World is Watching

Sunday, December 7, 2014

I will wait

Posted by Chandan Sharma on 4:40:00 PM with No comments
I shouldn't miss thy sight
Therefore am blinking less.
Standing at the door
With my tears suppress.
Heart throbbing
Still beating in tandem.
Breath is heavy
And somewhat random.
Stoned is what
My eyes are becoming.
You know I will wait
Though I know you ain't coming.

Sunday, March 30, 2014

The Black Camphor

Posted by Chandan Sharma on 10:22:00 PM with 4 comments
This morning was different than other mornings. The random noises of relatives and utensils were comparatively more aggravating than ever. She tried to cover her head inside the blanket thinking she could barricade the sound for some more time and could complete her sleep, but it was never to be happened as her mother entered the room howling.
“Get up you sloth. And go to the beauty parlor with your cousin.”
“It is only 8 am mom. No parlor would be open and I have been going to the parlor almost every day from last week.”


“Don’t you dare to say this. I have already requested the parlor owner to open the parlor early today. Moreover, you would be saved from the barging sunlight if you go now and your black, sickening skin may look good for a while.”
Her mom rushed out of the room crushing the sentiments and sleep of her daughter, ‘Sunaina’. She was 28 now and her father was trying to get her married from last 3 years. Despite of having an attractive figure and height she lacked something which Indian people cherish about, the fair complexion. Irrespective of the fact that Indians have been complaining about the racist attacks on them, this community is known as one of the most racist in the entire world. No matter what, color matters…at least in India.     
It wasn’t the first time that she was hearing something nasty and devastating. Still, her big and beautiful eyes were filled with tears.  She slowly stood up from the bed and stared her face in the mirror.
Starting from the school days, she had tolerated the spears of hatred and biased words. Her friends, classmates, cousins and co-workers everyone had suggested her  to use ‘n’ number of creams to make her  skin fairer  but she wondered why people could not love her the way she was…dark and beautiful.
It was ok until her own parents started impugning her for her complexion. She was made to remember every time that she was dark and hence, ugly. For them, only fair could be beautiful.  As retaliation, she wanted to hate herself and peel out the dark skin from her body but she neither had that cruelty nor courage. Old sentences echoed in her brain…  
‘Kali Kaluti, Bengan looti’ (a racist line in ‘Hindi’ to address people with darker complexion).
Sunaina came out of her room. A distinct smell of refined oil and unknown dishes distressed her nose.  She covered her nose with her ‘duppata’. The house was looking chaotic. Everyone was busy in arranging and rearranging the things, and making eatables for the special guests. It was the first time when a groom’s family had accepted their invitation to visit their home and ‘see’ her. Otherwise, the photograph of her was all what it normally took other families to decide that she was a misfit for their son.  No matter what the color of the ‘to be groom’ was…they all wanted fairer brides…all of them. 
She stood there for some time robotized thinking about nothing but destiny of her and girls like her. Women are supposed to sacrifice and love all. They are somewhat like ‘camphor’. They burn from within and give light and fragrance to others. They are untainted but still are often devalued by society and underrated than others. But this wasn’t the end of the suffering for the ladies with darker complexion. They are humiliated, insulted and ill-treated by the so called ‘fair society’ of their own brothers, sisters, uncles and parents. They were nothing but black camphor.
The clock was ticking fast. She went to the parlor where she was treated like some dirty cloth. She was ‘cleansed’ and ‘bleached’ with different creams; so that the menace of darker complexion could go away or at least fade a little. She sat restlessly without responding to scratching and burning she endured on her skin. She knew that the lady working there was only completing the formality. She wanted to justify the money she was getting…nothing else.
She had been undergoing such a treatment for a week now. She had seen other beautiful ladies winking to each other after seeing her. She had heard their voiceless cynicism. She had felt as a victim of their malice thinking. She had been ignored, segregated and ill-treated in this parlor. And in riposte she had wondered about the beauty of this beautiful parlor.      
“Didi…there is a little dry patch here.” Her cousin tried to attract the attention of the girl working in the salon.
“It doesn’t matter” The lady answered without even looking at Sunaina.
There was a silence after that. No, it doesn’t matter how her skin looked because no cream could make it better than it already was.

