Lost

It's water under the bridge
Long lost, long gone
Yet like a faint fragrance
It lingers on...
On days of mellow dreams,
With a sleepy surprise
The distant pull on the heartstrings
Just intensifies
The branches are no longer close
They have changed their twine
Then why do the roots yet,
Refuse to unwind ?
The rose has long since died
The petals are gone too
It's just the haunting fragrance.....
The fragrance of you.

Of friendships and distances

There is a tear threatening to overwhelm
There is soft mist in the eyes
There is a smile which is oddly plastered
As we say our goodbyes.

'It is not the end' , we say.
'How can true love ever die ?'
Yet, the devil puts in the doubt,
Isn't it all a lie ?

We cling on a little longer
We hold on very tight
As if the mind is denying
To let go out of sight

Those sudden hugs and smiles
Those rolling of the eyes
The hidden meaning of small talk
The totally faked surprise

All come back rushing to the mind
As we slowly pull apart
And we cling back together again
Nestling in each other's heart.

Soured

There are times

When I wonder,

Trying to understand

I ponder,

On what went wrong

A friendship soured

With wilted edges

Reasons unknown

For forgotten pledges

Of a lost song

Seen a time when

I was the confidant

Seen the days

Lively and vibrant

So full of love and joy

Now is the time

When I am a stranger

Knocking on closed doors

Posing a danger

Memories to destroy

Time on rent

A thousand thoughts shared
Some spoken, some not
Not an emotion spared
Happiness to distraught
Eyes welled with tears unshed
Genuine pleasure, some smiles
Books, some read, unread
Destiny beyond time and miles
A million things left to say
Taking personal time on rent
Look forward to many a day
With a stolen time so well spent !

Piyu

Reversal

I have often felt sad
In the past not far
Been very upset with God.
Coz the lack of a girl,
A fairy, an angel
Had my mind devoured.
Those little ballerinas
Who played downstairs
Thier hair with pink slides
Had me rivetted
With stars in my eyes
At their dainty lil fights.
Of pink and purple
Of silver bells
Of pretty makeup and shoes
Of tinsel town
And disney princesses
And powder blue tutus
I would dream
And wish for a lil girl
My own doll for loving
And often lament
With a sad heart
Of an emptyness within.

Last days though
I have oft wondered
About my misplaced desire
I have found a thought
Which circles around
In my mind's quagmire
How less cute
How less lovely
Is my boy's sweaty face?
His twisted smile,
And blackened chin
Dirty shoe's untied lace ?
His clumsy hands
With balls and cars
And permanent knee scrape
Mismatched socks,
Untidy locks,
The dirty towel drape.
How endearing I find
The little hands
Dragging the snot across
How my heart swells
As tears well
On a tennis point's loss

I wonder when
With stealthy steps
My heart has changed it's tune
My lil boys
With their clumsy ways
Are my life's fortune.

Superman

Superman…

“ Mummaaaaaaaaaa !”  Ravi’s shrill voice rang through the house.”  Mumma, see what I found!  Mummaaaaa !” Anjali could no longer ignore the insistence in his voice. Abandoning her tepid cup of tea, she trudged her way to the room where her toddler lay playing on the ground. “ Mumma, Look at this, just look !” Ravi held up a bright red silk scarf which he had found.  “ And, what is so special about this scarf ?” Anjali pursed her lips to control the giggle which was bubbling. She was not able to match this scarf with the enthusiasm which shone out of her son’s eyes. “ It’s the thing Superman ties around his neck !” Ravi stated this so matter of factly, as if it was the most obvious truth in the world. The giggles finally burst out of Anjali.

 “ Wear it mumma, tie it around your neck!” The insistence full enthusiasm was slowly reaching a fever pitch. “ Let me tie it around your neck, sweetie pie” Anjali tried diverting.

 “ Noooooo ! YOU wear it. YOU are my superman !”

Mukul watched the mother and son enraptured in each other’s company. His perfect little world , his perfect family. Having known Anjali since their graduation days in DU, they had indeed come a long way. The furtive glances exchanged in the lecture halls, had blossomed into holding hands and walking the picturesque South Campus alleys. A quick stint in the US post his graduation had ensured a fat paycheck and Anjali’s Parents’ consent to marriage when he returned back to India. Anjali , having had no support for her airhostess dreams, had settled as a manager for a leading jewellery chain in Delhi. Mukul was like the wind beneath her wings, an escape route from the shackles of tradition which her parents had bound her in.

Watching Anjali and Ravi play, had put Mukul in a good mood. Maybe tonight Anjali……..

“It’s hurting !”  Anjali half squealed half cried. The incessant tickling had left her breathless and a bundle of nerves. Mukul’s grip on her arms was too tight to escape. A steady stream of tears had started flowing down her eyes. “ That’s the fun baby !” Mukul’s reply filled her with a scary thrill. It was just the second day of their honeymoon.  She didn’t know the limits to which her body could take this assault.

