The Iridescent Introspection

Ba’addab, Ba’naseeb

2011-08-13T03:40:00.000-07:00

August 13^th 1967. 9:20 pm.

10 year old Abdullah was busy decorating his street in the middle of Mori Darwaza along with other children. They had ripped pages from their notebooks, painted them green and drawn a crescent and a star in the middle with white chalk. Khala Bilqees made them a sticky paste mixing some water and aataa, using which they glued their flags together to the strings. Asghar and Shakeel climbed up every roof in the street, fastening the strings from house to house. All children paused from their work to look at the two eldest with awe every time they did this.

Akbar Baba sat there on the porch of his house with the huqqa’s pipe in his mouth. He watched the children as they gleefully prepared for the big day tomorrow. 20 years ago, he had lost his family on this day of rejoice. Looking at the cloudy sky, he hoped it wouldn’t rain tonight.

‘Babu ji, can we go up to your roof to put up the big flag?’ Saeeda led the crowd of children, carrying a bamboo stick with a green parcham on top, asking for his permission.

Akbar Baba took another puff and scratched his beard. He smiled at the children of all ages, looking back at him with eagerness and fright in their eyes. Then he nodded. A cheer went through the crowd; the kids practically hugged each other. A moment later, a riot broke out between them to decide who was to carry the load of the large flag to the roof top. Saeeda tried to stop them. ‘Array, be patient! Let Babu ji decide it!’

Akbar Baba always made the important decisions of the street. This event was no less. He looked at every individual, searching for the chosen one. His eyes settled on the only small boy whose attention was diverted towards the hundreds of jhandiyaan that canopied above, smiling as the wind stirred them.

‘Abdullah!’ he chanted. ‘Carry the flag upstairs!’

Abdullah, distracted, looked at him vacantly. Then a grin lighted his face and he ran towards Saeeda, grabbing the stick and dashing past Akbar Baba, into his house. The cheering crowd of children followed him inside.

They all put up the flag on the highest point they could, after multiple efforts. When done, they all stood there for a long time, staring at their hard work.

‘Allahu Akbar!’ Shakeel broke the silence.

‘Allahu Akbar!’ Everyone repeated and applause broke out when suddenly thunder startled everyone.

‘Not today!’ Akbar Baba groaned. ‘Allah khair!

Saeeda reached over to grab her brother’s shoulders, drawing him closer. ‘Aapa, is it going to rain? It will wet the flags.’ Abdullah looked at her. Saeeda looked devastated. ‘Pray that it doesn’t. Allah will listen to you. He listens to children.’

As told, the little boy raised his hands, closed his eyes for a moment and murmured to himself.

‘We should put it down now, rather then letting it fall to ground if the storm comes. Remember Abba told us its sheer shame to disrespect your country. I won’t let that flag fall down. It holds our pride, Shakeel.’ Abdullah heard Asghar.

The paper flags had begun to wet. Saeeda started to cry. Abdullah glanced at her and looked at the strings. All of a sudden, the winds shredded away a string, causing it to fall down. Without looking around, young Abdullah dived ahead to grab it, trying to save his pride. Before his feet touched a support, he fell from Akbar Baba’s roof, into the street.

Amidst Saeeda’s screams and the boys dashing downstairs, Akbar Baba limped towards Abdullah with all his might. He lay on his stomach, a pool of blood next to his head. Akbar Baba turned him over to check his heart. ‘He’s breathing! Call the elders, take him to the hospital! Bhaag Saeeda, jaa!’ he yelled.

Then he looked at his clenched fist. He reached over to open it, revealing a drenched, crumpled paper flag.

August 13^th, 2011. 10:45 am.

He silently watched the children of his school preparing for the Independence Day celebrations from the window of his office. He was impressed by their devotion. He was glad that one of the things that hadn’t changed even after all of these years of independence was the spirit of patriotism.

53 year old Abdullah was the principal of this school. He had been teaching children Pakistan Studies and Urdu for 30 years, enlightening their lives with the knowledge of their nation, its culture and language. He was a mentor to every one of them. He knew why he could hold his head high with prestige today. His God had rewarded his naseeb (destiny) to compensate the addab (respect) he had shown for his land years ago.

*Based on a true story

Tumblin' :)

2011-05-06T08:09:00.000-07:00

Hey guys, *drumsroll* I'm up on a new blog! Arwa's Android - kinda geeky name, no? I couldn't think of better.

Reasons for a tumblr:

Number one, I'm keeping a secret, shush ;) I felt like making a new space - talk some sh*t - so Android's gonna be some serious me.

This one is gonna be different - I'll be sharing the world, not just me, unlike Introspection.

I'm excited, yayyyyy! :D

Cheers!♥

Beautiful Love.

2010-09-03T01:43:00.000-07:00


Just you and me.

Beautiful,
Is the twinkle in your eyes,
When I see you smile,
At me.

Beautiful,
How you swept me off my feet,
Purely,
So easily.

And when you held out your hand for me,
I knew you knew I always knew;

It's so plain and so perfect,
Don't you think it's so wonderful,
It's a beautiful love,
And I owe it all to you.

Beautiful,
Is the feeling when I look behind,
To find you,
Standing there.

Beautiful,
When you touch my eyes,
And clear those tears,
Away.

And when you save me from falling apart,
I knew you knew I always knew;

I want you to know,
That it's more than just a miracle,
It's a beautiful love,
And I owe it all to you.

Beautiful,
Is the way you teach me,
Little things in life,
Eagerly.

Beautiful,
When you guide me to dance,
Under the moonlight,
In the rain.

And when you make the time slow down,
I knew you knew I always knew;

There's magic everywhere,
It sparkles when you're around,
It's a beautiful love,
And I owe it all to you.

Beautiful,
When you forget the present,
So easily,
For me.

Beautiful,
Is how I deeply care,
About this trust you have,
In me.

And the way my head fits into your neck,
I knew you knew I always knew;

It just needs some evil,
To make it a fairytale,
It's a beautiful love,
And I owe it all to you.

P.S. A Whole New World.

KOSTAL ki 'Jaan Jaye'

2009-11-29T23:58:00.000-08:00

Okay so the famous-long-before-they-were-meant-to-be-famous KOSTAL debuted just recently on the screen with their much awaited track, 'Jaan Jaye' and man, everyone is
groovin' with the guys!

When I saw the video; my first reaction was a smile at how cute Ali Saleem aka Begam Nawazish Ali acted in it. It begins as she walks into the kitchen, calling her cook, Omran Shafique aka Rafique and then like a typical Pakistani woman, she scolds him while he meekly smiles. Then she leaves for her car; near which Taha Malik, her gardener (maali), is busy cutting the grass. The moment she's out; Taha or the maali dashes inside the house, awaited by Omran who's already in the mood to party. They turn on the TV and watch pretty ladies on the ramp and then snooze off. *Scene changes*
There are girls and girls, all so thin and lanky and wearing black catwalking and dancing around as the music plays on. Omran starts singing the course and Taha interrupts with his rap and Omran starts up again and then one of the thin girls is sitting on the table coloring her lips when Omran jumps on the bed behind and she signals him to come near at which he pops a rose in his mouth and crawls to her when all of a sudden; the lady of the house, Begum Nawazish Ali opens the door of the room and screams, scaring Taha off the stool and Omran to drop open his jaw.

