My first attempt at fictional short stories. This piece was published in the e-magazine Inkblots! @ http://inkblotsmagazine.blogspot.in/2014/03/losing-verses.html
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The drone from the vehicles
plying on the highway was a persistent source of irritation. Ravi scratched his
forehead. The pad before him lay blank. His pencil, a red one with the chewed
end, had fallen on the bench. The pencil had tasted funny, Ravi wondered.
Maybe, he should consider a change in location and move to another bench. After
all, even the Sun had receded well below the treeline and the glowing fiery
ghost of the evening adorned a rare few spots in the park. Throwing the pad and
pencil in his satchel, he picked up the near-empty water bottle and wandered to
the nearest warm spot.
This will do! He sighed and then
settled on the grass below. His watch indicated that it was five and this meant
that he had three hours to deadline. His ineptitude was now slowly pulling in a
cloud of despair. Soon, he knew, panic would begin. Cold bolts of dread would
shoot through his neurons and the drums of chaos thunder in his temples. He
would brave the panic, he thought. Brave it and then succeed. The pad on his
lap suggested otherwise.
The page is still blank. In a rare event, you might begin, but you
shall never finish. It seemed to say in a cruel cold-hearted tone.
Looking around for inspiration,
he chewed on the pencil. The taste was actually appalling. He spat on the grass
beside and dragged his hand to the pad. It wouldn’t move.
Start writing! and DO NOT CHEW on ME! The pencil warned.
A few children were playing tag
in the clearing beside him. They ran around bubbling with laughter. A tall one
was ‘it’. He was slow and had been trying to tag someone for quite some time.
The others laughed at him, sneering at his failed attempts to catch them.
So be it, I am going to write a poem on youth and happiness thought
Ravi with a thankful sigh. I should title
it ‘The Joy of Youth’. Excellent! He murmured.
Excitedly, he penned the title
ending the ‘h’ in a flourish and then got down to business.
Youth, he thought, the time of our life when we are most active, Yes!
Active and joyful too. The pains and sorrows of reality lie far away in the
distant future. His brain was abuzz with millions of thoughts running
across and he could almost picture each word as it went past. We have no wars to fight, only games to
play; no bills to lose head over, no worldly truths to face, just peace and
fun! Living without caring was what it is all about! Fantastic!
This was going to be perfect. He
believed that the end was in sight. The subject had been decided, the content
was in there (prodding his forehead) the little formality of putting pencil to
paper remained. A smile grew on his
face. He watched the kids play with glowing satisfaction.
The editor, his editor Mr.
Subramaniam would finally be happy. He might even get a pay raise. Maybe, even get
promoted to do some real writing and not just fill ups. Talented - the word
that mother had used to describe him, and he was as capable as the next
poet/writer. This would be his lucky
break.
Spring , bubbly and chirrupy
The youth of one’s life…..
The beginning was good. He had to continue. What should the next line
be? Should he continue and glorify youth or run comparisons with adulthood? He
stopped and drew a deep breath chewing on the pencil again.
Didn’t I tell you NOT to chew on
me? The pencil cried. Dunderhead! Put
pressure on your brain, eating me won’t give a solution to your writing
problems.
A time of wonder, in moments
Magical, dreams come to life….
Life? Hadn’t the word already appeared in the second line? What rhymes
with life? Wife, knife, strife,…. . I cannot think of any more! He erased the
last line of the poem. Pondering over
the issue, he decided that he couldn’t frame the poem in this style; a change
in the rhyme was needed.
The barely used page was torn and thrown into the fancy penguin-shaped
dustbin with USE ME in bold styled onto its belly. A fresh start! He thought and focussed his
attention to the fresh page below.
Something new was needed.
As the bubbling brook flows
yonder
The spring, in full cheer
adorned
Gaiety and sunshine …..
Gaiety and sunshine…. What?!
There he was stuck again!
Arrgh! With despair on the
horizon, even the frustration was slowly slinking away. He needed to wriggle
out of this labyrinth of failure soon or he would have to quit. This wasn’t an
option and not because he wasn’t a quitter. The payments on the rooms he rented
were long overdue and not a night went when he would expect his land lord to
throw him out on the streets to take shelter among the homeless. He couldn’t
give up for he could do nothing else. He couldn’t even wait tables; an
unsuccessful experiment in the form of a part time job at the local restaurant
had all but ended his efforts. Even though the income of a writer was meagre, it was all he could
do to keep two ends together.