Did she like it? Yes. But the pain was tough to take. Mukul had zoned out, lost in his world of passion. The raw energy flowing out of him startled her. A long life of such carnal pleasure stretched out in front of her. Did she like it ? Yes.

Each night the passion left Anjali breathless. Those saccharine days of hand holding and whispering sweet nothings had given way to hard raw sex. Mukul was both demanding and generous in bed. It was as if his life revolved around thinking of newer ways in which to find pleasure. Anjali’s mind was cottonwool . Her happiness was overshadowing the pricks of pain which she felt.

With the passage of time , Mukul’s touch left the bed room walls. It was now an all encompassing entity around Anjali. The sudden hug as she worked in the kitchen left her breathless. The pulling back of her hair for that fevered kiss, made her scalp prickle. The pinches were becoming hurtful.

As she sat sewing a button on Ravi’s new school uniform, Mukul came and held her hand. “ You don’t have time for me at all. It’s either your wretched work or Ravi. Where do I figure in your life?” Anjali was surprised. “Why do you say so? Have I ever ignored or neglected you in any way?” Mukul’s grip on her wrist was becoming harder and harder. “You are hurting me , Mukul……” Anjali repeated what was now becoming a regular refrain. “ You don’t care for me “ Mukul pouted as the wrist turned red with pressure.....

The hitting started when Ravi turned seven. In his mind Mukul had built up a world where Anjali and Ravi were always conspiring against him. He sat nursing his whiskey in silence. Anjali was putting Ravi to sleep. The animated tones of the superhero tales, were wafting out of the bedroom.  He needed Anjali. It had been days since her skin had turned vermilion under his hands. He wanted to see her scream out in pain. The relief which followed later was unparalleled. Her screams were his turn on. Wasn’t she his anyway? Hadn’t she promised to obey him forever in this lifetime ?  Then why the reluctance ? He would talk to her.

He sauntered in with this glass, the dim light of the table lamp reflected in the cuts on the crystal. The reflected light danced on Anjali’s face. She looked beautiful, ethereal. The full moon bore a testimony to her beauty that night. Mukul sat down at the base of the bed, gently picking up the delicate ankle. Her toes adorned with tiny silver rings the bichhiyas. Ravi’s even breathing was a blessing. She was his completely. The Mr Hyde was awake in him full swing. One tug at those ankles and she was beneath him. A few seconds was all it took for the fist to strike.

“ I love your blouse Anju dear ! Though, how you manage to wear such full sleeved stuff all though the year I fail to understand !”  Gayatri , her bosse’s wife commented. “ Everyone loves you for your sense of style though. Fully covered from head to toe, yet looking so pretty, so stylish “ Anjali blushed pink. She had always been uneasy around compliments. She knew she looked good. The long sleeved golden blouse matched with a white silk saree was one of her favourites. She knew she looked good….and the scars were hidden.

What is the helplessness? Why couldn’t she stop the hitting? She sat with her her head in her hands, unable to answer the questions which had plagued her for the last twelve years. Maybe at some base level she liked it ? Did she? Not anymore. The hits were harder. The pain was sharper. The bruises stayed for days. Mukul was so happy, so enchanted those times. The “ I love you” became so poignant, so real, in those moments. The dichotomy of her life was killing her slowly. She didn’t want to rock the boat. The bruises were not visible yet , not yet…..

Mukul was fast realising the pain Anjali was going through. It was a thrill like no other. The monotony and predictability of life was broken by this thrill coursing through his blood. Was her arm a bit sore as she ladled the dal into his bowl ? Her smile made him underestimate her agony. Didn’t she wince when Ravi came and hugged her from behind?  Mukul was a bundle of hidden passion. How perfect his life was. A beautiful woman as his wife. His supremacy over her body absolute. He was the lord and master of his universe.

Anjali wanted to talk to someone about the mess her mind was in . The potential damage she was causing herself loomed over her at all times. She wanted to break free. She wanted to remain tethered.     She loved him .    She hated him.     The pain was unbearable. The pain made Mukul happy. Her life was a dilemma swinging her back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, till her mind screamed for release.

But whom could she talk to ? This was so private and personal and she had always been a shy and reticent person. Maybe Ravi would understand one day. He was thirteen. Growing up to be a sensitive and sharp young man. The thought of opening up to her son filled her with dread and mortification. After all she was still his Superman……

Mukul woke up ten minutes late today. He was dreaming. He had not dreamt for a long time. It put him in a good mood. He wanted Anjali..  “Anju ! Come here sweetheart” his voice rang out to the kitchen where Anjali was busy preparing Ravi’s school tiffin. The voice filled her with dread. She knew this tenor, her body shrunk reflexively. Not now. Not in the morning. Just before school, just before work. “Anju !!!” Mukul was becoming insistent.

