Dying dreams

"At night, I woke up shivering,
quivering, quirky dreams 
dreaming.
Salty sweat covered my body,
as i lay, lay dreaming of you,
and your death. 

The funeral procession,
an orthodox obsession,
was marked by your dead body
lying on a scarlet stretcher.
fetcher of which were four strong men. 

Your mother, wearing a dead pan expression,
the old broken lady as she is, was heard muttering,
'First my husband, now not my daughter! ' while those who came,
hogged with no bother. 

I remember clearly,
as if I wasn't dreaming, but only,
witnessing your scarlet death bed,
with you, like a pale wilted lotus,
warm and soft, wrapped in your,
white shroud. 

In the midst of all this I found, myself,
bitterly shedding tears and
filled with an acute sense of loss. 
And all hope had gone,
as I trudged through the funeral hall. 

Once outside, I lit a fag,
which from my lips sagged,
as I overheard an old couple say,
that you have gone to a better place.
Heaven, they said, is where you have gone,
but how could that be when,
your heaven and hell were beside me all along. 

As I drew a mournful drag,
from the fag, which still sagged,
a wave passed me through and though,
and I thought, what really could have become of you? 
'We break into a flock of pigeons upon our death '
I remember I had once said,
when we were sitting in that crack,
of that gigantic wall, of Cannaught Place. 
So could it be that you are a flock of pigeons now? Or maybe a colony of ants? A pride of lions, somewhere in japan?

But as the fag finished and I came back,
it made me feel hollow,
that you were dead. 
I could have dreamed more,
maybe to the point of
your coming back,
but I couldn't dream anymore,
the sense of loss was much to bear."
So, he woke up in cold sweat, and wrote,
what came to his head? 

A tree

Eulogizing a brook, Tennyson wrote, 'For men may come, and men may go, but I go on forever '. Same can be said of a tree, though the sense of motion is absent in this analogy.

Like that tree outside my grandmother's house, a tree sees the passing of generations, father to son, son to grandson and so on, even ages, like in the case of those long standing river-bank Banyan trees of Vrindawan where once a naughty Krishna made out with the fair bodied gopis. Yet a tree remains standing still, un -pompous, inconspicuous, fixed to its place, constantly pumping oxygen into the atmosphere.

I don’t clearly remember which tree it was, but what I remember is that it was tall and broad, climbable with big broad thick leaves which bled a white syrup on being broken. I remember it was right next to the main gate of the house and though its foliage wasn't very dense, it gave a pretty good shade.

The tree looked like a straw hat wearing china man and it was fun climbing it. It had a light grey trunk and branches and leaves of different shades of yellow and green. It was very easy to climb, in fact it seemed like the tree was ready to gather one in its lap.

Every time I went to my grandmother's house, it was a ritual for me to spend almost half of the waking hours somewhere in it. I read, dreamed, wrote, even tried to sleep on it, all because there was a sense of security and calm once you climbed the tree. Sitting six feet above the ground I felt safe and secure. It was like after so many years I was being pampered by someone again, by letting me climb in their lap. In that moment the tree was like my father as I saw him in my childhood, huge, strong, serious and invincible. Someone I could run to and find a safe refuge in, in troubled times, someone who would always be there, whether rain or snow, thunder or storm, no one, nothing could stop him from being there, cradling me, protecting me.

Also not absent was the fact that mamma gravity was not working so much on me. I felt free in a certain way, like I was ready to take flight or something. It was sitting on that tree at my grandmother's place, that I first saw life from above the normal vision level, sitting on it, I had a generalizing vision, a vision, a perspective like that of a hawk, say, flying so many miles above the ground, seeing everything small, petty, compartmentalized, like, say, even god, sitting somewhere in the sky, above our heads, spying and eavesdropping, to find the sinners and punish them.

And then one winter, when my grandparents were renovating the house, they cut the tree down. A light grey walkway leads to the house now, with no tree there, and on certain strange days I think I can sometimes spot a big broad yellow leaf in the garden next to the gate somewhere..

http://www.writerbabu.com/post/4226/a_tree/ 

Useless Park Scene

The streetlight shines brightly against a deep blue night sky. Of the five guys present in that corner of the  parking lot,  two are sitting on the stairs, one stands, leaning against a parked car, and two are sitting on the broad cemented table like upward projection, which borders the staircase.