Maybe, you have writer’s block? The
satchel bumped him out of his reverie. Why
don’t you attempt something simpler – write a poem on nature perhaps? Or, since
the winds have already signalled a change in seasons, the coming of autumn
would be an easier tackle.
The orange sky had given way to the evening blue as it darkened with
each passing moment. The dial on the
watch now read quarter to seven. He wiped the beads of sweat that had formed on
his brow and tried to concentrate on the pad below.
I’ll wager you a hundred bucks
that he shall not be able to finish the pad said scornfully to the pencil.
Chuckling, the pencil replied. Only
a fool would take you up on that!
SHUT UP! Ravi started loudly. The children stopped their game and
stared at him. He waved them to continue. But, the little faces were too
apprehensive and they moved away quietly probably thinking him to be unfit on
the higher levels.
He cursed in a low tone and decided that like the children even he
needed a variation in scenery. Resting on one arm he pushed himself off the
ground and collected his belongings. He trudged to the end opposite. There was
a small clearing near the big lights. He would need some light now, the
darkness had spread across the sky and the moon peered through the branches of the
old banyan nearby.
The temple bells signalled the end of the evening aarti. He jumped to the ground and pulled the pad out of the
satchel.
Easy boy! Or you’ll ruin my
perfectly smooth surface! The pad reacted angrily. He is going to do it anyway came a snide comment from the pencil as
it too was tightly gripped by the nervous hand of the now
beyond-panic-and-despair poet.
A small man lay on the bench across the jogging track. Tattered
clothes hung from his dilapidated frame even as he lay on his side. His skinny
body a cloth hanger merely. He fixed his eyes on our protagonist as soon as he
entered his field of view and his gaze stayed transfixed on him since.
Ravi stared back for a few moments before returning to his pad. Maybe
he was focussing at the wrong end of the social spectrum. Happiness wasn’t
everything or everywhere. There was fear, pain, despair and much more
negativity in the society than was required to upset the balance. Now, look at
the poor man lying on the bench. He looks so troubled and helpless. He doesn’t
have a home. See his clothes, poor soul. Life hadn’t been easy on him. There
was suffering with each step that he took. Why had he been chosen to be born
into such a life of misery? Why had society pushed him to these depths of despair
and shame? Was life always so unfair?
Stop thinking, start working! The
lamp-post egged him on.
Cruel Life! This would be the title of his poem.
To enter the world on a leaf of
gold
The choice of a petty few
Millions live, no – survive
Each day counting their due.
The first four lines had been pretty easy to get by. They had set the
tone for the things to follow. He could follow a hundred paths as he wrote this
poem. A hundred paths! Nice
expression! He thought and pushed it to the back of his mind as a reserve.
The lines above reminded him of the Live Aid concert he had read about
in the news back when he was a kid. Father had explained what a deeply
significant event it had been. Having raised more than a billion dollars for
kids in Africa, it showed the greatness of human nature. That was an event
which show cased that man could indeed look out for another man, be it family
or a stranger.
There goes another poem! the
pencil seemed to shake its head (it might have moved a fraction of a nanometre,
but since our visual perceptive abilities are limited so I’ll just leave this
to your imagination).
No! thought Ravi and started the next verse of the poem. But, it was
already too late. His train of thoughts had driven him so far away from the
last topic that he found it difficult to come up with the next word!
DAMN! ^%#&@ me!
He picked up a pebble and threw it far off in anger cursing at the
same time.
Seeing the subject of his interest behave in such a manner, the man on
the bench approached him with caution and curiosity.
“What is the matter, brother?” he asked in a soft tone.
“Nothing!” Ravi replied in a voice as would have been possessed by Tom
each time Jerry got the better of him, if by a miracle, Tom could speak.
“You seem troubled. Do you need help, brother?” said the thin fellow,
his voice soft and sweet as before.
“No! Please go away” came the reply.
“Let me help brother” he persisted in a calm voice. “To share one’s
pain and hardships is a balm for the soul”
Another topic for failed poetry!
Said the satchel as the pad and the pencil burst out laughing.
SHUT – UP! Ravi cried, hurriedly adding “Not you, brother.” turning to
address the stranger.
“I am sorry for my rude behaviour.” He apologized. “Please let me be.”
