From the unborn...



I once dreamed about being born as a human. I am sure I must have. Because now when I am able to see the world from inside my mom, it feels nothing short of a blessing. Everything seem so beautiful, like picture perfect. My mom carries me like I am so fragile and delicate. My father will always run a loving hand all over my mom's tummy, and they will both talk to me like its a game. It all feels so good. I still remember when mom found out she was pregnant. Her happiness was so infectious, and my dad was delirious with pleasure. And then I saw a most beautiful girl. She had eyes like sapphire, and her face like that of an angel. And how can I forget her smile that could make you forget everything. Her hug was as warm as my mother. My happiness was beyond expression when I got to know she was my sister to be. At 20, she was the whirlwind of the house. In the morning, mom would spin all around her. Her breakfast, her lunchbox and such. It was an exhilarating experience everyday. There would be silence for as long as she was in school. Everyday my family would give me a new reason to hurry up. I was getting impatient to be born into this loving world of mine. I wanted to be born a human as long as I was unaware of the world outside my home. Usual day, my parents were dotting over me, talking to me. And I was impatiently waiting for my sister to come back from school, it was time. But instead a call came. The happiness on his face died. He turned to look at mom with eyes full of horror. I was scared, thinking something went wrong with my mom. My fear grew stronger as he asked her to get in the car. We were going to hospital. She held me protectively all through the drive. I thought I was going to die. They both almost ran through the corridor to inside a room. And there, on the bed was my angel looking sister, bruised and battered. Doctor said she was physically abused. I choked watching her lying still. Tubes running in and outside of her lean body. She looked like a ghost. Mom broke into tears. Dad was silent, pain and helplessness written all over his face. They both sat down at her side, holding her hand, waiting for her to get up. And when she opened her eyes, it was full of agony and distress. A lone tear betrayed her eyes when she looked at her parents holding her hand. But she said nothing. She was like a soul stripped out of all the hope, ambition and life. It was few days before she came back home. I wanted to see her laugh, play with me like she used to. I wanted my parents to talk to me. But the house that used to be full of laughter and sound, was now as silent as a graveyard. Everyone was no better than a zombie. My parents tried to get my sister out of the trauma, but it wasn't easy on her. Every thing inside her had died, her faith was shattered. The incident was engraved in her soul forever. How will she ever get out of the dark shadow was a question that kept hanging in every eyes. And one day she gave them the answer. The pain, the suffering, killed her. It was in all these days that I realized, that the world outside is nothing like the world I used to see in my home. That the people are not as warm as my parents and sister. They are cruel. I once dreamed of being born as a human, and now I don't want to be born at all, not as a human atleast.



 This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda



6 Obiters

to my fairy...with love






My dear little fairy,

        I miss you my princess. I know you are really mad at me for sending you away for a month in that camp. I know how you hate it. But baby, I had to do this. You were so angry at everything. You never listened to me, and you have been distant from your friends as well. No, this is not your punishment. There are times when you realize the importance of something when you don't have it. And darling, one day you will have to leave me and go out to the world, where you will not have me or your childhood friends to stand by you. Take this just as a preparation for setting up your flight to new horizon. I know you are still angry about that incident in school, but angel, that is not the biggest problem in the world. And when you will meet new friends out there, you will realize how painful life could be. And you will know, how easy it is to smile still. You are my brave little princess. I promise you this camp is going to give you wonderful experiences. And when you will return you will not be just my baby doll, everyone will love you the way I do. And when you return I am going to give you that long pending vacation that you have always wanted. Baby, mamma misses you a lot, and so does your perky and cuddle. Its so quite without you here. I am looking forward to have you back home with me. Its just thirty days. Now give mamma that magical smile of yours....cummon...or you want me to tickle...yeah...that....love you princess. Come back soon. I love you.

Missing you
Mom.



This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda



12 Obiters

Shave or Crave- that's how you do it...



This post is a part of the 'Shave or Crave' movement in association with BlogAdda.com




“If you let me do you, I will let you do me”.

He stared at me wide eyed and agape mouth. Well, that was an expected reaction, but I was eagerly waiting for the aftermath response.

“What say”, I coaxed him. This better work. His demeanor changed slightly.

