Eternally Bright..

The rain poured down in torrents as she sat on the roadside, meager torn rags hardly enough to shield her shivering bare body against the assault of the heavens. Her lips and nails had turned blue with the cold while her teeth chattered as she withdrew deeper into the chasms of death, begging the Gods above as she had all her life for a morsel of pity. Hope that had kept her anchored to this world now abandoned her as despair, pain and the deadly chill enclosed her in its suffocating tendrils, patiently robbing her of breath as it became more strenuous and uneven.

 As her soul slipped away unacknowledged beneath the open heavens, it rose above the drenched city like a speck of light burning bright and free. And then it swelled into a luminous ball of unshackled flames and shot through the skies to the cosmos above to join the ever eternal stars in blissful salvation.

Written as part of the Five Sentence Fiction prompt.

Word Prompt: Anchor

Bruised Petals..

The blow resounded hard in her head, bruising her pale skin and drawing blood as the man above her pounded on with ruthless ferocity, staining the once white sheets red. His hand smothered her cries and silent tears rolled down her cheeks as he exploited her innocence with viciousness, deflowering her delicate petals like an animal. He screamed as he reached the pinnacle, his hands forcing her head down into the mattress and she shut her eyes against the vision of his ghastly scarred face distorted with passion.

He left the money on the bedside table, an inhuman grin filling his face as he looked at her terror stricken eyes now filled with dread and fear, her youthful skin darkened black at places where he had hit her and whispered softly in her ears...

‘I shall be back again, my love...’

Written as part of the Five Sentence Fiction prompt.

Word Prompt: Innocence

Aladdin..

Aladdin was both scared and terrified, for beyond those huge ornate doors lay the treasure that had haunted his thoughts, stolen his peace of mind, robbed him of his family and torn everything apart with it. He had lain awake day and night puzzling over the map, the lamp burning dimly till the wee hours of the morning whilst he pondered over its innumerable intricacies until his obsession had dulled out everything but dreams of gold. And here he was at last; unlocking the doors he carefully stepped inside as the doors closed softly on their own and golden shine blinded him with lust and greedy frenzy.

Laden with brilliant gold, priceless treasures and glittering gems Aladdin now fished out the map from his pocket on which was inscribed the magic incantation that would yet again unlock the mighty doors and herald in the sounds of a richer life beyond...But the map had gone mysteriously blank, entrapping him inside forever.

Written as part of the Five Sentence Fiction prompt.

Word Prompt: Doors

(Inspired by The Arabian Nights)

The Page Will Turn..

This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 46; the forty-sixth edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton. 

  The tip of the kohl had turned blunt with use and the cheap glamour it afforded had faded with time. Smita had to repeatedly smudge its black lining to shape it to perfection, highlighting her eyes and adding that touch of mystery that drew clients to her ill reputed lane. The night was her ally, its dark cloak shielding her from the ugliness of her profession as men flocked to her to seek pleasure amidst the bustle of the city. The red shine of her lips glistened in the dim light as she adjusted the flimsy straps of her dress designed to bring out her voluptuous curves.

  Smita failed to recognise herself in the mirror. A pale beauty with haunting eyes stared back at her, the eyes devoid of dreams that had once drawn her to the city. For a moment time stilled as the past came back with startling clarity to torment her. The mirror adorned with artificial flowers felt like a window to her soul but the flowers with their mock splendour failed to soothe its upheaval.

  As a child Smita had loved flowers. She would bask in their fragrance, their natural beauty elevating her to some divine world where she wove them together into garlands of love, hope and joy. The village people called her ‘The Floral Beauty’. She would rescue dying flowers and paint their petals with shades of hue, using them to adorn the village during festivities. She would bunch fresh flowers into huge bouquets and sprinkle them with her hope and love. She had known in her heart that she was meant for something more and had moved to the city with floral dreams garnishing her hopeful eyes.

  But harsh reality had intruded soon enough and job in the city had turned out to be scarce. The meager amount of money had been insufficient to harbour to her needs and hunger, debt and necessity had driven her from door to door seeking jobs that might help sustain her in the ruthless city. She had sold her soul to the very devil when she had come begging to these doors, destitute and desperate, hungry for a morsel of bread and clean water to quench her thirst. And with her soul, she had sold her body.

  Smita drew in a deep breath, but no fragrance came to enfold her in its warm embrace. The touch of synthetic petals, devoid of life, provided no strength against the agony her bruised body suffered night after night. She left the dimly lit room and stepped out, the chilly wind cold against her bare skin. As she stood beneath the street light waiting for her clients to show up, she looked at the flowers hanging gracefully from the boughs of the tree. Their scent lingered on the streets, bringing hope to her shattered soul with it. Someday she would weave garlands of dreams again... Someday ‘The Floral Beauty’ shall sprinkle droplets of joy over the flowers of the city.

  A car drew up against the pavement and rolled down its window. After the usual hassle over the night’s bargain, Smita stepped inside her client’s car . And as the car drove past the tree Smita drew courage from her dreams, holding on to them like a talisman endowed with powers to heal her soul, knowing in her heart someday the page will turn.

The fellow Blog-a-Tonics who took part in this Blog-a-Ton and links to their respective posts can be checked here. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton. Participation Count: 01

Celebrating Life with a Stranger...

I raise my glass to you Stranger, for without you I would have remained blind forever...

