I'm trying to sleep here

I always turn the music on and head out to the balcony after waking up, it's a ritual of sorts. Sometimes I'm brushing my teeth and other times drinking bed-tea with my stale mouth. I slide the door open and the bird flies off to the nearest tree holding some twigs and straw with its mouth. The season is fall, the bird is a robin, and the twigs is for a nest its building on the AC unit that protrudes out the wall in the verandah.



I wish we could exchange words, that I could tell it that it can keep on building its nest and I'm not going to hurt it. Maybe it would thank me for that. Alas! the language and barrier. But why would it be rebuilding a nest that was abandoned last year and one that had already dropped an egg onto the ground just last month. I guess its nice to not know.
Their venture into a new season reminds me of my sister starting out her married life. I'm very happy for her, but selfishly I'm sad too. Knowing that I won't be able to wake her in the morning the next time I go back home is heavy on my emotions. But even more saddening is not being able to attend the wedding and having pictures to satisfy my heartache.
I miss all of it and wish I could go back to sleep. I lie awake on my bed, eyes staring into the fuzzy stars; remembering playing with my brothers and sisters in the evening and the sounds of the summer evening critters. Somehow these old sentiments lie hidden during the day -- my busy schedule keeps it in control. But I can't hold back all of it within me, and every night it makes itself known.
Now I lie awake, seeing if counting stars is going to help me sleep, and if it doesn't then I guess there's always Nyquil.

Blood Suckers

The sun took a deep breath as it slowly went under the horizon. Dust seemed to be growing in the evening market as people gathered to talk about their day. They gathered in the tea shops and under the big peepal tree. Some sat there contemplating their day, reading newspapers and watching people, all while slowly sipping their tea.  Others chatted with the villagers bragging about their offices and their children. They talked loud as they spoke of how they had met with a famous person at the office, and how their children were somewhere far away fulfilling their dreams. The audience could only listen in awe and console themselves, knowing they could never be like these educated bada people. In the background was the constant whirring of the kerosene stoves, over which was a big wok filled with hot oil. The cooks were making pakodas, samosas, puris with the flair of a chef in a French restaurant. Nearby, in the middle of the square, was another vendor who seemed to have his hands full. Business was good for his evening momo as people queued up to get at their favorite dumplings. They blew at it to cool it down faster so they could gulp it quicker. Further down was a group of vendors selling pani puris and chana chatpats catering to a more bitter-sour palate.

Above this evening commotion lay a group of silent watchers as they quietly waited for darkness to fall and the people to go back to their homes.  Some of the scouts were already at work irritating the people so they would go home sooner. A few would die, but it would not be in vain. They were in the trees, in the grass, everywhere patiently waiting and waiting.  Although their lives were short, they had been taught to be patient and stalk their prey.

The last suns ray finally disappeared and there was only darkness filled with the electric lights. They liked this modern invention.  It gave warmth and helped them move about freely, occasionally invisible in the darkness and then visible again in the light. This partial invisibility gave them a chance to get closer to their prey.  But still they waited.  Some impatient ones had already gone hunting -- some had died while others had had their fill. But the thirst for blood was insatiable. They would be hungry again and again, and the hunt would go on throughout the night.

The blood suckers had heard about places where there was so much jungle and brush that they could feast all the time.  Drifters had told stories of not getting time to sleep.  It was an eating festival all day and night long. They could choose which animal they wanted to feast on. It was a free for all.  No one cared and everyone was free. But these hungry creatures didn't care for stories.  They liked their societal structure just the same.  There were some rules that they had to follow but it was not much compared to the reward of drinking human blood.  They just loved the flavors of human blood, after all the blood took its taste from the prey’s food.  Sometimes it was salty and sweet, sometimes it had a spicy kick to it, and sometimes it was just a medley of flavors. Oooooo..... you just could not explain the flavors.  It was just sooo worth it.

With modernization, the humans had developed methods to thwart off these vampires. In the past, there had not been much options.  It was easier to find loopholes to sneak through and get at the blood. But now it was much difficult.  The humans had found new technology and had become smarter.  The older folks told stories of how their ancestors had it easy, how they didn't have much to worry about, how it is such a difficult world now and how much better the past was. Even though their methods remained the same as it had been in the past, the foolish humans array of preventive measures could not keep them from getting at their food.

And now it was time to feast.  Their leader at the front buzzed at everyone. Eagerly they hovered with their needles sharp and ready to do the biting. The scouts had come back with news of where the easiest preys were to be found.  Hunger gave them little patience yet discipline kept everyone in their place.  The leader was amused and impressed by their hunger and discipline but he would have a mutiny if he kept them too long. So with a final buzz he flung towards the dimly lit houses, his mob of hungry mosquitoes following right behind him.

