It didn't hurt anymore. She'd gotten used to it. The screams just died in her throat these days. All that remained was this constant ache in the heart. And a sense of betrayal that refused to die down no matter how much her mind thought otherwise. He had loved her. She was conscious of the past tense every time that sentence came up. Had loved her. She doubted if there was any left now. She had always believed that a heart that loved cannot hate. If hate comes in, love tiptoes away. Unheard, unseen, but felt by the heart. But she stayed on because she still loved him. Inspite of everything, she did. And she was not going to give up. She also believed that love conquers all. She was also conscious of the foreboding in her heart that something was to go wrong. Very wrong.

He hated himself. Not her, but himself. He hated his dependence on alcohol. He hated himself everytime he hurt her. Physically or otherwise. He longed for those wonderful times they had spent with each other when he was not the monster he was now. The laughs, the long never ending sweet nothings...her smile! He could not remember the last time he had seen her smile. He had loved that smile above all. Now all he found were tears. And fear. There was always a fear in her eyes. He sometimes wished she wouldn't take all that he did and just leave. But she never let go. He loved her more for that. But somehow, that could never stop him from having that one last drink.

They found their bodies the next morning. She lay crumpled at the foot of the bed, the bedstead streaked crimson - crimson like the floor beneath her. His body was hanging from a rope tied to the fan - looking down at her, asking for her forgiveness and loving her more than ever.

Blank

I sit in front of the screen,
Words fail me! I'm worried, what could that mean?
Fingers poised on asdf jkl;
Nothing, blank, zero, nil.

There is no dearth for inspiration,
Blogs all around me, no lack of motivation!
Then why this sudden lull,
Why am I not able to write, no matter how hard I mull!

My head aches from the inactivity,
Have I lost all my creativity?!
That is a very serious prospect, you see -
Without frequent writing, I'd be stranded at sea!

For writing is what I do best
I pretend to take it lightly, ofcourse, only in jest!
Me - I'd like a pen 'n pad even on my hearse -
Look! All my anguish is coming out in verse!

Fine Print: Before you think how pretentious of me to say I have writer's block when I have been updating my blog almost every day, here's the real deal - I find myself writing, but not writing what I actually want to. And it kills me to be like that. I'm waiting for a huge bolt of creative thunder to hit my otherwise dull brain to make me finish what I've begun. Or atleast make me start writing the one thing I've been procrastinating for aeons.

The Rendezvous

The morning seemed more beautiful than usual. She noticed the flowers this time. And the chirping birds flying hither and thither. She realized she'd been smiling too broadly and stopped - what will people think! She smiled again. The wait for the bus didn't seem long, even though it was a good 20 minutes before it came. She got a window seat, again, something that rarely happens.

What's with today, she thought. He had called last night and said he wanted to talk to her about something very important. That's what was different about today. His call. And what it could mean. He had asked her to come to the icecream parlor where they'd gone on the first day of college. Why there, she wondered. Why not the college itself? She smiled again. Maybe because it was special.

She wasn't his only friend, neither was he her's. But she'd always felt there was something more between them. An unknown chemistry, if you could call it that. He never flirted with her like he did with the other girls. There was this unsaid silence between them when their other friends were around. And she could never look into his eyes. He hadn't got her anything for Valentine's Day last week. He hadn't got anyone else anything either. And he had smiled at her near the flower stall - he had looked at the roses, turned to her and smiled. She closed her eyes and saw that smile over and over again. She missed him.

The day seemed the longest ever. She couldn't wait to get out of class soon enough. When the last bell rang, she had to stop herself from running out. She took an auto to the icecream parlor. She reached the parlor 15 minutes ahead. He was not there yet. She went in and took the table in a corner next to the bay window. She adjusted the flower vase on the table and smoothed down the tablecloth. The girl in her. She heard the sound of a bike and looked out - it was him. But then...he'd come with another friend of their's. A girl.

Mind Maps

If you're out of ideas, you can stop blinking -
There is now a tool to do all the inking!
Fill in the gap
Using a Mind Map,
I'm attending a workshop on Creative Thinking!

What's 'Creative Thinking using Mind Maps'?

The Nail

Mahi didn't know how that day had turned out to be so special. It started the way most days do - a lazy morning, followed by a hurried getting-ready-to-work routine and a rushed breakfast. Then began the short, but seemingly unending, ride to the railway station - on a TVS moped that once belonged to Muththassan when he was a peon at the local registrar office. It was always in the family, so when it came to a two-wheeler to use for commuting, it was a natural choice! "This is the safest thing you can use when you park it in the railway station da kutta", said Pappa when the moped was handed down to Mahi.

The ride to the station would have been eventless if it weren't for the tiny nail on the small by-lane that Mahi generally used, to avoid traffic. Two hours earlier, the nail had felt it was time for it's act of glory - all these days it had remained the only thing between an old man on a rickety old stool and the hard brown floor. But today, the strain on the poor nail was so much that it decided to give way. Down fell the rickety old stool, taking the old man with it, to the hard brown floor. The impact of this fall sent the tiny nail flying on to the street - where it lay waiting for Mahi's moped.

As usual, Mahi stopped the moped for 2 minutes in front of the small Vinayaka temple and did the usual praying. It was more of a mechanical ritual than an expression of devotion. The moped knew, more than Mahi, to stop at the temple - come rain or shine. Mahi took the sharp turn into the by-lane and tried hard not to accelerate - the road was non-existent, but the potholes were very much there. The moped was in a good condition, but there was no escaping the fact that it was old. Mahi had thought of messing up the moped in the hopes of getting a new one, but that thought was driven out by Pappa's casual remark - "Mahikutta, it's just a matter of another 8 months. Then you're not going to be here after that. If this moped doesn't last, you could always take the bus for a while." So, this moped, no matter how old, was still Mahi's preferred mode of commute.

The nail was lying on the road, its head stuck between two pieces of stone and its pointed tip looking up to the skies. Call it fate or the laws of flying-objects, the nail was positioned to cause maximum damage to any object made of rubber that passes over it. The moped, with Mahi on it, oblivious to the waiting nail, was coming down the very road.

When disaster struck in our case of the nail and the moped's tyre, the sonic effects were minimal, to the extent of being virtually undetectable. The moped didn't feel a thing but the nail on the other hand, had met the purpose of it's Creator. Barely 100 metres from ground zero, the moped realized what had happened. Mahi did too, although Mahi's realization was punctuated with 4 letter words that would have made Muththassi do a somersault in her grave.

Mahi got down to assess the damage. It was bad. The only thing to be done now was to get the moped to a mechanic and find a way to get to work. All this in the next 15 minutes before Mr.Nair, the manager, could realize Mahi was late. The road, for all practical purposes, was uninhabited. Except for the old man on the erstwhile rickety stool outside a shabby tent, there was no other living soul. That is, if one didn't count the stray dog lying in the corner near the lamp-post.

It was a while before Mahi realized that the only way out was to leave the moped and walk to the nearest junction and get an auto. Just then, there came a Maruti 800 car on the very same road. A savior in a shining white automobile, perhaps, thought Mahi. The car seemed to understand the moped's predicament and stopped. Sanju was not the kind of guy to just drive past when someone was in distress. Especially, if it was a young and lovely damsel like Mahi.

Mahi heard the door bell chime - it seemed to reflect the happy chimes in her own heart. Sanju was home.