Tuesday, 24 December 2013

A Christmas Without Rob...

The spoon was continuously swirling inside the coffee mug, her hand moving mechanically, while her mind had raced into another year- a year which almost felt like an era away, in a totally different world. A world where things were normal. Her eyes were transfixed on the lamppost shimmering far away on the lone road that led to their snow covered house. But, all her yes could see was her family. 

“HO HO HO”, laughed the Santa Claus to the two boys looking at him with starry eyes. Sean and Mark, 3 yrs old twins, were looking at this big beautiful guy who looked as if he had jumped out of their picture books! It was the first time they were seeing a Santa Claus in real, though daddy had told that last Christmas too Santa had visited them. They didn’t remember though and were mesmerized by the very presence of this well known stranger who had silently tiptoed into their bedroom, not knowing that the little boys do not sleep so early! They wanted to call their parents too but Santa told it should be a private affair. That they should keep their little meeting a secret! Helen smiled through the window pane! 
 

3 years had passed since that beautiful Christmas eve of 1977.

Helen sighed and blinked after what seemed like ages but continued to look outside the window at that lonely road which somehow seemed lonelier ever since Robert passed away that fateful night a month ago. It was as chilly as it was tonight. But, of course the chill of death is colder than the coldest nights! She now wondered how her boys would react when she broke it to them, when she told them that there wouldn’t be a Santa Claus coming tonight. She wasn’t religious nor was Robert and they had never really believed in going to the Church. Sean and Mark had naturally inherited their parents Agnostic ideas and never really asked about God, not that they were old enough to have many questions. But this was one enchantment Rob and Helen didn’t want to deny their children, what with all the excitement it brought! Of course, someday they’d know..someday they’d know that Santa Claus is as much a puzzle as was God, you never know whether to believe in his existence or not. But, now they had to be disillusioned, now that Rob wasn’t around to do his dress up at night!

She had written a short poem for them. A poem that sang of how their father had loved them, and how he could no longer come to them with gifts, how he had dressed as Santa each year only coz he loved his boys so much, how his love has increased beyond they could imagine but how helpless he was that he could not be physically with them and how they should rather be good boys and work hard to earn their gifts for themselves!! She was sad, yet she was happy coz now her boys could learn more practical things.

 Her spoon kept clinking against the mug of coffee which had now turned cold.
She heard the doorbell ring and heard her children run towards the door.
She, however, continued to look at that lamppost lighting that lone road leading to her house.
She missed Robert, his warm hug, his dazzling smile and those eyes… those eyes which held her entire world. How similar Mark looked to his father. She was sure he’d grow up to look just like him.

She pulled herself out of her reverie to attend to the doorbell and still holding the coffee mug, began climbing down the narrow stairs that led to her living room. And as she smoothed the wrinkles off her skirt, it struck her.

Her eyes crinkled and her feet nearly ran down the stairs. She was still on the last step when she saw them. Her boys.

They were gleefully looking down at the gift boxes. They held out their gifts to her and even as they ran to their mother, Helen was already at the door, still locked.

She opened the door and instinctively looked up at the sky, as if she, somewhere deep down in her heart, believed in that weird myth of Santa and the reindeers. There was nothing in the sky except a few stars struggling to shine their light from so far away…..
The road was empty.

No one had come down the road .. not for the past half an hour at least… not while she stood staring at that lamppost lighting that lone road which led to her house. Getting goosebumps she turned around to look at her sons.

“It was Santaaaa”, they screamed with joy!

“Oh!” was all she could mutter.

“Did he look like daddy?” she almost asked but somehow resisted her urge to.

She looked out again, her eyes now searching for something, anything, she didn’t know what.

With another look at her boys, she came in and went straight up the stairs to her kitchen…

A single drop of tear rolled down her frozen cheeks as she tore the paper bearing her poem.

Yes… Disenchantment could wait!



  ~Almas Kiran Shamim

 

Friday, 13 December 2013

26 Reflections..from the same mirror ....



1. Main aap hi apni premika, main aap hi apni saheli
 Aur nahi koi apne jaisi bas main ek akeli.

2. I have so few people in my life that the absence of just one more wouldn’t make much of a difference.

3. You have so many people in your life that when I move away, you won’t even notice.

4. I no longer believe.

5. I have a drivers’, but I don’t drive.

 6. I no longer kill lizards.

7. I ain’t sure if I still want to own a CRV. I am fast falling in love with Renault’s Duster.

8. I am a stone. And in ways more than just the meaning of my name.

9. I want to have children only so I can name them.

10. I feel detached.

11. I do not miss people. Even people I thought I’d never be able to live without.

12. I REALLY don’t like watching movies.

13. I wish to travel the world with someone.

14. I would be able to do it if I don’t first kill that someone in one of my fits of rage :/

15. English is my favourite subject.

16. Social studies is a close second.

17. I do not ‘jee huzur’ anyone. I DOOOO NOTTT ‘JEE HUZUR’ ANNNYYYONNNEEE! (just in case you hadn’t heard it the first time)

18. I want rain.

19. I want a catty too. All for me and only for me.

20. I am very volatile.

21. I don’t think I love you, miss you, care for you, think about you, send you flowers, mails, chocolates.

22. I don’t believe in friendship and friends.

23. I do not know what love is.

24. Giving my heart yet another chance to turn to stone. Coz if it doesn’t, it’s gonna crash …. Yet again….

25. I still do believe, I do miss people, I am attached, I am far from being a stone, I would never kill that someone…But, I’d never let you know all this!