Wah-oW!

So the best thing about the video is the concept. Like I always cry before; it's the concept that makes a video worth watching. So this one blows off. However, I must say that Begum Nawazish Ali gets all the credit for it. Honestly. She (or he) makes it a good laugh all over. Another thing that adds over to the video is the variety of colour dimensions the director has used. The whole spectrum makes the video iridescent which in turn makes it very stylish and good to the eyes.

The music is not unique; yet it does makes a mark. It'll leave you dancing along the song for sure. However; maybe because I'm no big fan of rap music, I did felt that the little piece by Taha was completely unnecessary. It feels as if he's tried to push himself in the chords where Omran has already made space for himself. No offense.
The lyrics are very chic. Omran sings, 'Meri jaan jaan jaye, Mujhe chaine nahi aaye, Mujhe aisa tarhpaye, Jaisay mann choo jaye..'And the classy tone to his voice just does the trick. Somehow, when you close your eyes and listen to the vocals, it's like Mauj gone groovy.

The guys carry their style in the video (including Ali Saleem) but the models were a fashion disaster. C'mon! What's with the masks? Take them off! And the black color chronology?

So the whole video is a big hit already, for sure I'm convinced. The fact is; only the concept and the vocals make it memorable. It's how Omran 'Har fun mola' Shafique guides the duo to another level of entertainment and how the spectral (here, I derived it out of spectrum) Uns Mufti directs a fine piece for the people to laugh and enjoy. I bet it's number one on your play list by now. hi5!

Rocksalt

2009-11-29T06:49:00.000-08:00

This story is derived from my personal experiences. However, all characters are fictional; any similarity to anyone living; a friend or not; is purely coincidental.

Feel free to ask me any questions about the plot. =)

In a state of pure oblivion, surrounded by an array of white flowers, she lay there on the hospital bed covered by a thin sheet. Her pale and skinny feet protruded out of it, showing off three identical scars on her left ankle. Her eyes were closed; either she was sleeping or pretending to be asleep.

From the big window next to the door, Omran looked at her frail body, confounded in the emotions of anger and pain alike. Hamza sat next to me, his arm resting on my shoulder. He stared at the ceiling, perhaps his eyes were too aggrieved to answer me. I understood the agony we three shared right now. The agony of losing a friend and the anger of ripping into pieces, the culprit who did this.

We were alone in the corridor. The silence frequently broke as one of us sighed. Once, Hamza even started to cry.

I had known Rimsha since 2006. We met in November one day at my cousin's wedding. Then we never saw each other for an year. Hamza, on the other hand, had met her last July. I am ashamed to confess that he knows her better than I do.

'Excuse me, sir. The doctor wants to see you.' I heard a feminine voice. 'I'm coming.' Omran answered. He left, followed by the nurse, her anklet clinking faintly as she walked. 'This is Pakistan,' I thought. 'Who follows the rules?'

Hamza stood up and walked towards the room. I followed him. I wonder why.

As he opened the door, we heard a sob. Hamza walked towards Rimsha. She was awake, but motionless. She did not even knew we were here. I decided to stand by the door.

Hamza sat next to her. She looked at him for a second, probably even tried to smile. I am just guessing. She always smiled when she saw him.

'How are you?' Hamza questioned politely. She nodded. Then she closed her eyes. Her dark circles scared me. He took her hand and gently rubbed it.

I closed my eyes as I leaned against the door. I tried to clear my mind from the situation; its memories, its introversion.
I heard her sob again. At first it started quietly but soon she was screaming. I ran towards her. Hamza held her tightly as she cried.
'What's wrong? Tell me what's wrong?' Hamza asked. 'Call him,' she muttered between her tears. 'Call him.'
'Go to sleep. You need sleep.' I tried calming her down. 'Call him.' she said again.

Then she closed her eyes.

We waited for a minute to see if she starts crying again. When she did not, we left the room.

We sat on the bench outside again. Hamza was controlling his tears, I could read it on his face. I knew he was being tortured inside. It was sheer torture he was going through.

'Where does he live?' he asked me, all of a sudden, his expressions vague and vacant.

'Who?' I questioned back.

'The guy she's always asking about.'

'Shahbaz?'

'Yeah. Where does that bloody bastard live?'

'I don't know. I know he's in Troy right now.'

'Oh.'

'I don't think calling him to meet her would be a good idea.'

'I won't be calling him here.'

'What else do you want with him?'

'I want to kill that man.'

'Listen Hamza. Please don't let any of this take over your senses. Don't we have enough to worry about already?'

'Don't you see what he has done to her? She is vacillating between life and death right now! What more do you want?' Hamza spat out his anger.

'You think 'killing' him would be the end of everything, huh?' I had become somewhat angry too.

'Not everything. But at least it will calm down our souls!' he barked.

'Not hers!' I barked back. He was serene now, throwing himself back on the bench. I clenched my fists. Yes I hated Shahbaz, no doubt, but I was never in favour of Hamza either. Chauvinism? Jealousy? I don't know. I knew Rimsha loved Hamza and he loved her back. Omran was married and just good friend to her. Maybe I was the unwanted obtuse angle of the love triangle, after all. Argh! I don't care. Right now, Hamza infuriated me and I couldn't help it.

'Look, I know this is no time to quarrel with each other. So we should better keep to ourselves.' he said, crossing his hands together.

Before I could reply, we both saw Omran coming. He was accompanied by Arwa, his wife.

'What did the doctor say?' Hamza inquired before I could even open my mouth.

Omran looked at Arwa. I sensed something wrong. Of course something was wrong! She was in there, since five days, probably breathing away life slowly and I was hopelessly liverish to everyone she loved. I hated myself right now.

'They say she could go to absolute coma.' Arwa answered.

'No..way.' Hamza mumbled.

'Nothing can be done now. Her brain is too numb to respond, she'll probably forget who we are in some days too.' Omran added.

I gulped in my courage.

We all agreed it was too late to do anything. No one spoke, but we agreed.

Hamza pursed his lips.

Arwa held her husband's hand, tightly, as if she was scared of losing him too.

I closed my eyes.

Then we all heard a sob. Then a scream. All three of my comrades dashed inside the room
in response.

I, on the other hand, stood firm at my position. I was too rude, too blunt to act right
now. I could hear it all; her screams, Hamza's consolation, Arwa's cry and Omran's
whispers.

Then I heard my name. When I finally recovered from the surprise of who called me, I
ran inside, as fast as I could.

