Trip to the moon.

“God exists” I declared

He looked up the sky,” do you think he is sitting there, watching two drunk people talking about him?” he asked.

“Nope, he is every where… like the ether medium…inside everything considered as matter, you and me” I clarified.

“So he will hear if I call him a f@##er?” he asked.

“I think he already knows what you think of him”.

But my answer didn’t do any good. He yelled up in to the sky “you f@##er, I don’t think you exist”. I rolled my eyes. Too much of alcohol.

Suddenly he noticed the moon. “I want to go to the moon”, he said with a smile.

“Surely you can”. I was about to preach him the nothing-is-impossible crap, but he said “yeah I will, one day”. He was full of hope. It was a good thing. I like people having hopes for the impossible. They are fools to the realists, but a good company to the alcoholics.

His trip of going to the moon was to die, then to decay. Then one of his hydrogen molecules will escape from the earth’s atmosphere, and then he will enter the orbit of the moon. Too smart for a drunken guy eh?

“Perhaps, I can die too and sent one of molecule along with you. We will fuse together, in the moon becoming helium and giving out hell lot of energy”, I said looking at the moon myself. I just wanted to give him a company in his trip to moon, like I was giving him company in drinking.

I didn’t mean it to be romantic. The guy who was standing in front was almost a stranger, but all I wanted to do was to show compassion. To show him that I like his company… and that many will like his company. To show him that there are a lot of good people here in earth and that he doesn’t have to go to the barren moon to find peace.

He looked at me now. After a bit of hesitation, he bent down for a kiss. I didn’t move, denial clearly in my eyes. I didn’t want to be kissed, or maybe I didn’t want to be kissed yet. He understood my reluctance and straightened up.

“Want to get some more beer?” he asked sportively. “Yeah” I replied immediately feeling relieved. We both sprinted out to get some more beer. No more talks about the moon, we decided.

It is all about the crow!

We were in a housing colony, somewhere along the countryside where the land was endowed with greenery. All the malice of the world was unknown to the people there. In that piece of heaven, there were 2 angels. Me and her.

She was looking in to the infinity mulling over something. She was quiet the whole evening, and on the way back from temple. Something was bothering her, and I was waiting patiently to know the source of her irritation.

“Can a crow fart?” She asked out of the blue.

“What?” I blurted out. Even though the question was absurd, my mind had started to process the question thrown at me. The crows unlike humans have a single hole to do all their business. I thought about the peristaltic moments in the bowels, and the diet of a crow which can possibly end in farting. I thought about it for good 20 minutes, and in the end I was blank. Can a crow fart?

“I don’t know”. I said.







“My mother won’t be able to go to Crorepathy show”. Her voice was heavy with sadness.

Crorepathy is a reality show, where they will ask you some questions, and if you get them right…wola! You are a Crorepathy. But, I never knew her mother was in to being rich and famous. To me, she seemed to be content in staying in the colony itself.

“What happened?”

“I got a call from Crorepathy program, when my mother was not there”…she started narrating…”they asked me two questions, which I answered correctly…but this was the third one. I seriously don’t know if a crow can fart. I even tried googling it, but nothing came up”. She was feeling guilty for letting her family down.

“That is a tough question. How come one can know if a crow can fart or not?” I asked her, trying to console her.

I used to visit her parents after this small walk to the temple. We knocked the door and it was opened by her older cousin. He is a techie working in some IT firm who used to visit us, once or twice a year. He was the big brother for both of us, teaching us both the good and bad things of life. As we entered he pulled my hair, and I kicked at him. That was our way of sharing pleasantries.

Her mother offered me a cup of tea. I was sipping the tea when she asked “did you get a call from Crorepathy?” to her. There was a tone of accusation in her voice. I gulped down the mouthful of hot tea. I can see the panic rising in my friend. I started to panic too, a family fight is going to break lose and I was sitting right in the middle of it. I eyed the ways to exit.

