A memory

The quaint cafe had become my second home for a while now. Nothing much happens in this small town with people numbering few hundreds. And what does happen must pass this way. Sometimes a good thing, at other times not so nice for the individuals concerned. Everyone knows everyone else, the news travelling faster than those tweets I am now addicted to. At least when the ancient piece left behind by my cousin, whimpers to life.

"Hi, Sofia, how are you feeling today?" Dona never tires of asking me the same question.

"As good as ever."

My standard response never fails to elicit a warm smile from her and her friends, regulars who haunt the cozy corner just as often. Most ladies in the group lives by this side of the stream that divides this place into two...both parts of the town bearing distinct, diverse characters.

No longer look around for the owner's son Marco or the red haired girl to take my order. The food arrives at the table within ten minutes of my arrival, Cecelia's pastry for the day and milky tea. He personally serves my order every time, returning my smile with a sad grin of his. Savoring the food, wonder why an attractive guy like him is never seen with a girl.

I voiced my piqued interest to Aunt who doubles up as the land lady at my insistence, left me with unsatisfactory answers.

A cryptic reply, “He is waiting." leaves me irritated and a bit frustrated of late.

'This wait, for whom or what?' I ask the mirror which stares back.

 A glance at the worn watch tells me of the extended tea break. Need to buy a new one soon.

'Back to the shop then lest she explodes in her anxiety.'

 Temporarily, going through a slump in sale is our shop down the street, where we create bridal wear. The orders from the nearby towns have been steadily declining, blame the recession or in reality, the girls wanted designer ones. She is worried, this aunt of mine but pretends all is well and I do likewise. I been trying to get to her to explore other markets, maybe create our own online portfolio but she is strangely rigid and adamant. Not giving up yet, it’s time to pull in Roberto, her son who makes a decent living in Venice selling his photographs.

 Have learned not to leave a tip as I leave, it finds a way back into my pockets with a matching reprimand from Ceci. Wave my goodbyes to the other patrons, shuffle to the exit, when my attention is drawn to the two sets of red diner tables lying unoccupied. They remain empty even on those few evenings we come back here for dinner. Another puzzle that begs unraveling.

Walking down the cobbled square, think back to the conversation the other day. From the snatches overheard and persistently pestering Rob, gathered that the occupants of the tables were a group of teenagers from the village. A freak accident took away four of the lives while two girls survived. So badly traumatized by the incident, one has been in an institution ever since, the other having no memory of it. Agonize over the anguished families, being an orphan myself when the pain in the head starts. Funny it always occurs when I wonder about the girls.

Wc 565

foiled

She giggled...Neeta struggled to keep a straight face lest they draw attention to themselves.

Zack frowned, his irritation increasing with every passing minute. He could barely wait for the demo session to end.

Cathy, awaiting her turn, tried to catch their attention, her efforts only drawing puzzled looks from the twins seated behind them.

"Is something wrong with your eyes?" one asked 

When she didn’t respond “Trying to seduce my little brother, are we?"

'Little?' sizing up the boy who needed an entire bench to stretch his never ending limbs.

"That must be understatement of the century" with a quiet chuckle.

"Shut up jokers!" the other one hissed,

"I'll turn you both into bats if I get pulled up this time."

They glared at him, about to resort when she giggled again.

Zack got up in a huff only to freeze in place. Her warm hands pulling him back never failed to elicit the familiar response. Small, almost black eyes reprimanded him for breaking their contact abruptly.

Master had ignored them for a time, but was now forced to acknowledge the distraction from the eastern end of the chamber. He was aware of every thought, hushed whispers or otherwise. Faced with no other viable option,quashing the rumours that questioned his authority was a priority. The first step towards the goal demanded that they be punished.

Pity, the girls were his best friend's nieces. Reluctantly, he called the three of them over.

Zack wasn't sure he could keep himself from casting the 'bent back' hex on the girls, seeing their calm, detached expressions. He didn't want to, not her anyway. He was pleasantly surprised when Master handed them the after session chores.

