Losing a Son

Will I ever know the pain of a father losing a son at his prime adolescence? I might understand but can never feel his pain. Seeing him broken makes me feel that the god has been little harsh this time by taking the son; leaving pain and despair for family. The fact that they couldn’t even get his remains aggravate the loss. The real loss, no one really saw it coming.

One unfortunate day, a father gets call from unknown number informing that his son has been washed away by the river, and the search team has been sent to retrieve a ‘body’. Numb with the news, the choice of word ‘body’ pricks his sense with the possible truth that his son is no longer alive. Wails from home reverberated in the valley, gathered crowd couldn’t lessen the pain. While the mother and daughter cries their heart out, father scold them that their son is still alive, praying it to be true. Who was he trying to fool, them or his every broken pieces? He tried his best to stand firm, it broke us to see him crying like a baby while pretending to wash his face. He couldn’t even grieve openly, that’s how men usually are.

His son has kept everything intact at home, with the promise to return home. A promise he failed to keep; he specifically ask his mother to keep his favorite Chelsea jersey, it is still hanging on wall while ‘buray gho’ they have ordered for his graduation is still lying in the cupboard. He is gone too soon to be true, a father says. Had he known that he will be gone this soon, he wished he hugged him tight during his last departure and said how much he loves him.

They couldn’t even get to see the body to say a proper farewell. The alienation and desolation speaks a volume about his loss. His smile no longer reaches his eyes. Time was supposed to fill and heal the loss, however with every passing day, the burden of losing a son seems to weigh him down; gnawing from inside as his bone are projecting outside.

Whenever, someone calls ‘Dorji’, he turns back to see the person and always wish him to be his son. The undeniable hope and then despair is visible to whole universe, longing for his son continues. We might forget with the time but will he? I think there should have been proper closure for them to say goodbye to each other.

Gray Rainbow

The world seems to have stopped

Its move at your doorsteps.

Those melted clock on the wall,

Frozen yogurt in the fridge,

Laden dust in the corner

And the stopped heart at other.

Barely a whisper lacked the meaning

And the life has lost its luster,

Never imagined a gray rainbow; it existed

When the seasons of color mourn

And existence began to heavily weigh

Beyond the will to carry on.

The never enough winter’s sunshine

To light the smile on everyone’s face.

Those eyes, full of thousand stories,

Buried all when she closed for the last time.

The world is a miracle of miseries

Ready to applaud when it is others’.

Fighting Them

For hours, I flipped the pages going deeper through the eyes of Toru Watanabe in Norwegian Wood. I finally gave up to strained eyes and striking midnight. The fatigue easily induced sleep. Long before I could process the thoughts or complain about the nights, I subconsciously slipped into another world. The monsoon and rain, not much to complain.

I woke in the middle of the night by soft knock on the door followed by the bouncing of basketball. Alarmed, I reached for cellphone to check the time ‘Seriously? 1:48am, who the hell is playing basketball at this hour?’ The urge to get out and smack the punk was more than failing heart at that moment.

My ghost walked through bedroom door, main door and verandah door without unlatching a single door. She had a cricket bat clasped tightly. FYI a cricket bat from neighboring kid. Black tights were complimented well by the black boots and leather jacket, a top tied hair and fire in her eyes. The full moon illumination made it picture perfect just like a scene from a movie.

As light as she walked inching closer to them, she never felt stronger in years. The smirk on her lips, determination to teach lesson to those bastards and upright posture almost gave chill to those immature punks. She scanned around to each face and counted the head. As per her quick mental calculation she jumped high, kicked all six of them subsequently and landed with a class. She beat two of them with bat while still kicking and pinning others with her boots. The groans and cries made her to stop beating the shit out of them. She almost beat them again and warned with conviction to never disturb the neighborhood again. They agreed instantly and ran away feebly.

With the triumphant smile and fireworks in the background, she threw the bat in a style and walked as if she owned the night putting shame to the witnessing stars and a moon. Yes, without unlocking, she passed all three doors and came to celebrate with me. She looked radiant glowing with the undisputable confidence.

There she found me cornered at bed, draped in blanket clutching the bed sheet, sweating profusely, holding a pee, prayer beads in hand and chanting ‘Om Ah Hung Benza Guru Pema Siddhi Hung’ thousand times.