I sail a raft off the edge of a waterfall that rolls down my face because you got on a plane made of paper and flew into my eye. I jump off a ten story building into a heart-shaped swimming pool of blood which erupts from my chest every time I think of you drowning yourself in doubt. Static in the clouds rushes down from the sky and courses through my veins each time your vocal cords oscillate to scream at me because I finished your chocolate milkshake. Your skin is like a road of plastic melting in the heat of the candle in the light of which you read, in the dark, books the paper of which is made from a tree taller than the highest cloud in the sky. Your scent is like a mixture of cinnamon, crushed pine leaves and green-apple vodka poured into my nose and titrated against reason. Your lips taste like stars in the night’s black canvas of your infinite, chaotic nonsense which I deal with every day. Your hair is like a perfect arrangement of silk atoms spinning round and round like the helicopter blades I got caught in while trying to skydive into the metal concert you’re head-banging at.

I had an espresso today for the first time in my life. Who needs sleep anyway?


Road Safety / Toy Truck

A boy is reluctantly eating his breakfast. He wears his school uniform and a look of annoyance. He will cycle to school today, as usual.

A truck driver is drinking his morning tea. Usually he wouldn’t have to drive down during the day, but today was an exception.

The boy has finished his breakfast. He is ready for school. His bag and his lunch box flail around him as he runs to kiss his mother goodbye.

The driver is finished with his tea. He pays what he owes, breathes in some fresh morning air and makes his way to the truck.

It is the 21st of April. In his school, they allow kids to wear casuals on their birthdays. This kid didn’t believe in all that. He wears the uniform. His bag is heavier than usual with the toffees stacked above his books. He mounts his bicycle.

It is his son’s birthday today. He has to start early if he is to make it for the party this evening. He sits in the driver’s seat, adjusts his mirror and makes himself comfortable. He places the toy truck on the passenger seat. A gift for his son. It’s a long drive ahead. He starts the engine.

The boy cycles down the road to school. He lives on top of a hill so it’s a delightful ride down. He rolls down fast. It is a narrow road.

The truck driver is on an uphill climb. When you’re climbing a hill, you can’t see what’s coming at you. His palm pushes against the steering wheel and the sound of the horn resonates.

The boy sees the truck before he hears the sound from the horn. He leans in to the left and stops his bike to the side of the road.

The truck driver sighs. Smart boy.

The boy is home. He runs to his mother and kisses her cheek. She hands him his gift and a mug of hot chocolate. He opens it to find a toy truck.

The tired man reaches home. The entire family has arrived for the party. He walks inside the house with the gift for his son in hand to find his wife crying in a corner. The rest of them are huddled around his son’s shrouded corpse.
“He saw a truck coming, thought it was you and ran onto the road,” they tell him.

Wet Clothes

His eyes adjusted to the light that poured in as he opened the door to the terrace. The cool wind pulled his hair back. He could see the back of her wedding dress. She stood on the edge of the roof, ready to jump.

It was raining.

He ran to her and caught hold of her hand. She turned to slap him with her other hand, but he held that one too. He pulled her from the ledge and held her in his arms. She cried into his shoulder. His clothes were more wet from her tears than from the rain.

He should have listened.

“I’d rather die than marry you,” she’d said.

The Walk Home

My mother is a good person. She never hurt anyone and she always taught me to do the right thing. She loved my father a lot, so she was broken when he died. Our family had nothing to our name. Father had been the sole source of income. My mother remarried for our sake: my brother’s and mine. No one deserves what happened to her.

The Man was rich. He owned the local bar and also every bar in a twenty kilometer radius. And with his money came power. Power to control our family. For if the money stopped, we wouldn’t survive. He sent my brother to college and enabled me to continue my education. Mother was miserable, but she put up with it for us. At times she would walk into my room and embrace me, the tears from her eyes rolling down my neck. I felt helpless.

I don’t need to tell you what kind of a man he was. I don’t need to tell you how he came home drunk every night. I don’t need to tell you about the women he’d bring into our house, or the things he’d do to my mother when I was at school. Mother never said anything, but I knew.

I like to think I would have done something if mother hadn’t forbidden me from doing so, but God knows I’m not a hero. He would withdraw my brother from college if I tried anything funny and then there would be no hope of us breaking free from his imperialism.

