Deathbed Confessions of Unrequited Love

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A thousand wounds I bore,
All different; similar gore.
The pus and blood that oozed,
Was the same of every noose.

Each cut on my frail body,
had a separate source.
Yet, it had always been yours,
the pain for which I stay woke.

The noise from my cracking bones
was your voice calling me a whore.

When I bled, they sent my blood,
to the best of labs for an autopsy.
What pathogen had gripped me so
The wanna know, they wanna know.

Your name on the report
Shook them to their core.
Poison kills poison, they thought.
And gave me then, your vaccine dose.

The discovery of the century?
My illness had no cure!

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Tell Me a Story

Helloooo peeps!

Do you remember a few days (actually weeks) ago, I promised on delivering a story every week? Yeah so after missing a week or two, yours truly is here for the simple purpose of telling you a story

Here is this week’s entry from my side:

The Chicken Piece 

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“Saab! This is the finest, the juiciest item, I have here,” the shop-keeper was advertising a product to a handsome gentleman.

I threw a shy glance in the said customer’s direction. With an immaculate garb, that must have taken him a few hours to assemble, the youth gave the airs of an elitist dandy. The scornful look, he had fixed on the carefully skinned poultry, only strengthened my apprehensions.

“Under normal conditions, I won’t be here, buying meat,” he was saying, “I have employees for such jobs.” What a snot! I thought.

“Today is a special occasion though so I will inspect the poultry myself, which judging by this lousy flesh you are offering me is not up to the mark,” he continued, “This has gone soft. I want it to be tender but firm.” Impossible expectations, I thought.

The butcher looked disappointed. He was hoping to get rid of that chicken today. It was not a fresh product, and he needed to sell it ASAP. Yet, that didn’t stop him from showing better stock to this young man. He couldn’t afford to lose a customer of his stature over a rancid hen.

The arrogant buyer selected the healthiest bird from the livestock that was cooped up inside various cages, which stood over one another.

He handed over his pick to the storekeeper and said, “I take this reluctantly. It is not up to my standard but then I am very hard to please!” He smiled. The effect it had on his features was singularly grotesque. Good looks, despite their legendary powers can’t cover the flaws originating from an unpleasant disposition, I thought.

Meanwhile, the chicken-seller sealed the fate of the fat hen with a swift yet powerful blow. Then he said, “Saab, don’t mind my asking but what is the important event?”

The abhorrent smile deepened as he answered, “A girl and her parents are coming to our place. You know, a marriage proposal. She might be the one although I doubt that very much. Standards!” He winked at the butcher, received his now neatly bagged meat, paid, and left in a hurry.

The shop-keeper pocketed the money greedily. He proceeded to hang the naked bird that nobody wanted on a wire. He had to display it; he was desperate!

I gazed after the fading figure of the self-indulgent buyer. I had played the role of the chicken in the society for too long. I knew, by experience that he will choose his wife, the way he had bought his meat. A woman or a chicken, at the end of the day, is nothing more than a piece of flesh!

Read what Midu has to say!

Let me know how do you like it in the comment section. =) 

 

Tell me a Story…

Hello peeps!

Now as my ‘about section’ will tell you, I am crazy for stories. I read them, write them, adore them, inhale them, exhale them… you get the idea! For me life was going this way until kismet decided to do me a favor, which given my history doesn’t happen too often, and I met this awesome woman, Midu Hadi, who shared my passion for stories.

Long story  short (see what I did there =P), we became friends. One thing led to another and now we are here to further our dreams that every story-enthusiast will share with us.

How?

The aim is to tell a story! This is as simple and as complicated as that. However, there are no rules. It can be prose, poem, art work, or anything. As long as it tells a story, it floats our boats. This makes it that easy and that hard. Okay, I should stop doing that. Here is the deal:

We will be sharing a story, every week with our lovely friends here but with a twist. I will give you a link of her story before sharing mine!

Read what Midu has to say

And then perhaps find out what happens…

When a Heart Fails

Once I had a brain,

With various thoughtful trains.

It housed a guy called Cerebrum,

Who was aplenty quarrelsome.

He was a big shot

And had important jobs.