Planting seeds, magical ones at that was boring but not hard.

The sulking part of him did not share in his relief. This is not we had planned. The reminder was dampener on his spirits. He had volunteered to be the telepathic medium for the girls with an ulterior motive...a desperate need to find a clue, a confirmation of her interest in him. And here they were, digging up the soil with dancing hands, where he could have been plotting his next move with the guys. He didn't find his love for the 'flying ducks' night suit funny, she obviously did.

383 cwc need 121 words more

Waiting?

 The interview had held a lot of promise, one of the better ones she had given in recent times. Nevertheless, waiting for the elusive call was unnerving. She went about the everyday chores, no longer languorous. The meals were planned especially their calorie content checked, examined her closet, deeming most of the clothes as good enough for office wear. She checked her inbox a dozen times a day. The phone went everywhere she went. At lunch, a beep. Unlocked the screen in nervous excitement. The message read, “It’s our pleasure to invite you to Exhale holiday homes, nature awaits you.”

Nectar Drops

 image courtesy Findstuff22

This heart craves for more, 

that it has been promised

having to make do with far less

the ache gets stronger

the need stays longer

the taste of ambrosia

lingers on my lips

longing for that sweet caress

to be lost in the depths

 of a tender look

that safe feeling ...

being in your arms is

like coming home again.

Image poetry Goblet

*written long ago, on one of those "rare" heady days of marriage.

time to change

She sat there sweating profusely, her temper matching the heat outside. Would this too turn out to be a failed attempt? The pressure from the officials had been mounting. New mouths to feed arrived at a steady pace every month, eating into her share of the allocated funds. Being the head of the orphanage was not a lucrative business any more. She was tired of pandering to the egos of higher ups and soliciting new clients for her husband's floundering real estate business at the same time. The dingy room saw less and less of her as days passed by.


 Rama Shankar* pushed his way through the wooden saloon doors, he didn't bother to knock. 
 If she hadn't been preoccupied, would have noticed the smug look that permeated his features these days. "The Pandeys called, Madamji."
"Again? Bringing her...Munni back?" Desperation reducing her voice to a hoarse croak.
"Who tells this poor man anything?" His voice always reminded her of grease scrapped from a steel plate.
 Must want to wash their hands off her. These religious, middle class ones are all the same, just empty talk. "What did you tell them?"
 "The usual, busy with inspection work." He seemed pleased with his lies. His eyes had a hazy quality to them. Had he been...? "How many times have I told you to stay off bhang during working hours?
"Do you want to lose this job too?"
With watering eyes, he quickly prostrated before her, "Have mercy on me, family man, my kids will starve to death." adding, "These kids are like my children, they need me."


He managed to convince her every time; she needed him to cover up her absence. She was about to give him another last warning when the noise outside distracted her. There was a flurry of running feet followed by steadier ones. Snippets of conversation in loud and soft voices could be heard. The rushing feet stopped at her door. Utter silence. The door swung wildly as burly policemen swooped into her space. 
 Two scared looking attendants along with a dozen children of different ages waited just outside the threshold. The Pandeys and a few other parents stood next to an important looking official. The collector and here? 
Munni? Why does she have a glum face?  Looking at the cowering ten year old who stood between her adoptive parents, a familiar sense of something amiss hit her. Something had happened, she was the one scared now. Putting on a brave face, hiding the tremor in her tone and turning to Baldev Singh, the inspector she recognised, "What is the meaning of this, Baldevji?"


Baldev turned to the collector who gave him an impatient nod.  He looked at her sadly. She was a decent woman and yet it had to be done. "Arrest warrants for you and this man here." pointing to the peon who was staring at Munni with a dazed look. 
"Arrest Warrant?" she repeated, bewildered.
"For the rape of Munni and four other minor girls adopted from the orphanage. There are also charges by some of the attendants," looking towards the door, "of being molested." 
"There must some mistake, surely, I would be aware of such happenings." 