She entered her room silently after returning from the parlor. There was a huddle discussion already going on with her mother and aunties as participants. As soon as she entered the room, they stopped talking. Her mom looked at her and shook her head in abhorrence and grief. Aunties started whispering about the outcome of the parlor quest.
“Try to apply some extra powder…your dad had worked hard for this…don’t ruin it.”
“Try Pond’s talcum powder…it works well with people of your skin color.” One of the aunties suggested.
“But it is not natural. ‘Vicco’ would be better…it is natural and works well.”
“What are you talking…look at her…no cream will work effectively.”
Sunaina stood there with her gaze towards ground witnessing the rape of her self-respect and dignity. Her voice lurked under her own conscience to gather some power of protest but all she found was misery and inability to decline on all creams and powder curriculum. She looked at her mother from the corner of her eyes hoping to get some support. She too was gazing downwards, as if, ashamed to give birth to an unfair girl. Drops of briny water swam across her cornea and after some struggle paved their way to wash out her makeup.  Her mother quickly pinched her and her eyes with increased circumference suggested not to cry as the tears may completely wash out the makeup.
Soon she was left alone to stare the mirror and curse her dark complexion. She poured some water into the glass and drank it. The water appeased her stress and anger to a certain level.  She wiped her lips and kept the glass on the table. There was not much time left. She looked at the dress which was chosen by her mom and aunties.  The light blue Salwar suit with golden and colored embroidery was looking decent. She had a close look. The embroidery was actually a picture of several pigeon. The light colored pigeons were flying and the black ones were eating something sitting on a golden ground which looked like a net. She thought it was like her life. Her cousins who were fairer than her were allowed to go anywhere, wear anything and eat anything. But she was always restricted to certain colors, edibles and places. She was a black pigeon.
She looked at the mirror. Her heart skipped couple of beats in horror. She had wiped her semi-pink lipstick color while drinking water. She felt the hot rush of blood as she heard someone’s footstep near her room’s door. She quickly took out the pink lipstick and applied on her lips as professionally as she could. It was not perfect but neither was the earlier one.
“Are you dressed?” Her mother entered her room.
“No”
“Why?”
“Just finishing with the make-up”
“Apply some powder too.”
Sunaina looked at her mother with thousands of questions in her eyes.
“We are your parents Sunaina. We want the best for you. I want you to look a bit fairer if not like a princess.”
“Mother, is it not enough which I have done”
“Look at other girls. They look better than you even without makeup. I am so nervous. I will have to keep away all the girls. I don’t want ‘them’ to choose anyone else instead of you.”
“What about the white dress I chose to wear?”
“Are you crazy? Look at yourself. I am not sure how you would look even in blue and you are talking about white. You would look no better than coal in that.”
“Mother”
“Shut up and listen to me. Don’t utter a word unless asked. Do not make eye contact with anyone. We will tell them that the edibles had been made by you. So, if they ask just nod your head in agreement. And yes, we have kept your chair just under the tube light so that you look fairer…rest lies with GOD.”
The tension in the house rose to the highest level. People looked at the watch with every beat of their heart. Everything was arranged; the sweets, cold-drinks, samosa and so on. The other girls were strictly asked to remain inside their rooms. Only the girls under 12 were allowed. They decided that Sunaina would be called only after all the other formalities, so that ‘they’ would get less time to analyze her beauty.
After a slight delay of an hour a car stopped in front of Sunaina’s house.  4 people came out of the car and were greeted by Sunaina’s parents with excitement and enthusiasm.  Soon everyone was settled and guests were fed with lots of sweets, samosas and tea. There was a long session of introduction between guests and Sunaina’s relatives. There was a pin drop silence in the room after that for almost two minutes, which was ultimately broken by Sunaina’s dad.
“Sunaina is a very talented girl. She is not only working in an MNC but also is excellent in domestic works. In fact, everything which you see here had been made by her.”
Guests said nothing but smiled. Every one of them was fair. The ‘to be groom’ was looking like price charming and his sister was no less than a princess. After seeing them, Sunaina’s family was on back foot. They had no option but to make excuses and prove how talented Sunaina was.
“So, what is the name of the MNC she works in?” The boy asked after a long waiting.
Sunaina’s father and mother looked at each other’s face. In fact they never knew it. They never took interest in Sunaina’s career. They allowed her to work just because they had heard that working brides are preferred these days.
“It is a big company. Why don’t you ask Sunaina? I think she would be able to answer it better than me. Young people should interact now…what say Mr. Sharma?” Sunaina’s father said with a grin on his face.
“Why not? We also want to see her.”
Sunaina’s mother walked in to fetch her while father continued talking.
“She isn’t well you know. Seasonal fever… It is unfortunate that she is not at her best in your presence.”
“That’s ok…I know seasonal fever is on peak…Manav’s mother had fever a week ago.”
Manav, the ‘to be’ groom’s mother looked fair like goddess. Her pink blush was attracting random eyes more than Sunaina could afford even at her best. Sunaina’s father saw her from the corner of his eyes.
“It must be a light fever.” Sunaina’s father smirked again.
Sunaina entered with her mother. She looked taller and fairer than ever; though her skin color was still the darkest there. Her eyes looked big and beautiful. Her slender lips looked well sculptured and juicy. She walked perfectly like a typical traditional Indian girl showing nothing which could be blamed to be ‘sexy’.  She greeted everyone and sat on the chair pre-assigned to her.
“Why don’t you sit with us?” Manav’s mom asked.
“No…no…she should sit there…she is suffering from cold too…it is contagious…you see.” Sunaina’s mother didn’t waste a fraction of second in interrupting.
A strange silence prevailed in which people looked at each other’s face, knowing nothing what to talk about. Sunaina’s parents were hoping that Manav will ask something but that never happened.
“Excuse me…I need to take this call.” Manav stood and walked outside the house.
As soon as Manav left the house, the shoulder of Sunaina’s parents dropped, understanding why Manav left the house with an excuse.
“He could have taken the call after some time.” Manav’s mother complained.
“Could be from his office…that’s ok…I understand how career oriented and ambitious kids are these days. Sunaina is also one of them.” Sunaina’s father no longer had control over his grin.
Clock’s hands ran rapidly, and after almost an hour Manav reentered the house. The sweets and other edible items were over; mostly eaten by Sunaina’s relatives and a second tea session had ended as well.  Soon after his arrival it was decided that the meeting should be concluded.  Nobody from Sunaina’s family dared to ask Manav or his family about their opinion on marriage. They were afraid, as it was almost clear that they didn’t like her.
“We will call you.” Mr. Sharma had something to say only after reaching safely inside the car.
Manav looked towards the house and noticed Sunaina standing in the balcony. He turned his gaze towards the steering wheel.
“They said nothing.” Sunaina’s mother asked.
“What do you expect them to say…had I been in their place I would not have even bothered to sit here for couple of hours…I would have rather keep my son unmarried for whole life than getting him married with an ugly girl like her…doesn’t even die.”
“What are you saying?”
“So…what should I say? They approached us…and they happily accepted my invitation to come here…now after seeing that menace, they didn’t even respond properly…didn’t you notice that boy…office, my foot…it was all after he saw her obnoxious face…”
“She is your daughter.”
“It is better to remain daughter less than having this hoodoo.”
Sunaina’s father rushed to his room and slammed the door with all his power. Her mother sat on the chair with her hands on her forehead. Relatives started whispering among themselves.
Sunaina on the other hand stood still in the balcony, listening to her own father. Inside of her head, she was the maltreated lady who had found the courage to move on with her life. And she had been finding it, over and over again, after every insult and painful episode. She wiped tears coming out of her eyes and it was a straight ‘no’ to all the powders, creams, bleaches and cleansing. She felt that she love herself more than ever. She looked towards the sky. There were few fairer pigeons flying freely.
She noticed her mobile vibrating.
“Hello”
“Hello, how are you?”
“Why did you walked out?”
“I got a call from the dealer…you remember…the house I am willing to purchase.”
“My parents thought you rejected me.”
“Poor they, how can they even think this…you are so beautiful…nobody can reject you.”
“Enough of flattering…what did your parents say?”
“They said…‘Yes’…they liked you but they didn’t like that you fell ill more often…common cold and fever…my god…you parents are so dramatic…they can win in ‘India’s best Dramebaaz’…”
“Shut up…they are my parents…so…when will you send message to my parents?”
“Tomorrow…my parents will send our priest to give your family the message and find an appropriate time for marriage.”
“Ok…then will see you tomorrow in the office.”
“Sunaina…listen”
“What”
“I love you.”
Sunaina had tears in her eyes…but it wasn’t of grief. It was of love and happiness. She was happy that she met Manav in the office where she worked. They made a plan so that marriage would look arranged. Now when everything was fine, a new hope of a new life was knocking Sunaina’s conscience.
“I love you too Manav”
She disconnected the call and looked up in the sky. The fairer pigeons were joined by some darker ones and they looked beautiful than they ever did. They were flying freely…together. Sunaina had a smile on her lips.
  
