Butter

He longed for the thin-legged, slim-waisted lasses, and lusted for their beautiful sweet mouths. The only ones who ever had him however, were the fat, unattractive girls. Butter was forever unsatiated.

The Ball

Whee! I went flying in the air, as the sun smiled and the winds kissed my round white face. The birds looked at me wondering what I was so happy about. It was like having wings, till the bat hit me smack on the face and I was thrown up and away, bruised and battered.

Evening Breeze

The warm evening breeze kissed me fondly, like the memories of first love. The leaves whispered restlessly as the streetlights muted to a dim glow. My heart began humming a distant melody. Evenings like these made me want to dance in the street, without a care in the world.

Then, three men sprang up from the corner of my set, and jumped up to pee by the side of a house. So much so for a romantic evening.

The Murder II

"Do this". "Do that".
They were relentless. She was fed up.
One day, she took a hammer and started beating them out.
A few trickles of blood later, the voices finally left her head.

Squirrelling Love

Wow, she's really tall, he thought as he stood in front of her, holding a bunch of wildflowers.
"Umm...", he began to speak but only a squeak came out.
The camel looked right through him, making his heart squirrel.
If only she knew he wanted to share his nuts with her.

The Heart, The Brain and The Stomach: A Conversation on Love

On a windy wintry evening, under the shade of the smiling sun, she fell in love, once again.

'Oh boy', the brain observed, worried.
'Geez, I hate these butterflies', the stomach said giddily as the heart hoarsely sang, 'It's a love story, baby just 'yes'!'.
'Grow up', her brain said, in an authoritative Alan Rickman tone.
'Like, really. I can't have butterflies no more', her stomach groaned.
'Grammar', the brain corrected sternly.
But the heart had already broken into an impromptu ballet, 'I love you and that's all I really know...'
'Fine, but don't come crying to me again', the brain said, annoyed. 'I can't pick up your pieces everytime. Why can't you be smart in love, for once?'
'What's the use of all the smartness in the world if you can't be stupid in love?' The heart danced.
'You stupid, stupid heart', the stomach was sick to the core. 'You have any idea, how many butterflies have flown inside me till now? I refuse to participate in your games. Mutton, chicken, fish, I can digest. A bunch of flying colourful butterflies, straight out of a Disney film- no man! I refuse.'
'And you are still injured from last time', Rickmany brain observed wisely. 'I advice you to take it slowly'.
But the heart was already doing sprints in rainbow-land.
'How can someone so logical in life be so stupid in love', the brain sighed.
'I agree man, the heart's lost it again', the stomach said, lighting a cigarette.
'I'm not your man and we are not friends. I am the most intelligent organ in the human body and you just clean the gutter', the brain replied coldly as it blew off the cigarette. 'And that stuff is not good for health'.
'Chill man. Who put a stick up your ass?', the stomach curtly questioned.
'How dare you...', the brain fired up.
'Guys, guys, relax. I am fine. It won't be like last time. I promise', sang the heart in a high-pitched octave.
'Well, at least, it's not a Justin Bieber song..', whispered the stomach.
'Oh really, so this guy has already said he loves you', the brain said sarcastically.
'Not exactly', the heart quietly replied.
'So you have said you love him?' The brain interrogated.
'Not exactly'.
'So what exactly did you tell him?'
'I liked his Facebook status!', leapt the heart in joy.
'I want some antacid. I am not feeling very well. All those butterflies...', the stomach said weakly.
The brain ignored. 'So let me figure this out, you expect him...'
The heart cut him short. 'I don't expect anything from him, okay? Stop being such a stuck-up'.
The stomach giggled amidst glares from the brain.
'Let me tell you right now, the next time you come to me, injured and crying, I will tell you,'I told you so'', it declared tersely.
'What's new? I can't stop falling in love because of the fear of getting hurt', said the angry heart.
'No, but you can at least try to be intelligent about it'. 
'I'm not a brain', laughed the heart. The heart's laughter always calmed the cynical brain. Taught it to have faith. Even though, in the end, the heart was always injured. Somewhere deep inside, the brain believed that one day the heart would find happiness.
'You talk like a 16-year old school girl', the brain shook its head, exasperated.
'And you behave like a 60-year old Grandpa', the heart laughed heartily.
'Well, someone has to be the grown up...'
'Guys, guys, I hate to interrupt this reunion, but could someone please help me with some antacid', begged the stomach.
'Hand, mouth...', ordered the brain.
While they got busy, the brain said thoughtfully,' I don't think this is going to end any differently'.
'I know', said the heart. 'But we do not give up trying, do we?'
'I hope you find what you are looking for', sighed the brain.
The heart smiled. 'What we are looking for'.

Sad Job

He had all the requisite credentials for a job.
A Certificate of Innovation in playing pranks.
An A+ in mending shoes.
He was even nominated in the 'Best Dressed' category. Twice.
He knew that soon, the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow would be his.