Thanks to him,

The sounds made sense

The colors felt dense.

I talked, and could interpret

Without a lot of fret.

He also had a Maiden

Whom he called Cerebellum,

Who was the Master of pose!

Made my movements flow!

There were some other players too

Who mostly connected these two.

They also had in their control

All my actions I couldn’t patrol.

In short, they all performed!

Then I met your wretched form!

Kaboom! It was the big bang!

All over again but nothing had formed…

The house in my head was now a broken home.

It was an empty dome.

The gray matter

Turned into gooey batter.

And it leaked out as poison

At the slightest provocation!

I thought I’d die of this depression

Instead, I met a myocardial infarction!

P.S: Don’t forget to share what you think about it.

 

Why So Serious?

“Hi, doctor!” Jaz greeted Dr. Domestica. A poker face stared at him as she lowered her veil.

Duzan Domestica, however, had been too long in this line of business to miss why this green-skinned, strange looking girl was there in his clinic. Despite her emotionless face and heavy makeup, her smile lines were more than visible. Fanning out at the corner of her eyes were several small wrinkles resembling a cat’s whiskers or a crow’s feet. Then there were the horrible concaves bracketing her thick lips, almost conquering her nasolabial region. Duzan focused hard on her left cheek but was not sure what to make of it. He reflected for a while. Then, “Smile,” he sighed and issued the one command that only he could give without risking his life.

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As if waiting to do so all her life, Jaz gave him the brightest of smiles he had ever received. It indicated that she was in her happy place and probably knew that it was the last time she would be there because her smile was a classic clichéd one. The one that came straight from the heart or could illuminate the darkest of the hours, you know the magical one!

Duzan shook his head in despair. It was there alright — deep enough to house a million of microscopic entities or a very tiny grain — depending on which you are more likely to carry. She had the cursed symbol that alone could have destroyed her forever. She had a dimple!

“Is it that bad?” asked Jaz. Her eyes were moist because there was a lot of smoke in the dingy clinic of the damned doctor. Duzan, however, misinterpreted it to be tears of sadness.

He took a step backward from her and barked, “Hold the waterworks, please. I hate emotions. I will fix this for you but you must never do it again.”

“Do what?” asked Jaz, “The S-word?”

“Smile, laugh, giggle, snicker… nothing!” he told her, “Or else…”

“You are giving me the last stage treatment, huh?”

“I have to,” he said, “orders are orders.”


A few hours later Jaz emerged from “Domestica Cosmetica.” She was the same woman who had entered the loathsome glass building with only one exception — her face was now completely devoid of any line.

With Zac gone, she did not have any reason to smile anymore. Zac would probably be under some kind of genetic experiment at the moment that the West is notorious for, she thought, meanwhile I am stuck in the pathetic East aka the rat hole where women can’t smile.

“Women do not smile like we do,” A man on a large screen which were very common throughout the country was saying, “Their smile is a weapon more lethal than the most dangerous bomb you and I could ever invent.”

“What b*******!” Jaz checked herself just in time. She was about to scoff.

“Therefore, we suggest that all the women should pay a visit to Domestica Cosmetica and be free from the wretched signs once and for all,” the screen man concluded with a smile.

“And become a ticking time bomb the moment they dare to stretch their lips only a centimeter wider from their natural position,” Jaz muttered to herself.

She was very upset now. She missed her childhood, where all the sci-fi villainy belonged to her imagination and her mother played the role of an evil person by imposing certain rules. This real-life nefariousness was taking a toll on her nerves.

“If it got really difficult,” she told herself, “I will just laugh my worries out.”


Originally published on Medium

Read more about the siblings:

Their childhood — The Midday Adventures of Zac and Jaz

What happened to Zac — SPPRIG Testing Laboratory

Free will, Shcmee will!

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All alone in a bathtub,
With no water calming my nerves.
Naked, I am lying curled up.
Foetal style, ready to return.
Pure and intact
To my mother’s womb.

I can see, smiling folks
Waiting for me to be born.
Kick in the air and cry a lot
Even if my lungs get torn.

Knowing, what they will do to me.
I must refuse to budge from here.
Tools, they will use in vain
To force me out of her.
Then I must hold my breath.
So, they only get my shreds!