     

   
    



     


 

     

Saturday, March 22, 2014

A Few Words…

Posted by Chandan Sharma on 1:42:00 PM with 4 comments
He sat still on his sepia chair staring the blank face of MS word on his ‘Acer laptop’. His eyes kept on pondering through the layers of his upcoming story and meeting unborn characters. After almost half an hour of gazing and thinking he pushed his chair with his back, making some space for his long legs which were literally stuck between the chair and the table. 
    
He picked up a pen from the table, a Reynolds’s bold pen with a very familiar white body and a blue cap. It was hard to understand why he was so fond of pen, even though, he had nothing to do with pen now. It was all on the laptop.  He gradually, almost in slow motion, took the pen to his mouth. The upper part of the cap was chewed, suggesting that it was not the first time when the cap had become the victim of his writer’s block. He started chewing the hapless cap again, perhaps wishing he could extract some potion of creativity from the cap. With a determination and focus, he kept on chewing the cap for almost 15 minutes…the page was still blank.
All of a sudden he threw the pen on the table and sighed. Indicating, the story inside him was yet not uniform and hence could not take shape of words…at least for now. He could feel the strong currents of the story inside him as if it was a high-tide in the ocean of an unknown fable.    
He rubbed his eyes with both of his hand and fixed it on a painting clinging to the front wall. It was hanged a bit low on the wall than usual. It was a painting of a ‘cheetah’ hunting a ‘chinkara’. Studded with vibrant colors and realistic expressions, it was no less than a masterpiece. He probably remembered the place where he purchased this from. It was swarming with pedestrians and slowly crawling vehicles. He scratched his head in frustration of not remembering the name of that place. It was ‘Sheena’ or ‘Fancy’ market or probably something else…situated in the heart of Kolkata.  It was a very hot day when he saw this painting searching a place amongst many other paintings in a shop. It was a co-incident that he saw it and purchased it, was a hard bargain though. He smiled. On the course of enjoying the colors of the painting, he remembered something. He shook his head and wondered whether it was true that one should not keep a painting symbolizing violence in the house, it brings negativity. He kept on observing the violent yet beautiful painting for almost 40 minutes.
His eyes roamed back to the white and wordless page of MS word. He wobbled his head in disgust. He required tranquility to keep his ideas flowing like a stream.
He stood and flipped the painting so that he could no longer be distracted due to that. He moved to the kitchen and put some coffee, sugar and hot milk in a designer cup. After a gradual shake, he returned to the sepia chair.
He closed his inquisitive eyes and took a sip of the coffee. It tasted like a bitter cough syrup prescribed by his family doctor…he hated him. But it was still ok to bring turbulence among the thoughts. He looked at the rather complex menu of MS word. It was office edition 2010. He rolled his lower lips outwards; indicating his inability to understand the menu and its relevance…word 2003 was much easier for sure. And who could forget the office assistant in the earlier versions of MS office.
‘It used to be fun.’ He thought and smiled. He took a few sips of the coffee. Now he was feeling better. He moved back in his chair, adjusted himself comfortably against the ochre cushion and looks up at the wall again. The painting was flipped now. The brown color back of the painting was emitting a rather pale feeling which was good repellant. He clinched his head and focused again on the blank sheet of MS word. It was a murder mystery he wanted to write, a story of a serial killer. He had done all the research. He had the plot and the characters. All he required to do was the arrangement. It had been hours now that he was trying to write a word and somehow he had started to feel that it wasn’t the day.
‘The red, thick blood dripped from her veins and spread on the white floor, giving it a red essence.’  
He stopped for a while and read the line again. It was good, he thought. He stretched his fingers and adjusted himself on the chair. A smile of satisfaction was still on his lips; alas the story had started. He started thinking about the story again, but this time more he thought about the story, more sounds of appreciation he heard in his conscious. A murder mystery of its own kind written by him; he imagined himself sitting in a book signing event. How jealous his friends would be?
Suddenly he remembered something. He quickly minimized the page of the word file and opened the browser. He entered the ‘URL’ of Facebook, he was already logged in. He surfed through the different pages and pictures. He couldn’t remember when he had a long conversation with any of his friends. A quick call or mostly ‘Whatsapp’ was all his social interaction with them these days.
‘Wrote something intriguing today, going strong…hell ya’
He tweeted. He had 500+ followers on twitter but he didn’t know most of them. These followers never tweeted or re-tweeted anything. They were just numbers…but who cares…number is all what people see. He remembered how he was criticized when he shared a line from his story. His friends said that there was too much gore and blood in that.
He restored the word page again. All he could read was ‘blood’ in bold. He closed his eyes and allowed a big sigh out of his mouth. He shook his head and deleted the first line of his story which he thought could win a ‘booker’s award’ for him someday. The page was blank again.
He bumped his fist on the table in frustration. The laptop jumped and settled down again on the same place. Could his thoughts reach out to him across layers of skepticism, shards of cynicism and fog of unreal friends?
He stood and walked towards the storeroom. A foul smell filled his nostrils. He opened the door and entered the room. The whole room was chilled like a cold storage. He stepped forward and switched on the lights. The whole room was divided in little compartments. He moved ahead slowly and observed every compartment keenly. His palate was in writing, some real writing. He stretched his hand and started stroking something. It was a dead body of a girl. A thin line of blood was still visible on her white face. He kissed the body on its forehead. Once, she was his girlfriend…now she was his research.
Every compartment of that room was occupied by a dead body. He slowly walked by every dead body with a grin on his face. Every one of them had a familiar face. They were his friends, the friends who never appreciated his writing. They thought his research was an utter insanity. His dedication towards his writing was nothing but a faux. They made fun of his writing and laughed their heart out on his dreams. He heard everyone until his birthday. They had decided to ruin his birthday party by asking him to quit writing and do something more fruitful. And his girlfriend, who once claimed to be his number one fan, also supported the nuisance of his friend. Nobody cherished his dreams and nobody noticed the tears falling seamlessly from his eyes that day. He poisoned them all. It had been 3 days and nobody knew that where are they? He had made that store a sanctuary of ACs to save the bodies from decaying. Now, all of these bodies were serving as an inspiration for his new murder story.
He went back to the laptop and started typing flawlessly.   


Wednesday, March 12, 2014

I didn’t believe in ghost until that day

Posted by Chandan Sharma on 2:07:00 AM with No comments

‘Seeing a cat isn’t a problem, the problem is when it disappears.’

