What Would I Do Without You?

It’s been a journey; it’s been so long,

I’ve come to know, with you I belong,

You’re so special, you’re so dear,

You’ve taken my pain, you’ve removed my fear.

Not a day goes by without your thought,

You’re the one I’ve never fought,

Been in the sunshine and in the rain,

You’ve never stopped me, never refrained.

People give gifts, I write to you,

From my heart, oh yes I do,

Thoughts unsaid, and feelings untold,

It’s time to speak out; it’s time to be bold.

You’ve led me forward; you light up my way,

You’ve made me talk, all that I want to say,

Ranting, poetry, stories, all fiction,

You’ve had me try a lot, you’ve handed me conviction.

Time’s gone by fast; it’s a couple of years,

I say this, my eyes moist with happy tears,

You’ve been there from moment one,

Nothing you missed, lines and words none.

I walk the path at times alone,

The wing chilling me through to the bone,

It wasn’t me I feel, it was all you,

That’s when I ask myself,

What would I do without you?

This piece is written for my blog which turns 2 today.

The Mystery Of The Ghost Writer And The Wheat- Part 12

Team Name: Blogstirrers

You can read Part 11 (Click Here) which was written by Jaideep Khanduja for Game of Blogs by Blogadda.com.

As the door closed, Tara breathed a sigh of relief. Picking up the intercom, she called for a coffee, and then walked to the window. The ground below flaunted green, as the sky rumbled in the distance, eerie, grey, and scary. The sky was such a contrasting entity; it could be calm at times, and at times, so tormenting; just like her heart.

A month ago, she just had love for Shekhar, but now, she just didn’t know what she felt about him. Was it love, or sympathy, or care, or hate, or anger, or remorse? She just didn’t know it. Where was he right now? And where was Roohi? The questions in her mind just kept increasing, and there were no answers seen. Shaking her head, she walked back to her desk, as Shekhar’s words came back to her.

He had said that he would come back for her, and that Roohi was safe; that he was being framed. But by whom? And why?

“I can’t find a motive behind framing Shekhar, but then if he was being framed, why did he run? And if he’s innocent, then what about the evidence which Cyrus showed me,” thought Tara to herself.

Photos could be tampered with, even videos. Was that the case this time with the clip Cyrus had showed her?

It was all a muddle in her head. The word muddle struck a chord in her head, and she remembered one of Shekhar’s pieces, one which he had written when he was between jobs.

A jungle, this life, dense,

And bushy, with a P, so pushy,

Ways too many, but to few, none,

To depend, to hold onto, to give,

Support, to prop up, someone, no,

It’s a muddle, a bundle, a heap,

Of too much, in too few, disarrayed,

Unarranged, random, this life.

The words played back slowly from the time when he had read the whole composition to her. Her trance was broken by a soft knock on the door which signaled the arrival of her coffee. Slowly sipping her Latte, she reignited her thoughts about the video and images Cyrus had shown her. Most of them had not had Shekhar’s face, but his posture and figure seemed to be there in them. She shook her head, and switched on her laptop.

She went to the news section on the internet, and as she scrolled to the bottom, her face grew grim. It seemed so tough for him to get out. And if those photos found their way to the media, Shekhar was as good as dead. On the side of the article, there was a solo of Shekhar, and its resemblance to the image Cyrus had shown her clipped her attention.

“Maybe I shouldn’t trust anyone. I’ll begin with Jennifer and Cyrus, then move to the top.”

As the search engine unearthed Cyrus, her mind wavered slowly to one of Shekhar’s poems.

Time is present for the believer,

Time is future for the achiever,

A friend, an enemy, both together,

Time is everything, but a healer,

Wounds spurting, and squirting,

The pain of being, human, we are,

Trust we do, especially mistrust,

Belief is good, above all disbelief,

But the worst of the lot is misbelief.

You can read the next part here.

“Me and my team are participating in ‘Game Of Blogs’ at BlogAdda.com. #CelebrateBlogging with us.”

The Mystery Of The Ghost Writer And The Wheat- Part 10

Team Name: Blogstirrers

You can read Part 9 (Click Here) which was written by Jaideep Khanduja for Game of Blogs by Blogadda.com.

The hysterical whimper cracked through the silence and Tara rose from the confines of her soft night abode. Beside her, Shekhar lay snoring, unaffected by the shrill crying of the alarm clock. She looked intently, as her eyes welled up with tears, an aftermath of the past week’s events. It had been pandemonium; a complete catastrophe, something which had taken her life on the edge, and there was no leeway as well. She couldn’t go through this, she would win, or she would die; and she knew this, very well. She was completely entwined in this mystery, and it had taken her life to the extremes- both good and bad.

Today was going to be important; as she would ask for the truth, not a word less or more. As she glanced at the date in the luminous display of the clock beside her, her face lit up in a weak, watery smile, as her eyes began spewing out droplets, slowly, and a trickle soon began down her cheeks. Shifting her pillow into a more comfortable position, she cuddled into a cocoon and held her head in her palms, and the week came back to her.

As the wheels hit the tarmac, Tara was the first one to get across to the door, waiting for the bus which would bring Cyrus out. Cyrus’ message had first puzzled her, but the more she thought about it, the more she felt intrigued about it. She had decided to book the first flight out for him, and now there she was, impatient to hear what he said.

