whose lifestyle and faith differed even slightly from ours.

Precisely because of this, my friendship with Kiran hadn't gone down well with them. They pleaded with me to seek better friends who were ‘just like us’. What if he tuned out to be a naxalite? A terrorist? Our friendship received flak till the day I was down with chickenpox with no one to lend a hand but Kiran. While everyone shied away from helping me, fearing for their own safety, he had called the doctor, obtained the medicines and had nurtured me to recovery. My parents were touched beyond measure by this act of compassion and realized the folly of their baseless phobia.





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Wonderful

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The lights went out. Rachel waited quietly in her bed for half an hour. She tiptoed to the window of her room, the last on the B Wing corridor of the women’s hostel. Outside, she could see the silhouettes of the chapel and the administrative block. Black trees stood still against the deep purple sky. “Seven months and three days” she murmured to herself.

For seven months and three days her life had moved ahead like clockwork. She had a fixed routine that had to be diligently adhered to. Worse, there were many restrictions in place. The food in the mess was lousy and the gates closed by seven in the evening. The lights went out at ten at night and she had to be in bed, no matter what.

The sudden confinement at the convent after her carefree school days suffocated her. She longed to go out on her own and do things she liked. Things that her time-table at the hostel had left out. She did not want to do anything crazy or dangerous, just something that would make her feel good again. Something outside her monotonous schedule.

She moved away from the window and walked stealthily along the corridor. Climbing the stairs to the terrace in her night clothes and flip flops, her hands gripping a package wrapped in newspaper, she felt accomplished in a strange way. Laying out the contents of the package she smiled her best smile. She had invited a few of her friends, but they had been too scared.

“Happy birthday to me!” she sang alone into the night. She wasn't sure if it was the wine or the momentary freedom, but she felt wonderful as she lay under the starry sky.

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Crumbled Dreams

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The dark depths beneath rumbled
the ground shook, I tumbled
stricken by disaster, in panic I stared
at nature, her fury now bared.

Looking around I saw just rubble
happiness and peace a broken bubble
anxious faces stained by tears
and burdened with unending fears.

A sea we formed out on streets
unannounced came those deadly beats,
menacing tremors spread far and wide
like much loved gossip that never died.

Bungalow and building, hut and tent
toppled and leaning, broken and bent
wealthy and wise, arrogant and humble
in unison watched all dreams crumble.

P.S : My heart goes out to all the victims of the recent quake. I hope they find the inner strength to battle all odds and start afresh.


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