A chilling night of December was enough to make me feel awkward but on top of that my ongoing exams were adding the pressure on me. I was not sure how long it would have taken to complete the final sample paper. It was already 1:15 am in a night of December winter. I was preparing for my examinations in my room which was on the 3rd floor of the house. It was chilling outside the house, enough to slow down the beating of a heart. I was trying hard to keep myself warm and to remain awake inside the blanket. But after some time I succumbed against the dozing eyes and killing cold, I closed my book and looked at the clock; it was 1:25 am. I stood up to have some water. Suddenly I thought that I heard a voice, like someone whispering. I heeded it. It was the sound of singing on the terrace above. It was not carrying any tune, but piping shrill and melodious. Such a sound in cold was enough to send shivers in the spine of a common man; but it was more than the fear of a physical invader that held me frozen. I could not define the horror that gripped me. 
There was a time when I was frequently haunted by nightmares that made me remain awake in the middle of the night with a cold sweat and tossing and turning here and there, screaming. It went on for months and yet I didn't tell anybody, not a single soul. Suddenly it all stopped.

Fear does not have any clinical definition. It is an emotion, trauma, entertainment or myth. It is perhaps an intense, painful feeling of repugnance. The senses paralyses and heart beat comes a halt for certain time. It is hard to explain.
The strange paralysis that had held me was broken after a few moments. I took a step toward the door, and then checked myself. I came out of the appalling door and moved towards the stairs. I was not running. The tread was deliberate and measured than ever. It was dark near the stairs.
I heard the stairs began to creak. A groping hand, moving along the balustrade, came into the bar of moonlight; then another, and a ghastly thrill went through my body, as I saw that the other hand gripped a hatchet -- a hatchet which dripped blackly. Was that thief who was coming down that stair?
My heart started pounding as never before. Terror held me like a vice-like grip. The torture of my indecision and fear threatened to crush me. I saw two eyes blinking and coming towards me. All of a sudden I felt the rush of blood inside the veins of my body. I was trying to shout...but it was a distant dream as I could not even breathe properly at that moment.
I had seen it in many movies by then. An unknown mask-man with a machete or hatchet comes slowly and if you are lucky enough you won’t see him. If otherwise, before you could scream, his hatchet with flung in air and your intestines will be spread over the floor, pouring red and thick blood all over.
It moved towards me with no sound but tweak of the stairs. It was all spooky and sense of encountering something evil was dominating my thoughts. As the distance reduced between me and the glittering eyes, I closed my eyes…as tight as I could. I knew that anytime that hatchet with segregate my head from rest of my body.
Nothing happened.
I opened eyes and saw no one near me or the stair. I quickly saw behind me to make sure that no hatchet is swinging towards me. Anyways a person is killed in a movie when he is least alert and feeling secure. There was nothing. I could only see two fireflies in some distance and assumed that the glittering eyes were nothing but these fireflies.
I again moved towards the terrace. I could see a hatchet hanging on the wall. I reached the terrace. It was cold like ice out there. I shivered at the phrase, staring uneasily at the terrace walls that shut them in. The scent of the pines was mingled with the odors of unfamiliar plants and blossoms. But underlying all was a reek of rot and decay. Again a sick abhorrence of these dark mysterious woodlands almost overpowered me. The voices of dog-cry and cats were not helping at all. It seemed that a cry was crying just near our house.
I was again drowned in the feeling of fear and disgust. It was not only chilling but a sense of fear also captured me deep in my heart. I was somehow so frightened that the blood drained from my face, turning it to ghastly waxen color; my fists were clenched, white knuckled, against my flat bosom. I felt goose bombs all over my body.  It was like I have forgotten to be happy and a deep sorrow penetrated my heart.
I heard voice of someone crying on the terrace now. It was like a child’s cry. I put pressure on my eyes. It decreased in size and the visibility increased a bit. It was a small shadow, more like a cat. It was not moving, still, grounded but emitting a sound…a hellish sound which could extract blood out of your veins and make it filled with only sorrow and death. The speed of my mind was retarded to nothing. I could not think anything but horrors. I crouched and moved one more step ahead, the cat was eating something.
When I was a kid, my granny used to tell the stories of a devil cat. People say it was a woman, cursed by the witch-craft and black magic. She became a cat and fed upon the dead bodies and little children. It used to kill sleeping people as well. When people used to sleep unconsciously, unaware of what horror was approaching them; this cat would appear from nowhere and would start licking the toe of sleeping man or woman. People believed it was a kind of black spell which used to make that person go into deep sleep. And after confirming the deep sleep, this cat would kill the person and behead it to eat. There was a time when the whole village gathered to search and kill that cat but nobody could find it. It is said that this cat travels from place to place, killing people and feeding upon their heads.
As soon as I remembered the story my heart froze into nothing but a mass of cold ice. I could not feel heartbeat. The saliva gathered into my throat but could not swallow it. Afraid of the fact, that swallowing could make some sound which would attract the attention of the cat which could be the same devilish cat. I don’t know why I stepped ahead. My foot landed on something slippery. Was it blood?
I had no idea why I even tried to go and see on the terrace, how I could forget the horrors of the terrace especially after 12 am midnight. I was terrified by the fact that I was standing on blood of someone and the cat probably was eating someone’s head. I had no torch and even my mobile had dim light. But I took out the mobile, The different pages of virtual worlds like Facebook, Google+, Twitter and instagram were still loading on it. I tried to see the color of the fluid on the terrace with the mobile light. It was red. Suddenly my heart beat went louder, I could hear the pounding in my ears and few drops of sweat appeared on my forehead. Somehow I was recalling all the horror stories have ever heard.
I was 16 when I visited one of my friend’s house. It was in Himachal Pradesh. It was a fruitful stay until I noticed that not everything was right there. I saw a little girl in the bathroom. I thought she is the member of the family but I never saw her with rest of the family. After a day I requested my friend to stop that girl from going to my bathroom but he told me that there was no girl in family. I was shit scared and after that day here was constantly something happening. Doors flying open and shut, voices, footsteps. Nothing ever stayed where you put it. I was not alone there but either it was only me who was seeing things or my friend was lying to me and they knew what was it?
‘Stuff that's hidden, murky and ambiguous is scary because you don't know what it does’.


