Sunday, 18 February 2018


This is the first of a series of stories (hopefully) which I like to call 'Flutter'. I believe you can gauge the intent of these stories once you read them.



Ameena would lie down in her balcony on days like these, wondering where she came from and what her purpose was in life. Aluva river, in front of her, peacefully flowing onto the Arabian Sea would reflect starry skies above. She felt intimately related to the celestial peace which descended around her; moon in the distance, lights from the airport, and the ever benevolent silence. She could imagine the farthest extents of Universe right here in this negligible point in a negligible Earth, for that she was thankful.

The chicken curry her husband threw on her face still burned her eyes and nose, it was spicy alright. He used a word to describe it specifically and her existence generally, she couldn't help but think about it. How would he know what that word means to her, how would he know what that word means to humanity. This was not the first time he reproached her using words she considered pure, but then she was aware of how present parlance brands her puritan words as derogatory.

Ameena.. She loved her name, but then twenty seven years of married life made her forget the tunes of those syllables - jumping up, sliding free and hitting a sudden stop! Ameena.. Her eyes watered when she tried to remember how her Umma would call her 'Ameenakutti', it was so long back that it seemed non-existent now.

She grew tired after a while and tiptoed her way back to bed. The air conditioner in the room made a cranky noise as it threw cold artificial air into the room. She remembered how disturbed she used to be when her Vaapa would buy her leather bags and costly deodorants, she would smile and accept it all the same, she barely knew another way to behave.

Once in bed Ameena twisted and turned for a long time; she tried burying her face in her pillow, she tried pushing her head towards her breasts, she tried singing herself lullabies. There was an eruption of something uncontainable inside, she had to find vents to release it. How pitiably he used that word, she thought.

"Khaled.." she called. "Khaled.."

Khaled usually detests when his sleep is disturbed, but then Ameena never did a thing like this before, he was as perturbed as he was angry.

"What is it?" he shouted.

She got up and switched on the light, looking him sternly in the face, her eyes held fires that devoured any words he had to offer. He sat transfixed.

Ameena wanted to be precise on this, she didn't want to hold anything back or shout anything new. She wanted it to be clear and certain, while making sure it portrays the uproar inside. She knew she shouldn't make it too stern so that she burns herself out completely or too soft that she may seem magnanimous. She gathered words in her mind and slowly brought it out of her mouth.

"You and I were born out of a vagina too, my love.." she said and gently walked back to the balcony.

Tuesday, 13 February 2018


Who can gauge,
The depths of human mind in thought,
Effervescent streams of velvet hope,
Red-shifting music that sink souls in thriving pools
of celestial re-births and re-discoveries.

Who can fathom,
The distances a migrating bird must fly,
Vagaries and silence of lives beneath,
The art of a rare chemical dance
and its unpronounced everyday evolutions,
A story of recurring dreams,
Painted with dark nostalgic loves left behind.

Who can put to words,
The grandeurs of extinct universes,
Their sunlit banks, their wonderous cosmic evenings,
Beginning of life, death of stars and a heroic force,
Working upon primordial imperfections,
To build home as we know it now.

Sunday, 4 February 2018


I heard you say my truths are veiled lies,
I heard you say my mind is crooked and high,
I heard you say people detest my chronic rhymes,
I heard you say what am I but my routine jibes,
I heard you say nobody follows my divergent vibes,
I heard you say fuck yourself, go and die.

But my dear, these insecurities, they are mine,
Mock me, choke me, sock me, I will live my life!

Saturday, 3 February 2018


I contain
multiple loves.

I love how wet earth
drags her alluring lips
on my hardened cheeks,
I love silent mountains
shouting unused truths,
I love my mother's milk
and memories of her breasts,
I love your hands
when they entangled mine.

It stagnates
as avenues shrink,
Souls to receive it
reclines self-seeking,
Equally alone as I maybe.

My fathomless loves
rot and infect,
Turns malignant,
Soak and wrinkle
I dribble blood.

Everything I love
kills me a little more.

Tuesday, 30 January 2018


Let my words be flawless today,
Clear as silver stream,
Fresh as morning spring,
Let it reach you
toiling through doubts in your mind,
Let it move along your turbulent vistas,
Where piety had made melancholic tombs,
And proceeds of war made wounds that can't be healed,
Where I once made my abode severing your rueful constraints.

Let my words reach there again,
As an ending quote,
Or maybe a wholesome resurgence,
Like light following an eclipse,
Like land after years of sea,
Let my words make meanings,
For long it was only noise - farcical moonshine,
Today let it be plain and from my hardened heart,
Let it leave no doubt, no points to guess,
No rhyming sentences, no superficial nonsense.

I want it straight,
As pure as my perpetual longing,
As unfettered as my resurrecting love,
Evading your shallow pools of dubiety,
Caressing the happiness we shared
and the grief we forgot,
Let it touch the nights we laid awake,
Let it bring rainbows for our storms,
Let it stay there etched,
In the sky, by the shore
and on snowcapped moons.

For today I want you to know,
That I am here and I will be waiting for you,
Through rain, snow, spring and fall,
Through tears, smiles, laughs and fears,
Through days, months, years and time,
All my life,
I will be here,
And I will be waiting.

