An angel she was; or a
Devil she might've been, dressed
In fiery red 


The two eyes she had embodied
Inexplicable beauty and whatnot; she was
Chilling more than dry ice; her 
Hair darker than a moonless night


Of all that I had seen,
Ridiculous I felt to have even looked, and
Die I sure did, when
In my sight she was no more;
And she'd left upon my heart
A dash of fiery red.

   Obsession is a funny thing.
   You don't realize when you've got one - and when you do, you want it to end.
   It results in a lot of things. The worst, is knowing that you don't want what you're obsessed with.
   It creates a division within. You split into two - one that wants; one that doesn't.
   It's like you're a paradox in yourself. Half of you is going to want it, the other half will argue.
   The innocent, naïve part of you is going to die of need. The conscious, realistic part of you is going to be happy for lack of possession.
   And then, it's all of this coaxing and rejecting inside of you that you can't bear anymore. You want it to end. No more madness...
   But in doing so, you'll have to choose. Whose side will you be on? The realist or the dreamer? You... or you?
   And as I sit here with the last picture in my hand, I don't debate what to do. I've been through this before. I want it... No, I don't... But I do...
   I take out the lighter and set it on fire.
   This was the last one; I burnt all the others.
   I feel the flames feeding on the old polaroid. The memories, the feelings, the confusion... it's all fading away into oblivion. Just like the picture...
   It's not completely burnt yet. I can make out a few things. I shake it hard to put out the fire. Then, I throw it on the ground.
   Why?
   The half that wanted is now no more.
   And the half that doesn't, will not mind a half burnt picture.


   

   I was five years old.
   Dad had another one of his corporate pool parties, where people who were used to wearing suits and ties took them off to be hanging out in colorful shorts. 
   Like I said, I was five years old, so I have a very faint memory of what had happened. I don't recall the whole day in its entirety but the faded scenes of what had happened have often kept me awake for minutes; if not hours.
   I was standing by the pool, admiring the beauty of the reflected light, or the ripples . Or well, at least I'd like to imagine so.  I must've seen the depth of the pool and thought it wasn't much, because the next thing I clearly remember doing is jumping in.
   Somebody brought to the notice of my parents that their son was drowning. Dad saved my tiny butt and breathed life into me, quite literally. He told me later he'd thanked God for getting me out just in time; a minute later and I might not have come out alive. Mom, of course, was hyperventilating till I'd started breathing, but that was only because she was cursing herself for not having an eye on me. Mothers, right?
   I don't recall most of what was running in my mind that night, but I do remember thinking about water. And drowning. And betrayal. I don't even know how I'd come up with it, to be fairly honest. I thought that water was my friend, and that it was harmless; but by attempting to take my life it had proved itself otherwise. The other thing that I still couldn't get into my head was how it was so bloody deep. It looked shallow; good enough for me jump into. It probably seems too much for a five year old to remember, but some things just aren't forgotten...
   A decade and numerous physics classes later I'd learnt the truth about the sonovabitch  water in the swimming pool: The depth of the pool wasn't real at all; it was apparent. It was basic physics: When light travels from an optically denser medium to an optically rarer medium, it bends away from the normal. So, what we see really is the apparent depth and not the real depth. 
   And that was when I'd realized something; and boy did it hit me hard. It was a moment of exceptional clarity and I had finally understood the apparency of appearances - whether they be of things or people. 
   I learned to look beyond the aesthetic value.   
   I learned to trust only those who were worthy of it.
   I learned to appreciate what's on the inside...
   And I learned the whole goddamned chapter of Light.
   But such is the irony of life. You talk of the sun, the moon, the stars... and everything's apparent. But you talk of big fat physics books, and everything's just too fucking real.


   
Disclaimer: Fiction.
Like you didn't know that.