It was only a horrific day when I came to know that my friend had a niece, who died in that bathroom, drowned in the bathtub. Her spirit remained there and started to haunt everyone. Even after returning Delhi from there, I could not go to the bathroom at night. I always felt as if someone was there…may be that girl.
It was a gut-level disturbing reality now that there was a huge possibility that this cat was a Satan. I pulled my step back, slowly, without making any noise. I could feel as if somebody was squeezing my heart apart. I slowly moved to the stair and as soon as I kept my first step onto the stair, the cat started crying again. It was an ominous sound.
The sound continued to plunge inside my ears but brain I wasn't scared, and I didn't feel anger or any strong emotion. In fact, it was like emotion was trickling out of me somehow, and I was getting more blank, more empty. My mind started feeling a little hazy and more and more I felt like I simply didn't care about anything. A small and rapidly dwindling part of myself started to panic, knew that something bad was happening, but it was like my own inner voice was slowly getting quieter and quieter. My feet became heavy and breathe deeper. I had to literally drag my legs to my room.
I didn’t know why I was so afraid, so scared and panicked. It was just a cat. But I had the fear of cats since I was a kid and there is a reason behind it. I was seven when I killed a cat by throwing it from 2nd floor. The cat fall straight down and collided with a rock. Its head broke and it died almost instantly. I received a lot of heat from my father on this topic. But to my amazement, I saw that very cat alive the next day, following its daily routine. Everybody believed that this cat was different but I knew it was not. It was the same cat. I could see it in its eyes. It’s hazy and brownish eyes which were like fire of hell… was giving out the imprints of an immortal devil; that couldn’t be killed or buried in mere soil. It kept on returning to haunt us and to spread hatred, unlikeness and dismay.   
I and my friends also tried to dig the place where cat was buried. But we could find no body, not even the maggots.
I dragged myself into my room and closed the door. I felt relieved that I was back in the room and was not killed by spirits or ghosts. I locked my door properly and turned around. Suddenly the lights fluctuated and I saw something which I cannot explain.
A 6 feet tall woman was standing there in black. She had no legs; she was hovering on the air. Her black hair had covered her half body. The hair was floating in the air as if it was in water. She was smiling and her smile was bigger than what her face could afford, as if her cheeks were cut with a sharp blade. Her brownish and sharp teeth were visible with red pieces of meat stuck in it. She had whiskers like cats do. Her flesh was rotten. Her whole body was covered in a kind of black fur.
“Aaaaaa”
It was a killed scream which got buried in my throat. My heart could not beat, and I was not able to breath. The whole body was twisted as if a rift had begun inside my body pulling everything in a black hole. I could not stop thinking about her white eyes; it had no pupil in it.
“I also have a tail.” She said.
She scratched my neck with her long nails and a stream of blood oozed out of my neck. I cried out with dismay and pain. I could only hear the crying of the cat. I ghastly tried to save myself but my neck could not tolerate the second attack and my head broke. It rolled down on the floor and that woman turned into a cat; black cat with white eyes. I died.
I know you are feeling sad for me. It is a bit chilling here. Your heart is filling with fear and misery. You are recalling that cat and that girl in the bathroom. May be you are feeling like someone is watching you. Now you are thinking that how can I tell this. You can turn back and see me because I am right behind you.



 

 
        
   

  

 

Sunday, March 9, 2014

Jhoolawala

Posted by Chandan Sharma on 3:58:00 AM with No comments
It wasn’t a usual day for Shyam; it was a long day, long and tiring. He had a little argument with his manager over the reports which he had been sending since last 7 years. His manager thought that reports were not accurate and on the other hand he could bet his life upon the authenticity of the reports. The argument ended in no man’s land without any result or outcome but the heat inside Shyam’s brain was still so much that one could roast a ‘turkey’ on his head. He knew that the manager understood that the reports were correct but how his manager could have stepped down in a heated argument with a subordinate. So, in order to satisfy the ego, his manager advised him to recheck all of the reports again, as a precaution. Hence, after checking all of the reports Shyam headed towards his house late in night, as late as 12:30 am.
“I just don’t believe this Radha, that knucklehead compelled me to stay late in office today. I am in this service for almost 10 years and this dick-head had not even completed 2 years…MBA…bullshit.”
“Calm down. Reach home and I will do ‘chumpy’ of your head. It will help you feel better.” A rather soothing voice of her wife poured in his ears.
“I want the same…but I am not getting any conveyance…not even a single rickshaw, no auto…nothing. I am on foot, so it will be a bit late.”
“Ok…don’t worry…just keep your calm.”
Shyam was a 32 years old man. His resume had only one firm and one service and that was to make accounts for other people, who were no big entrepreneurs but common shopkeepers and wholesale dealers. He had been doing well so far. His customers were happy and it had also helped his firm to get some loyal customers. His family was small which had his wife Radha and two kids. His income was enough to earn them bread and butter. He was able to send the kids to a rather good school and was also capable to give her wife occasional small gifts which were enough to make her go blabber about it to everyone she could meet in her small neighborhood. The life neither was entirely rewarding for him nor a complete bane. It was just going ok.
He walked as fast as he could towards his house which was 2 kms away from his office building. Suddenly he saw something moving in the dim visibility of the street light. It was black and small, more like an animal. May be it was a cat. But this cat went straight across the road which wasn’t a good omen. Shyam stood watching the cat and thinking for a while. The eyes of the cat were glittering in the dark.  And her voice was spooky. She sat on the corner of the road licking her body with passion. The thought popped into Shyam’s mind that maybe that was a signal, right there. Perhaps all those horror stories were right. Cats were the minions of the demon world and maybe this one was trying to indicate something horrible to him. The cat saw him and with her tail sticking straight up, she ran and vanished in the small bushes.
“Fuck” said Shyam to himself, “This bloody cat had crossed my road…oh…for god’s sake, I am not afraid.”
He shook his head and once again started moving quickly on his way to his home. He could not remember when it was the last time when he was awake this late. His head felt heavy. The street lights were hurting his eyes. He looked up, carefully shading his eyes with his palms, the light seemed far above him, almost like light from a shooting star. It didn’t leave him with a good feeling.          
He again saw a black shadow in a distance. But this time it was big…gigantic…almost thrice of his own size. He felt his heart throbbing and pounding with his chest. It was moving very slowly. Was it a monster or some troll? He fumbled in his pockets, struggling to recollect and clear the distorted picture he could see from his eyes. One thing was clear, it was big.
He assembled all his courage and moved ahead to see what exactly was it. His heart was beating hard and was trying to pump the blood as fast as it could. His legs seem heavy as if he had worn iron shoes. After a few steps the picture got a bit more cleared. Well fortunately, it was not a monster, troll or a ghost. It was a poor and old ‘Jhoolawala’ with his big wooden wheel. He was struggling to push the wheel but the movement was very less compared to his efforts. Shyam rushed towards him.
“Should I help you?”
“No, son…it is ok. I am quite capable of it.”
“Doesn’t seem so, why you are doing it anyway…it is too big for you. And it’s already too late in night.”
“It is my bread and butter. I am coming from a distant colony park, usually I am home much early but today business was good. So I stayed there for a bit late.”
Shyam realized that the old man was also going his way. So he decided to walk along with him and give a bit help. He looked at the ‘jhoola’, it was an old wooden ‘Jhoola’ shaped as a wheel. With all the color papers and plastic birds hanging all around it. He was already feeling nostalgic about it.
“How much you earned today?” Shyam asked him with a grin on his face.
“Nothing”
“Well, just now you said that you had a good day in business, didn’t you?”
“Yes, I had a good day for business but I have got nothing left. So, if you have any idea of plundering, I am afraid that you will get nothing.”
“Do, I look like a thief? Anyways, how come you earned good but have nothing…did you drank or gamble with them.”
“It was unfortunate. But as you have asked me so listen, I was thrashed and looted by a car owner.”
“Why would a car owner pillage an old man like you?” For Shyam the conversation was becoming more interesting.
The old man looked at Shyam. His one eye was almost closed and a bloody patch was clearly visible there. As if he was hit by something there. He had tears in his eyes.
“After a long period of time I had a good day in business today. I thought of giving my wife a sari with that money…she had been wearing same old sari for almost 4 years now. But poor men like us don’t have the liberty to do anything of that sort. I accidently rubbed a car on the way coming back to house. Its paint came off. The fault was mine…I was so excited that I didn’t notice it until I was hauled back by the car owner. He abused me and when I tried to offer some money he thrashed me like an animal and took everything I had.”
Shyam walked quietly with the old man. He was looking down on the road, perhaps trying to find the answers of the questions the old man never asked.
“I don’t have kids.” The old man continued. “But still I chose to make little children happy. I could have opened a tea-stall but…Children make me happy, their chanting and voices make me forget my poverty and my age. I know that someday I will die and there will be nobody to look after my dead body. There will be no funeral. My body would be eaten by wild animals and maggots. All I wanted was some respect.”
Shyam was somehow not able to raise his head. He stopped, the world seemed unfair. He felt an instant compulsion to take out his wallet and give all the money to the old man, but he didn’t. It was the fare of his bus for tomorrow and perhaps cost of a packet of cigarette without which he could not work at all.
‘Human is one of the most selfish being ever lived on the planet earth. He thinks his small needs are bigger than everything else of another person. Value of his single drag of a weed can be more than someone’s empty stomach. Nevertheless, selfishness is a fantastic way to be miserable’.
Shyam took out his wallet and looked up. But the old man was not there. He was long gone. Shyam felt pity and wretched. He walked with a heavy heart towards his home.
Next day, Shyam decided to walk to his office and save the bus fare. He thought that he would give the money to the old man if he accidently meets him somewhere. He could not stop thinking about the poor old man and his tough life. He had dealt with accounts of some people who invest in loss knowingly. As they just want to show some loss in order to hide their otherwise unpredictable income. He saw car owners and felt angry upon each of them. He wished he could know more about the car owner that old man described and beat him to his death.
Suddenly he saw the ‘Jhoola’ resting near a shop. He quickly went there; it was the similar ‘Jhoola’ with color papers. He stood there and started looking for the old man.
“Hey…what do you want?” Somebody shouted from inside the shop.
“Where is the ‘jhoolawala’?
“You can’t meet him.”
“Why”
“Because he died two months ago…he was beaten to death by some car-owner. Poor man, his body was thrown away by Municipal Corporation. His wife also died couple of days after him. What a tragedy!”
Shyam stood still with shock and despair. All of a sudden he felt a shiver inside his spines. The old man he met last night was the ghost of the ‘Jhoolawala’.
   
