Eager to die

"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...

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)

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...

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...