   

This piece of fiction is dedicated to somebody very close to me :)


It's winter.
It's raining.
Now, cold alone I can bear... but when it comes laden with rain - that is what I cannot stand.
Books lie scattered around my room; some under a quilt, some on the floor; some open, some closed. I don't really want to pick them up, even though I'm supposed to be organized.
A cup of hot chocolate on my desk is thankfully, still living up to its name.
My cell phone is probably sucking dust under my bed. Probably. Last I checked, I had about 13 missed calls and 5 unanswered texts. I didn't want to know who they were from, though.
I don't care.
Why am I even expected to care?
Just because I'm sixteen I'm supposed to have a better understanding of this world? Of every goddamned arse who makes me think I'm cared for? Of what matters and what doesn't?
Well, I don't.
The world sucks. So does my life.
My Political Science registers are waiting for me like a bride for her groom in the early days of marriage. Only, this knot's been tied too long; and isn't going to break anytime soon.
I feel claustrophobic all of a sudden, so I head out to the balcony with my hot chocolate ignoring the pleas of my ever unattended-to notebooks. After a while, I realize this weather isn't too much to take. It's just the unusualness of the chill of the winters combined with the calm of rains that is new to me. I take a sip from my cup - Delightful, even more so in this weather.
I finally decide to heed the repeated requests of my textbooks, and I open my Political Science register. Something falls from it. It looks like a letter. I open it. It reads:
          
         Dear Oshmita,
             So you opened the letter? Good. I was thinking you never will :P
             I know you're not in a good mood these days. and whatever the reason may be,  I 
         sure do hope you'll be back. And when you are, I'll be waiting for you with open arms 
         and a look of pure retardation that you and only you can appreciate and realize the 
         true value of. 
             Ease up on the claustrophobia, will you? It's a scary word!
             Take your time chick, I sell all types of clocks and watches anyway. XD
             You need space? I'll give you enough to make a Galaxy out of! :)
         Love,
         Renée


And then suddenly, I feel... good.
I realize that no matter how many missed calls or unanswered texts I have, there is going to be one person I can go to with all the shit I have and she'll take it with a smiling face.
I take a deep breath.
I soak in the angry cold. I soak in the gentle rain.
I go back to studying Political Science, with my hot chocolate steaming next to me, and Renée's voice reading out the letter to me in my sub-conscious mind.

[This is an epistolary of sorts, that me and my friend No Guts No Glory wrote. Check out her blog here. I wrote the first part and she wrote the second. The first part is a letter addressed to the friend, and the second part is the reply to that letter. Hope you guys like it! :)]

The shine on your face;
The glimmer in your eyes
Is gone...

The candor of your condolences;
The warmth of your words
Has disappeared...

The genuinity of your feelings;
The sincerity of your heart
Has tarnished...

And no matter how much I deny it,
I know it is true...

You, my dear, have changed
And I will never look at you
The way I once did
For you are no longer the one
I want to look at...

Because the purity of your mind,
And the innocence of your soul,
Has been bereaved...

And the very essence of your being
Is lost.

Good bye.

The third cup of coffee on my computer table has gone cold.
The weather outside is cold too; but I wouldn't know for sure. I'm still inside.
A half-finished collection of dry fruits lying on the bed is making my mouth water. No, not really.
My cell phone is half out of charge due to repeated re-runs of every playlist I have inside it.
Did I mention it's Diwali?
Did I mention I hated it?
I spent most of the day sleeping on my couch and lying on my bed in a similar position finishing my homework.
I'm only done with Quadratic Equations. I'm still left with A.P. and Circles.
Dad was surprised I actually got myself to study on Diwali and I thought, well, if you've got nothing to do, you're eventually going to start finishing your homework.
I'd have died if it weren't for all the Iron Maiden, RHCP, Guns N' Roses, Audioslave, Joe Satriani, Metallica, and Nirvana songs in my phone; just to name a few.
It's 8:10.
It's cold.
It's comparatively less noisy than the past years; thank God for that.
I don't want to go outside.
I don't want to celebrate Diwali.
It's just not fun for me.
Wasting time is one of my favorite things. Going outside and celebrating Diwali would mean utilizing it.

Anyway,
Here's 1 heart, 2 eyes, 7 liter blood, 206 bones, 4.5 million red cells, 60 trillion DNAs and one mighty pissed, frustrated, and bored soul wishing you a very happy Diwali!