  

          




Thursday, March 6, 2014

In love...with a brain eater

Posted by Chandan Sharma on 9:00:00 AM with No comments
“I did what I could…what else could I have done…may be nothing.” Manish, a twenty six years old boy with blue eyes, was staring at the mirror. He was both furious and sad. His hair was untouched since countless weeks, his cloths were untidy and face was pale. The dark circles just below his blue eyes were indicating his irregular sleeping habits. Apart from it, his face was hidden under the uncontrolled growth of his beard. His otherwise robust body had become lean and starved.
“It is hard for you I know…”He contin

ued talking with the half broken mirror, “It is hard to forget her infectious smile and unexplainable warmth. It is hard to forget the depth of her incredibly beautiful eyes and it is hard to forget her divine voice which used to make you high without any weed whatsoever.”
He looked at the little digital watch tied on his wrist. His breath was becoming heavier and tears had started to gather in his eyes, ready to pop out any second from those rusty corners of the eyes. He looked at the watch again and wiped the saline water with the sleeves his shirt. Meanwhile various thoughts kept on tumbling one after another and his heart continued to pound hard in his ears.
For outer world it was a mundane day. He could hear the peddlers shouting about different things they were trying to sell and the sound of car engines getting started, as the office going people made their way to the parking.
“She was one crazy bitch, grown up in UP with high ambitions and rather twisted ways to accomplish the things. One of the most admired and brilliant student of all time. She was a scholar…but I don’t know why she went to South Africa and brought this fucking shit with her. This is the end of her agony.”
He turned towards the bathroom to take bath. While bathing he suddenly started singing a very old song from the film ‘Anand’.
Zindagi kaisi hai paheli haye…..”
He sang passionately, but none of the wordings or the tune was correct, however finally, his voice caught some nodes and, he left the bathroom. He felt as though he was going to do something horrendous. But technically, he had just been singing a great song in a lame voice. That doesn’t seem much of a crime, does it?
He went again to the mirror and picked up the razor lying near the wash-basin. He checked the blade and started shaving off his beard. Soon his face reappeared from a long banishment under the dark, thick beard. He combed his hairs and headed towards the bedroom. He took out and threw a pair of fine shirts and neat pants from his closet on his bed. After thinking vividly about the color combinations and matches, he took a pair and started to get dress. Once he was ready, he went near the closet and quickly kept something inside his pants pocket.
He saw a glimpse of himself in the mirror and murmured, “I wish you could say for the final time that you knew I was in love with you; a memory you could recall and say that you liked sitting by the stairs of the apartment in stealth with me. You and me, with our hot cups of tea and our warm bodies in Deadly December…I just wish.”
He moved into the inner store room. The room was as dark as the black hole. The sun-rays were abandoned outside but restricted from there. The smell of blood and rotten flesh was possessed deep down the walls of that room. There was torn moss in this air, fallible wisps of death and gore. He stepped into the room quietly, throwing a quick smile at nobody and stood near the door. He switched on the light.
“Hi, honey,” he smiled, stretching on a cheery face as he approached her. His neck looked long and bare in the absence of his top shirt button. It made the scar that ran across his throat more prominent.
There was a girl tied in the chains and bars. The chains were mounted on the wall, giving the girl a very limited movement area. There were pieces of flesh and blots of blood all over the room. Little maggots had already made that room their paradise. Most of them were feeding on the pieces of flesh and a few daring ones were trying to feed upon the girl’s flesh, the girl, who was apparently alive.
“How are you today? The scattered meat pieces are suggesting me that you didn’t have your breakfast properly…why is that so? Are you trying to break my heart?”
There was no response from the girl. She was constantly busy in killing the moving maggots.
“Am I looking good today?” He continued, “Today your agony will end. I have decided to end your obsession…do you hear me Manisha?”
Suddenly the girl looked at Manish. Her face was sunken in, eyes unfocused and completely white. Her mouth twitched and drooled as if craving for something, anything, which even sounds like flesh, meat or blood. The smell of her rotting face was complementing the aroma of the room. Her nails were dark and bloody, but no blood was dripping from them.
“Your eyes are still deep…and your lips red like rose petals.” Manish glared at her with love in his eyes.
Love is complicated. Once a wise man said that it perhaps does not happens with the person but the image. But here the original image of the girl was long gone. She was nothing now but a pile of rotten flesh moving on the structure of bones but still Manish was in love with her.  
“I wish you would not have gone to SA for the research of the epidemic…I just wish. You brought that virus here with you. I have seen you transforming into a flesh eater cannibal from a sophisticated girl…but I told no one about this. As you lost control over you, I fed you everything I could.”
He unbuttoned the shirt and moved a bit near to the girl. His shoulders were badly injured, as if, flesh was cut from there. The blood stains were completely dried up and clotted.
“See, I even fed you my own flesh. But now I am too finding it hard to keep my mental balance going. The virus inside you is making me sick too. I am slowly feeling the thirst of blood and hunger of flesh. But I will not allow it to control me anymore.”
He stood just outside the reach of the girl. He took a pistol out of his pocket. It was black with a sticker of a heart pierced with an arrow pasted on the grip frame. He unlocked the safety grip and checked the magazine.
He did love himself because people who do not love themselves can only adore others, because adoration is making someone else big and us small. They can only desire others, because desire comes out of a sense of inner incompleteness, which demands to be filled. But they cannot love others, because love is an affirmation of the living and growing being in all of us. He loved this girl…unconditionally.
“I love you.”
He took a deep breath and looked at the roof of the house. His eyes started swimming in emptiness and his brain became incapable to think. He left his body to fall on his knees and drops of tears rolled one after another from his eyes. He raised his hand with the pistol and aimed at the girl. He opened his mouth to say something but words didn’t support him. A small amount of saliva slipped from his mouth to the neat shirt. With a silent scream he shot a bullet which pierced the head of the girl. The slash of blood oozed out of her head and within a second, another bullet was shot from the same pistol, the target was different, it was Manish himself. He killed himself.
The next morning a suicide note was found in the room addressing his parents.
‘I didn’t want it to happen…but it happened. It wasn’t that hard. I felt no pain as love had made me numb already.’

