Strings

He had lost everything. Everything that ever mattered to him. His purpose in life had suddenly vanished. He stood beneath the foggy dark skies as the rain camouflaged his tears. He looked down upon her cold motionless body waiting for her to wake up from her ceaseless sleep. He looked at the wrecked red sedan his wife was driving that day but it didn't matter. She stayed still. Motionless. Stable. Beautiful. It was a ghastly accident. We will have the surveillance footage of every vehicle running by on the Western Express Highway. Some drunken car drive smashed her car and ran away. I’m really sorry for your loss, Mr. Arun. He was told. She was dead and it wasn’t her fault. A lump in his throat threatened to suffocate him. Their plan had been quite simple: to be together for the rest of their lives. But it had happened. That day destiny had covetously changed its mind. Thoughts of their memories together clouded his mind leaving out a tiny little corner in his brain. He thought of that man who had snatched away the happiness of his life. A man he had never met and who he would probably never meet. But a man who had changed his life forever. A man he would hate for the rest of his life. Sometimes life doesn't go as planned, son. But you’ve got to deal with it and move on. I did too. His neighbor, Col. Nayar, consoled him.

Col. Nayar was a pleasant old man. He was a widower and lived alone. He came back to his apartment and thought about Arun. Poor kid. A fleeting thought. He had a family once. A small happy family. A beautiful wife and loving son. All that he could have ever asked for. But then, as they say, the gods of heaven grew jealous. First he lost his wife to cancer and then his son ran away to avoid joining the army and never came back. Not that he had forced his son to join the armed forces. I don’t think I’m good enough, dad. I’m sorry. His son had written in the letter. He rose up from his chair and made tea for himself. There was no end to his days and nights. And none of the rooms in the apartment gave him any solace; just the unwelcoming silence as he stared at every piece of furniture his wife or his son had ever touched. Just as he took his first sip, the doorbell rang. He got up and took an urgent walk to see who it was. It was Rehaan, the pension guy. Col. Nayar greeted him with a familiar smile. It was Rehaan’s monthly job to deliver the pension to Col. Nayar. They rarely talked but exchanged hollow greetings everytime they met. Rehaan was one of the few contacts that Col. Nayar had with the outside world. He took the small package, signed the record sheet and closed the door. A long day ahead. Another fleeting thought.

Everyone loved Rehaan. He looked average with a medium five foot eight frame with an unkempt mop of hair on his head and a small patch of beard on his chin. He used to live near the shopping complex area with his best friend, Charlie, whom he had known since they were kids. Rehaan had worked for the GNB bank for over two years now. His boss was proud of him and had promised him a promotion within the next few months. But things were not right. As he entered his house, the familiar feeling of guilt started obliterating his conscience. The house was empty and Charlie was still not home. He knew he had been a terrible friend and a dreadful human being. And somehow it all was linked to the girl named Avni. He’d met her a few months back during Charlie’s birthday party. And even though he knew she was Charlie’s girlfriend, he was unwillingly attracted to her. Fate took a treacherous turn and they ended up falling for each other. The day came when they could not keep it a secret and so one day they confessed to Charlie. And that was the day Rehaan last saw his friend. All that he remembered was the huge fight and Charlie storming out in his car with a legitimate rage. Now that he was gone, Rehaan had nobody. Not even Avni. All he wanted to do was to apologize to his best friend about his brainless judgement. If only they could. Rehaan snapped back to reality. He was still alone. He walked to the balcony and saw a bunch of kids playing in the nearby playground. He thought more about the things he regretted doing in life. All the things. People he had lost. Relationships he had lost. And most importantly, a brother he had lost. Forever.

Charlie was mad. Incensed and Fuming. He felt cheated. Lying on his death-bed in the hospital, all the rights and wrongs he had committed flashed before his eyes. All the  times when he did some things he shouldn't have done. And the times when he refused to do the things he should've done. It had been quite a few months when he was informed that he had terminal stage lung cancer. Even the chemo-therapy did not work on him. He could see everything. They say that when you’re about to die, that is the only time when the memories buried deep in the untapped parts of your brain surface up. And that was happening. He remembered the time when he talked to his high school crush and felt embarrassed when something absurd came out of his mouth; the time when he became friends with Rehaan; the time when he swore in front of the teacher; the time he met and fell in love with Avni. Avni. He was absolutely crazy about her. And then he remembered some more. The time when Rehaan and Avni ditched him. He’d felt so feeble and weak. Ditched by his best friend and discarded by the love of his life, he felt heartbroken. Miserable and dejected. And that is when it all started. The drugs, the alcohol and the depression. He who makes a beast out of himself gets rid of the pain of being a man. He remembered the times when Rehaan and he used to swear to God that they would never let a girl come in the way of their friendship. But she did. And everything got wrecked. And then he thought about the accident. The night when he was utterly wasted and was still driving on the Western Express Highway. He could hazily see a red sedan coming on his way but he lost his control. He could count every breath as his car smashed the red sedan brutally. He woke up from the shock minutes later, got out of his car and dragged himself to the dead woman lying inside. His senses started to feel numb and the feeling of guilt swallowed him. He collected himself and ran back to his car and vanished into thin air far away from the scene.

