I feel out of touch
A tad bit rusty
Cranky and creaky
Tinny and such
The words clump together
With a grind and a grate
I wonder if a month away
Has dulled my tapestry of verse
Shimmering skeins that advance and traverse
Embroidering and stitching
Notions and qualms
Into billowing storms
Into rippling, sashaying ribbons of calm
Bewildering phrases that make me guffaw
Festering sentences painful and raw
In bobbing waves with lacy edges
In crashing, lashing, tearing deluges
In twinkling stardust upon my page
My blinking cursor running away
With the train of my thoughts to the drum of my heart
Laughing, singing, assuaging an ache
Grieving, weeping, caught in the wake
I wonder if my keyboard, unstirred, unscathed
For two score nights and forty days
Has borne my quickening string away.
SHORT STORY|Days of Purgatory – (Part 3)
“I have a bit of a secret to tell you”, said Sabeen lounging contentedly on the sofa near the wall.
Dinner had been fabulously satisfying. She’d had two helpings of the fettuccine in all its curried glory and had just finished a not ungenerous slice of hot apple pie. The sprites of Gastronomical Excesses were prancing merrily around in her stomach while the much-worshipped gods of Abstinence were only vague entities in her subconscious for now. The satiated body had further banished discretion and circumspection as the evening wore on. There was no cautionary gut feel nor any protective sixth sense reining in her excitement and her urge to share her joy. She was on the tipping point of divulging the ultimate secret; an affair so close to her heart that she hadn’t breathed a word about it to anyone yet for fear of jinxing the whole business.
Farzana looked up at Sabeen expectantly, her eyes bright, the ice cream laden spoon forgotten mid-air. She loved a good secret and Sabi usually wasn’t very forthcoming with her confidences. Farzana on the other hand, compelled by force of habit and an actual physical discomfort in the company of an unshared secret, happily let loose the flood gates when thus encumbered. This was going to be quite a treat!
“Kya? Batao na…..”(1), Farzana responded tentatively, afraid to disturb the amenability of the moment. One could never tell with Sabi she thought; one moment she was happy and talkative and the next, like a closed up clam with social issues.
Sabi was making her wait it out as always. Farzana felt the hair on her arms prickling in anticipation and also a growing sense of wariness. Uncharitable thoughts began glutting her mind… despite being one of her best friends, Sabi, in Farzana’s mind, had always resented her more “privileged love interest” liaisons. There had been one occasion in fact, where she’d come and stolen her man right from under her nose! She ignored the nagging post script that always followed that thought….the fact that Arsalan had always maintained that he and Farzana were never “going out”, and that he had told her quite early on that he was interested in her friend from Faisalabad. Even so, she thought, he and Farzana had attended two parties together; granted it was together with other friends. But he was Mian Jalaluddin’s grandson and she had exclusive entitlement until he too had seen the light of day and reciprocated. He would have – ultimately, Farzana thought ruefully, had Sabeen not come into the picture. The memory of the day she’d invited Sabi over to meet Arsalan still made her cringe with ardent regret. Her only consolation was that that entanglement hadn’t lasted long!
She caught Sabi looking at her thoughtfully. Farzana was getting visibly agitated at not only the prospect of being secret-deprived at the nth hour of confidence-sharing, but also by the strange look on Sabi’s face.
“I’m your best friend yaar. Mujh se kya chupana. I’m like an open book with you. Batao na”(2), Farzana cajoled, moving closer to the still reposing, still contemplating Sabeen.
“I’m getting engaged, Fara; to the Nawab* of Bahawalpur”, came the deadpan response. Delivered with just that air of indifference to make it into a screaming headline.
