Sweep the streets.

I will live my life as it flies off in a whiff with the smoke of my cigarette. Today, I just don't have the strength to run after it and face it and challenge it on equal terms. Its been a while since I let things be, let them take their own course of action and not try to change them, not try too hard to turn them in a direction that suits me. Because every dawn isn't mine. Because every dawn isn't meant to support my faith. Support my belief. In you and in me.
You will work so hard to mend the frame which contained a picture of us. I will work very hard too. We will look at the clothes left in our respective wardrobes and sulk a little. Because they will smell of the other one. And the other one will continue to live on in them. We will still shy away when a third person mentions the name of the other, and still imagine the beautiful picture our bodies painted together. But the distances will double themselves, and the faith will be reduced to half.
There are still a lot of dreams my eyes have kept, most of them still half realized. But when I touch these dreams in the oblivion of my past, they tell me, nobody will respect a dream that has taken a small, little unsuccessful flight already.
But both of us will keep a little secret immersed inside the depths of the shores of our heart. The secret that we will remain in the corner of each other smiles, and we will roll out with the tears we shed. Because in the tears and smiles, we will still be safe. We will still be together.

And we will also be together in the pain that our eyes will hide, in the laughter that will flow out carelessly and callously. That shrill, hollow laughter.

I used to rule the world

Seas would rise when I gave the word

Now in the morning I sleep alone

Sweep the streets I used to own

And I sweep them alone. Alone, in a bittersweet isolation. Alone, without you holding onto me.
Alone, but happy. Because you and I, my love, are meant to meet in a different world.

Closer to you.

I like how the breeze feels today. The way it softly caresses my cheeks. Its not moist, not too dry, just how I like it. I think its playing with my hair, just the way you do.
We're miles apart, but today I feel closer to you. Kind of schizophrenic, eh?

No one to share the blanket with is a little awkward though, for obvious reasons. But its okay, the melody you composed two days back is still thrumming in my head. It makes my insides swing to and fro, just as they did 50 hours back when you sang it to me in that deep baritone. Bliss. And oh, sorry for counting the hours since you've been away. Its not a typically me habit, I know.

I like the mint cushions a little today. I thought they were pretty ugly when you got them but I guess no head resting on them adds to the appeal. You know what I mean, no?

The night is still young, and the clouds are thin. Clear night sky, just as we love it. Just that there isn't that insomniac to talk it through tonight.

When I am with you, we stay up all night.

When you are not here, I can't go to sleep.

Praise God for these two insomnias.

And the difference between them.

~Rumi

There are in numerous patches of colors revolving in my brain after the weed. When I think of you, the patch incessantly changes to red. How not surprising.

I feel light-headed but insanely beautiful. If you'd tell me the stars shined for me today, I would believe you.

All out of love. Well, maybe.

Philadelphia, USA.

Their eyes met and they knew instantly, the search was over. That realization came from within, something just clicked and their hearts found a way together.
Those starting days of being inflicted with the wounds Cupid makes- they are insane. Insanely memorable. Anamika was taking up Psychology, Bilal- Business. They still met, only to immerse and sink deep within each other's eyes. Only to feel the warmth of one sweeping into another. Only to share a kiss or two that left a lingering joy, till almost forever! Life.was.beautiful!
It went on till three years. They realized it was time to go a step further.


Kabul, Afghanistan.

Anamika, covered in a hijab felt rather uncomfortable and shrugged and cringed. Not because of the attire, but because of the piercing gazes. She was sitting amidst Bilal's family members.

She intended to make them her family too but no one except Bilal's younger brother, Razi seemed to approve. She had thought she'd be scared of Afghanistan, but now she knew, she was scared of love. How amusing.The atmosphere only tensed further. Bilal was with his mother in the next room, trying to persuade her, and BANG, a utensil clanged to the floor. She heard loud sobs, and Bilal's mother stormed out and said- "THIS is who you want to marry? Forget her being an Indian or a Hindu, do we have any izzat (respect) in the society?

Bilal and Anamika took the blame on themselves. Maybe they'd been too pacy. Maybe they needed to think over themselves together. Maybe they really needed more time

Delhi, India.

"

This must be a joke?! What is this love bullshit?!? You're only smitten with the boy's good looks."
"You must be crazy? A Muslim?!"
"Not even Indian. AFGHANI?!"
"This is what we sent you to USA for?!"
"You bitch. Get over him or get out of my house."
They mentioned him, his religion, his country as if they all spelled out poison.

Repeated attempts.
Kabul.Delhi.Kabul.Delhi.Kabul.
End of attempts.

Philadelphia, USA.

New life. Yes, cut off with their respective families. Yes, still very much in love. Not "madly" or "blindly" in love, mind you.
Their friends joke around and quizzed if their child would bear a Hindu or a Muslim name. Anamika (still Anamika Khurana not Anamika Rafiq) replied, "Its rather filmy, Na Hindu banega, na Musalman banega .. Insaan ki aulaad hoga, insaan banega! "(Neither Hindu or Muslim, he'll only be human)

.

This is a true story. I know of an Anamika and Bilal who met. Who didn't care if they'd end up in a land of hijabs, ghoonghats, Diwali or Barawafat !

Dreaded "D"

I didn't want to give away my life to drugs. I had seen how marijuana had consumed the love of my life. There was a choke in my throat when I thought of Faraz now. His sharp yet tender brown eyes that ended up as darkened and laden with heavy eyelids, always covered in tiredness.
I remember the cigarette burns he gave me. I remember all the times he violently made love with me, leaving me with scars all over. It was as if my body was his source of revenge. I still loved him then. Painful, however it may be.
"You'll always be my hero, even though you've lost your mind." Sigh.

Not all love stories are happy. I ended up losing Faraz. My Faraz now had beer in veins, smoke in his eyes and puked disgust. He in fact, was not mine at all.
I stood next to the window that was once our spot of cuddling and long conversations. There wasn't any Faraz to cuddle up or converse with him any more.
There wasn't much purpose left. I had no where to 'belong' and I only bit my lip and shed a tear.

55 fiction : Remember the roses ?

Desperately trying to mend the glass of the golden frame containing our picture, I sit by the window looking out into the world. The world which seemed beautiful when your hand's touch comforted me at ugly times.

You always said that its insanity to hate all roses, if you got pierced by one thorn. But. . . when the thorn cuts you deep, and the roses disappear.. do you have a choice?

55 fiction : When someone fills the absence.

She sat her window,gazing at the clouds passing by, when a deep voice took her by surprise.
"You feel better?", he innocently asked.
"Time's healing things, but the absence still lingers.", she vaguely spoke.

"Someone's presence can complete the absence of everyone. For me its you!", he confessed.


She felt some love rekindled and gently hugged him..