Saturday, 20 January 2018


What good are stars my love,
If I cannot talk about them
to you?
What good is the moon,
Upon whose silver canvas
the dreams we drew,
If you cannot see?
What good are journeys,
Miles I walk,
Galaxies and heat deaths,
If it isn't you that I reach?
What good are memories,
Travels in time,
Like pulsars in bleak space,
If I cannot find your laughs amidst?

What good are spaceships,
If there are only voids
that I may reach?


I remember watching her, it was a long long time back that I can't quite recollect how she looked like that day. She was waiting for bus after college, I don't remember who she was with, all I remember was that I was afraid to go near her, I don't really know why, but I was. I watched, I remember watching her, she looked beautiful.


I don't usually carry my umbrella to places, it's not that I particularly enjoyed getting wet, it's just that I don't like carrying too many things when I'm traveling. I'd prefer getting wet to perpetually living attentive to my umbrella.

It was raining that day, I don't really remember where I was. We were walking, she had her umbrella opened, it could barely fit us both. I could feel her close to me, I could feel myself all messed up. The rain was pouring down and parts of us were together and dry, while parts of us were apart and soaking.


She was by no means the most charming, she wasn't perhaps the most beautiful. But when I think about her I tend to remember a motorbike ride.

It was midnight, or close to midnight, I am not sure. I was driving around to ease my thoughts. There was a storm brewing, both on the inside and out. It rained unawares, it hit me from all sides. There was noise, there was thunder and the more I drove, the more I became weak. I was slowly drowning in the rain.

There were no signs of shelter, and my spects got blurry. I couldn't see a thing, I thought I never had it in me to survive the tempest. For once, I thought I'd pass out, the rain was ceaseless. Occasionally I could see lightning drawing sad silver lines upon a sober black sky. What a sad way to leave things behind, I thought.

I closed my eyes, I knew I may not make it, I cried. Suddenly, out of nowhere it stopped and everything seemed calm. I didn't hear the rain beating down, I didn't see any lightning. I looked up and saw a bridge running perpendicular to the road, it was leaking from places, it looked weary and old, but it was keeping the storm away.


"I don't know why you have to make everything so complicated" she was saying. I was growing numb, I was more and more confused. My hands were shaking, my brain was shivering. I had this cough that won't stop, my throat was bleeding.

"I didn't mean to.." I was saying "I never meant to"

I kept walking up and down the whole night and I couldn't understand a thing. I had this great ledger of failures and losses that when I rewind I have plenty of negativities to hold onto. She is here, I was thinking, she is here with you now. Maybe if any one of those failures didn't happen, you wouldn't have even known her, I kept saying. I got up, I couldn't lose her, not today.

"I'm sorry" I said. She had slept. I kept walking around the whole night.


That night, it was cold that night, but I didn't feel a thing. The valley before me was covered in fog, all I could see was bleak darkness. We were.. no.. I was smoking and was so far away from everything I've ever known that it almost seemed like complete freedom. I always had this idea of leaving things behind and traveling till I die.

There was this song, it still catches me sometimes, but the more I heard it that night the more I felt I may ruin everything. I was still pulled apart by ideas of home and ideas of freedom. I was lodged between currents of thought and the satisfaction of letting things go. What is the purpose of life? Yeah, I'd say it never had any true purpose but the ones we make.

She was texting me on the other side, I knew it was a question between living a sane life or trying to survive an idea which may make me go insane at the end of it all. What is the purpose of life? Is it to live an idea insanely, or is it to live by a life normally?

I don't remember much of what I said to her that day, but then I said if you could tolerate a mad poet I will be here waiting for you. I smoked another round, the fog cleared in the valley, I could see lights.


"Given a chance would you not meet her, again?" the doctor asked.


"Your friend, or lover, or whatever she is?"

"Why do you have to ask that?" I said.

"Leave it. Can you tell me why she was so special to you?"

My hands were getting cold. I badly wanted to find her hands from somewhere, it was freezing.

"Anand, can you tell me?"

I felt a strange sensation to run away, or to punch this guy straight on his face, or both.

"Have you ever rode a motorbike in the rain, doctor?" I asked.

"I have" he replied.

"Then you'd know.." I said.


One thing I tried not to do was complicate things, I was unsure of many things going on with me and inside my head, but I am sure that I never complicated it.

"But I always thought you loved me" I said.

"I do, but it is not how it seems"

I was confused, I was doubting myself, I was doubting whatever notions I've ever held. I may very well be an average writer, I maybe only a mediocre thinker, and maybe I couldn't do anything good with my life.

"I hope you'd understand me" she said.

I have reached a point wherein I couldn't understand myself. I was lost midway, I was neither living the idea, nor the normal life.

"I do understand you" I said "But it will take me every ounce of love I have for you.."


I remember watching her, she was beautiful. I knew it was all about taking that first step, going towards her. It doesn't have to be today, you can tell that you love her some other time, I thought. Just make that first step now. I was afraid, I was childish, I was stupid. I stood there and kept watching, she was beautiful and I could never move an inch.