You & Me are 'Ready to die'

2009-11-29T06:38:00.000-08:00

The door creaked open; giving way to a beam of light to enter the darkness of the room. Me stepped inside, followed by You who was carrying a bag and turned the lamp on. They walked to the table in the middle. While You pulled out a chair for Me to sit; Me grabbed the note they had put on the table before and crumpled it in her fist.

Once they both were seated; You took out the laptop and a pad out of the bag. He passed on the electronic to Me; who turned it on and began searching for her playlist.

You: Shall we start?

Me: Yep.

You: We have...co-VEN's latest track, 'Ready to die'.

Me scrolls and then plays the video.

...And it's over.

You: Carry on.

Me: Okay so; this was a long awaited video of a band. And to be very honest; I didn't find it worth waiting for.

You: Wow. Why?

Me: Well; let's just say I had heard so much about its release months ago and I was waiting so anxiously for another conceptual classic like there had always been from the boys. Another fact that the guys at ROLA are famous for their creativity. The point is; a conceptual video adds a subtle flavour to every song. And especially when it comes to a rock band like co-VEN, people get so tired of watching performances normally. They want creativity! Concept! Especially when the band has such good actors; why not one?

You: What could have been a good concept?

Me: I don't know. Maybe a little political and military flare could have been added. Me think a little touch from Noori's video's could have been an inspiration too. (laughs) C'mon! Mandana Zaidi is one too good director; but all Noori videos are just so similar!

You: (laughs) Yeahh. Ahaan so how about the vocals?

Me: The vocals, however, I'm in love with them! Someone tell Hamza Jafri that his piece in Urdu does the trick in the song! When he says, "chali shatranj ki baazi aur haari haari; Iraqi, Irani, Saudi, Afghani, Pakistani!" I was simply spellbound at how wondrous it is! The lyrics are very good too! Very ravnous and meaningful. Actually; I'm loving the fact bands like these are raising so much awareness in the youth by their songs. I love the beat, the drums this time are too cool! Purely natural. co-VEN's getting better with the music, baby!

You: Of course they are!

Me: And, on the brighter side of the video; let's say apart from no concept; I would give the director an 8 on 10.

You: I saw some ratings online; people think the song is awesome.

Me: It is, apart from the video. The melody of the song was not what co-VEN gave us before. So you know; it was new for co-VEN listeners and therefore they enjoyed.

You: Acha you think the band members lacked something this time? A litlle persona? I felt that maybe it was the couture's fault; but there wasn't much of an attention grabbed by Sameer nor Sikander. Neither was Omran in the video. Maybe because Hamza was singing tou we didn't notice him.

Me: Yeah in a way; I did feel that Hamza stood as a performer this time. I loved the drums, like I mentioned before, but the fact that I didn't notice Sikander himself. I won't say it was the director's fault; maybe it was up with the beat. If you just close your eyes; you won't want to see who's playing the guitar or the drums; you'd want to see who's singing.

You: Haha. So, story's over?

Me: Not yet. Write that the TV guys should play the video more often on private music channels. We need a better horizon for the public to listen to guys like these.

You: Aye.

Me's cell phone rings. She picks it up. After some seconds, she notifies You.

Me: To the boss.

You: (starts collecting the stuff back in the bag) Yeah I got that.

They both leave, turning off the lamp and slamming the door behind.

"It's just You, Me and co-VEN, baby."

2009-10-26T10:09:00.000-07:00

A single, solitary lamp swings above them, spotlighting their pale faces momentarily by plain yellow light. The room is dark; dark enough to hide all the graffiti on the wall and the dirty corners of the room. There is a tall wooden table in the middle with two chairs across it on which they both are seated. No more furniture is in view.

You is making 'tick-tick' sounds with his ball-point pen who's end he keeps chewing with his incisors.
Me is drawing caricatures on her pad.

You's cell phone rings. Once. Twice. Thrice. Then it stops ringing.

You looks over at Me, who is sitting opposite him in oblivion. He nods. She notices him and takes out her laptop from her bag in answer. Meanwhile, You pulls over her pad, smiles at her when he sees Zardari's caricature and turns back a few pages to the list.
Me scrolls through her play lists. Eventually, she finds what she's been looking for. She looks at You.

You: Track number 1, 'Sailing Fast'.

Me clicks the play button on the player...The video begins to play...

...And it's over.

Me: (smiles a tremor) So...What did you think of it?

You: (smiles back) Ladies first.

Me: (laughs out loud) Okay...I like it. It's nice.

You: That's all, you want me to write here?

Me: (winks) You can begin with it.

You: So...What else?

Me: I like the vocals. Actually, I love the vocals. There's this very elegance in the Hamza Jafri's voice. A couple of times, I felt it's Sonu Nigham gone all English. (laughs) Funny, though, but I did feel it. His notes are perfect. Quite perfect. The lyrics are good too. At times I didn't really get what he sang though, seemed sorta gibberish, but it was good all the way. He lacks clarity. But definitely not the potential! The best part about the vocals though, is the pride and the chronology of his pitch. His voice is very confident.

You: The melody...

Me: The melody is awesome. Best word to describe it. The drums are played well enough to mark their position above the guitars. I actually enjoyed Sikander Mufti's work a lot. The rhythm is synchronized well all together. Each instrument played its part well.

You: (smiles) And the video?

Me: Very unique. Honestly. The concept is very much alive throughout the video. It's natural, it's creative. Very well shot. I was strangely happy to see the band members are very good actors. The best part was how technically Japan was involved. Very stylish. I'm impressed.

You: Very good.

Me: What did you think of it?

You: Me? It was fun. Yeah. Haha. How simple is that?

Me: (laughs) And I was thinking I was very brief!

You: Nay, it was fine. Now, over to the next. Shall we?

Me: Why not?

You: (reads) Track number 2, 'Boundaries Broken'.

Me plays the video...

...And it's over.

You: (laughs) Hey, nice video!

Me: (laughs) Yeah.

You: Your remarks?

Me: I found the voice clarity perfect this time. Honestly speaking. Very natural. Somehow, I felt the music was not too unique, like I had heard it before. No offense. The video on the other hand, (laughs) blew me off! Who directs their videos? I want to meet that guy for sure! Another spectacular concept. And yes, again, the guys are very good a acting. I could give them an Oscar each for this!

You: Haha, I would go for a Grammy first!

Me: I'm glad to see Omran Shafique in the video this time too.

You: (winks) Yeah, yeah. I won't write that.

Me: I just mentioned it to you. Haha.

You: Anything else you want to add?

Me: Yeah. That the video overpowers the song. I was more interested in watching it than listening to it.

You: Ahaan...Shall we proceed to the next video?

Me: (smiles) Who's stopping you?

You: Track number 3, 'Third World Celebrity'.

Me plays the video within a second...

...And it's over.

You: Hmm...I found it very stereotypical.

Me: There's one thing I don't appreciate about these guys. The lyrics of their songs are somewhat not...my type; I don't know, they're too cliche. At times I don't even get how they conceived it. It's too over rated in a way. I hate to use such 'bad' words for them, since I'm a great fan, but I really couldn't help this time. I love the vocals, yet again. And Gosh, Omran and Sameer were simply awesome at their specific guitars. The drums were fine this time. Nothing too particularly amazing.

