My One And Lonely



I yelled throwing myself across the room. My feet hit the cold floor as I tiptoed around. I struggled to find my towel, quickly got dressed and lifted my bag.

‘‘Uh oh’, I did it again. Dropping everything, I began my hunt.

I was exhausted; I had spent an hour running around every crevice in the house, and another under my bed.

It was then that I decided that it was impossible to live like this. I was rather done with myself.

Though I did have one-half of it, I could not just leave it like that. I knew better than anybody what it felt like to have to adjust. We stared at each other in absolute numbness.

‘I did check everywhere, honest’, I whispered to it.

Lost, I took another glance across the room then looked at it.

My mom came rushing into the room – What are you looking for?

I looked up holding the lone warrior in my lap (not the one you may be thinking of). She understood.

She followed the same routine as I did, except rather miraculously. She had found it. She looked at me, sighed, and then threw it across the room. There it was – my complete pair of socks – the black sock to compliment my black sock.

Till the next time.


The Moonlit Fable

I was ready. Strapped in and over prepared, I was thrilled beyond imagination. We had taken off.  I looked at the city below shrinking as we went further up.

This will be revolutionary – I thought to myself as I scanned multiple news articles. I had all my research stacked orderly in my bag. The destination was not too far now. Breathing hastily, I looked around to see what the clouds outside looked like.

The journey was long, I do not mean to complain of course, but it felt like days. It was probably because of the impatient adrenaline pumping within me.

Finally, we landed. It was a smooth one too! I unbuckled myself and rushed out the craft, ‘beautiful’, I thought to myself.

I sprinted there, rushing and clicking photographs, what a great story this would make. The history, the fables – revolutionised. I looked around for clues and prints, I became a make-do Sherlock Holmes, but I was hardly one.

I could be there forever, but I felt that there was something conspiring; something that was meant to be there but wasn’t.

Finally, I removed my diary from my bag and made a note –

Completed the journey of three days, yet, no footprints – and more so, no flag.

It’s a lie’

I jumped across the surface of the moon and returned to my spacecraft. Armstrong was the fable.



The Oceans Called It

It was finally time to set sail. Bikini, check, Suntan lotion, check, and a lot of water, check. It was going to be a vacation of sorts – I thought to myself.

Puerto Rico would host us for a week. It had been long since our family had gone on a vacation. We packed our bags into the trunk of our car and headed towards the port.

Calmly, we waved goodbye to the city and began the voyage. The sun was as bright as ever, and the sea was a joy in itself. I took a bucket load of photographs to hang on the wall once we got home. Sigh, only a week.

All four of us hadn’t been together in very long.

While we danced on the deck and obeyed the Captain’s instructions, I sometimes felt a blurred reality of the Titanic come to us when the ship swayed angrily with the tide. I have to admit, that scared me.

The nights would be long and scary, but everything about that ship made it worth it. The days had started feeling longer. Sometimes I would forget what day we were at.

‘Hey! Come here, I guess I see the shore!’ my father called out to me. Excitedly, I ran towards him, but he had mistaken a group of insignificant islands to be home. I smiled at him and walked back to my room.

I have sea shells in my bag, and pictures to fill the whole house. It felt like a trip that wouldn’t end.

Today is the eighty-ninth day of what was supposed to be a weeklong vacation, and I am waiting for my father to call out to me again.

‘Though initially, we wished it would never end, now I wonder when we will be home’ – I wrote in my diary as we floated in the triangle between Bermuda, Florida, and Puerto Rico.

There He Was – S’Long!

He had never been late. For all these years that I have known him, he had always come right on time.

We had decided to meet the next morning after what it seemed to be ages. I had hoped for it to be everything I wanted it to be. I spent the entire night figuring out what to wear and scanning through the menu of the restaurant I had chosen for us. Nothing could go wrong.

I went to my safer haven, the internet, to tweet about how I was feeling – scared, nauseous, excited. Though no one reads my tweets as such, it felt like writing into the world. I had hoped for empathy.

I thought I should sleep early so that I look fresh and at my best the next day, but I was too anxious.

Finally, I fell into a deep reverie as I dreamt about his face, his voice, and the fact that we were going to meet after so long.

I woke up before the alarm went off and rushed my breakfast into my queasy stomach. Oh, what a day it was going to be.

With reddened cheeks and a broad grin, I got dressed and rushed to my laptop. While I opened twitter, I opened another window, and there he was across the screen – his eyes looking into mine.