Note for herself

“Dear …” she wrote.

She listened to the rain pouring outside, a melody to their wonderful death.

“I am leaving… I will be safe. Please don't come try to find me. I will call you when I am able to….”

She looked at the picture and looked at how happy they had been during that time six years ago. Everyone seemed to be smiling and laughing, enjoying the wedding. They had thought this was it and it would be forever.

“…Our times had been good when we first started out. But I cannot stand the silence when we are by ourselves. We thought ours was special. We both looked so happy and didn’t care what everyone thought. How the times have changed! Over the past couple of years I have wondered if this was it. I have really thought it over and realize that we were not meant to be together. We took our childish fantasies too seriously. Our marriage has become an empty shell -- beautiful with a wonderful song, but only because it is empty. ”

A teardrop fell on her writing, smudging it. She let it be.

“We started out as friends. I think we should have realized that we were meant only to be friends. Our harmless flirting led us on. Before we realized it, we were the couple. The teasing only added to it and though neither of us was sure we went with it. We didn’t see it then, but when I look back at it now, it seems so obvious.”

“Couples are not made in heaven, and this is not a fairy tale. Every rescued princess does not have to marry the savior. How could we not see that we would have not worked? Even so, for the time we were married, I gave it my best. I tried to be the good wife and partner you were looking for. You have given your best too. But now I’m tired of pretending. I cannot pretend to act the way that I am not. It is taking a toll on me and I sleep every night, dreading the next morning when we both will have to act our parts as if nothing had been wrong.”

“I am not complaining that you have been a bad husband. You have done nothing wrong and I know that you would not do anything to hurt me. But every morning I can hear the words you never utter. I can feel the alienation between us and I am sure you feel the same too. Both of us have been acting for too long and if you won’t take the next step, I am afraid I will have to.”

“Time can teach you to love, but I’m tired of waiting on time. It has dragged on too long and I have sacrificed a lot. I thought our feelings from the past would resurface and we would be fine, but it has not been that way. In fact it has been going the other way ever since. The more I try to love you, the phonier this relationship seems. This pretending has created a convoluted reality that I am desperate to escape. I cannot keep doing this… I cannot … keep pretending…”

She looked around at her house and all the decors she had so carefully put up. The souvenir from their honeymoon hung on the wall, their wedding picture where they looked so happy, and a carefully framed picture of her family in their last vacation. Her son was looking at her. This was her family -- herself, her husband and her son all smiling for the picture. ‘The happy family’ she thought. She kept looking at her son’s innocent smile and saw some hope. He was only five now and he still had to face the world. How would he take the news if she and her husband went their separate ways? He wouldn’t be the happiest kid in school but he would grow over it. Really, would he? The more she thought the more she felt the need to nurture and protect. The mother within her cried selfish but the woman in her called for freedom.

She took the note she had been writing and carefully folded it in half. Her eyes stared at it with mixed emotions, fingers playing with the folded crease. She made up her mind. Determined, she walked over to the fireplace and flung her selfish freedom into it. The deed was done but she kept staring into the iridescent flames -- at the note being consumed by it. White paper turned dark ash as the fire ate at it and she cried. She kneeled in front of the fire and wept like she had never wept. She wept for all the dreams she had sacrificed, everything she had left unsaid and all the illusionary happiness. The fire reflected in her tears – dancing in the salty mess. She wept till her tears ran dry.

Her note was no more but she had her child to look after. A sigh of relief and dread escaped her lips as she stood up and wiped her now dry cheeks. She turned around and went to the bedroom. There was some unpacking to do.

House of Cards

Carefully the base cards leaned against each other. They weren’t so different from the ones above them but there was strength in numbers. They couldn’t see how tall their house was but it was good to know that their house was standing strong. Their heads would occasionally get tickled by the cards lying across -- but they didn’t budge.

How different these were to the lone pair on top who thought of themselves as the kings of the card house. They looked down upon their subjects with contempt. If only the rest of the cards knew what the ingrates were thinking.

Someone knocked on the door and their creator turned to open the door. A slight breeze swept in inviting the two impostors to dance. They moved their corners in rhythm but failed to see how it would affect the others. The others, in their naivety, tried to bear it but couldn’t. The house gave way and the mighty fell.

Their creator looked at the mess, and cursed in a language they did not understand. Big hands collected all the cards together and put them back into the same deck.