You: And the video? You think it was another masterpiece?

Me: Umm...Not really a masterpiece. There's one thing I would mention this time. I like how the members know how to make all their acts a true performance. It's a quality of a true band. I've had the opportunity to see them live once and man, that was one true performance! They involve themselves fully in everything. When Hamza's singing, he sings like this is it! Haha! Awesome. he has his own style when singing. But when he's simply playing the guitar, like with Mauj etc, he's so involved in himself and his instrument. Reclusion is one quality of a true artist. Omran does the same. His guitars are perfect. Alive. You can't take your eyes of his fingers when he's playing. Sikander does it sensationally. He plays as if he doesn't care. Haha.

You: (laughs) I agree.

Me: The video was well shot, on the whole. I saw creativity, and any good director would see that too, but the audience, I don't think they got the whole idea of it.

You: Okay...

Me: I can see it on your face, you're hungry.

You: (smiles cheesily) Yeahh..Had my breakfast at 9 in the morning today. Haven't eaten anything since.

Me: We can afford a tiny break here. The article's supposed to be in the magazine by next Monday, right. Won't take long.

You: Your orders, ma'am! (laughs)

Me: (laughs) Lets go, then.

Me packs her bag again as You clears the table for her. They leave the room, leaving a note stating 'Be right back' on the table and turning off the only lamp that made the room visible.

The Illusionist.

2009-10-25T08:12:00.000-07:00

This post is a dedication to a friend. Mera 'close up' dost. :)

"The sunset left a glaze of vermilion against the backdrop of the blue sky..."

And it's over...
Like it was over twice before...
So easily, so hopelessly, so colorlessly.

"As I sit there underneath the warmth of the peach tree..."

You were always there...
To help me out. To reassure me. To secure me. To smile at me. To fly with me. To collect my thoughts and to tie them together. To whisper in my ear that you love me. To inform me it's time I better go home. To welcome me each day with open arms. To share with me your happiness and my happiness together. To advice me. To order me.

"The sweet and delicate scent of the peaches reminds me of the tenderness of our friendship..."

How desultory it always was for me. How cute it always was for me. How magical it always was for me. How memorable it always was for me. How silly it always was for me.

"I breathe in again. A mild breeze blows at my face; its chillness adding flavor to my skin..."

I lost you. And you. And now you too...
Is it God's injustice? Or your veracity? Or simply my unluckiness?

"A teardrop softly kisses my cheek and falls silently onto the leafy bed on the ground..."

After all I tried, my senses had given up to you. They surrender at your thought. They relish your memories. Your charm. Your grace.

"I close my eyes tightly, as tightly as I could. I don't care about the picturesque sight the world shows me..."

And I had thought so much. Planned so much. Lived through so much. Hoped for so much. Fought for so much. Loved for so much...

"I feel numb. Dead. I don't see the vermilion glaze of the sun; I don't smell the sweet peaches; I don't feel the tears rolling down my pale skin; I don't hear the whistling breeze; I don't taste the bitterness of your absence. I'm numb."

I'm afraid I can't write another word...

Titanic - A puppeteer's adventure.

2009-10-03T03:00:00.000-07:00

The stage is empty. The puppeteer’s ghost, Andrew Dickens, enters.

Andrew: It crashed straight into an iceberg that cold April night of 1912. Thousands lost their lives in the freezing waters of the Atlantic, miles away from an awaited shore and hours away from the arrival of Carpathia.
Not many lived to tell the tale. Unfortunately, one of them was me.
Ladies and Gentlemen! My name is Andrew Dickens. I, as they say, belonged to the art of Pinocchio. I was a puppeteer back in Southampton and made puppets and marionettes my entire life. I spent my time doing shows all over England. Had my own company called ‘Gappetto’s Apple’ that did a great business there. The public, especially children loved it. You should have seen it; the awestruck audiences… But; that’s not the reason I am here, actually.
You see, there have been numerous stories. People have, since it sank, told their own versions. Depicting it as a romance, as a tragedy, as a comedy. But none, I say, not one of them told the truth.
So I am here. To tell you what exactly happened during that journey. A story that will live forever. You might not believe me, I know. It happens every time. How am I so sure about its history, you may ask. Or how can I be so confident to stand here and claim I know only what exactly happened? Well, believe it or not, I was a passenger of the ship. A passenger who drowned. A passenger of the largest ship ever, who didn’t live to tell the tale.
But I will. I will tell you what precisely ensued. What happened in 1912, on board one of the mightiest of all ships, one of the greatest of all journeys, one of the biggest tragedies of the world; Titanic…

Andrew Dickens silently walks away.

The stage is all set, representing the deck of the ship, Titanic.

We see two stationary marionettes dumped, not in an orderly manner, on the deck. One of them is dressed up like a sailor and the other like a butler. About six more marionettes are lodged off the stage, against the stairs. These puppets are dressed formally, like travelers though. Some of them are ladies. Beside them, there is a lot of luggage.
One the other side of the stage, two more marionettes are lying motionless.

Music is heard being played in the background.

As the melody begins, the marionettes come to life. They rise up, their movements inclining with the imaginary strings. They assemble in the situation accordingly; the sailor and his associate advance to the stair case to welcome the passengers and to help with the luggage while the passengers climb up the stairs as if they were boarding on the ship to depart. The deck becomes more crowded as two more marionettes step in from off the stage. One is a pretty lady, dressed in white, with flowers in hair. She walks alongside a dignified bureaucrat. Some marionette maidens look at her in awe, other whisper to each other in wonder.

From the other side two young lads, dressed in plain shirts and braces enter. One of them is a look-alike of Andrew Dickens. They appear excited all along. Andrew falls down. The other laughs at him. Meanwhile, the people get busy on the deck.

After some time, the sailor takes his position at the steering wheel. He fans through some maps and then whistles to signal the departure of the ship. Others assemble to the railing or the seats. The fair lady and her apparent beau, walk towards the VVIP lounge on the side. As they precede, our hero, Andrew’s comrade, eyes her. She notices, smiles and walks away.

The melody changes as a duo positions itself to play.

We see the puppets talk to each other, running around, laughing, eat and drink, dragging their baggage and enjoying the weather.

Our hero is seen busy with his friend, either playing cards or chasing Andrew around. Once or twice, he glances at the fair lady. Then he playfully walks away out of sight along with Andrew.

The fair lady, our heroin, is seen dining with her beau with no apparent interest in our hero. She leaves too, after they are done eating, with him.

The deck is full with people, all busy in their work.

After some time, the puppets seem to slow down their movements. Some yawn, some put away the stuff they are holding while some simply cease moving. The sailor, for instance, retires steadily at his chair, smoking his pipe. Gradually, the puppets become lifeless again, either falling down or becoming stock-still at their positions. This includes the musicians.