-Harshil Bhardwaj, 2nd year

Love in disguise

An infinite sky, billions of people, still a myriad of emotions for that one person who doesn’t even care! Our heart flies aimlessly like a kite, rising high in the sky, looking for its destination. Still our mind wanders from place to place for a glimpse of that person we barely know. Is it the dimples in his cheeks or stars in his eyes or that soft curl of hair that gently touches his brow that is so charming? Those awkward cum awesome moments of sheer thrill when our heart simply forgets to beat and there is a rush of adrenaline like never before. The feeling of walking on the clouds with the wind whizzing past and humming sweet notes gently into our ears. This feeling, if nothing more than the after effects of a hangover is equally intoxicating.

But is this what is love? Is he the knight in shining armor ready to rescue his damsel in distress?

I believe love is a feeling much above all this. It is when we share our little secrets with a friend and we fight for him. It is when we get mad at him and still forgive him after everything that happened. Sometimes in the hustle bustle of daily life we tend to miss that one person who is always by our side. That one person who laughs at us every time we do something stupid.That one person who’ll do anything just to cheer us up when sad.

He silently hides in the veil of friendship as our guardian angel. He so wishes to be our lover but what if he ends up losing a wonderful friend. So, caught up in this spiral of love and friendship, there he stands silently wishing that for once we could see through his eyes and feel the same way as he does. True Love is not selfish and it is not about getting the person we love. It’s the feeling that no matter what goes wrong in life, that person will still be beside us. No matter how many beautiful faces or charming people we come across everyday, it is the momentary joy of having a brief glimpse of that person that provides warmth to our soul just as the Winter Sun.

-Ravleen Chawla, 2nd year 

The Meaning of life

What is the meaning of life, what do we all live for,
Is it money, is it love, or is it peace of mind?
Is there a purpose to our lives on this little blue planet,
Is it something that we’ll ever find?


I do not know what is to become of our lives,
Or what shall be our fate.
But I do know one thing as sure as hell,
That we’ll never find an answer at this rate.


For we humans are too callous, too cunning, and too cheap,
We fight petty wars over religion and land.
But in truth all the things we’ve achieved so far,
Are nothing but shifty footprints on dry sand.


I do not know where in lies the meaning,
Or even if such a thing exists.
But I feel myself closer to the answer,
Every time the human spirit persists.


So let us not forget one thing no matter what,
It’s not about the money, or the times you fornicate.
It’s about the times you’ve loved and lost,
And then learned to live yet again.

-Nitin Davessar, 3rd year

To look forward to what will be

I try to keep my mind from dreaming,

For I am afraid of what I'll see.

Scared of the truth, the cuts of memory,

I'm hiding from what has become of me.

Blissful blooming years passed by,

Blissfully burning down my mind.

What was left of a dream faded black,

A meagre mirage if faith was left to find.

All the memories we held so close,

Were lost in the ruins of the bloom.

To think it all happened before I passed,

Is a loss of time and thought.

To be and do what we were meant to,

Is to forget what was,

To live what is,

And to look forward to what will be.

Much can happen in a moment,

The sum of happiness in our lives,

The measure of sadness in our souls,

Can all be just a moment.

The flutter of wings of a soulful butterfly,

The blink of a teary eye,

The beat of a broken heart,

So small but yet so strong.

The swayed thoughts of a sunken man,

The disturbed nights he's kept awake,

Account for his fortune and fate.

For with more the pleasure comes more the pain.

We tend to do what we don't fear.

We never dare venture into the unknown,

For we can never know what’s far or near.

This is how we were sown.

Never to question what we don't understand,

Never to stand against what isn't in our hand,

Never to believe that what is to come,

Depends on what is.

And to live without that fear,

Is to forget what was,

To live what is,

And to look forward to what will be.

-Syed Salik Basharat, 1st year

The Red Dance

Crouched at the floor, next to the solid silver sliver of light,

Resting on her haunches, arched foot, pointed slight.

