Parchment Of Memories

The shining light combating the darkness of the chamber,

There I wallow in the corner, immersed deep in thought,

The words from the open book wafting around freely,

The mind flickering in the shadows of nostalgia,

Racing down memory lane I stagger under the weight of the past,

The crates filled with paperbacks yellowed,

Yet so fresh in memory, down to each dotted i,

The tales and the travails of the park so lush,

So green, the dusty shoes and the dirty legs,

Yet so tidy in the pages of the soiled calendar,

The light still shining, but not more than the smile,

The stifled yawn, the strained blink of the eye,

A figure hunched over an open book,

And a trail of vivid vigor on the easel hidden from sight.

Nightmares Of A Foodie

Festival time. Diwali round the corner, Christmas fast approaching, and Navratri just a turn of the clock ago, this is the best time of the year, especially for a foodie like me. The sweets and the savories filling all the boxes around the house would make anyone salivate, and yes, wish for more.

But how would you feel if the aromas mingled in your nasal cavities, and the tiniest sight of the boxes made you open your mouth, but then, you couldn’t taste even a single morsel, let alone eat it. That’s my nightmare. The temptation to eat something is directly proportional to the flavor of the dish. That doesn’t make a lot of sense to me as I would devour anything put in a plate in front of me.

But the nightmare. There are no vacations, and in addition comes submission week during Diwali. That’s not even comparable to the fear I have, and it all resides in one memory. When it all went wrong, and then, nightmare time.

It all began with a minute irritation in my nose, which soon developed into a resilient cough, and then morphed into fever. (Ice cream sometimes does take its toll, especially in the dry heat of October.)

Soon, all the lights went missing from the background, and all I could see through the day and night was the ceiling, and the incessantly moving fan. Most importantly, all I could eat was rice and curd, with counted grains of salt, and no spice; as the prepared savories and sweets delicately called out to me from their positions in the kitchen, which seemed miles away.

All my cries of desperation went in vain, and all my wishes just drained away. It was more than pain, it was more than just a normal fever; it was a day of terrible torture and the festival diluted away with time. Rest was all I could do, and whining was the only way to pass the time.

The rest had its effect, and the next morning, I was walking, and talking, but not yet eating. The layout of the kitchen had been changed completely, as I pitifully discovered on one of my pursuits around the kitchen (which included looking in the topmost cupboard for a drink of water). But, the sight at the dining table lightened me, and made me feel completely alright. There was my plate, with the special “illness” food, but it wasn’t distinguishable from the others. As I began eating, my face changed from a smile to a grimace, and returned, rather embarrassingly, to a smile when my dad began eating enthusiastically from his plate.

Well, that’s a thing in my past. It was about the feeling brought about only by family, and the things going unsaid, but being understood so clearly. That’s what children are to their family. They bring in the inspiration, and they remove the desperation; they bring in stability, unity, and also equality. And they themselves are the unsaid captains, being able to get their wishes fulfilled, without a word being said.

To mention another incident, which my mother loves to quote, like just…always. When I was a teeny tiny kid, the intake of green vegetables was a necessity, and due to my tender health, I was only allowed homemade food. My dad did not have quite a liking to the green vegetables (he still doesn’t have it as much as my mother does), but due to me, the child of the house, he was forced to eat it. And due to the prohibition of the outside food, all I can say is that, the reason for the good health of my family right now is just due to that, and my mom’s wonderful cooking, which is I guess the reason why I love food so much.

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Repercussions

The elderly figure dressed in black ambled to his chair, as the whole room rose to honor him. The quiet resumed, and the man at the head of the hall began, “The jury has decided on a sentence for Rick Jordan. For his repeated and relentlessly cruel crimes of harming children and subjecting them to abuse, the court agrees with the jury that the accused is guilty.”

The people broke into hushed whispers, as Rick glared at the Judge, his eyes revealing nothing, just throwing silent daggers, at the man in black, who went on.

“The jury wished to allow the accused another chance at life, provided that he live in solitude, dying a bit everyday in a prison cell. The court does not deem that as punishment fit for a man who has committed such devious crimes, and has performed such inhumane acts. The court has decided to invoke the death penalty.”

The whispers returned, but only in the distance. Rick stood there, motionless, his eyes glassy; the lights of the chamber dimmed, and it was as though he was the only one present in the room. Like he was alone, just like that day; there was no one to comfort him, to wipe his tears, to feel his pain, to make him feel alright, again. Nobody to stop the blood, or to clean the gore, to lift him up, and to say that life would be fine again- nobody.

The gloom of that day returned, but the pain didn’t. He was satisfied, with himself, with life; it was as though he had obtained the revenge he had started out for; as though he was at the top of the world.

The darkness peeled as Rick walked down the lane. Whistling into the dark night, he walked into the drive of the last house. This was where the warden lived, the man who took care of him, and of the whole orphanage, where he had been for as long as he remembered. This was home for him, and the other children and the warden were all he had for family.

Getting to have dinner with the warden meant he was special, and it really did seem special, especially as the warden had called him alone, and that too for the first time in the 8 years he had been here. He would now look down at his friends, and with that thought, he raised his head higher, and his step took a new lift.