Andrew Dickens’ ghost enters as the melody lightens.

Andrew: So there it is, so soon, we can see how our story is developing…As the night falls and the moon shines, love starts to erase its boundaries…Regardless of what was destined, of what stood between them as odds…What tragedy, what tragedy!

He walks away backstage.

The tune changes. Our hero walks in along with Andrew, they both playing with puppets in their hands. Our hero gives his puppet to Andrew, after which Andrew nods and walks backstage. Our hero walks up to the railing, takes out pebbles from his pocket and starts tossing them in the ocean. Moments later, the lady appears on her cabin’s terrace. She notices his presence and smiles.

Our hero turns around and sees her there. They both stare at each other for some time, then the heroin reacts as if she heard someone calling her and thus runs inside.
Our hero turns towards the audience. The melody changes as his head fell still. Andrew’s soul enters. He walks up to him.

Andrew: I tried explaining, but Jack wouldn’t listen. I told him that wealth stands as a curse for love. He was of no match to the fair lady’s approval…Besides; she was engaged to her prince already. But Jack, yes I know him too well. He never listens…

Andrew’s soul walks away.

The puppets rise up again as if a new day has begun. The sailor takes his place, sod does the butler and the rest of the puppets. Our heroin and her beau enter as well. Andrew’s puppet returns as Jack comes to life.

The scene now shows the butler distributing pamphlets to the passengers. One of the puppets sticks a poster on the deck indicating a masquerade in the moonlight. The passenger puppets appear excited, chattering in elation with each other. Jack and Andrew also share the environment. However, in the far corner, our heroin and her beau are seen in a little misunderstanding. She leaves him in rage for her cabin. Andrew notices and nudges Jack to point at them. As she goes, our heroin looks at Jack and runs away in disapproval.

The marionettes then head to the lounge. As the butler serves them, they sit simultaneously. The heroin’s fiance asks for others attention by a toast. The puppets respond. Jack and Andrew are seen too. Jack scorns something at the bureaucrat at which he is enraged. Andrew drags Jack out of the lounge as Jack exchanges gnashing looks with his opponent.

When the leave the lounge, Andrew motion to talk to Jack. But Jack looks up at the lady’s cabin and appears not to listen to him. Andrew gives up and follows his eyes up too.

After a moment, Jack walks away followed by Andrew.

Some puppets leave the lounge for their cabins while some stay there. The sailor is seen using maps and telescope again. As the bureaucrat leaves, the puppets fall.

The melody alters.

The butler enters, carrying a dozen tuxedos, ballroom gowns and some bags in hand for the party. He’s exhausted and appears to be struggling with the things. Andrew and Jack enter from the side. Jack notices the stressed butler and elbows Andrew. They exchange naughty looks and smile at each other. Immediately, they both run over to the butler to help him. The butler welcomes them with thankful expressions. Andrew takes some things from the butler. So does Jack. The butler, now relieved, walks ahead of them to follow. Andrew follows him so does Jack. But a couple of steps later, they both turn to run away. The butler becomes aware of their treachery and shouts at them but they don’t listen. He tries to chase them but falls down. Jack and Andrew disappear. The butler helps himself up, collects back his stuff and walks away in remonstration.

After some time, the puppets are seen entering, wearing masks. They appear to be dressed formally for a ball. Jack and Andrew enter too in dinner jackets they earlier stole from the butler, though they are not recognizable since they too are masked. The bureaucrat enters in mask too. Soon, the fair lady enters too. Ball music begins. The male marionettes offer a dance to the ladies. Couples began dancing. Andrew, the lady and the bureaucrat find themselves partners too but Jack is seen eying the lady’s cabin.

After a little ballroom dance, the heroin leaves for a corner where she is seen taking off her mask to adjust it again. Right on time, Jack sees her. So does the bureaucrat. When she returns to the deck, Jack walks up to her and asks for a dance. She takes his hand and they both proceed to dance with the others. Halfway through, they both become the center of attention.

Soon, the music, thus the dance stops. The puppets bow to each other and clap. Jack and our heroin exchange smiles. The puppets change their partners. So do Jack and our heroin. She is Andrew’s partner this time. However, both she and Jack keep looking at each other throughout the dance. The bureaucrat observes their fondness with jealousy though. Therefore when the music stops for the next dance to begin, he immediately asks for her hand. But she refuses while Jack sees them. He grabs her hand by force but she pushes him away and slaps him and tries to run away but he again grabs her arm. Jack runs to her, followed by Andrew who tries to stop him. The bureaucrat threw off her mask and then points at Jack. In reaction to that, Jack storms ahead towards him. He pulls off his mask too, at which the lady gasps.

Just then, the sailor is seen looking ahead from the wheel in a confused expression. Then his eyes widen and his jaw drops open in fear and awe as if he had seen something ahead of the ship, the iceberg of course. He whistles which grabs the attention of all the puppets. Then instantaneously, he steers the helm with all his might. The puppets look ahead as well in terror and trepidation. They jolt as the ship appears to turn away from the iceberg. Some fall too.

However, the sailor succeeds in turning the direction of the ship away and sighs in relief. The passengers also show relieve and thankfulness. The sailor whistles again to indicate that the passengers can carry on with the ball. By this time, the young lady is on the railing along with some other puppets. Jack and Andrew are still standing with the bureaucrat. Our heroin looks back at them. Suddenly, they all jerk again, this time with more compel. Many of them fall, some of them hold onto each other or the railing. The sailor yanks as well. They all jolt again, this time nearly all of them falling and sliding down. Jack takes hold of the heroin in order to save her. Andrew falls, so does the bureaucrat. The sailor is seen trying to control the ship but in vain. The puppets jerk again. This time however, they start managing to get up.
As they stand up again, a puppet rushes onto the deck, waving his arms in fright. He goes over to the sailor and says something to him about water and broken ship. The sailor whistles and gestures the passengers to evacuate the ship. Chaos breaks in. Puppets run everywhere in fright. Some appear with their luggage in hands while the others scream and screech in anxiety. Water starts to come in onto the deck. The sailor walks up to the musical duo and gestures them to play. They obey and start playing.

The bureaucrat takes hold of the heroin while Andrew orders Jack towards the lifeboats where other puppets are assembling themselves. Both Jack and the heroin look at each other. Jack runs up to her and clutches her tightly. The bureaucrat looks at him. Jack nods. The bureaucrat lets go of her and leaves for the lifeboat. The butler and the sailor are seen gathering and helping the passengers. Andrew joins Jack and the lady. They help her to the lifeboat.

The puppets jerk again, as the ship breaks in half. This includes the musicians. The puppets on the ship are seen trying to get into the lifeboat. The butler whistles to signal its departure. At this point, our heroin manages to climb back onto the ship to Jack. Some puppets fall down motionless indicating they have drowned. Some are holding the ship as if they are about to fall into the ocean. One of them is Andrew.

The sailor is seen on his wheel again. He sighs. Then he takes out his gun and shoots himself.