                                         

The heat had abated a little that evening and the cool breeze on my face felt wonderful. I miss my hometown where the rains had been frequent and generous, where the winters gave way to lush springs and beautiful summers, and where the sun would peak behind from clouds to encase us in its moderate sunshine. The sun in the city isn't as generous and I have been finding it increasingly difficult to venture out into the heat. But that evening the Gods above had finally shown mercy and the winds decided to blow all evening long.

 I was returning home after a hectic brainstorming session with my friends over studies and I felt oddly restless and down. Life in the city isn't easy and living away from home can take its toll when often, things refuse to work out in your favour. I decided to walk rather than take the auto and the exercise felt relieving to my senses. The roads too were strangely silent that day with little traffic and the few cars that zoomed past showered me with welcome air, their engines vibrating smoothly.

I was lost in my own thoughts, walking lethargically, enjoying the work out after a long time. The footpath was uneven and gravels lay in chunks here and there and I tripped a couple of times when I noticed a man beside me.  Hands outstretched, with a walking stick in his right hand and black glasses he was carefully gauging his steps as he cautiously lay one foot ahead of the other. He was blind...
                                           

The sight left me stunned...Seeing this stranger on the broad wide street making his way all alone to some unknown destination left me speechless. For a moment all my thought processes stood standstill as I looked at this beautiful brave man, unafraid yet unsure, steadily walking through those uneven roads as countless wide eyed men walked past.

I walked upto this stranger and asked, ’Do you need help Sir?’

‘Oh...So kind of you to ask. Can you please tell me exactly where I’m?’ His voice had a soothing ring to it, a kind of peace that touched my soul and took away the day’s exhaustion with it.

‘You are standing just beside the petrol pump at Chowrasta Sir’, I replied.

‘Thank you so much... I’m actually headed to the Calcutta Blind School. I’m already nearby I see.’

For a moment I hesitated and then I offered to walk him to CBS. And as I walked slowly, guiding him through those rough streets, I felt wonderful. For the first time that summer the heat, the city and its unruly crudity, life and its harsh lessons stood at bay. I was untouched by it all. I encounter numerous people in the city yet this man touched something deep within me. He talked of life as if it were a feisty lovely gift that needs to be savoured and lived joyously. His unwavering courage and untainted faith made me question a lot of things about myself.
                                               

I left him at the gates of CBS. Before leaving I saw this man take hold of the hands of an old blind lady and offering to take her inside. Chivalrous and blind...

I salute you stranger for you opened my eyes to something beyond myself. Your courage and joy, your infectious faith and hope in all things worldly and unworldly, the hues of life you believe in even if you can’t see them and your daring to fight against all odds are rare and contagious gifts. They touched my life and gave it a whole new meaning. Your brilliance inspires me to be something more than I’m meant to be, your joy inspires me to live life brave and unabashed.

I raise my glass to you Stranger, for you have inspired me like no other...

I raise my glass to you Stranger, for you deserve no less... 


I am writing about #MyRoleModel as a part of the activity by Gillette India in association with BlogAdda.com.

Escape..

  The house looked forlorn, it’s once magnificent walls now covered in ivy and the winter snow lay soft on the ground stirring something deep within my soul. I unlocked the huge wooden doors and stepped inside and a sudden feeling of loss overwhelmed me, pulling me down with it to bottomless dark pits that plunged my whole world upside down. Five long years away from all that I had loved, away from her haunting memories, away from her bittersweet presence...I walked up to the beautiful portrait and leaned my head against it, no longer willing to escape, as I heard her soft voice whisper...

  It’s Christmas my love. And you are finally home...

Written as part of the Five Sentence Fiction prompt.

Word Prompt: Vacation

Lost..

I looked at the innocent serene face of my son. In his sleep he looked almost divine, an unworldly angel from the heavens above to torment my soul. My heart desperately wished to acknowledge his presence; I wanted to let the world know that this celestial child was my own blood, fostered by my insatiable lust for the beautiful woman who had mothered him. But my courage failed me. Cowering under the shame of infidelity and betrayal, Sunita’s face swam unbidden into my mind. My love for her had died along with our marriage and now it was all a farce, a pretence to shield our family and daughter from the harsh gossips of society.

‘It’s late Rajesh. I think you should leave.’ Her voice intervened my thoughts and I turned around to look at Rita. How could she do this to me? Tear me away from my son and condemn me to the rings of hell. To never look at my son, to never touch him and feel the pride and joy of a father; his absence would burn me alive from within and rip apart my soul.

‘I don’t want to Rita. I want to be there for him, I want to see my son grow...’ Words failed me. The emotional upheaval within me was rendering me speechless. But it was too late. I could see it in her eyes; the finality and deadly determination to protect our son from the consequences of our affair.

‘You must Rajesh. I shall not allow my son to grow up under the shadow of infidelity. It is in his best interests. He deserves a secure childhood and I do not want him subjected to the insecurity that your infrequent presence in our lives shall incur.’

As I drove through the rain that night, tears rolled down my cheeks. The heavens poured down their grief relentlessly from above, the thunder echoing my silent cries. On reaching home, Sunita opened the door. But I walked past her as if she were a ghost and headed straight for my daughter’s room. My four year old daughter sat playing with her toys, her eyebrows screwed tight in concentration while her black curls cascaded down her shoulders, oblivious to the world around her. I picked up my daughter and looked at her face, searching for resemblances to hold onto the memory of the child who will never know of my existence. The eyes, soft and brown like her brother’s... like me.

And as I held her frail little body close, I tried to draw strength from my daughter. Both my children mingled into one as I kept looking at her eyes and as I broke down, holding her small hands in mine, I tried to make peace with myself, knowing very well that I had lost it for a lifetime.