The stranger sat down beside him with folded legs and introduced
himself. “I am Shashi” he said extending his hand. Ravi shook his hand. “I am
Ravi” he said.
“It looks to me that you could do with some sharing, brother. Do feel
free to speak your heart.” Shashi said kindly.
Ravi looked at this sympathetic stranger. He seemed nice. Feeling a
need to share, Ravi began narrating his sorry tale. “I am a writer by
profession. I have a piece of poetry due in forty five minutes and my job….” He
felt a hand grab his collar from behind; an alarm began to build up in his
temple. Suddenly a silvery metal flashed before him and before he knew it,
Shashi was holding a knife to his neck.
“Quick brother, hand me your valuables and I’ll go away quietly.”
Shashi whispered into his ear.
Oops! Talk about hard luck, this
is as bad as it can get said the pencil in a pitiful tone.
“But..” Ravi could only stammer “How…who are you?”
“It doesn’t matter, brother. I am but another child of God like
yourself. Give me all your valuables and I’ll let you go” Shashi remained calm.
“HELP! HELP! “ Ravi began shouting abruptly.
Bringing his fist to meet Ravi’s jaw, Shashi slammed him backwards and
quickly emptying the man’s pockets took to his heels.
No help arrived. Ravi lay on the ground, his jaw bleeding. He spat
blood. A tooth was missing and so was the phone and his wallet.
Not making any efforts to raise himself, Ravi lay on the grass not
knowing what emotion to display. His piece was now almost overdue. He lifted
his hand to look at the wristwatch. Thankfully, the scoundrel had left his
precious watch behind. It was seven-bloody-thirty. He was sniggering. He began
laughing. The thief wouldn’t get much out of his wallet- just bills and a few
pieces of paper plus ten rupees, his fare home. He had involuntarily tricked
the rogue. He continued chuckling for a long time.
The man is nuts the pencil
seemed to say. Definitely crazy the
pen and satchel agreed.
Ha! Curse the man who yields the
knife, this here man is experiencing trauma! The lamp-post cut in.
Trauma! Bleh! The pencil
retorted. He is totally off his knocker,
I say. Why would a man who has just been robbed laugh? He is insane. Just look
at his antics of the evening past. He needs medical attention, I say.
Aye! The pen added in
support.
Finally, Ravi picked himself up. The bleeding had stopped. On close
inspection, even the broken tooth was found idling on the grass beside. He
picked up his belongings and packed everything up in the satchel. He looked at
his watch again – five minutes to eight. He smiled. The day was over. His job
at the magazine house too was done for.
All of a sudden, a strange thought gripped his mind. He looked for the
nearest pot-bellied penguin. There it was nestled between the shrubs. He took
the satchel off his shoulder and curled it into a roll. At the bin, he looked
left and right and then quickly threw the satchel through the mouth of the
penguin smothering the cries of the three helpless, lifeless beings. He smiled.
His days as a poet were over. Time to look for something new in life,
he thought as he walked to the park exit. But first he must lodge a complaint
at the nearest police station. He couldn’t go to the dentist, he had no money.
The tooth would have to wait.
Life had always been cruel to him. Be it his struggle through school
and college or his efforts through professional life, all had led to dead ends.
He had graduated an engineer, yet, he had failed to secure a job as one. A
non-existent personal life and an equally awkward social life had been the
description of twenty five years of his life. He had still managed. He would
continue to do so in the future. Change was near, he could feel it, but today
wasn’t the day he thought as he massaged his jaw. He shook his head and
continued.
As he walked along the pavement in search of a policeman a few lines
began to take shape in his mind,
Cruel is the soul that picks
life
Yearning no peace or serenity
It descends to mortal place and
tries
To labour for eternal happiness;
as humanity
Drags it to pieces, binds it to
chains
Runs it through sins, harm and
pains
It lives, no – it survives;
ordeals of another
Ignorant, that hell was carved
here on earth
It continues to strive rescued
by the forsaken brother
In time, the end comes to birth
It is broken and it is bent
Into a blistering forge, sent
Yet, a beautiful charm pulls it
to pick again
It returns to cycle through
Experiences the joy, the love,
sparkling rain
Cries of laughter, the drops of
fresh dew
The magic amidst the
tribulations and strife
The most enchanted gift called
life.
“Eh?” He paused then shook his head deleting the verses forever and
walked on into the night.
