Why don't you write anymore?

 

“Keep writing like so.”

“Why?”

“Whenever you write I feel as if you are trying to convey your own emotions, something that you might want to say directly but can’t.”

“Nothing like that.”

“So you're telling me that the characters in your story aren’t used by you to express yourself?”

“They are just characters in my story with their own opinions and thoughts. They reflect emotions which are generally felt by people anyway. Don’t think too much of it.” He lit his cigarette, sending a puff of smoke in the air as he smoked … blurring Meera’s face. She smiled and said “Whenever I read your stories I feel as if I know something more about you.”

“That’s what you think and what you think is a misconception.” He stood up and said “Just read what I write, don’t read into what I write. Don’t analyse. You might start thinking of things that don’t even exist.”

That was six months ago. He kept writing, she kept reading his work. Only, she stopped commenting and giving her feedback. And then he didn’t publish anything for four months. Such quietness from someone abuzz made her wonder if everything was right with him. She went to his home that evening.

“I thought you forgot where I lived.”

“Oh shut up! I was just going past and thought …”

“For heaven’s sake Meera!” He laughed out loud “What do you mean by “just going past”? My home isn’t in the middle of a market nor does any of your acquaintances live anywhere near here. Your excuses are just as badly cooked as your food.”

She made a face and said “I just came to look up and see if you’re ok. You haven’t written for some time …”

“Because you read me a lot and I want to save something for myself. If I am left with nothing then you will leave me. Just like we discard a plate when there’s nothing left in it.”

Why God?

I look into your eyes
And ask God
"Why can't I see him
Everyday, forever?"

I hug you tightly
And ask God
"Why isn't it in my fate
To be held in his arms?"

I hold your hand
And ask God
"Why can't I walk the
Path of my life with him?"

God pulled you apart from me
And said
"How can I give him to you?
He simply isn't in your destiny".



Sheetal S

I Too Want To Touch The Stars

 

I too want to touch the stars.
I too want to fly
High up in the sky.

My wings are tied.
I am told to break free
God alone knows how hard I try.

And when I do manage to
Wrestle and break free
I am told
There are no stars left for me.




~ Sheetal Soni

I'll resume the fight

 

The wolves howl,
The woods scare
The darkness sneers
I have to go through anyway.

The winds pierce
The cold bites
With no respite
I have to march ahead anyway.

I have done this
A hundred times before.
I will have to do this
Many times more.

But tonight my dear,
I’m drained,
I'm scared.
I'm lost.
I’m bared.

Please hug me tonight
Please hold me in your arms lovingly
All through the night.
Tomorrow I'll be stronger
And I promise …
I'll resume the fight.

A Permanent Scar

I had been going to a patient's house for over eight months as a carer. My patient was an old woman who needed help with medication and personal care. Her son lived with her. The carers were given strict instructions never to leave her alone. Usually it wasn’t a problem as one of her sons was always present.

Last week however the son left when I came and promised he'll be back within half an hour, which is the length of my visit. Half an hour passed, he didn't come. I got ready to leave but suddenly the woman held my hand and cried, telling me not to leave her alone. I called the office and asked them to contact her son. He responded that he'll be back in 15 mins. I assured the woman but she just stood at the door refusing to let me go. The son came, apologised profusely and explained the reason for his delay. He was sorry for his mom's behaviour too but I said it's ok as I still have time for my next visit. This happened again during the week.

Yesterday her son told me the reason behind her terror of being left alone. "We three sons had always known to have happy parents. Mum always made sure the house was In perfect order. We were sent away to boarding school. Whenever we came back from holidays mum would be so happy and she simply wouldn't let us go back. She would cry and plead. We assumed it was her motherly love. Till we grew up. My brother was studying psychology and he insisted that from now on we go to meet our parents without informing them. I found it odd but agreed. So one day we three brothers decided to take leave from college and go meet our parents. The eldest brother had the keys to the house. We reached our house and as we unlocked the door, we saw the horror that our mother had been hiding from us all these years just to keep our childhood normal. My dad was mercilessly beating her with a stick. We rushed in, took mum to a doctor. Dad was too drunk. In the hospital mum cried and told us that he used to hit her only when no one was in the house so that there would be no witnesses. Also, the reason why we were sent away to boarding school. We eventually made mum file for divorce and it's been 5 years that my dad has passed away. But as you can see, the mental scars remain".

I listened with moist eyes. The fear, the terror lives on even after the tormentor dies. That's the cruelty of domestic violence.

The Tree

 

He went and sat under the tree in the forest beside his house.

It wasn't that he didn't have any friends. He had many to play with, to talk to. But none that he could really talk to without being judged. He had once told his friend that he was scared of the dark. His friend told everyone in the class and he got teased about it in the playground. He had then come running to this huge tree and cried. And he felt relieved. Ever since then, he would run to the tree whenever his father told him off, his mother chided him, his teacher scolded him or his friends fought with him. He shared his achievements and jubilations with the tree. Sometimes he would go and sit under the tree and tell all his secrets, all his wishes, his aspirations, his fears.

The tree listened silently … just like it listened to many others like the boy. It was least bothered about the events in the boy's life. And he knew it. But it didn't matter to him because for him it was enough that he could lighten up himself, unburden himself beneath the tree. It's presence gave him solace, his presence didn't matter to the tree.

Some people are trees too.

Sheetal Soni

The Sea

 

The sea. Huge and immense. Calm and serene. Rocky and rough. It sustains a huge diverse ecosystem within it.

The sea. It lets people relax on the shores. It lets people swim in as much as they can. It lets people cross lands over it. It lets people dig in for their food.

Instead of being thankful, some people choose to throw rubbish at the sea and litter it, exploit it, pollute it. The sea bears all calmly. Despite all that is thrown at it, it never breaches its shoreline. And there lies its strength. Its might. It knows that it can punish those erring humans in a matter of a few minutes by running over the very land that they inhabit, destroying everything that comes in its way. But no, that is not its strength.

The sea's strength lies in reigning its temper, its fury and not breaching the coastline because it knows that doing so will cause complete destruction, desecration and death. The power to destroy and yet the control over its own power is its supreme strength.

Some people are like the sea.




~ Sheetal Soni