SS # 55: Secret Identity

Deep inside me, somewhere it is hidden. It shows in flashes, little by little. My secret identity. I have to hide it. But it breaks out from inside me, all the longing, just wanting to tear away...!
Yesterday I saw the news. They were showing a man. He hit the ball so hard that it flew over the stadium. Later he was the Man of the Match. In the cricket World Cup.
I imagined myself: hitting that ball. My speech, oh, how wonderful it would be! What a hero I would be! But...
Before that there was a singer on TV. She was singing her heart out. Her dress had shiny, sparkly, sequins on it. Everyone loved her.
I imagined myself dancing that routine, singing that song. My hips would move so gracefully! But...
Way, way, before they showed a man. He was fighting near the border. He was fighting for what he believed in.
I dreamt of doing that. Of showing the world that I cared. I would go to the ends of the earth to show that. But...
But I have a family to feed, and children to raise.

Comparison

Beautiful women, walking down the runway. Their breasts bounce slightly with each step. Their faces are grotesque art pieces. I lean on my broom and watch them. They seem like zombies, yet perfect angels. This one has horns, the next one has a halo. But both of them are staring, glaring, glowering.
Do they ever regret their lives? Do they ever regret coming here, watching their faces being transformed, being criticised like some food? Or do they like it? Attention is plenty, but they are like robots. Beautiful robots who have no opinions and are reduced to having to let other people choose for them, and write their personality all over their face.
Maybe I am just a janitor, but I am glad that I choose my looks.

If Only

A flicker of light, and her face is revealed. She is wearing a world of make-up, from eyeliner to foundation. Her eyes are like drooping sunflowers. She is wearing a bright colour. It looks like yellow. Yellow? But before I can decide, the light is gone.

*

He's gone, she thinks, hopelessly. Unable to comprehend it. Too great a loss.

She is wearing a yellow shalwar kameez with bangles around her arms. Her face is masked with make-up. She had decided to put on more make-up than ever in the morning. After all, how can he be gone if I'm wearing yellow? If I'm dressed up? she had reasoned. But now she felt awkward, out of place. Everyone was staring at her. They had all known about her affair with him, and had expected her to be crying, wringing a hankerchief and tearing her hair out. Now they dismissed her as a flirt, a common prostitute.

But they don't understand, do they? They think that I should be weeping with them on that damn mud next to that damn coffin. Why?? To express my love for him? What else have I been doing all these years? Playing wife? She curses silently. The funeral had started. The priest started saying something, doing something...Something. Who cares?
She turned around and her kameez gets caught in a scraped bark. She curses again and tugs. Riiip! The dress was mocking her. She slaps the tree angrily.

*

She is pulling at her dress. It is yellow. Not black. Why not? Oh well. I'll worry later. I do not have much time. Only a few seconds of illumination, I have discovered.

But this time I am ready. I swerve around and face her, peering into her huge eyes. Little painted black lines, delicate and soft; her eyelashes.

But it is dark. Again.

*

Now her hand hurt. But no matter, no matter. More than her hand had hurt for all of these years.

He will be glad, she thinks, I'm not attending his arch enemy's funeral.

He had never been able to stop her. He knew, of course. He had heard the rumours but did not have enough proof to divorce.

She would have divorced with or without a reason, and if that wasn't possible, separated. But he was scared of what people would think. So she couldn't. The three had agreed on that, though she had needed persuasion.

She smiles grimly. That was all that her two lovers had ever agreed on.

*

She is thinking now. And now smiling. A regretful smile? Oh, how many regretful smiles have crossed my face now a days?! If only I had listened to her! She was right. Who cares about him? I should have listened! If it weren't for what people would have thought!

*

She wonders if he was watching her now? What would he be saying? Was he in heaven or hell? So many questions she wants to ask Him, and him.

A twig snaps. She whirls around. Who was that? she thinks, alert. Soon her question is answered. Out from behind the bushes appears a big, unshaven man with the appearance of a drunkard. He strides towards her, surprisingly fast, and roughly grabs her arm.

"So you think that you can watch his funeral from here, huh? Pretending not to notice how people are talking, eh? Well, you can't fool me, you damn fool!! I've waited long enough for this moment, when I'd have you all to myself." He grins wickedly. "See, you made a mistake marrying me. But never mind. Your beauty makes up for it." He cackles, sounding like a witch.

She pulls away from him. "Just leave me alone! This is all your fault, do you understand?! You damn drunkard! You think I don't know what you do every night? Huh?" He is momentarily shocked. But his face grins horribly again.

"And you think that I didn't know what you did every night?? But not anymore. I forgive you." He grabs her again and starts kissing her, wildly. He claws at her dress, at her reluctant body...

*

I have seen enough. That damn fool! If only she had divorced! Why was I so stupid?? But she can't hear me. If only she knew what he has done to me! If only she knew...