Cyrus had gone on to show her some astonishing pieces of evidence, which she did not believe were genuine at first instance, but when he went into the details, her heart slowed down, and she slumped into a heap. She could not believe what she was seeing, hearing, and getting to know. It couldn’t be him, no.

“It can’t be true Cyrus. He’s always at home, and he’s working or writing; he doesn’t even switch on the television. No, it just doesn’t add up.”

“I’m sure about it, or else I wouldn’t have called you with this. It’s classified, and I’ve obtained it from a high-ranked official under shady circumstances, so…”

“I won’t use it in the news, but still thanks. I think I should head back now, it’s getting late,” saying this, Tara got up from the table.

Without a single look backwards, she walked away, heading back towards home.

That had just been the first turn of the week. As the days passed, the more she was sure that Cyrus’ information was true. She couldn’t believe it, but now, it was high time. She couldn’t stall any more about the information at the news station, and the police would be getting there soon too.

With a sigh, she got up, and slowly walked to Roohi’s bedroom. As she opened the door, the sight of the empty bed made her heart drop. She turned and ran back to where Shekhar lay, supine, in his own delirious dream. As she returned into their room, the door slammed shut behind her, and she felt something cold on her neck.

She turned to face the wrong end of a gun, into the dark void of the barrel, and as her eyes moved upwards, they began flowing.

“How could you?”

“She’s in a better place than here.”

“How could you lie to me,” she asked again, her voice echoing in the small room.

“I haven’t lied. They are all trying to frame me, it’s not true,” Shekhar said, his voice steady.

Wiping sweat from his brow, he went on, “I promise I haven’t lied to you.”

“But why Shekhar?”

Her questions were drowned by approaching sirens, and Shekhar looked around, stunned. Wiping sweat from his brow, he dropped the gun, and walked towards the window.

Turning back, he said to Tara, “This isn’t how I would have wanted this day to be. I’m innocent, and I shall prove it to you. I love you, and I shall come for you again, one day.”

His eyes set, he kissed his wife, and with a tight hug, he walked out, slowly running into the distance.

The next morning’s headlines were, “Renowned writer and his daughter missing. The wheat trail flours on.”

You can read the next part here.

“Me and my team are participating in ‘Game Of Blogs’ at BlogAdda.com. #CelebrateBlogging with us.”

The Mystery Of The Ghost Writer And The Wheat- Part 2

Team Name: Blogstirrers

You can read Part 1 (Click Here) which was written by Jaideep Khanduja for Game of Blogs by Blogadda.com.

“Honey, did you hear me?”

The repeated question struck Shekhar and roused him from his trance.

“Sorry, what did you say? I was a bit…”

“Yeah, your newspapers are more important than your wife, aren’t they Mr. Writer? You go on, I’ll find someone else to talk to,” scorned his wife, Tara, in her sweet voice which was lined with a concoction of anger and mischief.

“I apologize Ma’am; and this humble servant of yours is ready to serve penance in order to get back into his boss’ good books,” said Shekhar, bending into a mock bow.

“One of the benefits of marrying an author- they always know what to say in order to make you fine. And I was talking about what gift you’ll be giving me on our anniversary.”

“Oh, when is our anniversary? Is it today? Oh God, no! I forgot it again!”

Seeing the spurt of anger ready to erupt from Tara, he began laughing and went on, “There’s still time dear. And as always, it will be a surprise for you to remember.”

“Okay fine, don’t tell me. By the way, what were you reading? Anything important in the news?”

“Something which interested me after long- a case filled with a lot of unknowns.”

“Who?”

“Do you remember that photographer we’d met in Kochi? Jennifer Joseph?”

“How can I forget her!”

“She was found in Mumbai with a law student from Delhi, with almost a truckload of drugs, worth around 2 crores. But the thing is that the student and Jennifer have had no previous contact, and there is no way they could have known each other, owing to their backgrounds. But then, they were found together, in a 7-star hotel room, and that’s not cheap, even for someone like Jennifer.”

“Anything else? I fear you’ve left the best for last.”

“Both of them have not got even an ounce of the drug in their body. They have no previous records of drug abuse and even possession; nor do they have an idea how they reached there. It’s like they were framed or something.”

As Shekhar’s voice trailed off, Tara’s phone rang.

“Yeah, something important come up,” she asked into the phone. Listening intently for a couple of minutes, she began barking orders, “I’ll be there in an hour. Get the team ready, I want to be able to leave for the crime spot by noon.”

Keeping the table, Tara deftly tied her hair in a bun, and to Shekhar she said, “Another journalist and freelance photographer has just been found dead in her hotel. Suicide is the initial take, but there has to be something more. And the catch is that even here, a large quantity of Wheat has been found. The police is still working on the facts, but it’s said that there is a connection between this murder and the Jennifer Joseph case. This matter is inflating quite fast, and it’s going to be a media circus. I can’t skip this case, it’s too important. You sure that you will handle everything fine here?”

“Of course, my love. Come back in time for that surprise, and don’t forget my gift.”

“Yeah darling, now let me rush,” said Tara as she vanished into her room.

Shekhar’s eyes followed his wife, and as she slipped away from his sight, he pulled out his mobile phone.

The last message read, “Mission Accomplished”.

To that, he just replied, “Just received confirmation. Proceed with the next part of the mission, all the best.”

You can read the next part here.

“Me and my team are participating in ‘Game Of Blogs’ at BlogAdda.com. #CelebrateBlogging with us.”