26. This word document was created on March 8, 2013 as a “25 Reflections”. I have no idea why I didn’t post it then….Anyway, I am 26 years old now with no less than 26



Saturday, 7 December 2013

Those Clouds That Never Rained.





Hugging herself she sat on the window sill.
Looking across the valley.
Gazing beyond the horizon that deceives you into believing that the sky can meet the land.
It wasn’t a silent evening. It wasn’t noisy either.
Few can hear that which the wind speaks.
And for them, melancholy was the tune of the day. And she was one of them.
The sky was dark with clouds ready to cry.
She sat hearing the clouds being chased away by the wind.
The land wasn’t parched, but ever greedy for rain.
She sat pondering if this land deserves the rain.
But it never rained here. Not in this greedy valley nourished by the river.
She had seen dark clouds pass her by ever since forever.
The wind knew better. And so did she.
She wouldn’t break down. She wouldn’t lose hope.
She wouldn’t fulfill their wish to see her cry.
She was like those clouds.
Those clouds that never rained.

~Almas Kiran Shamim



Monday, 9 September 2013

The Researcher's Limerick.


There was a researcher from Partbelth 
Thinking of issues on public health 
The more he kept thinking 
The more ‘twas confusing 
Oh poor researcher from Partbelth! 

One Sunday seemed fun so he bucked up 
For topics, his mentor he ranged up 
The mentor then told him 
Some topics that bored him 
Sadly the researcher then backed up. 

Finally his brain he could steer 
Sample size, objectives were clear 
But the Technical guys 
Told it wouldn’t suffice 
From his goals he’s far more than near. 

Some way a sound topic he did find 
With tribal mental health combined 
But Ethics Committee 
Slammed some nitty-gritty 
Broken, the researcher near died. 

And then the researcher from Partbelth 
Decided to rather make some wealth 
So a limerick he popped 
As a writer he topped 
No more a researcher from Partbelth. 


~Almas Kiran Shamim 



P.S. This is my very first attempt at writing a limerick


Thursday, 5 September 2013

Deception



No truth I’d known holds true; not anymore, 
All life’s apparently fuelled by lies. 
Betrayals too don’t turn relations sore 
All depends on how well your deeds you hide.
 Many lives in the name of privacy 
Parallelly lived, never crossing paths. 
It’s the same whether you see or not see 
The truth’s ignored lest it tears lives apart. 
You speak of a trust that needs to exist 
It’s nothing more than turning a blind eye. 
Oblivion’s required to subsist 
Other’s you won’t, how much ever you try. 
Limitless ‘love’ you now give and receive 
Expecting deceptions, you now deceive. 


 ~Almas Kiran Shamim 



Saturday, 6 July 2013

I wish I could...

Sometimes I feel so helpless, it's next to death.  I wonder if others feel that way ever.... Not being able to do something for someone.
I wish to do so much. I wish I could create the whole world for someone... starting from scratch. But, obviously I can't. All I can do is be there.
Today, yet again someone broke someone else's heart.
Today, yet again....someone's hopes were crushed.
I wish I could create a world for you....starting from the scratch.

And this, after knowing that no one would create a world for me.
Some of us are simply destined to be like that.....

I am being incoherent....coz..life doesn't seem to be coherent. I wish I could do something....

Helping you would be hurting them who would help me when I need them, unlike you.
But, my heart is made of flesh and blood.
And I wish I could create a world for you....starting form the scratch.





Sunday, 30 June 2013

The Run in The Rain


On a rainy day, along a lonely road, with a heavy heart and a heavy soul, he drove on and on…until…until his car refused to run and his engine slowly died.

He Bhagwan!”, escaped from his lips as he looked over at the long narrow stretch of road that lay ahead of him.
Far away, the golden horizon indicated that night fall wasn’t too long from then.

He didn’t like this place, not at all.

 The road was just a dirt path connecting nowhere to nowhere, benefiting a few scattered villages that fell on its way. Small huts dotted the forests that tried to engulf the road from the two sides.

He noticed a small hut near the bend of the road.

‘Could someone be living there?’ he wondered.

‘No, there’s hardly a chance of anyone living in this God-forsaken place! But, that’s the only chance I have, otherwise I will have to spend the night in the car itself,’ he mused.