Jack tries to save him but no use. He is seen trying to climb up but he can’t. The heroin then pulls Jack and says something to him. Jack looks at Andrew who nods. Jack lets go of Andrew to join the heroin at the far corner of the deck. They leave the deck towards the first floor cabins, running to avoid the water. The deck crowds again with puppets. Some drown fall down the ship into the ocean.

Jack and the fair lady are seen on the first floor cabins. Then suddenly they race down back to the deck as they see water coming towards them.

The puppets jolt again as the ship tilts. Jack holds onto the heroin as they fall. This time heroin slides towards the end of the ship. Jack falls out of the ship but manages to take hold of the railing. The heroin struggles to him and hold out her hand to help him. He tries taking it but it is worthless. The rest of the puppets are seen falling still. Hopelessly, Jack lets go of the hold and falls into the ocean. The heroin screams and cries.

After some time, a whistle is heard and a boat approaches with two puppets in it. The heroin signals them to help her. They halt near her, help her into the boat and take her away as she looks at the ocean, her eyes searching for Jack.

The stage is now seen empty.

Melody is heard being played. Andrew’s soul enters.

Andrew: Her name was Margaret. She spent the rest of her life mourning not only the death of two people she loved in her entire life, but the disastrous journey of the Titanic from where she emerged as one of the survivors who wanted life no more.

In the background, Jack and Margaret appear from opposite sides, dressed in white. They start to dance. They are followed by more couples.

Andrew: (looks at the puppets) It seemed so strange…Just an iceberg, breaking apart one of the largest ships into two pieces…Breaking apart two hearts into a million pieces. (sighs and turns around to face the audience) They said it was unsinkable. Yet it sank on its first journey.
Life always teaches us lessons. Lessons of hope, love and adventure. Lessons of misfortune, hopelessness and luck.
Jack found his Margaret in heaven. Titanic reached its destination under the ocean. Everything met its fate. So will all of you.
I hope this story continues till the end of the world, from generations to generations, for every single person in this world to remember Jack, Margaret and of course, the unlucky Titanic.

Andrew smiles at his puppets who are still dancing. Then he walks away backstage after which the puppets stop dancing and hand in hand drop their heads to become lifeless.

THE END

Unstoppable True Story: The Secret Ingredient that Fueled a Barefoot African Boy From Poverty to Freedom - By Cynthia Kersey

2009-08-28T07:29:00.000-07:00

He possessed a five-day supply of food, a Bible and Pilgrim’s Progress (his two treasures), a small ax for protection, and a blanket. With these, Legson Kayira eagerly set out on the journey of his life. He was going to walk from his tribal village in Nyasaland, north across the wilderness of East Africa to Cairo, where he would board a ship to America to get a college education.

It was October 1958. Legson was sixteen or seventeen, his mother wasn’t sure. His parents were illiterate and didn’t know exactly where America was or how far. But they reluctantly gave their blessing to his journey.
To Legson, it was a journey derived from a dream.

He wanted to be like his hero, Abraham Lincoln, who had risen from poverty to become an American president, then fought tirelessly to help free the slaves. He wanted to be like Booker T. Washington, who had cast off the shackles of slavery to become a great American reformer and educator, giving hope and dignity to himself and to his race.

Like these great role models, Legson wanted to serve mankind, to make a difference in the world. To realize his goal, he needed a first-rate education. He knew the best place to get it was in America. Forget that Legson didn’t have a penny to his name or a way to pay for his ship fare. Forget that he had no idea what college he would attend or if he would even be accepted.

Forget that Cairo was 3,000 miles away and in between were hundreds of tribes that spoke more than fifty strange languages, none of which Legson knew. Forget all that. Legson did. He had to.
He put everything out of his mind except the dream of getting to the land where he could shape his own destiny.

He hadn’t always been so determined. As a young boy, he sometimes used his poverty as an excuse for not doing his best at school or for not accomplishing something. I am just a poor child, he had told himself. What can I do?

Like many of his friends in the village, it was easy for Legson to believe that studying was a waste of time for a poor boy from the town of Karongo in Nyasaland. Then, in books provided by missionaries, he discovered Abraham Lincoln and Booker T. Washington. Their stories inspired him to envision more for his life, and he realized that an education was the first step. So he conceived the idea for his walk.

After five full days of trekking across the rugged African terrain, Legson had covered only 25 miles. He was already out of food, his water was running out, and he had no money. To travel the distance of 2,975 additional miles seemed impossible. Yet to turn back was to give up, to resign himself to a life of poverty and ignorance.
I will not stop until I reach America, he promised himself. Or until I die trying.

Sometimes he walked with strangers. Most of the time he walked alone. He entered each new village cautiously, not knowing whether the natives were hostile or friendly. Sometimes he found work and shelter. Many nights he slept under the stars. He foraged for wild fruits and berries and other edible plants. He became thin and weak.

A fever struck him and he fell gravely ill. Kind strangers treated him with herbal medicines and offered him a place to rest and convalesce. Weary and demoralized, Legson considered turning back. Perhaps it was better to go home, he reasoned, than to continue this seemingly foolish journey and risk his life.

Instead, Legson turned to his two books, reading the familiar words that renewed his faith in himself and in his goal. He continued on. On January 19, 1960, fifteen months after he began his perilous journey, he had crossed nearly a thousand miles to Kampala, the capital of Uganda. He was now growing stronger in body and wiser in the ways of survival. He remained in Kampala for six months, working at odd jobs and spending every spare moment in the library, reading voraciously.

In that library he came across an illustrated directory of American colleges. One illustration in particular caught his eye. It was of a stately, yet friendly looking institution, set beneath a pure blue sky, graced with fountains and lawns, and surrounded by majestic mountains that reminded him of the magnificent peaks back home in Nyasaland.

Skagit Valley College in Mount Vernon, Washington, became the first concrete image in Legson’s seemingly impossible quest. He wrote immediately to the school’s dean explaining his situation and asking for a scholarship.
Fearing he might not be accepted at Skagit, Legson decided to write to as many colleges as his meager budget would allow. It wasn’t necessary.

The dean at Skagit was so impressed with Legson’s determination he not only granted him admission but also offered him a scholarship and a job that would pay his room and board.
Another piece of Legson’s dream had fallen into place..

..yet still more obstacles blocked his path. Legson needed a passport and a visa, but to get a passport, he had to provide the government with a verified birth date. Worse yet, to get a visa he needed the round-trip fare to the United States. Again, he picked up pen and paper and wrote to the missionaries who had taught him since childhood. They helped to push the passport through government channels. However, Legson still lacked the airfare required for a visa.

Undeterred, Legson continued his journey to Cairo believing he would somehow get the money he needed. He was so confident he spent the last of his savings on a pair of shoes so he wouldn’t have to walk through the door of Skagit Valley College barefoot.