Her head bowed down, as if in prayer,

Her muscles tense, back hunched, a professional slayer.

As the titling music, diffuses into the silent night,

Not a breath escapes the hungry audience with eyes alight.

Some perspiring with growing apprehension,

Some twitching with pumping adrenaline.

As the first beat hits her body,

Forcing life into her lithe and slender being; godly.

She straightens hips swaying, to her full height,

Caressing the pole, till she’s on her tippy toes stretched tight.

Gliding languidly away from the pole,

She finally rewards her onlookers with her face whole,

Piercing silver eyes and full blood red mouth,

Her body dipped in dew from north to south.

Some sit up straight, some drop their jaws,

Some go into a trance, some extend their claws.

As her spell, slowly descends on them like a shroud,

The club now holds a crowd so unlike a crowd.

With a black leather corset, and fishnet stockings,

Her pale limbs stand out, the contrast shocking.

She spins back towards her metal dance mate,

Gripping him with her thighs, she hoists up her entire weight.

With her legs wrapped around the pole, her hands fly free,

She arches backwards, like the branches of a tree.

Her body at ease, not a hint of strain,

Her obsidian hair falling parallel to the pole, like rain.

Both her hands then grip the pole,

As she unclasps her thighs, the floor meets her sole.

With her back to the spectators, she now kisses the iron rod,

The two wrapped around each other, like lovers caught.

Turning to face her admirers, the pole pressed against her back,

Her expression carries a hint of a smile, as her hands so slack.

Then reaching above her head, she grasps the post,

And proceeds to slide down slowly; the succubus’s ghost.

As her fingers pass over the kiss stain on the metal staff,

A red smudge forms capturing half the eyes, and her, the other half.

Making her journey back up, she turns her face slight,

Her hands make their way down her body, as she stands upright.

Standing with her legs apart, her chin and lower neck meet,

With one hand touching the pole, her luscious hair falls like a sheet.

Then she begins to slowly circle the metal shaft,

Her feather light touches, working like witchcraft.

As she finishes a round, the music changes,

The beats quicken, the audience’s expression ranges.

Signalling the end of the show, she begins to descend,

On reaching the ground, for the last time her body bends.

Crouched at the floor, next to the solid silver sliver of light,

Resting on her haunches, arched foot, pointed slight.

Her head bowed down, as if in prayer,

Her muscles tense, back hunched, a professional slayer.

Suddenly as the music stops, the stage goes dark,

Then the lights come back, sans girl and her red mark.

All that remains is now a deserted metal pole,

Collective breaths are let out by every single soul.

Some sit still, some look dazed,

Some look lost in an unending maze.

The few that managed to gather their wits,

Frantically look around for exits.

But one or two determined ones, snag the bartender,

Shower him with questions, pleas, threats to surrender.

They demand information, they demand to know her,

A chance to see that again, a chance to hold her.

Shaking his head, the burly man reaches for the dirty rag,

With a smoke in his other hand, he then takes a long drag.

Smirking at their naivety, he mutters “Mate, no chance”,

For you just witnessed, The Red Dance.

-Sanjana Jain, 3rd year

Acme

"I'm alive at last; and I'm full of joy." - Benjamin Barker

Night and day in my reverie

But a constant has there been.

And in you I did confide

Whilst I was sweetly belied.

Everything malicious of you

I made believe were imagined

The tenacity of my faith

Twisting the way I perceived

As a fool to be wrapped

In an oblong box

To be taken from the shelf

As you play along.

A fickle child so naïve

Knowing not of your ways

As a demon in the corner

Cauterizing my stitches. 

There's no denying you've

Not been an angel;

Or ever bolstered me

In the acme of my diffidence.

And yet today I feel that

You are no one, and nothing.

Beclouded by your eminence

And the brevity of your bliss

Yet in your presence, I

Believed I'd found myself.

But a fool to be thrown

In that smothering box

Still a promise to start over

And assume I'm breathing.

Over your callousness, I'm jaded

And sickened by this transience.

This isn't me, the destroyer.

It is time I learned letting go.

And forever in friendships

I aver, lie disparities.

But in their coexistence,

I postulate, lies intimacy.

Had our angels prevailed;

As in our advent, we'd be.

And I regret not this schism

Because I know it's best for me.

So split me open, crop me out

Impugn me for our mess

Vindicate me, apologize

Or abase me for our fate.

Do what you will, know that

It is on this dirge that I dance.

In the cold florescence of tonight

I denounce this vicarious life.

It is very difficult to see;

And yet now, I believe in me.

For today from your fences I’m

Digging my ways out.

-Aviral Kulsreshtha, 1st year