Sabeen looked at Farzana, a slow smile spreading across her face. She knew her friend enough to expect any of a range of emotions; barely concealed resentment being one of the more realistic predispositions on this occasion. As time had lapsed, their bachelorette banner had determinedly unfurled in Spinster Territory, changing perceptions, prospects, attitudes and with it, notions of self worth. And Farzana was painfully besieged by the change in social status, spawning a wave of desperate love affairs and subsequent unpredictable outbursts. Sabeen was earnestly hoping this wasn’t one such instant; she was really hoping, yearning for a propitious ending to this evening.
Farzana blinked uncertainly, and slowly put the dripping spoon of ice cream into her mouth. She felt hassled and unsure; hassled about whether Sabi was in fact telling the truth, and unsure whether she herself had heard it right.
“Kaunsa nawab?(3) What are you saying?“ Farzana managed to ask, looking agitatedly at Sabeen. Her feeling of unease grew as the enormity and sensibility of the affirmation dully sank in. She swallowed hard, her mouth suddenly feeling dry even as she sensed the sweet liquid sliding down her throat. She was unaware of the change in her expression or her bearing as she stared unblinkingly at Sabeen while hunched over in an almost foetal position in the chair opposite. She waited for a response; laughter, some reassurance that this was just a really terrible joke.
Sabeen sat up and looked directly at Farzana, taking both of her hands in hers. She suddenly felt an intense desire to have her friend acknowledge her joy, and to be happy for her. She wanted Fara to understand that this was not just another ephemeral burst of scarlet on the romantic horizon. This boded longevity and was replete with not only the rainbow hues of new love, but also the many shades of grey that constituted a real relationship. This was going to be her “happily ever after”.
Farzana looked on in confused fascination; at this point, she was only aware of the maniacal intensity of Sabeen’s hold of her hands and thinking if in fact her friend had finally given in to senility just shy of her 50th birthday. She was talking of Nawabs and horses and knights….had she said horses or princes…? She wasn’t quite sure. But there was music playing, so Farzana did the only thing that seemed lucid to her at the time.
She pulled up a startled Sabeen and said, “let’s dance meri jaan(4)….. all those extra calories you’ve had today are making you sound crazy!”
And she whirled her friend around the room, grinning loonily while humming along to Jenny Young’s quirky love refrain:
“….Here is a heart,
I made it for you so take it.
Battered and braised,
Grilled and sautéed
Just how you like it…”
De Khudai pe aman.
(1): “What? Tell me…”
(2): “What do you have to hide from me…… tell me”
(3): “What prince?”
(4): “my love”
*Nawab: ruler/ prince. (Largely a figurative title now but still respected as incumbents of a privileged lineage).
WRITING|The Failure to Launch…
It’s an actual thing! It’s taken me over 2 decades of mental preparation and many self-pep sessions to write this very first piece. Which is also about how it’s taken me 2 decades to start writing my very first piece – an “Inception” type event in my maiden blog! Who’d have thought I’d be able to inject some Sci Fi in the third line of my very first scrawl. Portentous of not-so-far-into-the-future blogs to come methinks!
Right, so back to how it was never easy. Here’s why: I’d built up these enormous fortresses of literary self expectations in my head. It had to be sensationally brilliant or nothing at all. (Modesty is over-rated 😁). That mind-set obviously didn’t work because here I am 20 years hence – the putting pen to paper phase having languorously passed me by – high-teching it during my first (faltering!) steps as a writer. Am I up for it? Hell yeah! …. (Constant underlying self pep: fake it till you make it M 💪🏽😅).
The feel of my first blog is definitely “text-y”. But I’m thinking with my heart more and feeling less with my brain….or something like that. Basically allowing some feel-good (aka, get the hell on with it!) mush to muddle the exacting synaptic connections in my left-leaning brain. I’m cringing and revelling in turn, at the opening of my creative flood gates. You, my dear readers, will henceforth bear irreparable mental scars or if I’m lucky, grin like Cheshire cats. A little more of the latter is the hope in this budding writer’s tender breast 😉🤞🏽
De Khudai pe-aman – (may you grow, glow and prosper, or just simply maintain your status quo for now. Until we meet again).