But in post-recession Europe, times were tough even for Leprechauns.
Shattered dreams and endless bills forced him to become a cobbler.

But even now, he gets up every morning to brush his dense red beard and dust his ragged green coat. On St. Patrick's Day however, he gets up an hour earlier, puts on his best green graduation coat, and runs about playing practical jokes on unsuspecting drunkards. This is the only day he can be his true self. The only day, that makes the remaining 364 days bearable.

The Murder

"Wait..wait, please don't kill me", he pleaded.
"I'm sorry, I have no choice". The murderer's voice was impassive as he grasped the weapon.
"There's always a choice", he cried.
The murderer went quiet.
"You can give me a happy life, a happy family, everything I have dreamed of...", the prisoner begged helplessly.
He paused, thinking for a moment. His readers wouldn't like that.
Then, with a swift stroke of his pen, he pushed his character off the edge.

He sighed. Time to begin the next chapter.

Pigtail

'You look beautiful', he whispered softly as he helped her to the chair.
Their first date. She blushed.
Settling down, he asked, 'So, what would you like to order? I hear the pork belly is awesome'.
She flinched a little.
'Just a..a salad please.'
'As you wish', he smiled as he motioned for the waiter.
'You know.. Your hair looks lovely, I bet you would look gorgeous with pigtails'. Women liked his candour. Or so he thought.
But she went pale.
'Ex..excuse me...', she rushed up from her chair and dashed towards the ladies' room, leaving him wondering if he had been too forward.

Inside the spotless white washroom, she stared at the mirror. Did he know? How could he know? No it was impossible. She had taken every precaution.

Instinctively, her hands began tracing the outline of her satin silk gown. The smooth neckline, the flawless waist, the perfect hips. Her hands rested.

Inside, lurked the faintest trace of a bushy pig tail. Of course, the dress hid it well. But she could never be completely sure.
She stared at the mirror, ashamed, sweating like a pig.

Out in the restaurant, he waited. Finally convinced that his forwardness had put her off, he left.
Inside, the ladies' washroom grunted in agony.

Lose Weight Now!

Do people sneer at you for taking up extra space in buses? Is your life spent roaming from mall to mall trying to find clothes of your size? Are you worried that you might end up becoming a football? Not to worry, now lose weight in just 4 weeks. No medication, no exercise, no operation. Register at my PG today. The food is enough to put you off eating for a long period of time.

Tahir Shah in Haryana!

I saw Eye To Eye - Tahir Shah in the market today. With lush locks falling down his face, he sprang up and down and spoke in a distinct Haryanvi accent. Gazing admiringly, I wondered how it would be if he were to sing Eye to Eye North Indian isshtyle.

Balanced Diet

"I need to have a balanced diet", I thought, morosely munching on Hyderabadi Biriyani last night. "Something healthy, that helps to lose weight, be fit...", I pondered today, dreamily eating the Chicken Rice Bowl I so dearly love. "May be tomorrow", I wondered as I walked alone with my Hot Chocolate towards the office.

Cautious Words

Words, big and small, fat and round, slim and tall, leap out of the keyboard like candies in the Crush Saga. They arrange themselves neatly on the page, only to be prudently dismissed. Restless and passionate, they desire to be read and seen, alas, Facebook is no place for Romantics. One best exercise caution, even if it be against one's heart's intent.

Silence

2 am. Suddenly lights go off, voices go up, darkness breaks out.

A deafening roar blocks my ears. 

I can't sit, can't hear myself think, let alone play Candy Crush. I start pacing round the dark room, then the building, hoping something, anything will stop the monotonous rumbling. But the noise gets louder every instant. Until suddenly, the ventilator starts bursting again and the TV resumes blaring. Thank Heavens, the noise in my ears has died.

2 minutes later, it's dark again, and the noise is back. 

I sit on my bed, eyes closed, trying to shut the noise out with all might. 
Dammit, who knew silence could be so loud?

Wise Men

Oh Beauty, you heartless creature!
You snigger and sneer
As wise men make a fool of themselves
With the most banal of jokes
In your august presence.
All so your face lights up
With the enlivening smile
That strikes their erratic hearts.

It is true what they say,
Beauty has long played folly with wisdom.
But only the wisdom of men, they forgot to mention.
For the hearts of men, even the wise ones
Are governed by the beats of an organ far down
That not cares for intelligence or dumb sarcasm.

Monkeying Around

Emergency has been declared in my PG. The doors and windows have been tightly shut; the valuables safely tucked away. Solemn Nepali faces stand huddled together outside, determined to protect the building and its inhabitants. As the impending doom draws near, everyone waits with bated breath.

It's time. The monkeys have arrived.