"If you had been around and had bothered to notice the obvious signs." Pandeyji spoke for the first time. "We found blood stains on our daughter's clothes. She would't eat properly, woke up screaming every night, woudn't even let my brother hug her.
"One of my neighbours who is a child specialist felt that she had undergone recent trauma. A physical examination by an expert left us with no doubt. My daughter found the courage to tell us everything that happened to her here. So did the other girls." affectionately patting his daughter on her head. "Can we go home, daddy?" Munni asked softly.
"Come on, Baldev, take them into custody. We have to move the remaining children to a safer place, we haven't all day." The collector shook hands with the team and the parents before walking towards the other children.

lost dreams

Decadent thoughts blight

the once beautiful

Life's rewards for 

 the faithful's watch.

Floating on dark, gloomy

 waters of humanity

A constant struggle 

against the inevitable sinking.

Pressures, now stilled

rechanneled to naively targets

This bloated carnival

awaits the recycling order.

The Morning After

The blare of the horn sounded repeatedly, every fresh one making his ears ache. He heard voices; the nightmare has ceased he found himself muttering. The stings of cold water all over followed a rough jostle of the arms. He opened his left eye, the glare of the sun momentarily blinding him. A frowning face stared back, and yet the tiny pair of eyes sparkled with unmistakable humour as they travelled over his body. A high pitched chatter to his left and a wave of pain coursed through his head.

His thoughts were dimly focusing on the something poking into his back, rather his skin. He sat up straight scaring the old lady who almost fell on her back. “Sorry, ma’am” the apology came naturally. What puzzled him were the hoots of laughter from the pavement. Pavement? What was he doing there? Looking down at himself, he wished he had never woken up.

The hoots grew louder until the old lady raised her palm. She was questioning him pointing to the other comatose body. Eddie! He found himself smiling. The tall, lanky boy looked downright silly in his boxers and socks. They hadn’t even spared them their shoes. Was that dried blood on his face? “No Chinese, someone around speak English?” The lady turned to a girl, pointing out to the adjacent door. In the ensuing silence, he tried to recollect the events of last night. They had had a light dinner, a few drinks when their new found friend had suggested hitting some of the moderate hotspots along Clarke Quay. The waitresses at Hooter had been a welcome sight. But man, expensive for a student like me. The food was different. Eddie was devouring it like no tomorrow, that yankee. Next stop had been some nightclub, nice spot, and those girls with that weird, coloured hair. Wigs. Come to think of it, they seemed less like girls and more like…

“Hello.” the accent hadn’t lost its British touch. He felt better despite the loss of his I.D and wallet, even his I phone.

“Nice pickle you’re in. Indian?”

“No, British-Pakistani” he bristled.

“That attitude isn’t going to help you. You guys look the same.” As an afterthought, “Maybe, I should let the local police handle this. No one here wants trouble.”

Abbas’s blood ran cold. Police meant questioning, calls to his relatives, the embassy, embarrassment even jailed for lack of papers …His elder brother would kill him if his uncle did not. How would he explain his drinking and hangouts?

“I apologise, wasn’t thinking straight. Please help us. We are good boys, international exchange students at the SMU.”

“Better get in unless you want to get toasted.”

He felt like punching the white guy’s face at his insolence but needed him for now. In what he hoped was a meek voice, he asked, “What about my friend?”

“Get him inside or leave him here, not my concern.”

 Abbas looked around. The crowd seemed to be drifting off. The old lady smiled at him kindly. He nodded, put his hands under Eddie’s shoulders, and dragged him along carefully. A couple of teens came to his aid. The three of them managed to pull his friend over the threshold of what seemed a reception area of a home office. They lay him across the nearest chair. Abbas turned to thank the boys. He had nothing to give them except words. They ran away laughing, no doubt eager to share the tale amongst their friends.

“Here, put these on.” handing over a set of clothes too long for his 5’8’’ frame. It was better than being half naked around that pretty looking girl from earlier who lingered around. Must work here, jumping in the pants in haste.

“What’s the deal? “

The deal. Going home with a believable story or tracking down the orange haired muggers. One night out and disaster struck, small mercy he had forgotten his passport in the dorm.