Months passed, and word of his courageous journey began to spread. By the time he reached Khartoum, penniless and exhausted, the legend of Legson Kayira had spanned the ocean between the African continent and Mount Vernon, Washington. The students of Skagit Valley College, with the help of local citizens, sent $650 to cover Legson’s fare to America.

When he learned of their generosity, Legson fell to his knees in exhaustion, joy, and gratitude.
In December 1960, more than two years after his journey began, Legson Kayira arrived at Skagit Valley College.

Carrying his two treasured books, he proudly passed through the towering entrance of the institution.

But Legson Kayira didn’t stop once he graduated. Continuing his academic journey, he became a professor of political science at Cambridge University in England and a widely respected author.

Like his heroes, Abraham Lincoln and Booker T. Washington, Legson Kayira rose above his humble beginnings and forged his own destiny.
He made a difference in the world and became a magnificent beacon whose light remains as a guide for others to follow.

MJ - The Memorial

2009-08-22T10:34:00.000-07:00

Yahoo.com reads this following the memorial service and celebration of Michael Jackson:

" Paris, wearing a black dress with white trim, turned a small patent-leather purse over in her hands as other family members spoke. And then a dramatic hush fell over the crowd as family members whispered that the little girl, whose lifetime of public exposure amounted to a small handful of paparazzi photographs, Paris-Michael wanted to say something.

She furtively emerged from the tight circle of family members, who rushed to lower the microphone to her level. And with her uncle Randy on one side and aunt Janet on the other, Jackson's little girl stood center stage.

"I just wanted to say," Paris began weakly.

"Speak up, sweetheart, speak up," Janet encouraged, sweeping the girl's long hair back. "And get close."

Paris put one hand behind her neck, another on the microphone, and began again.

"Ever since I was born, Daddy has been the best father you could ever imagine," she said, her tiny voice cracking.

Rebbie and Marlon Jackson moved in closer to comfort their niece. She shut her eyes tight.

Then she wrapped her hands — little fingernails painted red — around the microphone and fought back tears as she continued: "And I just wanted to say I love him — so much."

She collapsed in tears into her aunt's arms.

"It's OK, baby. It's OK," Janet Jackson said as she held Paris close. Prince joined in on the hug.

And all at once, Jackson wasn't the larger-than-life King of Pop, or Wacko Jacko the tabloid freak. He was a doting father who had left three adoring young children behind.

He was "Daddy."

Emotional, isn't it? =') Michael was one of a kind and the greatest entertainer in history! God Bless you, MJ. I love you.

Pleasantary

2009-08-21T10:39:00.000-07:00

Widen your horizons
Close your hazel eyes
Understand that God is never unjust
Think of all the happy things that have happened to you so far
And all that future will one day unravel
Wish of scarlet love and angelic peace
Think about people who think of you each second
Listen to the song of your heart and soul
Watch out for fame and fortune alike
Read your soul mate's mind
Wait for a miracle, wait for blessings, and wait for death
Wait for true love's first kiss
Stare at the best picture you have of yours
Stop complaining
Whistle your favorite tune
Jump on bubble wrap and laugh until tears roll out of your eyes
Touch the moon and wish you were in heaven
Desire for diamonds and pearls
Face magic and tragic together
Live larger than life
Whatever happens, do not stop breathing
So take a deep breath
Deeper
Smile at the thought of your family, friends and embarrassments
Pray for an eternal life after death
Judge your enemies from their faces
Play a card trick and sip hot cocoa
Smell your hair to count the days it's been since your last shower
Kiss a baby's cheek to know how tender and sweet life can be
Hug your mother, if you have never before
Race to the next bus stop
Laugh with others when they play a prank on you
Scream when you meet your favorite artist
At least once, let someone fall in love with you
Take bad news as no news
Become a child when with a child
Listen to the birds chirping and understand their freedom
Cry when you win
Jump in the river, only if you know how to swim
Mourn your bad luck, forget optimism
All good things life gives us, cherish them
And believe in yourself, your ambitions
So when you die
You don't have to blame anyone else for your life
And could peacefully, open your eyes to face the hereafter.

Damaged

2009-08-21T10:00:00.000-07:00

All my little dreams are shattered to pieces,
And my life just changed in a second;
If I had to turn back time and tide,
I'd have never come to this end.

My beautiful memories with you and your thoughts,
My clueless, abrupt ideas about your aura;
My hopeful ideas about you when I,
Used to listen continuously 'Me Enamora'.

I craved for more than what life could ever give me,
And dreamed of what could never ensue;
If only I had you understanding before it was too late,
If only I could have told it to you.

But, nevertheless, I feel so proud,
You have proved to be a hero for me,
Hope you always stay,
No matter how things turn out to be.

I sense something strange in your voice,
I feel I've lost you, I don't know how?
But I know why and that's enough to consider,
Because that's what only matters now.

A friend I lost for his life

2009-08-21T09:53:00.000-07:00

I turn over the silently smooth pages of my past
As they speak to me of you
And I keep wishing it had never ended
And that it starts up again later or soon
The pages speak about our friendship
I don't know whether it was too good to continue
And they remind me of those beautiful memories
We once shared quite a long time ago

How you used to make me laugh and I did the same to you
How you used to encourage me, whenever I asked you to
How you used to give flirty remarks, asking for my permission first
How you used to write to me, once in a while
How you used to make fun of my crush at my face
How you used to hear to me first, then have your say
How you used to tell me your lame stories and how we used to laugh at them
And of course, how you made everything so memorable for me

I won't show the part of me
That still smiles at your mere thought
Because someone somewhere always gets a wrong edge to it
And the wrong, utterly wrong sense
But I still pray for you, always
May GOD bless you, sir
And that even if you never return
I hope you never forget me.

This is dedicated to a friend of mine, whom I lost just a few days ago...The reason is supposedly confidential for now.

Eager to die

2009-08-21T09:50:00.000-07:00

"He smoked; he drank; he died..."

He stood there...Leaning against the wall....Trying to balance the bottle on his hand...
It fell, though...And broke.

The glass glittered in the yellow light... He raised his foot and stepped on it... But felt nothing...He smiled...Then chuckled...

'Come one, come all,' he said...

He chuckled, again...He took out the sqashed packet of cigarettes from his pocket...Burned one and took a puff...

Within seconds the place smelled...disgusting.

He inhaled. Deeply. He could feel the soothing nicotine going inside his nares. He sighed.

Minutes were left. He knew it. Minutes that were taking so long to pass.
He smiled, yet again. "Come to the last of me, I say."

No one replied to his invitation. He threw the cigarette away. "I said, Come!!" He screamed this time.

Still, silence. It frightened him.

And then the pain. Nausea. Vomit. Blood. Everywhere.

He sat there, on the broken glass, surrendered to pain, to fear, to drugs.

"Come...to me..." He whispered.

He could feel it coming. The devil. It was there. Somewhere. Near.

He smiled. "Finally."

He held out his hand. The devil took it.

"The glass, it hurts me inside."