Because I Dared

He stands in front of me, indifferent to my glare. His eyes, flickering in the firelight, stare at my face with such a calmness that I feel like hitting him, screaming at him, grabbing him, anything! But I clutch the edges of my chair tightly, willing myself to control the emotion...

"You have done it?" he hisses. He never speaks more than is necessary. I nod. My face is masked, at least, I hope so. I hope he does not see the love behind the glare, the passion behind the eyes. "Good. I am pleased." He looks handsome. His eyes are black pools of evil. But who would have guessed? "You would have also seen to it that he keeps his mouth shut?" At this he smiles slightly. "Forever?" I nod again, my eyes piercing into his intensly. "Good. You have done well. Your task is done. Make sure that it is never mentioned again." He turns around to leave, and I suddenly yell, "Wait!"
I could not just let him slip from me, never let him know. All those years of yearning, all of them would be nothing of what I would suffer if he left! I must let him know. No matter if he kills me; at least it would be him who did it.

"I-I..." I hesitate. He pauses and dramatically stands with his back facing me.

"Don't bother," he warns. I can only see his hair, those still brown locks that I have wished to clutch for so long. "You know what will happen. Do not waste your life."

I feel like screaming. I'm willing to waste my life for him! What else have I been doing for the past five years? I could have easily gone to the police and reported him, but it was his eyes...

*

Eyes gone now. I let him leave. Gave him my life, my heart. And now they are both gone with the click of the door. Because I dared to love a villain.

SS # 50: Dream Journey

My life has been a journey. All my life, I have fought for what has been right. What is right? What I believ in. I have moved and thrown away old useless objects, which I now realise to be precious objects of times of happiness, times of pureness, times of childhood. I have grown older and maybe wiser, maybe stupider. I have cried at funeral; my grandmother's, grandfathers' and cousin's. I have trudged along an long path, with rocks and stones. I have tripped on branches and have heard the chirping of birds at dawn, and the stillness in the night. Snow has frozen my toes, but still I limp on. It would have been easy to escape, to just pick up that stick and drive it through my heart, like so many others had. Others. There were others, but I had never seen them. Skeletons, yes, of people God had punished and unleashed his wrath upon, of people who gave up on life and God. But still I trudged on. No turning back, only wishing to. No benches. No place to rest and say, "Yes. I can finally let my heart sleep!" Only roads. Winding, crossing, torturing roads. Where have my shoes gone? Worn away, like everything else. But was it real? Is anything real? Or just a dream? A dream of dancing slippers and white frocks lacing the sky. Or maybe a dream of long, infinite roads, leading to the heavens. And all that is left of my other life is that dream.

God's Grace

God (who I shall now call Allah, owing to the fact that I'm a Muslim), is so merciful. He gives us what we want and need, no matter how bad we disbehave. He forgives us, and what does he ask for in return? A few prayers a day, some dua (prayers), a month of fasting. What else?
Alhumdulillah (thank God), I have food and water and knowledge. Imagine all those African children who have to fight just to stay alive. And then look at me, playing PlayStation or getting a manicure, not even a second thought about the starving children of the world. A few dollars will help a child in Kashmir go to school for a year! A child dies every 3 seconds. And what am I doing to help? Nothing! I preach all I want, but do I practice it? No! I'm just a hypocrite, a huge, big, fat hypocrite!
Whew! Sorry about that outburst. I've just felt like that for years but I've never actually written it down. I feel relieved all of a sudden. I used to convince myself that I did a lot for the poor; that I donated everything that I could possibly give. But I realise now: I can never give everything I can. I CAN give away my millions of earrings, but do I?? I CAN go to Afghanistan and educate children, but do I? No! And will I?? Probably not. I am misusing my blessings, which Allah gave me. So I am not fulfilling my purpose in life: doing good deeds, and thus, I am just another bag of trash, dragging this world to its end.

Mother Nature

I wonder what Mother Nature looks like. Maybe she expresses herself with flowers and dew-drops, but what does she really look like? What lies inside her hidden heart? Perhaps endless laughter, or maybe the scent of jasmine. Maybe she is an ugly old hag, but which a childish heart, loving beauty. Suppose she made nature beautiful just to torment us when we are about to die, not wanting to leave this world? Or to chide us, daring us to cut down a tree. She loves rhythm, as the sun and moon have shown us. Only to a few people does she reveal herself to, only to a few civilizations. The Native Indians were among them, and unfortunately our civilization has not been favoured by her.
Or has it? Surely, nature is disappearing fast but isn't nature our surroundings? So isn't nature always with us, no matter where we are? Aren't we just changing nature's rules a bit, bending the wire? Challenging Mother Nature's boundaries, seeing how far we can go before she finally gets angry at us and lashes out? Nothing ever stays the same, so does it really matter if we build a few buildings, and chop down the Amazon's trees? Does it?