660 cwc   need to make it 713

My part of the tale

Silencing the beeper, Stewart stood undecided, his current state of mind not ideal for any form of surgery and he knew it.

The bodies had disappeared… Damn these visions! 

 He took a valium to calm his nerves. He needed to get his act together, retain some semblance of normalcy. Else the repercussions could prove fatal. He could not allow anyone to visit home till he had cleaned up the place. The staff from the agency was due for the maintenance visit in the weekend, which gave him just two days.

Angela…he missed her so much.

The investigation had begun, now that they had found Jake’s body; the attention had swung back to him. The detective, blast his name, had already called him twice as had the reporters. It had taken all his strength to answer the questions with composure, regret and anger in the right places.

He changed into fresh clothes while calling Malcolm, his friend from medical school. Malcolm had seen his share of emergencies, being a visiting surgeon at St.Vincent’s with a thriving practice of his own a few blocks away.

Luck on his side, Malcolm had already been contacted by the hospital staff. He was aware of the strain Stewart was under and promised to watch his back.

Next was Brendan, his loyal assistant whom he acknowledged with a “You will be joining Dr.Malcolm and Dr.Bakshi. I will be there as soon as I can.”

A nervous, agitated voice responded, “It seems like a routine accident case, drunken driving…but…”

The hesitancy prompted Stewart to ask “Did you ID the patient?”

“Nothing on him, detectives are swarming the floor and a couple of government officials have turned up.”

‘Must be a local politician or high ranking official, a potential cause of embarrassment’ mused Stewart as Brendan’s voice came back on line.

“I only got a look at him; they are keeping things pretty hush hush…” “Doc, Gotta go…”

He hurriedly parked his car and took the basement elevator to the second floor. The scene that greeted him was one straight from the movies…what caught his eye however, were the two officials standing apart from the others. There was something familiar about the muscular men.

  Nurse Lee, ever competently helped him sterilise, as he tried to keep him mind alert and focused. As he pushed his body through the side door, his colleagues greeted him with somber looks. As they updated him, it was obvious that with a head injury and a puncture to his left lung, the patient’s chances of survival were rather slim. They worked in silence, in perfect tandem for the next three hours till they were relieved by a newer set of surgeons brought in.

One of the muscular men stopped them outside the sterilising room with a curt “We need him alive.”

“Who is he?” queried Malcolm.

“What we say stays here, is that understand?”

The three nodded…“He is ex CIA agent, Alex Sonneberg.”

Stewart collapsed on the floor…

mine was the 15th episode of a 22 episode story on a website

My hidden view

The rod barely missed my shoulder. We stood still like the dead rocks scattered on the grounds below. I sense much hatred and anger, through the constricting alcove, suffocating me. I long for the fresh, pure air of our homeland.

‘Fiaz’, wonder what they have in store for him?

 ‘A true warrior never denies his adversaries a chance at peace,’ he often said. Despite the respect and admiration we bestow, I don’t quite agree with him.

Some are not meant to be forgiven, those that have betrayed him to this dungeon. Our minds may be powerful, but our bodies no match for these vampire guards.

Eliza tugs at my arms, signaling our need to leave. My leaden feet refuse to cross the distance that takes us away from my brother and friends held hostage in the stinking chamber. The spiked chair to the right makes the devious intentions obvious. ‘Stand together but live to fight another day.’ If only, he hadn’t made us swear the blood oath before the journey commenced, I would be sharing the iron chains that bound them or dead by his feet.

The screams were unnerving, voices from the inner cell assaulting us. Inhuman moans, the incessant muttering of the slowly drained. One look at her and I knew, we would have to sneak out soon. For a novice mage, she was holding up well, but it wouldn’t be long before she lost control. The spell weakens, even as I touch her shoulder, careful not to betray my fears as our eyes meet.

The Ghals’s magic is simpler and limited. They can’t sense the invisibility shield. It protects and keeps our presence secret as we seek the point of entry. We had hardly walked a few paces when an agonised scream pierced through our tense thoughts.

