The Ungrateful

We settled around you,
venerating your presence.
Making our homes
where you let us.

Yes, I Do

Govind stared at the note in his hand. Just one line, "Yes, I do." No signaure to tell him who had sent it. But he didn't need one. He knew just who could have sent it. And that's why he stared at it in disbelief.

23 years! 23 years gone in waiting for a reply. Hope, such a funny thing. Even in the face of evidence to the contrary, it had wafted around him at unexpected moments. A song here, a flower there, a phrase somewhere, a laugh... Anything could trigger a memory, a longing, and with it, hope. That their paths would cross, that their eyes would meet, that their hearts will unite, that their bodies will become one.

Vanity Fair

Saraswati bustled around, calling up caterers and making arrangements for her son's birthday party that week. Her phone buzzed. She looked at the name that flashed and rolled her eyes in frustration.

"Hey Saras! Are you very busy?"

"Yes Rekha," she replied. "Tell me, is it something urgent?"

"Hmmm... Actually, I posted a poem in the morning... I wondered why you hadn't liked or commented..."

The Homecoming

Shweta was so excited as she waited eagerly for her son Megh to come home for good after 4 years of engineering life in a college in Tamil Nadu. He had came home regularly during vacations the first three years. But in the fourth year, he had opted for internship in Bangalore! The parents had traveled to meet him and spend some time with him. But work and the younger daughter Varsha being in the 12th put severe constraints on the time. It always made Shweta feel guilty that she could not be there and had to let her son suffer bad food.

The Heart of the Matter

Eyes closed,
In a new world I wander
Where am I
Lost, I wonder

Swearing to Death

Vasanth got down and looked around. The manager came running to him. "Welcome, sir... Very sorry to hear about your loss," he said obsequiously. Vasanth nodded even as the manager gestured to a service staff to take Vasanth's luggage - a small suitcase and an airbag. The manager led Vasanth to the reception where he completed the formalities for registering.

"Lunch is being served..." the manager gently urged him.

The Waiting Room

Dinesh Mittal climbed up the five steps leading to his doctor's clinic and paused for breath. He opened the door and the receptionist smiled at him. "Please be seated Mr Mittal. Dr Batra will see you in a few minutes."

Mittal nodded and sat in the chair placed for waiting patients. He had retired four years ago. Now, every time he came to see the doctor and waited in this room, he felt it represented his life - a long wait before the final end.