I shut the tab of Twitter to ignore the spoilers and focus on the lead guy who stood in the poster of the new season of my favourite TV show. It was finally time.


The Late Night Crime

It was half-past eleven when the door bell rang.
The moon was at its highest, and all the buzz had died out. The world was dead silent.
I slowly walked to the door and looked through the peephole. It was him. Looking back at the clock, I opened the door. Staring at the man dead in the eye, I looked down and walked back in.
“You’re late”, I said in a gruff voice. There was silence.
“I’m sorry” he began. “It was –“

“Shh”, I lifted my hand up to stop him, “so that is what I get? An excuse?” My voice was growing louder.

He shook his head, “Sir, it was the men. I did all I could to escape. I kept my cover and did not stop for anything.” He began to breathe heavily.

“Did you bring what I had asked for?” I looked up expectantly. He knew I meant business.

“I mean – “I shushed him as he spoke – “Give it to me.”

He shuffled in his bag clumsily as he took the package out. Something seemed wrong about it; I backed up instantly.

“That is not what I asked for”, I exclaimed angrily.

“Yes, sir, it is.” He nodded as he placed it in my hands.

I took a whiff and asked, “How much?”

“That will be three hundred forty-nine rupees.”

“Overpriced pizza will be the death of me”, I shook my hand as I kept the box on the table and placed the cash in his hands.

“Have a good night, sir” he smiled and walked away counting the cash.

“A GOOD night?” I shut the door, “I just paid for late pizza” I smacked my head.




The Bachelor Party

It was finally the day of his bachelor party. The last night of absolute freedom, it had to be grand! I had spent a lot of time figuring out what to get him, till I decided to be the best guy friend ever.

One thousand rupees for one night – it was the perfect deal. I called the other guys to confirm. It was his final day being single, and this is the only night we could be shamelessly kinky. It was to be a traditional party, one he was never going to have after tonight.

All of us guys giggled as we made the booking. It was going to be a night to remember – in all ways possible.

When his fiancee left for dinner, we arrived at his house timely (for obvious reasons). We got him a boy crown and a whistle to wrap around his neck. We tried to be as cheeky as we could be, but we had no idea how he would react even though most guys would jump at the thought of it. Will he like it? I had hoped he wouldn’t shun us, and most of all, I was worried about his fiancée walking in on us.

The bell rang, and there she was – dressed in red, with her tongue slyly between her teeth. All of us got excited. We stared unblinkingly and started patting each other.

Finally, he came – the man of the night. He stopped in his way as he stared at her and choked, slightly drooling and breathing heavily at the same time. We ran and placed a crown on his head as she shifted on all fours, calling him through.

He was shocked, and instantly scanned the room for his to-be wife.

‘She isn’t here’, I confirmed. He got excited and walked handsomely towards her.

As she sat on his lap and he folded his arms around her to close in, his fiancée entered the room and screamed.


He got scared and lifted himself up the sofa.  Struggling to find words, he kept shifting his eyes from his fiancée to us, and then to her.

‘Please, I can explain’, I got up.


‘It’s a bitch’, I whispered.

Running Away

I couldn’t stay there. I had to run away.

While I never enjoy social gatherings as such, today, for some reason, it had triggered me. All the yelling, the fighting, and the drama – I could not listen to it anymore.

I knew I could leave whenever I wanted to, but could I? I was addicted. I was thriving on the drama. I was now a part of it.

Every day, I would be exposed to a new side of theirs’. They would argue about different things every day, things I did not know existed! How could there be so many problems? They would yell about things done, things definitely not done. I just wanted them to stop, but they just wouldn’t listen to me.

I would confide in my friend every day, and she would try to sympathize, but she couldn’t relate to what was going on. She offered me a shoulder to lean on, but that is all she could do. I wished I could invite her to live my life for a day to see what it felt like, but it was wrong.

My head was full of voices every night; I would go to sleep witnessing banging doors and loud whispers.

‘Sigh’, I asked myself, ‘Will this ever end?’

I thought it could be a phase. The period of dread, I like to call it. That was the thing about phases; they pass, right? So I held on. My friend became my ultimate support through it all.

I felt frustrated, more and more by each day. Until one day, online, I looked for validation. I found much, way more than I had expected who had the same stories, the same emotions. They could relate.

I decided to confront it at last.

Banging my door and picking up the novel from my desk, I had approached the end of the story. There it was, at last. The characters were in love; they were hugging and crying. The fighting was over. There, in bold italics, the book read – ‘And they lived HAPPILY ever after’. I could finally sleep in peace.