A quick look into his water flask was sufficient for him to realize that it would be better to run a few metres in the rain, if it could get him clean water to drink, than sit here thirsty in the car for the night. So he got out of his car and dashed towards the hut, the downpour drenching him cold to his bones.

With each step, his heart got heavier.

 He didn’t like this place, not at all.

 It literally took him every bit of energy he had to keep sprinting towards the hut. The hut seemed to go further and further away with his will to go on dropping by the second. It wasn’t physically tiring, no! But, mentally he was exhausted.

 He had been here before and his past was coming back to haunt him.

He had avoided this road, this area, this state for 20 years. He had got a job, moved abroad, got married, had kids, bought a big car, a bigger apartment, was a successful journalist and had all the comforts that any average man could imagine to have. He had never turned to look back, never let his past reach out to him.

But, probably the past hadn’t forgotten him yet.

It beckoned to him with a proposal to cover a story in a nearby village for the magazine he worked for. The money was good and it wouldn’t take him much time. Besides, you never know which cover story could be your key to a promotion! He took up the project and here he was…running towards the hut.

 He reached the hut panting.
 
Hadn’t it been for the cold and wetness of the rain, he would be drenched in his own sweat.

He looked around and saw no one. The hut was deserted.

His heart sank a bit deeper than it already had.

He bent down, grasping his knees, as he gasped to satiate his lungs which were hungry for air after all that fast a run.

His eyes were closed, yet he could see bits and pieces of his past flashing by.

It was then that he heard her voice.

The voice of a young girl. A girl who had suddenly transpired form nowhere.

 “It’s raining really heavily this year, isn’t it?”

 He glanced at her sideways, still bending down grasping his knees.

Their eyes met… he couldn’t break off the gaze.

It has been raining especially heavily this week”, she told coldly and continued, “What are you doing here?”

He was up straight now, still gazing into her eyes, his mouth wide open, his sinking heart now picking up the rhythm and beginning to beat fast.. faster….WAY faster.

“I am returning from the forests. My mother had sent me to get firewood. See, don’t I have enough?” she pointed to a stack of firewood in the corner, her voice colder than ice.

He took no notice of the firewood. His eyes could have popped out of his sockets, and his heart out his mouth.

“You DO know what will happen to me next, don’t you?” she asked, her head cocked to one side, her eyes never blinking once.

 He was in his present and his past both at once. He could see now, he could see then, he could see it all. His mind was hardly able to process all that was happening.

“I can tell you what will happen to me next. I will walk down this road, towards my home, my village. A drunken man would pass me in his motorcycle. He will come back. Get off the vehicle. Pull my hands. My firewood will fall to the ground. He will drag me by my hair into the forest. I will keep screaming for help. No one would hear me. I will resist him. Scratch him. Beg him. But he would not stop until his manly hunger gets satisfied.”

He stood there frozen.

 She continued, “He will leave me there and go away. I will return to my village with the little life left in me, only to be disowned by my people.”

 His mind could not fathom what his eyes were telling him to believe. Standing before him was a girl completely dry in this heavy rain…………as young as she was 20 years ago.

 “And then I will run away one morning and jump into that lake,” she told pointing at a water body a little deep into the forest.

That was the first time he shifted his gaze from her. He now stood staring into the direction of the lake, his eyes as cold as hers.

“I will kill myself”

He looked back at her.

“And I can also tell what will happen next to YOU”, she chuckled.

Her head tilted, her voice hollow yet laughing, she told “You TOO will jump into the lake. You TOO will kill yourself.”

As if his feet were ready, only waiting to hear these words, he started walking. Without any hurry to escape the rain, without any fear of the night that was encroaching upon his life, he walked straight into the lake.

And kept walking.

Until he could not be seen.

 All that remained was a deserted hut.

And a night sky that poured dark, heavy rain.




 ~Almas Kiran Shamim

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

Image:Google Images



The Omniscient



If I knew all that was to be 
Beyond all ages and lives if I could see 
If I knew the endings of all stories unsaid 
If both riddles and solutions I could weave. 

If all the pains, pangs, plights I could know 
And their elixir, in my heart, I could grow. 
The true from the false if I could say 
And the right from the wrong if I could show. 

 Unknown to me, if was naught 
If I could read all you thought 
Omniscient if I could be 
Free I’d be or with burdens fraught?


 ~Almas Kiran Shamim 

Written for Poets United

 

Tuesday, 25 June 2013

The Coloured Sky

The Colured Sky

 

For if you’d told me colour the sky 
 I would, you know, I would. 
But, first I would pause and ask, 
“Tell me, which colour I should?”

I’d steal the silver from the stars, 
From sunset, the golden hue; 
Thick forests would give me their green, 
And blood- the colour of a love true.

But, you asked me something else, so, 
From the night its darkness I took. 
And in the depth of your desired black 
You left without a second look.

And there’s something you should never forget, 
And something nor I should- 
That, if you’d told me colour the sky, 
I would, you know, I would……  

~Almas Kiran Shamim

 

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