 
      
  



Friday, February 28, 2014

A Day With Single Mother

Posted by Chandan Sharma on 11:40:00 PM with 1 comment
“You know how much I liked you when were in college, you were agile and energetic. I never thought that you will choose writing as your career; it is so damn slow…you know what I mean…right? I thought you will join army…I wanted to meet you when your book was published but never knew where you were.”
Indian single motherShe poured the tea in two cups and slowly kept the kettle near the wash basin. She wiped the base of the cups with her ‘duppatta’ and kept the cups in a small plate and then the plate in a big tray.
“And all of a sudden, you decided to show up today. So, how is all?”
She carried the tray and kept it on a stool. The stool was interesting. Names of different people written all over it with pen and I could also see heart made by a red pen with an arrow piecing across it (I still wonder that how that brutality can represent a message of ‘I love you’). That stool perhaps belonged to some school which was most probably was sold to a scrap dealer and then to a second hand furniture dealer and finally was here.
“Well, so far it is good. The sale of book is picking up slowly. I got your address from Pankaj. What’s up with you?”
She picked up the cup of tea and handed over it to me, as if wanted to tell me not to question her about anything.
“As if you don’t know.”
“What?”
“Mr. Sharma, you could be an author but you are not a good liar. I can see in your eyes that you know everything and perhaps that’s the reason why you decided to meet me. And secondly I can’t believe that Pankaj didn’t tell you anything?”
I didn’t know that she could read my eyes. I took a sip of tea and swallowed a huge amount of saliva which was stuck in my throat. I looked at her. She, with her usual naughty smile and witty eyes, was gazing at me.
“What happened?”
“He left me…asked for divorce…I gave him.”
Nandita Mukherjee, one of the most juvenile girls of my college, was sitting in front of me with anguish in her eyes and disgust in her words. I remember the days when she used to pick her valentine amongst as many as 15 boys to choose from. It used to be controversies and fights over her decision then, and she used to say pompously that she had every right to choose or reject whomever she wanted. She used to have very elaborated logical reason behind it. And now, after almost 6 years, she is divorced, and she couldn’t manage even 10 words to say about it.
“Chandan…hello…”
“Ah! I am sorry. I should not ask this to you at all…this is none of my business.”
“Right…your wish.”
“Ya…amm…however, I know almost everything already…Pankaj told me.”
“Yeah…that asshole…”
“Why you say so?”
“Just like that…did he also tell you that he wanted to sleep with me to fulfill my sexual needs…how substantial…”
“What…no…”
“I hope you are not here for the same reasons…are you?”
“O…no…why would you think that…it’s so awful.”
“What?...sleeping with me?”
“No…”
“No?”
“I…mean yes. Ok, just let it go. Why are we even talking about it? Do you think I am such a man?”
“Well, I have been hearing to such countless proposals since Vivek left me with a 4 years old kid. Everybody thinks that a single mother needs it…and there are no strings attached as well.”
She took the last sip of tea and gently placed the cup on the small plate.
“Where is Arya?”
“School.”
“You work…right?”
“Yeah…BPO stuff…you need to keep yourself alive…don’t you? I took leave though…exclusively for you.”
mother
She smiled again. I was not able to decide whether she was already flirting with me or it was a general friend’s stuff. Had she been single and not married, I would have termed it as leg-pulling. But her current situation made differences in my thought…I could not understand why.
mother
“Oh! Thanks…By the way, what about your parents?
“What about them…they live in Banaras…I stayed with them for a month and half but they were too embarrassed due to me…a young girl, divorced, then the usual character assassination by small town public. I wonder why people never blame the man for it.”
“Even if they do, would that be of any good?”
“Nah!...just a sadistic satisfaction.”
She took the cups to the wash-basin and poured some water in both cups from the tap. She did the same with some other utensils. While doing it, her ‘duppatta’ slipped from her shoulder, revealing her v-neck suit. Her well build cleavage made me feel their presence. I had seen her cleavage or may be something more than that, as many as thousand times but today it was more attractive. I didn’t know whether her relationship status had anything to do with it.
“So, did you get any share from your husband…I mean any monitory help?”
“Are you researching on me and trying to make a story?”
“No..”
“You should…” She smiled…same familiar naughty smile.