Men, I tell you. My guy is very laid back kind. He wasn't careless about his dressing, but sure he couldn’t care any less. I do love him for the way he is, and I do like his stubble as well, but not always. Any other day, I would have let him keep it, but today wasn’t that day. We have been in to a relationship for long, and now we came to a turn where we both were ready to take a step ahead. He was going to meet my parents. Everything about him was impressive, but you know how parents are. they could judge a man by his stubble and stamp him unworthy. I so wanted him to look perfect, just for today.

I decided to get ready at his place. Knowing him, I was so sure he wouldn’t shave. I had to find a way to get him shave, any way. I picked up a casual for him to wear, crossed my fingers and asked him to shave those stubbles of his.

“Why what’s wrong with them?” damn that innocent baby look at his face.

“Baby, nothing’s wrong with them. But you know how parent’s are. I want you to look perfect for them.”

“But...”, he started.

I rolled my eyes my mind screaming ‘not now, not now’.

I walked to him, threw my arms around his neck, breathed in his ears, “know what hon, I love rubbing my cheeks on yours. But this stubble of yours hurts me. I want to run my tongue all over your neck, but these little hard hairs prick me all the time.” I brought my lips closer to his,”I even have to think twice if I have to kiss you”.

“Well, we are not going to do all that this evening, are we?”, he said in a husky voice.

I sighed.

“Baby, to parents, stubble means lazy and careless. If a man can’t afford 15 mins of shaving, how is he going to spend his whole life dedicated to a woman. They say a man who doesn’t care enough to shave, can’t be careful enough about anything.”

“But that’s silly. How can a stubble define a man. I can keep stubble for any reason. Have I been careless in taking care of you.”

“I didn't say that love. And no you have never been. But you can’t ignore that stubble pricks. And they make you look like a depressed lost man. We have known each other for a long time baby, and I love you, stubble or no stubble. But these little prickly hairs do interfare not only with romance but also with your first impression.”

The look on his face told me he was not buying the logic.

“Look what have I got you.” I fished my purse and took out a male razor.

“You think gifting me a razor will make me shave?”

I said nothing, walked into the bathroom, came out wrapped in a bathrobe. I fished out yet another razor from my purse, the feminine one, threw it at him. He caught and stared in confusion, to me and to the razor alternatingly.

“I have a proposition. If you let me do you, I will let you do me.”

And the rest was a clean shaven history.



The pointless ocean moans on top of each conventional mathematics.
1 Obiters

A sonnet from the dark

This post is written for the Best 55 Fictionist Contest, hosted by Sasikumar Raja Blogs at Beginner


Ghost shadow
She did not scare me..For she was the one who loved me selflessly and I loved her back

Rain,
thunder,
banging flaps of windows,
sleepless me.
Lightening and a glimpse of her.
She cant be here, she is gone to
heaven.
Another glimpse of her. May be she ain't. Maybe she came back
for me, My mother.
Lightening and her gnarled photograph instead where she stood.
Reality strikes.
And I howled in pain.
18 Obiters

Too Late...

This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 34; the thirty-fourth edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton. The theme for the month is "Of-Course, I'm insane"

Old Grandmother
Sometimes realization dawns in a bit too late;
Sometimes its too late to repent



"Of course I am insane",

 cries Shamila in  loud piercing voice. Her son was stunned, for he seldom heard his mother raising her voice. In fact the last time he heard his mother shouting was to warn him against a speeding car, that could have killed him.

"If cooking something for my own self is Insanity, then yes I am insane.I m fed up of eating porridge everyday. If you can't feed me then let me cook for myself. And don't you forget it is my house still. I can do as I please."

 She carried on her angered rambling. Abhilash, her son stood there silently rooted. This was the longest he heard her speaking in a long while.

"Did you just see", it was his wife's turn of grumbling now, "your mother threatened us with that 'my house' thing. She has become such a nuisance these days". Abhilash stood oblivious to it. He was lost somewhere else. He realized he had not heard his mother speaking much. In fact, her mother usually stayed silent, in her room. He never went to see her o talk to her. He turned to go to see his mother.

"Abhilash", suddenly his wife called him for something an the idea was dropped. Days went by, the incident was forgotten. Everyone got busy with their life. Every morning he thought he would visit his mother's
room and by night he would postpone the plan to next day.