Anjali walked with heavy steps to her bedroom. Her temple of pain. Her mausoleum of dichotomy. Mukul sat on the bed, his grin devilish, his hair trussed. The years had been kind to him. He was still the sexy youth from past. Just that  glint in the eyes was disturbing as he pulled Anjali into his arms. The kissing was rough, his nails digging into her arms, his thighs pinning her down till the pain was a raging fire . Anjali screamed. “ Let go! Let me go Mukul ! You are hurting me ! Mukul please !” Mukul’s laugh masked her screams. He was in a zone beyond understanding. 

Suddenly , the fire ebbed, laughing face contorted, Mukul’s eyes bulged, Anjali’s screams, Mukul’s laughter were overpowered by Ravi’s shouting . “ She said ‘ Let go’ you MONSTER !…let go, let go, let go, let go, let go….……Ravi’s voice was staccato as each ‘let go’ was a knife being stabbed into Mukul’s back. Blood oozed and splattered the walls. Anjali was stunned into speechlessness.  A calm had descended onto the house with the only sound being the drip drip of Mukul’s blood falling on the ground.

Anjali pulled Ravi away, calmly closing the door which she should have latched earlier . Packing their tiffins , and readying themselves in silence, they both left the house.

After dropping Ravi to his school.. she sat in the starbucks café, sipping her coffee and staring out of the window. The blood stained knife lay next to her handbag covered with her blue silk scarf, slowly turning it red

She didn’t know what would happen next , but she knew Ravi would be safe. After all she was his Superman. As He was her Superman..

-         Piyu Mukerji

Lost and found

As a teacher Shefali had a busy day balancing work and home. The brightest part of the day,  was the time spent with her best  friend Ritika in the evenings. Shefali and Ritika had known each other for years, having lived very close by. They had seen themselves through pregnancies,  the birth of their children , the ups and downs of daily hum drum of their lives.

Last winter had seen Ritika's family getting shattered by the sudden loss of her husband Samir by a massive heart attack. No one could have predicted that such a fun loving man like Samir would have such a shocking end.

Ritika had been trying to cope ever since. Last month she had started complaining about her daughter Amaira to Shefali. Amaira was fifteen , five years elder to Aman her younger one. Ritika complained that Amaira had started keeping 'bad company ' and she suspected that Amaira had also started to have alcohol with her friends.

She had become rather uncommunicative and preferred to shut herself in her room most of the times when at home.
She also did not eat much on most days and lounged around in her pajamas all the time. Ritika was at her wits end trying to control this wayward behaviour of her daughter and blamed the school's environment for this downfall in Amaira.

Shefali had been a part of the school system long enough to realise that this was not a simple case of 'bad company' as Ritika was stating. She decided to talk to Amaira in her mother's absence.

The first meeting with Amaira was a shocker for Shefali. Where was the sweet girl who had grown up in front of her eyes ? This Amaira was a stranger. Dirty , unkempt hair, untidy nails, shabby uniform now described this sullen teenager who sat in front of her. Shefali could make no headway. Amaira turned down all attemts at a conversation with sullen monisyllabilic replies. 

Shefali was not to be defeated. Her years as a teacher had instilled immense patience in her. She kept on meeting Amaira and speaking to her. Random topics at first and then slowly about her friendship with Amaira's parents, the loss of her father which they all felt.

With slow and steady effort Shefali managed to break down Amaira's barriers. Amaira confessed that she really missed her dad like crazy. She found no solace at home. Her mom rarely spoke to her any more. The kid brother was too young to confide in. She had found her release with her older friends who had introduced her to alcohol. She felt that she could forget all sorrows when she was intoxicated. Also she didn't care what the world thought of her anymore. Life was slowly losing all meaning.

Shefali sympathised with her and made her feel as if she was on her side. Very gently she brought out happy memories of her father and encouraged Amaira to talk about him. After initial bouts of crying, Amaira slowly started to heal.

Shefali took Amaira to a known counsellor who suggested some medical tests , just to ensure that there was no endocrinological problem or other medical issues. Once they had clearly established that Amaira was medically fit, Amaira was given regular counselling and treated for alcohol abuse as well.

Simultaneously,  Ritika was also counselled to open up to her daughter and share the grief. The family was struggling with non communication and was not able to cope with the loss of some one so dear. With the counsellor's help, both Ritika and Amaira have been able to handle the rough patch of their lives better and are moving towards a healthy and happy future.

Conclusion : Amaira was indeed fortunate to have a family friend like Shefali who could handle her Psychological issues. Shefali's patience and sound approach towards Amaira's problems helped timely detection and remedy of a situation which could have got out of hand. The Mental health professional was trained to diagnose and treat Amaira's problems and also simultaneously tackle the family's grieving process. With the love and support of her family , Amaira was able to heal and bring a closure to her grief.