After 20 long years of meditation, she opened her eyes. 
An ethereal glow enveloped her, she saw the shimmer of an outline stand before her.
She would finally get what she’d waited so long for.
“Could you please wait a while while I get accustomed to your glow?” She asked, and heard a deep ‘hmm’ in reply.
As her eyes gradually accepted the glare, she saw a monkey standing in the hot glow of the afternoon sun.


Uncle John

<a href=””>Peculiar</a&gt;.

Uncle John

My aunt chose a strange man to marry. The day she met him, I’d accompanied her to the grocery store (I was to live with her for a month.) He introduced himself as Larry, a regular at the place.

My aunt began to frequent the store more often, seeing now as her grocery requirements miraculously grew threefold. She blamed it on my ravenous appetite.

Well, Larry, it seemed, changed his name each day, whichever suited his fancy, Bob one day, Samuel the next, and for the entire month, aunty conceded to play the memory game with me (a game I usually won hands down, and so she refused to play). Not-Larry’s ever changing names were a constant source of admiration at home (albeit one sided, and wholly fuelled by her.)

She sighed such a sigh one day that I pointed out she had a schoolgirl crush on the guy, but she said no, it was true love.

Amongst other peculiarities, the man frequently changed his appearance, beard one day, moustache the next, once, he’d even had on an afro hair wig. Since my aunt absolutely refused to bring me along to pick up the groceries anymore, a strong set of binoculars did the spying.

I said he looked startlingly like a chimp with hair grown on, she said he was handsome no matter what he looked like.

 I, being a child, had absolutely no qualms in carrying out (futile) attempts to burst her bubble, but the woman was crazy after him. 

One day, it occurred to me he could be a little off his rocker, or a policeman, or a spy, or a criminal or something, but Aunt said no, he was just eccentric, and she knew all the details of his personal life. She said the man loved her and that’s why he chose to divulge information about himself to her. She even knew his real name – John.

Well, my month was up, and before leaving I made my last attempts at discouraging (what I felt was) her unhealthy relationship, but soon as I left, news came round that she’d married “Not Larry -but- John”. This was about a year ago.

Today, I attended Aunt’s funeral. She died of asphyxiation, but why it happened in the first place isn’t clear. When I asked her neighbors about her peculiar husband, they told me she had none.


<a href=””>Crescendo</a&gt;


That’s my chicken.

My aunt, wishing well for me, I’m sure, gifted me a chicken out of the blue. It was her chicken (rooster) actually, but, good intentioned as she is, and seeing me in dire need of a pet, she left the chicken to me.

 (If you can not notice the sarcasm here, you’re as good as my aunt.)

Of course the woman couldn’t take care of it, so she “handed it down to me”, something to be proud of for generations.

She called it Crescendo, I think, but I call it a pain in the ass.

For one, the house is filled with droppings from everywhere to everywhere and at 4:30 a.m. I have a fluttering, pesky alarm clock to swat off the dining table.

 (That’s another thing, it’s in love with the green on my dining table, reminds him of home I suppose.)

If I don’t get him off, I get company for breakfast- more droppings. 

Aunt positively threw me a bag of chicken food, she was quite concerned I feed him right, and for 7 days, I do not know how I have managed.

I won’t mince words and I definitely won’t pretend I like the thing- it’s all I can do to stop myself from flying into murderous rages- or say that despite the animal’s flaws I kind of have a soft spot for it- I do not.

I need a buyer, and damn quick, now that I have restored internet access (shall I tell you who pecked out the wiring the day he arrived?!) and you can take it off me for a couple bucks too.

Crescendo my foot, my levels of irritation have peaked since the day I’ve seen the dratted thing.

Dream with me

Tonight is lovely-dark and cold,

And I am warm and fed.

And in utter solace am

I snuggled into bed.

No one disturbs me, and no one

Plagues my thoughts today,

For I provide my soul with all

I’ll ever have to say.

A warm, warm feeling takes my heart,

I glow from the inside

And slowly, slowly, do into

Another world I ride.

And here I gallop, here, run free,

A planet of my own,

Whose very earth does speak to me

Whose very seeds I’ve sown.

And happenings both weird and true

Occur before my eyes

While giant armies do, sometimes,

March to battle cries.

And other times, birds flutter

Gently into trees

And all the world holds silent

In strange, strange silent breeze

And I could pour out words on words

Of wonders I do see,

But you would never understand,

You do not dream with me.

One tongue

My stomach tied itself up into horrible knots inside, then unravelled itself and contorted into writhing creatures, my nervous heart doing loop d loops all the while.

It had been two weeks since I had moved into this new neighborhood, this new country actually, and school would probably be a nightmare, said my over thinking, self conscious, introverted brain.

On day one, I stepped into a class who took no interest in my existing. I slunk into a seat up front.

Then. Lunch. She smiled at me. I smiled at her. So what if I didn’t know their language? They knew mine.

The burial of the blue umbrella.

The umbrella had an umbrella shaped burial. Grand. Open. Covered. 

It had really been for Helen. The owner. The lover beyond comparison. The umbrella girl. The smiler. 

Her mother made it happen. Pity she didn’t attend.

It was the umbrella she so loved that did it. Took away from her the love of her life.

You see, no matter how much you love another, a thing, a person, you love your life the most. And Helen was the sort of girl who wouldn’t compromise on that. She was a girl full of… Of gumption.

And again I say she lost the love of her life. 
Her life itself.

The umbrella itself was perfect. Blue. Rich, silky, blue, and waterproofed. It also had a pink smudge close to the top- a kiss mark from her mother. After all, the umbrella was Helen and it needed a kiss too.

It all happened suddenly. So suddenly and on a Wednesday. The day of the grand christening. The day the store housing the umbrella saw a procession be led in it’s honour. By Helen, of course. And no one else behind her. Just her and the umbrella. But a procession it was. And the umbrella was named as well. Named. A secret name. I don’t know it. Do you?

Well. That was another Wednesday. This Wednesday belonged to the cat. No umbrella.

The day of the burial, not a person wept. Rarely do you come across people who weep for umbrellas. This umbrella was no different. Of course, there was only one person at the burial too. He had been paid, though. He was supposed to bury the royal blue. So, he had no need to emote either.

The cat showed up as suddenly as it could disappear. Damned cat. Maybe un-damned. In another universe. On another street. Not here. 

Helen had only tried to shield her. The cat. From the unshieldable rain. Then the car came. As silently as the cat. Ready to deprive a girl from the love of her life. 

The umbrella had a case built for it. Protective. Preservative. Then another. Wooden. Umbrella shaped.

When it was buried, Helen’s soul must have rejoiced. It lay to the right, after all. 

An umbrella shaped hole in the ground. An umbrella shaped case within. An umbrella shaped covering inside. Have we lost the blue?