Meeting the Past on the way Home

Late one night, I found the past roaming idly in the quiet corners of a deserted street. 'Hey, so long!', I called out. Flicking away the embers of a dying cigarette, it looked up and asked, visibly surprised, 'You..what're you doing here..?' 
'Just passing through', I smiled. As you were too, through my life. 'Wow...you look..different. Let's catch up sometime', it softly suggested, voice filled with surprise and candour. 'Sure, why not', I smiled and moved on. 

The aloof, unforgiving past had forgotten it could never catch up to the present.

The Sing-Song Virus

There's a dangerous virus doing the rounds of wintry North India. Deadlier than the Dengue, more contagious than the cold, it will strike you when you least expect it. It spreads by air and prolonged contact with those infected. Till now, prevention is the only cure. But patients show no outward symptoms, thus making it difficult to quarantine them. Except one thing. If you find a loved one humming a Honey Singh number, beware. Maintain a minimum of 5 feet distance, use ear plugs and contact the nearest government asylum. Or you could be next.

P.S: Status inspired after I caught myself humming a Singh-song unawares. :-/

The Camel that spoke like Robert De Niro

The Meeting 

As I trudged along the tormented path overwhelmed with briefs, a stoic smiling face caught my gaze.

'If this bothers you sweetheart, just imagine being burdened by idiots all day', said the pet camel at the Bikanervala restaurant, in a curious Robert De Niro voice.

'Why yes, Mr. Camel, I don't know how you do it. Why not just kick them?' I looked at those wide-set pair of eyes, serene, always smiling. He was chewing the end of a Cuban cigarette.

'Gotta pay the bills sweetheart, everyone's gotta pay the bills', he said, his voice hoarse, his chewing incessant.

Right then, a potbellied Sardarji with two gleeful children stopped in front of him. 'Well, that's me', Mr. Camel wrapped up the conversation, as he threw the end of his cigarette in the cold February air, wiped his mouth with polished hooves and gave a million dollar smile, that dazzled with a set of perfect white teeth.

'You'd look better with a hat, Mr. De Niro', I thought as I walked back home, contemplating the burdens of mankind.

The Observation

There is an open parking lot below my office. On lazy afternoons, Mr. Camel lies there, by the shade of a few inconspicuous trees. Chewing and gazing at the direction of the pet horse nearby. Always smiling. I have often wondered whether he is enlightened or just psychotic. May be there isn't much of a difference between the two.

Today as a couple got on him, and he lazily strolled across the parking lot of indifferent cars, a driver began playing 'Tamanchey pe Disco'. Suddenly, Mr. Camel neighed. And as the lone horse in the distance looked up in confusion, he jumped up with two hooves in the air, shaking his hump to the beat of the song.

The couple sat petrified while the mahout ran screaming.
But neither the obligation of the job, nor the yelling of his boss could stop Mr. Camel anymore.
He was finally free.
Or was he?

Tough Life

Life must be tough for pigs. Imagine wetting your nose every time you try to drink water.

The Chirp

I tried to call out to her but with the straw sticking out of my mouth, only a muffled sound came out. Where was she? I saw an eagle flying in the distance. Wings outstretched, it spiralled round and round, reminding me of the poem by Mr. Yeats. 'Darling, can you hear me?' I finally chirped aloud, causing to drop the straw. Oh boy, the nest will just have to wait, I mused as I flew to a nearby pole.

Rain is Coming

The air smells of wet earth and all around, Nature has assumed a pregnant silence. The trees, they are still, as if waiting for her to burst forth. The earth below my feet is dry. 

It is going to rain again.

Running Rat

Eventually, the rat got tired of running. Panting, he sat down and began wiping his face with a moist cloth.

'So, you got something for me yet, lady?' The poor rodent squeaked at me.

Looking up from the Book of Idioms, I replied quietly, 'Rug rat, rat race...rats abandoning a sinking ship....nah..nothing, sorry'. 

'Your fault. Why is it that 'rats running in a stomach' sounds perfectly fine in the vernaculars but so odd in English?'

'Why indeed?' I thought to myself.

'And you...you agreed to write it in English..why couldn't you put up the status in some vernacular language, where it is perfectly fine to have innocent rats run up and down the length of your stomach?'

'Umm... My readers are from an extensive language base...' I said importantly.

'Why should us rats suffer for the limitations of English'? He squealed.

'You are right....' I was hungry and Mr. Rat was tired of running in my stomach. We shared nibbles of my last cream biscuits and quietly wondered on the dilemma of transcreating idioms in a foreign language.

I hate rains

Rain makes me sad. 
It reminds me of afternoon drizzles by the window; when droplets of creativity played in puddles in the rigorous Math copy.
When every bit of lecherous mud was avoided with trepidation. Sometimes unsuccessfully.
The waterlogged moments of love. Unspoken yet immortalized in words.
The congested umbrellas in shuttle taxis gasping under strangers' sweat and rain water. Or perhaps, they were crying. 
The heart is, but a mausoleum of memories. Rain washes down its strong walls to reveal the undergrowth within.
I hate rains.