In the Eyes (Part 2)

She went inside her house, and locked the door shut after her. She thought a quick shower and a hot steaming cup of coffee would calm her mind. She took her coffee and went to stand next to her window, her favorite place in her apartment that looks on to the street. She would spend most of her evenings sitting by the window, drinking coffee, and watching the world go by. Now, however, she could see only the empty street. She wished she could empty her mind like the street. It wasn’t possible. Several doors of her past were opened up.

Her drunken neighbor wasn’t the only or first man she that made her feel miserable. There were many before him that made her miserable, angry, sad, and seriously doubt herself. There was her father who wasn’t happy when she was born because he wanted a son who would be a mirror image of him. Then, there was her younger brother who thought whatever she has is rightfully his, including their parents. She never liked how a family friend, whom she fondly called “Uncle,” would make her sit so close to him. She hated the fact that her ex-boyfriend would take her for granted and didn’t seem to think that hitting her for petty quarrels was wrong. Then, there were her male colleagues who were jealous of her progress. She would mutely listen them discuss how it is “easy” for her as she is a woman. She had lost the count of whistles and remarks that she has endured on the streets. She knew she wasn’t the only one. Several headlines she would read in the newspapers where proof of that.

With a heavy sigh, she turned her back to the window. Her coffee had gone cold. She set the cup aside and went to sit in front of her dressing table. She wondered how she had tolerated the wrongdoings all these days. Why hadn’t she uttered a word about it? Why she kept enduring it? She remembered how she was silenced whenever she tried to speak about it. She knew it had started taking toll on her mind. She remembered how it had become too much to handle. He neighbor’s words were still ringing in her ears- “I can see it. I can see a murder in your eyes. Do you wanna kill me?” She stared at her reflection in the mirror. The murderer stared back at her.

First half of the story: In the Eyes (Part 1)



It is a calm evening. An occasional peaceful breeze blows through the trees, bringing a gentle and sweet scent of flowers through the window. A tiny bird is singing lazily somewhere near. An old man sits by the window, oblivious to his surroundings. He doesn’t notice the bird, nor does he pay any attention to the sweet breeze. He sits with his eyes closed.

A family enters the building. The man looks around nervously, and his wife tries to hold their young son back, who is trying to run ahead of them. As they make their way in the building, all eyes are on them. Those tired and wrinkly eyes are waiting for a family too; their young family who would come to visit them someday.

The man enters quietly in the old man’s room. His wife and son follow him cautiously. The old man doesn’t even notice them. The man calls out for his father, but the old man doesn’t turn around to look at him. The son crosses the room and places a hand on his father’s shoulder tenderly. The old man turns and looks blankly at his son. With a lump in his throat, the son stares back at his father’s vacant eyes. Few silent minutes pass between them. The little boy gets impatient. He leaps towards his grandfather and gives him a tight hug. The old man looks at the little boy. Slowly, a smile appears on his face. His eyes lit up with recognition.



Frail are your dreams, daughter
If they shatter under the weight of responsibilities.
Collect the pieces and build a new dream.
Move on.

Frail is your mind, daughter
If it quivers under the restrains of this illogical world.
Break the shackles and free your mind.
Move on.

Frail are you, daughter
If you lose yourself amidst this ocean of people.
Find yourself and swim to the shore.
Move on.



I am running. I don’t know from what. I don’t know where to. I am Just running.

Black roads under my feet are leading me towards an equally black destination. Is this my present? Or is it my future?

I should scream, shouldn’t I?  At least, call for help. I try doing that, but only alphabets come out of my mouth. An A, then a H, L, M, and P. Alphabets fall down one by one, not really forming words. That’s strange! I know lots of words, lots and lots. Yeah, I mean sometimes I do have trouble articulating my exact feelings or what I exactly think. Yeah, I mean sometimes that leads to misunderstandings. But, I definitely know some words. I should make some noise at least, shouldn’t I? Nope, it’s not happening either.

I can see the darkness forming shapes around me. Faces, incidents, experiences, disappointments, thoughts, and failures start appearing around me as I run. I can see these shapes and forms floating midair as I try to run fast with all my might. They are as clear as a mirror. Too clear for my comfort. I don’t want to look at them, and I don’t want to face them. I run faster. Will they pull me back? I hope not.

Then, there are fingers, akin to the darkness that surrounds them. Are they pointing at me? Yes. All of them? Yes, all of them. I don’t feel comfortable. I know what I have done. I know. Those fingers know it too. They will tell everyone. No, I don’t want that. I run faster. I have to get away from them. Are they following me? I hope not.

I am running. I know from what, but I don’t know where to. I am just running. I need to run faster. I cannot feel the road under my feet. The road is melting away. What will happen to me now? There is so much baggage that I cannot fly or float. I am falling. I am falling faster than I had anticipated. There is nothing to hold on. I am falling.

I should wake up now, shouldn’t I?