A wasted journey has to end,
Before it ever begins.
Had I only been given that will,
Alas! I will be here still.

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Her and the Cat

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Characters

LADY 1: A middle-aged woman with graying hair. She is corpulent and looks tired. She used to be a looker in her younger days. You could tell that by her twinkling, honey colored eyes. She is the wife of a decent and wealthy man. Yet, she never stops complaining.

LADY 2: An elderly widow with a small and thin figure. The Police had caught her husband smuggling money. They had taken him to the jail, but he committed suicide before being presented for a trial. He could not bear to see his reputation go to pieces. His widow became a snob afterwards. She denounces every person who dared to challenge the societal norms.

HER: A woman in her late thirties, she is not much to look at but has a cheerful demeanor. She is the spinster of the neighborhood. People are always criticizing her for her odd behavior because she is always happy. The society does not accept her. A unsuccessful person has no right to laugh without constraint.

THE CAT: A thin black cat


Scene I

Setting: Two women sitting in a lavishly decorated drawing room. The table in front of them is laden with delicious food items. The hostess is indifferent to the food. However, the other lady keeps helping herself, trying one item after the other. They are busy talking —

Lady 1: She keeps moving her fingers in her brown curls. She has a habit of batting her eyelashes after every sentence she speaks —

“So I was saying to dear husband last night we should change the entire designing of our house. I think it direly needs makeover. He never listens though. He is a miser if you ask me and yet I love him.”

She bats her eyelashes.

LADY 2 stuffs a pastry in her mouth and gulps it down with a cup of tea.

“Dear God! That is awful business. Does he not know one must keep up appearances?”

She shakes her head in disgust.

Lady 1“That is not his fault, you see. In fact, I only blame myself and my stars since nothing ever goes well with me.”

Lady 2“That must be the fruits of your elopement. You know what I say? Abide by the eternal rules of society and you will be fine.”

LADY 1 stares at her rude friend.

“Or else you might end up in the prison house, swinging with a rope, right?”

LADY 2 opens mouth to retort but stops as something outside the window catches her attention —

Lady 2“Forget our little quarrel. Look who is outside your window — so gay and bursting with optimism.”

LADY 1 glances in that direction. As she sees the spinster waving enthusiastically at her, she rolls her eyes and sighs. Reluctantly, she invites her.

LADY 2, facing the audience —

“I hate the guts of this unnaturally happy girl but I am glad she is invited. The sacrifices we have to make for the society!”

The spinster enters the room —

Her“Hello young ladies. You know I had been out on a stroll. What a lovely morning it is, isn’t it? You see I went hopping around the place, talked to some birds, enjoyed the wind as it played with my hair, and just loved the hell out of the delicious breakfast at Dennie’s. What did you two lovely girls do?”

Lady 1“Just talked a bit.”

Her“A bit? You two must have some gossip to tell, right? Come on share some with me.”

LADY 1, muttering —

“We are not a chatterbox like you.”

The Spinster looks hurt.

Lady 2“She means we were just discussing our problems and all. She wants to change the look of the entire house as it does not make her happy but her miser husband won’t allow. I say that is a blasphemy to not go by the current, which says this house needs renovation.”

Her“Oh but it is lovely just the way it is. You (she points a finger at LADY 1) just like being unhappy and you (points another finger at LADY 2) just want to please a society that does not approve of you either.”

This sudden outburst shocks the two ladies but the truth wounds them and they retort.

Lady 1“When are you getting married, dear? Don’t you think it is about time?”

Lady 2“You do know you shouldn’t be working like a horse all day long. It has made you less of a woman, you know.”

Lady 1“Now I see all the wrinkles peeking form under the layers of your makeup.”

HER: interrupting LADY 2, who was ready with her piece of razor sharp jargon —

“I am happy the way I am. Thank you very much; I don’t need a man to take care of me. I can decorate my own house as per my wishes without having to beg to a husband and I do not care one dime about the society’s opinion.”

Despite her heated words she has not betrayed a shade of anger. They were addressed rather calmly and that irritates the two ladies. She smiles at the pair of annoyed women kindly and exits.