“Maa… I didn’t mean it ma… the questions were really tough… I thought I will make it, I never thought they will ask questions about biology… you know ma…. I am not that good in biology, I am sorry ma… I really am…” she was on the verge of breaking down to tears. I held my breath, to hear the final verdict from her parents. Are they going to throw her out of the house or are they going to going to kill her?

“How tough the questions can possibly be?”Her cousin asked her. She glared at him for adding fuel to the fire and I thanked God, for not blessing me with a bigger brother.

“Could it be as tough as the question…” he continued…” Can a Crow fart?!”

The whole room broke in to laughter and she stood in the middle looking pale. I was confused. Should I join them in their laughter as they had given me tea, or should I stand beside my friend in her state of embarrassment? Then I realized no one was paying attention to my reaction to the whole thing. So I let it pass, by occasionally laughing when her parents looked at me and acted grim when she looked at me.

It was dark when I stood up to go to my home. It was a 10 minute walk from her house and Her cousin volunteered to walk me to my home. While on the walk back to my home, I was not able to keep my curiosity at bay.

“Can a crow ACTUALLY do that?” I asked him.

THE END.

Blood-Ties

I was waking up from my afternoon nap. It has been two days since I got home from college. Two quiet days.

My mother was sitting next to me. I reckoned by her sobs that she hasn’t gotten over the fight with my father. My room was her solace at the times like this. The sleep made me feel fresh and my stomach growled; I haven’t eaten anything for the past 24 hours. Perhaps, no one did in the house. I didn’t care.

I got out of my bed, brushed my teeth even though it was night 7 O' clock. I made myself some tea and tried to open the fridge to see if there is anything to eat. It was locked. Why would someone lock the fridge in their own house?

I went back to my mother. “It is your father, he took all the food and locked it inside”, she told me not waiting for me to ask the question.

I sighed. I know this is the start of another fight. I was calm. It is not the first time.

I walked up to his room, and knocked on his door. No answer. He usually sits with his headphone on, so I called at him louder. Nothing. I called him many more times, and silence greeted me back. I stood there before the closed door…waiting.

I looked down at my hands, it was shivering. My body is pumping me with adrenaline preparing me for the impending fight. Tears of anger were welling up my eyes, thinking of begging my own father for food.

I waited for another 15 minutes….waiting for him open the door. I cursed the moment, when I thought of coming home for my holidays. Two days… two days, I have been here. No one even noticed. No one asked how my college was; No one knew I flunked in another test. My family knew nothing about me. Somewhere in the past they had lost their daughter and I had lost my sense of direction.

I had enough. I had to end all these. I had to fix my life ….. some one has to die.

I walked back to kitchen. Searched for the knife. I returned back, to that locked door behind which my father was hiding. I knocked again. I was breathing heavily. In another 30 minutes, the vendetta of 24 years is going to end.

I took 2 steps back, kicked on the door with all my might. It budged a little. I heard my father getup from his chair in alarm. I did it again and again. The door didn’t break, apart from the slight bend. I pushed the door with my hands…stabbed on it with the knife. I did everything to break it through. The door didn’t yield. That door was not made to be broken by a wee 18 year old girl.

A pictured my father smiling at my futile attempts and my anger went up another notch. I looked around still holding the knife. I was alone in the hall; my mother was sitting in my room cocooned in her own misery. Out side my house, the neighbors were asleep. The night was calm even the crickets was not making the sound. Everything was so peaceful…so beautiful. Everything was right in the world I lived in, except for the boiling rage in my heart. Am I the only mis-fit in the peaceful world? Am I the only trouble-maker?

A scream broke thorough from my throat shattering the calmness of the night.

I screamed with all the anger that is in me. I saw the neighbors turning on their lights, and rushing outside. My mother who was a silent spectator till now rushed to me. I pushed her away. I loathed the acceptance she showed without even putting up a fight. I screamed again and again, at my helplessness. I screamed until I crumpled down on the floor.

When my screams faded down to wails, I looked up at the door of my father’s room with tears stained face.

It was still locked.