Have fun people! :)

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Disclaimer: This is a work of pure fiction. Any resemblance to people, living or dead, is purely coincidental; if not psychological.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
   'You want ice cream?' she asked.
   'Nah, not really,' I began. 'I'd just rather have you'
   She was wearing one of those shirts of hers that was too over-sized to be worn in public. To top that she was wearing shorts that were shorter than the boxers I was wearing then. She looked better than she looked in my dreams.
    'You and your lines!' she exclaimed.
    'But, if you insist' I began again. 'I'd like to have some of that ice cream. Looks delicious. Not more than you, though.'
    'Stop it, will you?' she shot back.She gave a playful little smile - that was supposedly anger - that I adored, and went back to concentrating on her ice cream. She never did realize I saw right through that fake anger of hers. She liked it. Her eyes said so. And eyes never lie.
    'Can I have some ice cream?' I said, clicking my fingers in front of her face. I realized then, that she made me ask her for something that I didn't really want in the first place. Some skill that lady possessed.
    'Of course, darling' she said, handing out her ice cream to me.
    At this point, I should probably mention that I was standing near a wall, with my back towards it.
    She handed me her ice cream, and as soon as I reached out to take a bite, she shouted, 'STOP!'
    I shrugged.
    She jumped onto me, grabbed me by my neck, and wrapped her legs around my waist, and my back hit the wall. She must have planned that out in advance because I never knew her to be so much of a ninja. Her ice cream fell from my hand. She locked her lips with mine.
    'Hey! The ice cream fell!' I said, after she withdrew
    'What? You're actually choosing ice cream over kisses from me?'
    I opened my mouth to speak, but she cut me off with a spontaneous kiss. I might have gotten pissed with her for doing that, but she continued kissing me. She was always too gentle; she pulled my hair softly while doing it, and there was nothing more that she needed to do.
   She stopped for a brief moment, and I tightened my arms around her waist.
   'What flavor was that?' I asked, referring to the ice cream.
   'Blackcurrant,' came the reply.
   'Oh. No wonder that kiss tasted shockingly good today.'
   She smiled. 'Shut up,' she said softly and went back to kissing me.
   The intensity of her kisses went up with each subsequent heart beat; and we exchanged places - she was against the wall now. She put her hand on my neck and held on to it tight, while I kissed her back. It didn't take us a long while to be out of breath.
   'You know what?' she said, getting some air and brushing her hair back. 'I love you'
    'And,' I said. 'I love blackcurrant'
    She smiled.
    We started kissing again.
                                                                            * * *
    Long white, translucent tubes run from her face and her chest to various locations inside the room. It was painfully silent save for the frequent ticking of a clock and the occasional beep on the ECG. And I hated silence.
   'What happened there?' I asked her, grabbing hold of her hand.
   'Nothing,' she started. 'Take it easy alright? Nothing happened. You look tensed.' She was awfully observant even while lying on a hospital bed.
   'Something must've happened! You just fell on the ground! You FAINTED!'
   'Yeah, alright, I did! My heart skipped a beat. Literally speaking.' She giggled.
   'And you think I'm in the mood for jokes?' I wasn't.
   'See, it's something called Arrhythmia, and since you're not a biology major, you wouldn't know what it is. And you need not worry about it because it's not going to happen again.'
    I kissed her hand.
    'Promise?' I asked.
    'God,' she said. 'Can you stop being so cheesy? Nothing will happen to me, okay? I'll be out in a while. Take it easy!' She gave me one of those don't-worry-be-happy smiles. I wasn't really convinced though.
    'Okay...' I said. 'But I need to kiss you to make sure you're fine'
    She smiled.
    The kiss was gentle, calm; and in short, perfect.
    She started playing with my hair again, and said, 'So... this is what it has come to? You seducing me in the hospital?'
    I laughed, withdrawing her hand from me. 'I love you,' I said.
    'And,' she said. 'I love blackcurrant'
    I smiled.