He slowly opened the gate, and walked towards the welcoming white door. A delicious aroma wafted from the open window, and he could see the warden walking around the kitchen busily. The haughtiness still in his stride, he knocked on the door, and waited for it to open. Seeing Rick, the warden’s smile widened, and he ushered the small boy inside, into the waiting chair, warm and cozy in the cool weather outside.

“Hello Sir, thank you for inviting me over.”

“It’s my pleasure Rick, which you shall realize as the evening proceeds. Can I tempt you to a cookie as the steak cooks? I’m a late eater, so I cook late, hope you won’t mind that?”

“I would love that Mr. Warden.”

“How do you like your steak, Rick?”

“I haven’t tasted it ever, so I don’t know. Maybe I could tell you after I have it.”

“Well, the trustees of The Home don’t provide that much for me to cook you all steak every day. Well, that’s why I call some of you over for a meal, some special ones.”

“Thank you Mr. Warden.”

“Oh wait, I forgot to get you that cookie. And how would you like some orange juice to go with it?”

“That would be just so awesome Mr. Warden.”

“I’ll just be back with the cookie and your juice, my child. I’ll also check up on the steak.”

As the warden walked back into the kitchen, his eyes twinkling with an emotion Rick did not know yet, a weird smell rose and tickled him in the nose. Following it with his senses, Rick got up from the confines of the soft chair and trudged towards the closed door, his eyes taking in everything between the chair and the door. Hearing the warden come back, he ran back to the chair, and sat down, impatient for him to leave him alone again.

Munching the cookie, Rick looked around and waited for the warden to leave him again, so that he could get back to exploring the closed door. As he bit more into the biscuit, he felt a strange heaviness in his eyelids and a new lightness in his body. He wished to just let go, and fall to the ground; to just close his eyes, and wander into the expanses of his dreams. The last thing he remembered seeing was the warden sneering evilly. When his eyes opened, there was just the excruciating pain, and he hoped that it would be the last sensation he felt in his life, he just wanted it to end. His eyes picked the surroundings, and he realized that he was in the closed room. With the realization, the darkness returned, and he lost consciousness. Again.

The sound of the gavel brought him back to the present, chamber as the uniformed men raced forward from all four corners of the chamber and surrounded him. He stood firm, the lines of his face shining in the light; his eyes, unblinking, taking in everything from the surroundings; his jaw set hard lined to resemble a smirk. As his captors reached him, he allowed them to cuff him, and with a mild smile, he began walking, as cool, and cold, as the South Pole. Marching to the awaiting van, he raised a hand to the throng, which broke away with shrieks and swears, and some of them shivered, and a chill went down their spine. The car drove away, as the people walked off, still discussing the cruelty and barbarity of the sentenced man.

The sharp steps reverberated through the corridor, and the light of the torch pierced a beam through the darkness. Bars clanged, and within moments, the shadows returned to haunt the long room, but the silence did not.

“The night is dark, and full of terrors; we do mistakes, but we make errors,” he murmured to himself, again and again, pronouncing every syllable with increasing energy.

Shouts rose from the neighboring cells, overflowing with anger and abuses, as he let the quiet refurbish the place. There was no way out from here; there was nowhere to go, no place to hide; there was no quiet, no peace; only disturbances, of life, of nature. He was stuck.

Reminiscence

Standing at the window,

I gaze, I look around,

Lots of activity going on,

Combination of movement and sound.

Children playing,

And women chattering,

All that together,

It resembles a good fun gathering.

There return those days,

The ones I had gone through,

The moments I’d spent on the field,

As the years passed and I grew.

Cricket through the year,

Football only in the monsoons,

The days were pretty boring,

Spent watching Shinchan and other cartoons.

Playing was easy,

But winning wasn’t,

Seeing children play today,

Even slightly changed that hasn’t.

Height problems talked about,

Also trial ball said on getting out,

Not so sincere with the rules,

Players get into a severe bout.

Cheating on run outs,

Is not an uncommon event,

The batsman never walks off,

Unless with some words he’s sent.

Sledging on the field,

It’s a prominent occurrence,

You can’t walk away from that,

It holds certain importance.

Football is another matter,

Which needs other judging,

It’s a pretty tiring game, Which

Can’t be played without strong nudging.

A push in the back,

Or a tug on the shirt,

A kick to the shin is occasional,

To make the opponent kiss the dirt.

That’s what I see,

Standing at the open window,

Rather it’s the time I had,

When I was a little kiddo.

Those wooden bats,

And those rubber balls,

Girls may not have done this,

‘Cause they enjoy playing with dolls.

Breaking windows,

And denting cars alike,

It’s not our fault,

We didn’t make the number of cars hike.

There’s no space today,

Not for us to play,

Cars and concrete all around,

And “Kids don’t play” they say.

Is it our fault,

Is it our mistake,

We wish to play openly,

And space is all it takes.

Don’t talk about grounds,

They’re too far,

Why not have place in the building,

And make another place for the car.

I don’t know where I’ve ended,

But it’s not a plea,

You can also call it a rant,

And by now it’s my time to flee.

Here rings my phone,

And I’m off to enjoy the day,

Keep all the cars in the middle,

But we’ll still manage to play.