Scene II

The spinster enters a house — her house. Every inch of the tattered building is covered with gloom and dirt. She leaves her basket of roses at the door of her bedroom. There is a mirror fixed on the side wall of the room and a black cat is sitting in the corner of the room.

HER: looking in the mirror —

“Hi, you hideous creature. How was your day? It’s time you take your medicines, you know the darkness is coming to engulf you.”

She opens a drawer of her bedside table and takes all the pills form the bottle. Gulp gulp gulp, the water sends each pill down her throat.

HER: Standing with some difficulty notices THE CAT —

“Why are you still here? Don’t you think I am ugly? Look at my wrinkles. Come on why don’t you hate me like the others.”

THE CAT: staring at the spinster —

Meow… (softly), Meow… (soothingly), Meow… (reassuringly)

Her“Come here. Lets lie down here on the floor, just the two of us — the outcasts!”

THE CAT obliges limping towards the woman, revealing that her left hind leg is missing. The two stay together hugging each other as they take a nap.

An hour later…

The CatMeow…

Attempting to wake her friend up but there is no response.

The CatMeow… Meow… Meow

With confusion and anger but there is no response.

The CatMeow… Meow… Meow

With frustration but there is no response.

The CatMeeeeeeooooooooowwwwwwwww!!!

Forlornly.

The Secret Passageway

Jahandad Balkhi was wise beyond the few years of his existence in this temporary world. He was blessed with an element of mystique, which his disciples linked with his spiritual history. He belonged to a family of Sufis. If rumours were to be believed, Jahandad was 100 years old in reality, out of which only 25 years belonged to this world. He had spent the rest of his existence exploring the secrets of the permanent world — the one that preceded and succeeded this sojourn of a few moments.

Ever since his birth, Jahandad had received divine guidance in his dreams. Initially, the situation had terrified his mother as he could not narrate to her the subject of his reverie. Being a mother, she could sense the disturbance he was put through in his sleep.

Zulaikhan Bibi was a single mother as her husband had selfishly decided to die right after impregnating her with his seeds of fertility. Therefore, she had learnt to rely on her father for guidance in almost every matter. Baba Jan was after all a spiritual man as well as a figure of authority. Known to everyone else in the vicinity as Sufi sahib, he had the wisdom and knowledge to figure out the solution to every problem. She turned to him for Jahandad’s condition as well.

“My beloved daughter,”, his father had said, “You may not know but Jahandad’s paternal grandfather used to worship Ahura Mazda — the wise lord in Zoroastrianism but he had converted to Islam after his 40th birthday. He had received a sign and as a result of it, he had migrated from Iran to Balkh in Afghanistan.”

“You mean here?”, asked Zulaikhan. She adored her father. His company soothed her as she felt a calming energy engulfing her. She could believe the most unbelievable as long as it was uttered by Baba Jan.

“Your father-in-law was a spiritual man as well,”, Baba Jan informed her, “Mystique never vanishes, dear, it just moves from one vessel to another.”

“Jahandad is a vessel? My son is a vessel?”, She asked agitated, “What is he carrying?”

“That is for him to find. It is none of your concern.”

The meeting was over.


“Ma, the baby wants to tell me something but before it could, my dream ends.” Jahandad was not a baby anymore but his dreams were as disturbing as ever.

“This is somehow related to your stature, Beta. Your wisdom and spirituality create the most eloquent language I had ever heard. It is as if a supreme power is communicating through you.”

“Ma, I want it to stop controlling me.”

“Do not be ungrateful, my child. It is a rare gift.” The answer had never been able to satisfy him and it did no good this time either.

On Jahandad’s 25th birthday, Baba Jan requested Zulaikhan to shift from her humble abode to his Haveli — the place where she had spent her childhood. Jahandad’s two maternal grandmothers — Sufi Sahab had married twice — were to ensure that their stay was lavish and comfortable — a task they kept failing at but not because of lack of trying. It was only that Jahandad remained restless throughout his visit as he had a feeling of being haunted at the Haveli.

The two women from the Haveli were entirely different from each other. While Nano — Zulaikhan’s real mother was an ordinary looking woman with simple tastes, Bebe — the stepmother was a different story altogether. She possessed otherworldly beauty and was a woman of wit. Yet, the villagers claimed that she had lost it when her son was murdered at the tender age of 14.

