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The Flow | English Poetry
The Flow | English Poetry
You know what’s life?
It’s your long chats,
that draws my smile.
You know what’s a dream?
To witness you,
from within.
You know what’s grace?
You eyes conveying,
more than your face.
You know whats a living?
Seeing your soul on you,
reflecting.
You know what’s desire?
To read your happiness,
with your words of fire.
You know what’s fantasy?
It’s you!!!
The one whom I can always read
But cannot live.
@ramta jogi
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Abeda Tailors | Short story 8
Abeda Tailors | Short story 8
She was clad in burkha, but her eyes showed dreams, desires and aspirations. Abeda Husan was covered in that single piece but the way of walking showed the confidence. She continued to walk down the market place where each shop was owned by a male. But she was more worried about the food, she had cooked for her mother-in-law, getting cold. The neighbourhood eyes continued to watch her from both the sides as she made her way. Some well-wishers looked and smiled to her, inquired about her health; some perverts tried to have a glimpse of her body even in the fully clad attire from their side-eyes. She smiled at all and moved. Finally, the first turn to the right she took and saw the small ten by ten shop with a board hanging
“Abeda Tailors”.
She unwrapped her face, which was content at the sight of her shop. She opened the shutters and entered with four other men, her employees. The entire day passed in working on old orders and making new ones. It was Diwali so the rush continued till late. Her team was instructed to work till late as the entire neighbourhood was in an urgency regarding their orders. At 9 the shutters were down. She checked the phone and saw many messages and missed calls from her husband. She called him and informed him of the situation and made her way back to her home.
The mother-in-law was screaming in the background too and she understood that tonight as always will not be a good night. The door opened with her husband cursing her for the inappropriate timing of returning home giving the examples and teachings of community. She listened but focused on her way towards the kitchen as she knew that is what they have been waiting for. While cooking, she was subjected to the continuous taunts from her mother-in-law sitting in the hall. As soon as she cooked the food and gave it to them the banter discontinued.
Alas! She knew it will arise again the next evening. No one will ask her about her day, her struggles, her work or her happiness, what they will want is their satisfaction. The money she is earning is again spent in the same house only, but the aura and illusion of the society that the house is run by a man take over her hard work. Her husband works but earns less than her and still gets love and appreciation from all.
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It is 11:30 and she is thinking of waking at 6 the next morning to complete the daily chores and leave for work when her husband suddenly tugs her in the arm. She understands what is about to transpire and wants to signal her lack of interest but she knows a refusal at this moment will instigate his ego and create a scene again at late at night. She gives in. With no emotions, love, feelings at that moment, she surrenders her body to him. With her pain giving him pleasure, she accepts his arms.
It has been 20 minutes and undressed she is lying and he is on the other side sleeping in his own pleasure. She dresses, clears the teardrop from eyes and switches off her table light and sleeps.
Her surrounding, her husband, her mother-in-law or the society, none of it will matter tomorrow, when she opens her shop.
@ramtajogi
Abeda Tailors | Short story 8
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The smile that cried |Short story 7
The smile that cried | Short story 7
The flames got trapped in the enclosure at the crematorium. The body that went into the oval platform came out like a pot of ashes back to Arth’s father. All mourned and everyone cried even after the rituals got over. His mother was still squalling. The ladies gathered around her were trying to control her but somehow she had lost her senses that day. Arth’s uncles, his friends all lost their control and were bursting with tears. Each crying one was trying to console the other and failing at it.
It was 23 years old Arth Shrivastav who had lost his life. An accident took place the night before when a truck lost its control and hit the divider crossing to the wrong side, hitting a bike driven by Arth’s friend. Arth was on the back seat and to the harsh tragedy of life, the truck hit the backside of the bike, saving his friend and crushing both his legs. His head hit the ground hard which lead to his death on the spot. His family rushed to the hospital with hope, which got crushed the very moment they saw him. No one slept that night. By next morning all close relatives reached for the funeral rites.
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Now, they all are moving back to their own world. But Shrivastav family will no longer be able to live the same life again. Arth’s dad; Alok Shrivastav is standing outside the crematorium. He has remained silent since the night. As he saw the body of his child and went to a stage of numbness. He performed all the rituals without speaking a single word or giving out any emotions. Everyone has left now; the relatives are urging him to return home. He is taking small steps, slowly moving towards the car.