Shamila was a stranger in her own house. A house where once she ruled like a proud queen. Her now deceased husband and her now stranger son had been her source of strength. She rarely bought herself a new sari because their budget only allowed a limited expenses and they both, only too happily made it on their son. She was always too delighted to cook delicacies on her son's demand. A son who now left her to survive on porridge only. And she was being called insane for trying to feed herself a decent food.

It was her granddaughter's birthday today, her beautiful granddaughter. She wanted to do so much for her but knew better than to attempt anything. She waited impatiently in her room for her angel to come to her for her blessings. Finally the door opened and there she stood. Shamila couldn't believe this once tiny child is 16 now.

"Grandma", she whispered.
"Yes my child", Shamila said smiling broadly with all the love she had.
"I have thrown a party this evening. I don't want you to create any scene and spoil my day today. So please stay inside".

Shamila was dumbstruck, taken aback, stunned to silence. After few seconds of silence her granddaughter stormed out of her room without taking her blessings and wishes.For hours she stayed making excuses to
herself for he granddaughter's behaviour, like she has always done for her son and daughter in law.

"Oh! I have a beautiful gift for her that will make her very happy." She mumbled to herself. And with that she ransacked the only wooden cupboard in her room.

"Thats it", her eyes gleamed as she found it. In. her excitement she almost ran outside calling her granddaughter's name. And before she could stop herself, it was too late. She didn't realize it was evening
already. In the hall everyone was staring at her as if she was some insane crazy being.

"Grandma", screamed her granddaughter, "I told you not to come out. But you don't listen to anyone,do you? You are such an embarrassment. You ruined my evening. You can't see anyone happy."

Abhilash just then walked in with a huge cake, and the attention was diverted. He saw his mother standing like she has just seen a ghost. And then ever so slowly she walked back into the room.

It was 2 in the night an he couldn't sleep. To contain his restlessness he decided to take a walk on the terrace. But instead his feet found their own way to his mother's room. He softly opened the door and saw his mother sleeping.He couldn't resist walking in. He has not been here since his childhood. This used to be his playroom. He could see this was tiny and shabby. He decided to move his mother into another room first thing tomorrow. The wooden cupboard was open, everything was scattered.

"She is usually tidy. She must have been looking for something". 

He tidied up the cupboard and moved to the dying table. On it where some books, one frame of his dad. some of his childhood, some of his daughter and some family photographs. He ran a loving finger over each
of them. And then there was an old leather bound notebook, with something scribbled in his mother's hand writing  Her diary. He drew the chair, it made a screeching sound. He looked worriedly at his mother, and was relieved to find her sleeping still. He sat on the chair relishing the peace this room had, may be because of his mother's presence. He flipped open the diary.The ink had faded away.He could hardly make out the content.As far as he could decipher, it was a well kept journal of her life.The diary had been the witness of every moment o her life, of all her pain and pleasures. One page had the story of his birth, other o his first day of school, and the death of his father and his marriage and birth of his daughter Tears ran down his eyes as he leafed through it. An then the last entry of today. It read:

"I have no idea where did I go wrong. Where did I fail in my upbringing. Why my own flesh and blood is so oblivious to my pin and suffering. I do not ask for luxuries, neither do I want their world to center around me. All I ever wanted, needed, was a little respect. Don't I deserve it. Not for providing everything to my child, not for sacrifices that I have made,but for being a mother . If desiring a little attention,a little respect, a little love makes me insane, then of course I am insane."

And he cried for the first time in years. He wanted to hug his mother, tell her that he is sorry an that he is going to make it all right. He walked to her bed side,or rather cot side. She slept peacefully. Her face strained with tears.In her fist hung a golden locket, a family heritage, that was once his proud possession until he grew up.

"She must have been looking for it to gift to her granddaughter".

He gently pulled the locket from her fist. And her hand fell with a lifeless jerk. He gasped. She couldn't be gone. He tried to look for some signs of life in her but in vain. She had resigned from her life, from him. And he cried, because it was too late. Cried because the realization crept in too late.Cried because he now felt like an orphan.He cried for the first time after his father's death, on his mother's.

Author's Note: Don't ever forget, life moves in a complete circle. History can and will repeat itself. The past will come back to you like a boomerang, sooner or later. So think before you act, because you decide your future by your present.
The fellow Blog-a-Tonics who took part in this Blog-a-Ton and links to their respective posts can be checked here. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton. Introduced By: BLOGGER NAME, Participation Count: 05
34 Obiters
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