For Jahandad, his uncle was just a character from Baba Jan’s narrative of the incident. It had happened before he was born and he had not even seen any picture of his uncle. Bebe had burnt every single photograph for some reason. Moreover, his mother could not tell him anything about his uncle either because she did not remember him at all. She was only 13 when the incident had happened. Jahandad had found it curious but there was nothing he could do about it since he was never provided with a straightforward answer on this topic.

Each night that he spent at the Haveli only brought greater discomfort to him. Then one night, the matter was resolved.

“Ma, Ma”, Jahandad woke up in the middle of the night. He was sweating profusely. Zulaikhan was confused. She could sense that the situation was graver than usual.

“Ma, the baby…” his voice was incoherent. “Ma, the baby was innocent… It was not his mistake, Ma.”

“Bete, what are you even blabbering about. There is no baby.” It only made her son more vehement in his claims that the poor baby was not at fault.

She knew she must take her son to Baba Jan but the west wing was too far away from where they were staying. She looked helplessly at his son who seemed to be possessed by a passionate frenzy that had made him raving mad. In her desperation, she remembered the shortcut…

“Come on, son”, she was dragging Jahandad now, “I know the secret pathway.”

Suddenly Jahandad was very still and then he asked her, his voice merely a ghost’s whisper, “Ma, who had told you about the secret pathway?”

“Why? Your uncle!” came the reply.

“So now you remember him?”

She looked stunned. Finally, she remembered… him… and everything else.

“Ma, the baby was innocent!”

Zulaikhan could see her world collapse right in front of her eyes as one session after another with Baba Jan played in her memory.

“You are being married to — ” Zulaikhan could see herself sitting across his father, clad in a bridal dress but there was no groom. Why was her belly so swollen, she was only 13…

Another scene came…

“Your husband is dead”, Baba Jan was telling her but the husband in question had never existed.

“Why is Bebe always worshipping Ahura Mazda? Who is he, Baba? Is he scary?”7-year-old Zulaikhan emerged in her memory.

“I will kill you, you rascal”, it was Baba Jan’s voice but different. It was scary and profane — the two things he never was! This time it was not his room and there were no sessions in progress but it was the secret passage way-her stepbrother had discovered for his secret activities.

Zulaikhan turned towards his son. There were no more memories left. Jahandad smiled at his mother. He knew that he was even worse than a bastard — the creation of incest!

 

This post was originally published on Medium

Patient # 102

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I was walking. It was a huge crowd — lots and lots of people. Most of them were adults — people in their 30’s and 40’s, you know. There were a few children as well — hopping along the crowd. They were too few, though, but it did not matter. Children only matter if they are going to grow up and this group here was not destined to be adults — lucky bastards!

The majority of these adults were women with a dozen or so males following them like slaves follow their masters. I think the only reason these males were kept alive was for mating so they could produce the children who would never grow to become adults.

She was there too — the love of my life, walking in the front row. She was their leader, being the most beautiful woman in the crowd. I, on the other hand, was stuck in the last row — among the ugliest men. I was not ugly, though. However, being handsome was not an advantage for me because I was made impotent. I was useless. Why were they keeping me alive? Perhaps she has told them to do it. Did she love me? But that was impossible. She was the reason behind my castration!


He was still bleeding when they found him. The gruesome weapon in his hands was shining with crimson blood. He was sitting on the toilet seat. The rescuers could see a severely mutilated reproductive organ but there was no acknowledgement of pain in his brown eyes. They were empty — he was a vegetable!


A doctor and a patient’s family were deep in discussion. Patient #102 was their main concern.

“I think some event has triggered his otherwise inactive gene, which is responsible for creating a chemical imbalance in his mind”, the doctor was saying, “Are you 100% sure he had never had any traumatic experience of being sexually assaulted?”

“Never”, said the father, his voice betraying a shade of hurting pride.

“I am not sure”, intervened his wife.

She looked around. Everybody was staring at her now. Her eyes were brimming with tears of pain and hurt.

He is so young — only 18, she thought and a sob skipped her.