Millions of emotions are going on in his mind. He has lost his support, his successor, his dream, his pride, all in his son. He doesn’t know what he will do in that house, which was made home because of Arth. Also, he is not able to realise for whom he worked hard and earned all his life, for whose better future he saved. He is not able to believe what has happened.
In 24 hours he has actually lost his entire life. He feels like a living corpse. His power of thinking is destroyed. Somehow, Arth died taking both his parent’s souls. The car reaches back to their house and each step towards that place is making him think more. His wife’s tears are still not stopping. The door opened and as he moved inside, found a smiling photo of him playing with Arth, in the hall. Staring at the picture, he breaks down. He realised he lost himself in Arth.
What the flames and ashes could not do, was done by Arth’s smile.
@ramta jogi
The smile that cried | Short story 7
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The Unheard Voices | Short story 6
The Unheard Voices | Short story 6
Somewhere in the midst of the chaos what is missed, are the voices which smoothly flow down through our way without disturbing us or making their presence felt. The beauty of life is to live these unheard voices and feel that living. In this generation of ours, the feeling is what we crave for as that is the thing being missed from our lives. We are able to see, observe and understand what is shown to us and we conclude. We miss understanding the feeling of the unseen part, the unknown truth, and the unheard voices.
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The walk in the metro is clustered by the fights and laughter but what is seen yet ignored are the eyes of the guy sobbing for his lost job, the girl crying on the last seat for the fight she had with her boyfriend. The bargaining with the roadside vendors is something we notice but fail to observe the happiness in their eyes when they earn.
The glare of our parents is taken as a sign of their anger but what is missed are the tears in those eyes when we achieve something in life. The father who gifted his son a new bike on his birthday got his sons’ happiness but what the son failed to see was the money that he had to borrow from his neighbour for the bike. The schoolboy rejected the geometry box which his mother brought for his studies and asked her to replace it with the one his friend was carrying. What he failed to understand was the mother was suffering from asthma walked 2 km to get a new geometry box for her son and saved 5 Rupees of the rickshaw.
These voices are loud and more painful than laughter and fights. But they affect adversely. They impact deeply. They make us realize that apart from the thoughtless discussions, meaningless laughter and the aimless vision which we are chasing and going out for are not the only ones that define the living, the actual one lies in the unheard voices which we should look for but eventually fail to appreciate.
@ramta jogi
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The Old School Love| Short Story 5
The Old School Love | Short Story 5
Adil: “Maybe you are the reality to my illusion. You define my existence by confessing those words which I can only express on paper.
Aashna: Really!! Is it maybe or for sure?
Adil: For sure. “Maybe” was just a hesitation, sort of doubting my own truth.
Aashna: You need to do that.
Adil: I know. I also hope that you know, my emotions for you are not temporary.
Aashna: I know. And that is what scares me the most.
Adil: Scares? It should be something for you to be proud of. You are the one who is being treated with this pious emotion.
Aashna: Exactly!! I am the one you bestowed with this love and that’s what the reason of my fear. Emotions change, feelings vanish, grown-ups move on, time heals a man who loves.
Adil: If you are so sure that time heals everything, then why it still scares you?
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Aashna: As I said, it heals a man who is in love, not a child. You are a lover of soul. You don’t act in love Adil, you react as your heart feels. Your love for me is no different than the laugh of a small child when you caress him taking in your arms. It is not necessary for the child to know you, but once he is comfortable in your arms, he trusts you as his own. He doesn’t doubt your intentions. That is your love. It is innocent, pious, true, pure and happy. It is unaffected of the worldly thoughts and explanations. And no one can even think of making that child cry. Neither can I.
Aashna: You define the old school of love, which has already been changed and adulterated by people.
Adil: So which love you believe in?
Aashna: I live in society, where the schools have changed their syllabus. I belong to the new school of love. Here I wish to be loved by an old school romantic but altogether we fear of not hurting. him, if in case things don’t work out. And so we practically end up with the one whose emotions are not eternal and the one who accepts the thought that things change and we should move on with them …
Adil: Maybe then I am left with two options. Either not having you or be ready to get hurt if things spoil in a longer run.
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I think, let me be happy by being with you, loving you and trying for you every day without any expectation of a response. And you feel happy thinking that a guy loves you the old school way. Let the water of river flow the way it is going on and let its direction be decided once it meets the ocean.
That night, 8000 miles apart, both faces smiled seeing their phone screen.
@ramta jogi
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