“I will definitely think about it.”
“Ya…that thinking…it never gets completed, anyways, will you have breakfast?”
“Amm, no I guess, I need to travel a lot.”
“So, having no breakfast will shorten your traveling distance, isn’t it?”
I looked at her in anxiety; she was busy in arranging her hair. She grabbed her hair from front and made a knot in such a manner that it seemed mounted on her head. It was pleasant to see how she was trying to keep her body covered with the ‘dupatta’, unlike old days when she used to flaunt her assets. My gaze traveled from her breasts to her face and back at her breast.
“What?” Her voice was a bit rigid than all of her other sentences.
“Nothing”
“So, will you have breakfast?”
“I can”
“Ok”
I know I was a stupid in conversation but atleast I was not asking her about her Facebook, Twitter, Google+, Instagram or Whatsapp accounts. She stood up and went straight to the kitchen which was attached with the living room. I remember that the kitchen used to be a very discreet place for ladies. The food and other edible items kind of used to appear in the living room directly, no guest would know where exactly the kitchen is? It was a private place for ladies. If there is something they want to laugh about or cry upon, the kitchen used to be the perfect place for that.
Now I mostly see kitchen attached with the living room with no privacy at all. The ladies can cook and chat with the guest sitting the living room. I think it has more to do with the contagious culture of nuclear family. The guest is often known to both husband and wife and ladies don’t need to disappear in kitchen.
“So, what would you like to have Mr. Sharma, Bread…Maggie…or chapattis?
“Anything would work I guess.”
“You have not changed at least in this case…from the canteen of our college to here, you are never sure that what exactly you want to have. Anyways I am making sandwiches for you.”
I smiled.
The bell rang and after a few seconds of silence, Nandi rushed to the door.
“I am going to kill these rascals, I know they are kids who ring the bell and run away.”
She was right. There was no one at the door. She slammed the door and rushed towards me.
“Come…”
She took me to the windows and pointed towards the gate of the apartment. I tried to see what she wanted me to see, but I could figure out nothing. Usual moving cars, some playing kids, few office going people, a hawker fighting with the guard to get in. All seem ok to me.
“What exactly should I look upon?”     
“You see that middle aged man, with a black bag on his shoulder?”
“Yes”
“He is the man who rings the bell almost every day.”
“How you know? You said they are kids who do this.”
“About kids…just like that…I saw this person twice doing the same from the magic eye I have on the door. He does it and walks away.”
“So, why don’t you say anything to him?”
“He wants me to say him something…stupid. He wants to talk with me…thharki budha.”
I looked at her with hint of amazement in my eyes while she continued.
“I don’t know…from class 6 to now…I have seen people thinking just one thing for me…Chandan, you are a writer, can you explain what possibly be the reason of such thinking? Being girl is bad…being a girl without father is even worse and being a single mother is atrocious. Sucks…I feel suffocated here. Everybody wants to know that what I do for our sexual life? What the fuck man, let’s just say that I don’t get time for this and I am too busy looking after my kid and other responsibilities.”
“I am sorry about all these, but you need to get out and fight if you want to stop this.”
“Nah, I don’t need any trouble on this…I don’t want somebody threatening about my son or something else…I think I will pass on this.”
“It will only increase the daring of this man.”
“Where do you live Chandan? If I say something against him, he will allege me of being a characterless woman. This is a man’s society, he will get support and ultimately I would need to leave this apartment and move to the new one. There I will get 3 of such scoundrels…then what? Life is neither a movie nor a book.”
The bell started ringing again. Nandi moved to the door and after rearranging her dupatta, she opened the door, it was Pankaj.
“Talk of the devil and here it comes. I was telling Chandan about men like you.”
“I am sorry. That was a misunderstanding. May I come in now?”
“Yeah, you are not welcome though.”
“Ya, whatever….”
Pankaj forcibly made his way to the chairs and after formal ‘hello’ sat down. He looked at me and asked me in signal whether everything is ok…I said yes.
“Ok, so it seems that you ladies need some privacy here. I would now make tea for all of us and sandwiches. For you too, rascal.” She pointed towards Pankaj.
Pankaj said nothing but held his ears with both of his hands and made a gesture as if asking for forgiveness. Nandi winked at me and went to the kitchen.
“It has increased.” He whispered to me.
“Yes, she is now completely out of control….what should we do now?”
“She needs to be admitted Chandan.”
I said nothing but stood up and moved to a corner of the room, where Nandi could not see from the kitchen. Pankaj came towards me and kept his hand on my shoulder.
“I know, it is hard but you need to accept this that Nandi, your wife, is not doing well.”
“I don’t know what to do Pankaj? I remember the days when we were in college. It was so nice. She has the memory of those days somewhere inside her head…I know…she has the memory of our marriage, and our days of love and peace. How could she forget it?”
“I have told you Chandan that since her elder sister had passed away, she had been acting like her. Because of their tremendous closeness, Nandi went in a shock where she is living the life of her sister.  She is implementing everything which she had been told by her sister. The way she used to get tortured by the society and everything which happened with her…she is even imagining about Aryan, her sister’s son.”
I closed my eyes and drops of tear rolled out from the corners of my eyes. I tried to wipe out the drops of tear but they were constant. I applied pressure on my tongue with teeth and kept on increasing it…so that the physical pain can bypass the pain of my heart. But even the taste of blood could not cover the agony of losing everything despite of having it right in front of the eyes. I could not hug her and tell her that how much I miss her…love her…need her. When Nandi’s sister committed suicide with Arya…Nandi forgot who she really was. She died with them leaving me alone.
“How could she forget the immense love between us? How could she forget the promises we made that we would not stop loving each other even after death? How could she forget the plans we had for our future? How could she forget me?”
I felt my legs shivering and sweat running all over my body. My heart beat was fast, as if was about to stop forever. I felt no power in my legs and my body oscillated towards ground, Pankaj held me. 
“She has not completely forgotten you. You can still be in her good books and eventually marry her again…perhaps it will also restore her memories slowly. Our plan is working as well…she likes you.”
I looked towards him with dismay of becoming unsuccessful on this. He also had tears in his eyes. He signaled me to be normal as we heard Nandi coming.
“Well, I am sorry that it took a while. I am not too good with this so you both will have to excuse me for that. And I need to go and get Arya…so try and finish the breakfast quickly.”
I took a sandwich in my hand. They were well stuffed and well made. It was perfect just like everything about Nandi. She had a perfect figure, perfect height, and perfect eyes. Her curly long hairs were magical and smile was infectious. She again arranged her duppata before leaning towards the table to take the cup of the tea.
The door bell rung again.
“Sale tharki buddhe”
Nandi fiercely rushed towards the door and opened it. There was no one.