The Fourth Seat

The clock would read after 9:30 pm. Some chatter would be going on the television. A Friday special movie, it could have been I don’t know. I must have been 8 or maybe 9. It was a routine which I was used to. No sign of my father anywhere. He would normally arrive by 7 when he worked in the Headoffice, earlier if he was nearby. But on certain days, on those days, when my mother would prepare fish or eggs for dinner, he would come later than his usual hour. After an evening out with the boys, as if it were. He would arrive post 9, sometimes around 10. That is how life was back then.  But I waited in anticipation when he would be delayed. He would not come empty handed. He would carry home a parcel. A parcel is what we now call a takeaway. A tandoori chicken - half or sometimes nothing but a Calcutta paan with a cherry in the middle, which we would refrigerate and savour after dinner. We would often wait for him to arrive, even though we knew he would have had something at the bar. B...

Far away, from here and far away from there. By the moonlit shores of Bombay. Where a gentle breeze always blows. There lies a wall. Which faces the sea. I often think about that spot. On which you and I sat. Speaking about nothing in particular. Watching the moon dance over the muddy waters. Slight sea spray on our faces. And a girl selling roses. Desperation in her eyes, tiredness in her limbs, hope and hunger keep her going in equal measure. We look away. Our life is better. We sigh. We hold hands under the golden necklace. Legs dangling over. We don't know what is life hereafter. Life is now, maybe life is never. Silence is good. But silence is not enough. Words fall short. But who needs words. When you have touch. Is touch enough? I am not sure and neither are you. Doubts and anger. A bumpy ride. In the Kaali peeli - our favourite. Words lie and so does my touch. What do we do now? Where do we go? Life is motionless but our minds keep racing. The sea is beautiful and so are yo...

Bonfires of bodies light up, the deathly night skies.  A storm within kills us slowly; Making us gasp for air  Tiny machines on our fingers, predict our fate now. Swabs, scans and pricks, confirm our worst fears.  The streets are silent. But for the ringing sirens. Death plays hide and seek; while panic reigns free. You and I try to sleep, dreaming of better days While a nightmare rages on; As we shut our eyes tightly.   "All our fault this is", we say we only let our guard down "What to do now, boss?" "Happens like that sometimes" we say Cocooned in our lies; We pretend that all is well. Help is here from near and far. "This too shall pass, soon someday" But you and I must awaken. From our slumber of delusion. For the time is now to not surrender; But rise to reclaim and conquer.

“A skinny cat slinked in the shadows of the lane that ran by my small house. I was observing it one moment and then following it the next. It was too nimble for me but I kept chasing it. My only motive was to catch up with the cat, so that I could….I could do what? Why was I running behind the poor cat, I had no idea but I had no time to think, I had to catch up with the cat. Everything around me was a fuzzy mass of sepia and black. I had no idea where I was, I was just following the cat. Where was it headed? It did not matter.  Wait for me, Mr. Cat. Was it a tomcat? How could I tell? It was too dark and the cat was too fast. The cat was now crawling, wait a minute, it was a baby crawling very fast and now the baby was growing up and it was running. Now I really couldn’t keep up, I was panting and I could feel a side stitch working up, I was going to lose the cat-baby. Suddenly, the baby started to hobble. Yes! I screamed and the blurry lines around me cleared. I was ...

There is an unmistakable rumble around the corner. I hear the horn. It is a train snaking its way past over the south central railway tracks. On the other side is the traffic of the outer ring road. A steady stream of vehicles flowing like a golden Mithi river. From my windy perch, high above the ground, overlooking these two lines of transport, I see a bright white moon rising in the west. It is a cold night here on the outskirts of the erstwhile garden/lake city. The monster of urbanisation is slowly creeping up and making its presence felt. I am bombarded with the same brands in similar malls trying desperately to adopt a new avatar. That of the city which it is not. Amid the high rise steel and glass structures, thrives a populace still rooted in rural traditions. A few years ago they might have even looked at me with curiosity but I am the majority now, too many like me rolling around in our Uber-Ola cabs and company buses. In the supermarket, yet another gimmick of the...

The best kind of experiences are unplanned. Today evening, as I made my way to Poinsur, I called up my friend Melvin - an original resident of this quaint east Indian village to check if he was around. Mel works in Human Resources but is an adventurer at heart. Every other weekend, you might find him wandering around the hills of Khandala quenching his thirst for adventure. He is a prolific blogger and inspite of living about 400 meters away from his gaothan (urban village) I had never met him before until Karen, our common friend introduced us. We met in the winter of 2016, a day after I wrote the TISSNET - the all Indian entrance exam for postgraduate programs at TISS where incidentally I study - human resources and labour relations. It also turned out that my guess about him being related to my teacher, the late Ms. Yvonne D'souza was correct. He was her son. It was a great evening. Ever since we try to meet now and then.  On his blog, aptly titled Away From The Crowds , y...