My blood runs cold, her eyes water. Now, it’s me who pulls her along. We need reinforcements, and fast, lest our men end up as the next meal.

Wc 328

The Dance - New beginnings

"Dya*, hurry. They are coming." I panted through the half open door. My ribs ached with every short breath taken.  

Had never run so fast, doing 5 miles without a pause. The silence from within caused strange sensations in my stomach. The hinges creaked in annoyance as I pushed the obstruction away. The room was in disarray, everything upturned. From the centre of the hall I could see that none of the adjoining areas had been spared. There were wet, muddy shoe and foot prints overlapping as though jostling for valuable space. Three clear sets led me to the bottom of the stairs, to the bedrooms above. I crept up slowly unsure of what lay in wait, the pocket knife transferred from the back pocket to my trembling hands.  

I wouldn't wish the scene before my eyes on Stefanek, the village bully. The four bodies lay in crumbled and heaped postures, unsuccessful in fending off the killers, now gone. I vomited my morning meal on the dirtied carpet under my feet. A low moan from the nearest figure brought to life my fledging courage. Wiping away the hot, furious tears I stumbled forward, she was breathing still. The book was safely hidden for now. I covered the shredded remains of her dress with a blanket, lifted her as tenderly as I could in my arms and fled through the back door.

***

I have been standing for more than an hour on the hillock watching with tired eyes and limbs, the devastation below. Half glad Aishe* wasn't with me, conjured a mental image of the agonised screams of the dying. Her kind heart would have never permitted this. The other half of me was willing to give up the world to see her awake and smiling. The swirling, blackish grey waters mirrored the stain on my soul. Large carcasses of their livestock and pieces of wood, the remnants of their mighty houses and boats floated idly along. Pity, a couple of young trees had to give way.

The flood waters would take at least a week to recede, competently destroying whatever stood in their way including the fresh harvest.

This had been the most exhilarating dance I have ever attempted. The river, my companion and slave mimicked my movements as she spread over the accursed village. I played the Kristora* sparing the villages that didn't harm us. The memories gushed back, uninvited. My father's pleas of innocence falling on deaf, hateful ears. His last words before they staked him. "Make them pay."

They stole our land, our home, murdered my mother, and violated the older sister beyond human endurance. She sleeps the sleep of the living dead. 

A tiny hand tugs at my shirt sleeve, whining, “Let's go. It’s cold here."

I pull him into the warmth of my arms reluctantly, the adrenaline still coursing through my veins screaming 'Enemy'. We control the elements, a gift passed from mother to her daughters and first born son. Grandma refused to let him die, so he lives to see the death of his unknown fathers with his eyes. My father had been the youngest of six, as powerless as the ones who accused him of black magic.

I stood silent for a few minutes more before trudging back to the trees, the tall pines already casting their needles on the floor.

Harman* loves the rustling sounds around. He turns back and forth in jerky movements causing my shoulders to ache some more. The clan believes that the winter winds are less harsh since his birth. We live deep in the forest. The ignorant folks in the valley below think it is enchanted and evil and refuse to enter. Sometimes, blind faith can be a blessing. We planted the stories.

The ancient book says that our ancestors came from the East, from the land of seven rivers. One day, we will journey back, beyond the narrow confines of our adopted homeland. Harman and me.

We live in tents now, easier to assemble and dismantle in times of danger. Grandma is waiting by ours with a scowling face. She knows, always does. 

"Where have you been wandering about at this hour?"

"Nowhere. Just attending to some unfinished business." as he jumps out of my hold and scampers off to the dinner fires.

Wc 718


*Dya - Mother, Kristora - the judges.
* The words used are Romani - the language of the Romas, the gypsies of Europe whose ancestors are said to have migrated  from northern and central India around 1000 years ago.
Linguistic and genetic studies prove with reasonable accuracy that they belong to existing Indian tribes of travelling musicians.
* I wanted to give the dancing aspect a magical touch.