“I…I think it has something to do with Katrina”, she was shaking all over her body as she said this. Her son had been staying at the house of his recently widowed aunt. They had sent him to comfort her and her little daughter and help them around, as they were new in town.

“You mean to say”, her husband’s paternal love was transforming into intense anger as he said, “She did something to him to…”

He failed to complete the sentence.


On the dark curtain of his mind, the same film was being played on repeat. He was the star of this movie — the hero and the villain.

He was standing in a dimly lit room — naked, ready to commit the felony again. The beauty standing in front of him — scared out of her wits, was not his aunt. It was his angelic cousin — the love of his life!

Then something happened!

She exposed his villainy. The penalty was to suffer from insufferable madness. He was to stay stuck in one horrific moment for the rest of his life.

 

Originally published on Medium

Silent Witnesses—Despicable Beings

Kindness…. Humanity….. Sympathy…. Empathy

Words are losing their value and meaning because people are murdered without reason.
We are laughing while at the exact moment some mother is losing her child.
Desentisized inhumane humans—this is who we really are. I will still care for my own petty agendas and desires. I will still not put others above myself. I am still not human. I will still be hesitant before giving when I do not have the assurity that I will get something in return. Where is my faith?
Where is my kindness?
Where is my humanity?
Where is my sympaathy?
Where is my empathy?
I sit comfortably while my people are burning.

“The diary of a conventionally unconventional woman”

“Tell me again what exactly have you done to deserve all these comforts in your life?”, His father shouted at him-again. He was not sure for how many times he had listened to this taunt. He used to keep count but had long since lost it.
He ignored Mr. Zubair-Sir Zubair as he left the room. His father was a Professor at a University. Before that, he had been an associate professor and even before that, he used to be an assistant professor and preceding all these titles, he was a lecturer. What was he before that? Nobody knew! “Human”, his son Sheharyar would often jokingly say to his mother.
Mrs. Zubair was a nice woman.
Are you kidding me? Nobody is nice, nowadays, least of all a woman. She was shrewd, sensible, and as successful as her position in life would grant her permission to be. Nice people are never ‘successful.’ Anyways, her only mistake in life was that she had married Mr. Zubair. It was not exactly a mistake since nobody had asked for her consent. It was decided by her parents and she had to oblige. when she was young, ‘love marriages’ were not as common and she had not found the rare chance of meeting a ‘khwabun ka shehzada’ when she was an ‘alhar mutyar’ that a few lucky girls from her time would get. Although their lives would not be any different from hers except that they can sometimes revel in the happiness that they had played a major role in making the biggest and only decision of their lives.
Mrs. Zubair was past that age when such trivialities could bother her but she would often think that given the choice she would have married the ‘other guy’ that her father had rejected. The only reason for his superiority over Mr. Zubair was ‘money’ but then again that is a very powerful motive to do anything!
Zubair sahib was not half as rich but many times ‘shareef’ than him, which is a deadly combination! Therefore, her life did not turn out to be, as she would have liked. Nevertheless, she would not stop praising Zubair sahib. It was her duty and the only source of income. A woman has to worship her husband if she wants to be fed!
Besides, she had no hopes from her son. Sheharyar was a nice kid and all but, he was not made out to excel. Despite having great brains, the kid was never gonna go places as he was lazy and an idealist. He talked about stupid things. He was like his father, even worse. Mrs. Zubair often wondered why he could not be more like her. She was often amazed as he would claim to have dreams and talked of ‘one day I will do this…’ and ‘one day I will do that…’ Mrs. Zubair knew that no such day was coming and her son would be living hand to mouth with a wife and many children. This was another fault of her son’s. He was compassionate and emotional. She knew he could easily fall in love and the girls these days were quite sharp. Any young woman with a sense of a pea could easily trap him except why would she do that if she had any sense…
Although, she was severely disappointed by both the men in her life but they were the only people she had so she had no choice but to put up with them. Her only solace was in the praises she recieved ! Every person who visited them appreciated her sense and skill. They called her a perfect wife, loving mother, and a wonderful homemaker. How these little comments delighted her! She lived off these compliments.
All women are stupid, after all!