They are talking about love. One of them, to be precise, the one sitting on the steps, is very drunk and is in a visibly bad shape, he looks completely distraught. One of the two sitting on the cemented ledge of the stairs is crushing weed while the one standing is talking animatedly.

"Uh have to believe me on this mate; everyone comes alone, stays alone and goes alone. No one is here for you, nor are you for anyone" then aiming his speech at the drunk one, he said, "If that bitch fucked u over, you should just not give a fuck about her anymore."

A guard, dressed in a combination of blue and black, passes them by blowing a shrill whistle, the guy sitting next to the one crushing weed gestures towards the guard and the one crushing weed stops, looks at the guard, shrugs and seals a nicely rolled slim joint with a swift lick of his tongue.

The one sitting next to the drunken one stares blankly into the space just above the head of the one standing.

The joint is boomed by the guy sitting next to the one crushing, who in turn, sits, looking at the drunken one, who is staring at the ground, intensely.

"She refused to acknowledge me" said the drunken one, still staring at the ground, "you see those people standing there? " he said pointing at a family standing next to their car, at the other end of the parking lot, "she behaved just as they would behave if I went to talk to them, just like total stranger.  "

The guard passes them by,  whistling again; gesturing to other guards, but does not look at them. The joint moves to the guy standing, who now sits between the two guys sitting on the cemented thing.

"You don’t smoke?" asked the guy who had rolled the j to the drunk one, who is now staring at the number plate of a car in front of him on which the guy now smoking the j was leaning previously.

"No mite, don`t make him smoke, he is already too high " he says

"But it`ll do him good " countered the other one, stretching the middle of the word a little.

"No I don`t smoke " finally replied the drunk one, slowly, and with a snigger. 

The j goes to the roller, who takes a long chill 'um drag. Suddenly the one who was sitting next to him previously, stands up, dusts his ass, and says, "Bhai, I am leaving” emphasizing on the ‘I’ and without saying anything else, leaves. The two sitting on the cemented thing, keep looking in the direction of the departing one, while the other two keep their gaze fixed at different things, as before.

The night sky turns into a total black from deep blue and suddenly, getting all sentimental about what was going on around, the one who was crushing weed, says "the point dude is, she is not coming back? Is she? So find a new one. How long can you go on chasing the same chick? One has to move on, one day or the other, so why not now? "I have loved Bhai, I was in love and I am in love still, even when she has refused me " said the drunk in a drunk tone, " and now I will wait for her my entire life, and you know what? " he said with such excitement, that the rest were compelled to repeat,     "what ".

"Now even if she comes back, I won`t let her into my life again, at the same time I`ll not marry or anything, but wait for her."

There was such aggression in his voice that it made his statement believable, the passion in his bloodshot red eyes was enough to square any rebuttal,

"Look at the way he is talking now mite" is all that is produced, "don`t you get mah point bout individuality mite? Not at all?"follows.

Suddenly the silent one, stands up from the stairs, and leaves saying, "nature`s call" grinning.

"He talks?" Says the roller sarcastically, but not loud enough for the answerer of the nature`s call to hear.

The two left on the cemented thing are passing the j between them, while the drunken one sits staring at the number plate as before.

"So we ah goin to this party in Hauz Khas village mite, do uh wanna come? "

"Me? Dude. No. Now? Not possible." Says the roller who is fidgeting with his phone, and finally after making several hesitant finger touches, comes a broken wail of Thom Yorke, moaning,

Don`t get any /big idea / they are not gonna happen.

The one gone to answer natures call comes back. Grinning.

"Let`s go then, mite, towards booze and chicks! "

The drunken one looks up, the ground below is wet. He had been crying. The roller stubs the smoldering roach into the mud, next to the stairs and says, "ok then see you tomorrow " and leaves after shaking hands with everyone. Thom 's voice trailing behind him,

You go to hell for all your dirty mind is thinking.

"Let`s go mite, no point crying" says the only one seated on the cemented thing now and they both climb the stairs and leaves.

The lamp flickers for a while and then holding its ground against the dark, continues shining against a pitch black night sky.