He rips open the bag...In a rush. The heroin smells awfully wonderful...The alcohol's sweet and sensational. He feels he is in heaven.

Alexis calls him. She's holding her teddy bear and wants him to read her a story. She doesn't know it's not the right time. He grabs the remote control, the first thing that comes in his reach, and throws at her. Missed. She starts crying and runs upstairs.

He could still hear her cry. He knows she won't come out. He felt a tear on the corner of his swollen eye.

"Let's go."

The devil smiled in affirmation.

I knew straight away...

2009-04-04T07:37:00.000-07:00

It had been a tedious day at work and as soon as I entered my fifth-floor flat; I fell on my couch and sighed.

I had been staggering at work too because I got up late this morning. I guess I was absorbed in the utopic world of my dreams so much that I did not wake up even when the alarm rang. I managed to collect ny things, prancing around trying to find my clothes when I finally woke up. And in the parking lot when I heard my car's security alarm echoing, I realized that m insomnia had traded places with my migraine during the day.

In a state of oblivion, I sat there on the two-year old couch and scratched my head. Finally I got up and went to the door where I had noticed my 'snail mail' when I had first entered. I picked up a dozen letters and fanned through them.Hidden beneath a white one; was the one I was always afraid I'll get one day. I knew straight away the blue envelope was from him. I felt afraid to open it...

A chill went down my spine. I had been told by eminent physicians that fear was food for my insomnia and that I had to battle it for the rest of my life. But although I had been very careful with my fears, the fear of veracity could never be denied.

I dropped all the other envelopes and stood there in front of the wooden door, holding the knob, motionless.

The envelope read, 'Anwesh Rao. 14/7, Blue cemetery, NYC'

Anwesh was a mortician in the blue cemetery. He had a son, Sorab, who suffered from chronic bronchitis. I, since I had first met Anwesh in a coffee shop where he had insisted on buying me a cappuccino, had a frank, cherubic attachment with Sorab. He was a little boy; eight years of age and was probably the most adorable kid I had ever seen.

I opened up the envelope. It had a little note in it. With a fear that I would lose someone, I began to read it.

"Dearest Aashi,
I wish he had more time. So you could have met him. But...I wonder why God's so cruel at times.
I'm sorry. Even if I tried, I couldn't have saved him.
Anwesh"

And as soon as I finished, I fell on my knees and started crying. As loud as I could. Sorab, was dead.

It felt as if someone had taken out all the love from my heart. As if someone had played with my soul. As if all my weak fears had risen as a fiend, a bane and were able to destroy me.

I remembered when that cute little kid, many moons ago, held my index finger to cross the road to his dad. When I kissed his head to thank him for the chocolate he offered me. When he smiled at me, showing his broken milk teeth, as he looked at his dad digging a grave, in order to answer my simple question, 'Are you proud of your dad, Sorab?'

As I cried, I began to feel head aches.My brain afflicted in my skull.My nerves felt claustrophobic. It was becoming painful to remember those beautiful memories. And the last thought I had was, as far as i could remember, that how would Anwesh, a man never afraid of the dark and dead, be able to bury his own flesh and blood?

Para Tu Amor (For your love)

2009-03-27T05:22:00.000-07:00

I am writing all this from memory as I feel that there are some memories that you cherish always..

....You said, "For your love, I have everything."
....I smiled at your glowing face and replied, "I have everything from your love."

I listen to you, singing out loud to me, mesmerized by the sweetness of your voice...Somehow, it calms down my pain.
Relieved me from my anguish, made me sway like a damsel, hovered away all the bitter odds around me
as I swooned with the your music, my eyes filled with tears.

How is it that you hypnotize me?

....You said, "For your love, there are no good byes."
....I dried your delicate tear and said, "Don't worry, I won't leave."

I feel strange..You treasure my presence.You share my pain. You offer me your heart. It seems like a dream come true...

I wonder if you'll keep your promise.

....You said, "For your love, I have it all."
....I started to cry and murmured, "Really?"

I want to be the eternity you have; I want to be the soul that's within you; I want to be the realm of your dreams and the ground for your wishes; I want to be the heart that beats with your music; the breathes you take when you play your guitar and the smile illuminates your face...

Para tu amor...mi vida, mi sangre...

When I looked back, she was no longer there...

2009-03-27T05:17:00.000-07:00

I walked on the scorching road, barefoot.

It had been a tiresome walk; I kept feeling hunger pangs I couldn't control, wore nothing but rags, was first chased by the local policeman and then the ill tempered children who always threw stones at me when ever I passed the bakery and most of all, the fiery sun rays burned my feet and made me perspire so much that my shirt became totally wet.

Unable to move, I sat down on the foot path...It was so painful. Sitting where people pass by, looking at you with disgust in their colorful eyes; your helpless shadow being trampled by their unwelcome feet and you being so weak and lame to raise your voice against it all.

I looked around myself. The road was busy; the hustling traffic and pedestrians, everyone was engrossed in their own lives, their own works. No one seemed to care. No one seemed to be helpful.
It felt as if I were my only hope, my only chance.

I had always thought that no matter how different people might seem to be, in a way that some are rich, some are poor; there is a diversity of religions, colors and creeds but at least God did grant everyone one of us equal power of imagination. So I imagined...I imagined myself eating a dainty meal, served to me in polished silver; I imagined myself laughing on a mount of glistening gold; I imagined that I had a beautiful, pet nightingale which sang me glorious songs of hope and I imagined being so happy that I danced and danced.

But then, I felt hopeless. I felt as if all my skills; the powers of thinking, analyzing, conveying had wearied off... But there is always a power that remains in man even when he's about to die...The skill to cry.

So I started to cry. I forgot that there are unwanted people around, that I was in the middle of a busy lane...I kept crying.

I raised my head just a little and noticed my shadow, gently covered by another.

I turned around.

A teenage girl stood a couple of paces away from me. She was beautiful, unlike any other girls, she looked so calm and pale, so simple and elegant. Her dark hair neatly tied, tiny sweat drops dripping down from her pink cheeks; she was a wonderful sight.

She held a sandwich which she momentarily ate with such a slow pace that I wondered whether she was even hungry or not. But I kept looking at her...

I smiled...She never noticed me...

I was so hungry, I felt motionless.

I turned back around and wrapped my arms around my waist and squeezed. I'd always thought this makes the pain less excruciating. I winced and whined, and no one even bothered about me. This is the rule of the world. No one cares for none.

I rested my head on my knees and closed my eyes. I wanted to sleep. No, maybe I wanted to die.

And then I remembered. I never wanted to, but I did.

I remembered the ravishing, dark blood. The screams of my mother. The cries of my baby sister. The defensive moves of my father. The haste of time. The spontaneous actions of the foes. And myself, hiding in the cellar, shivering with fright and cold, listening to it all. My worst memory..My worst nightmare.

I opened up my eyes.

Nothing had changed. Nothing at all.

The same sounds, the same noise.

And then I remembered something else. Something a lot more happier.

But, when I looked back, she was no longer there...