Sometimes at night, when the sounds from my mother’s bedroom were too loud, I would sneak out the window and head to the hills. I would sit on the edge of a cliff where my father would bring me when I was younger. He would buy me a lollipop and I’d sit there licking on it like the happy child that I was, and we would talk about life, school, women, his job, family, anything really. I’d finish eating, he’d pat me on the head and tell me not to tell mom about the lollipop. We’d head back home to a warm, mom-cooked dinner. She’d give me a hug, kiss me goodnight and I’d sleep like a child should. Those were the days. I believed things wouldn’t change. I never thought I could wake up and find myself in another world entirely. I was wrong.

When my father died, I cried for four days straight. It was difficult to sleep and when I did manage to, it did not last long. I woke up crying and I wept myself to sleep. My mother took care of things despite having lost her husband. She did not mourn as I did, though her sadness was much deeper. She is the strongest woman in the world. After those four days I vowed to never cry.

I slept on the cliff that night.

I woke to the sound of birds. Tuesday. I had school. I rushed back home, tumbling down the hill. I snuck back into my room through the window before anyone could notice my absence. I peeked through my open bedroom door to see the Man walk out of the house. My mother was still in her bedroom. I knew because I could hear her sobbing. What he did during the day was not known to me because I was always at school. I decided to find out that day.

His car whirled out of the driveway. I ran out and picked up my bicycle. It hadn’t been used in years, but it seemed to be working alright. I followed him as fast as I could and I was out of breath in five minutes, but I kept going. My curiosity wouldn’t let me back out from this now. He stopped at one of his private bars. I expected him to go in, have a few drinks and come back out, but he stayed inside for an awfully long time. It was time to investigate. I parked my bike outside and walked in.

It was cool and dark inside. A TV was blaring, the only illumination inside the bar. I could see the Man and his friends by a sofa, glaring at the light. They were visibly drunk. I couldn’t see what was on the television, but I could see them laughing. For some reason, the Man looked a little more innocent in his drunk state. He looked like someone who would be gentle and caring and not like the merciless beast that he was. I walked forward but I still could not see what was on the TV. The dark atmosphere of the bar prevented the Man and his friends from noticing me. Bottles lay scattered on the ground and the smell of alcohol seared through my nose. These people took their drinking quite seriously. I continued my steady and measured pace into the room until I caught a glimpse of what was on the screen.


A tear rolled down my cheek.

“You bastard!” I screamed, my voice tearing through the sudden eerie silence of the bar.

The Man turned his gaze to the direction of my voice and found me standing there, breathing heavy with ferocity. He was still plastered, but the look on his face was back to the man I knew he was. He set his drink down, picked up a knife from the bar and rushed at me. The fight didn’t last long. I stabbed him with his own knife in the eyes, twice. The other men did not react. The knife fell from my hands to the floor, next to where the Man lay.

My mother is a good person. She never did anything to hurt anyone and she always taught me to do the right thing. I knew what I had done was wrong, so I walked home. I walked past my house and I took to the hills. To the cliff. And I walked. And I walked. And I walked.

And then I flew.


// I’d written this particular story for the creative writing category at Revels 2015 here in MIT, Manipal. I wasn’t able to get my hands on the original piece, so I rewrote it. Hope you liked it!


A car with open windows always has small flies flying around in it. The flies enter the car through the windows and they don’t leave. When the car starts moving, some flies are blown away and some stay. The flies which have been blown away have failed and those that remain are successful. They have found the places where the wind doesn’t reach. The hiding places which keep them safe. They have worked hard to find these places and will not share them with any other.

The windows are now rolled up as the majority of the flies have left. The ones inside are now trapped. The prospect of living is easier than before but still more risky because of periodic attack by the humans in the car. In the end, the flies will mate and create offspring which are still stuck in the car. One day the windows will roll down and they will take the same test their parents did. Some will succeed and some will fail.

The car is your system and the wind is your test.

Where will you hide?


The cold morning wind hits his face as he cruises downhill. The calming thump of the engine beats hard and fast; as does his heart. It is early and the sun is still rising. He has decided to forget his other problems, just as the sky forgets the dark of the night.
He rides for a purpose. He will hear a woman scream and see blood on a child’s face this day. He will hear the boy cry and yet he will feel nothing but happiness. Accomplishment. Pride.

He reaches the tall, white building with the large, red cross and steps into the building. And also into fatherhood.