The Embrace…

I...

The breaker charged towards the shore. Too long had he been fettered to the sea. He sought freedom, craving to severe the umbilical cord that bound him to the seabed. An accident of a tempestuous relationship between a typhoon, or was it a tornado or a hurricane or a gale or simply a storm- one of them in any case, and the sea, he had been abandoned to his fate from the moment he was born. As a result, he had spent his entire life rolling from one co-ordinate to another, trying to figure out where he was.
II...
During his childhood, he never displayed any inclination to mix with the other illegitimate offspring that his mother had strewn all about. Instead, he frolicked with the schools of fish and dolphins, often accompanying them on their long journeys.
III...
With youth had come longing, the desire to escape. The ships that traversed the sea's course evoked hitherto dormant feelings in him. The champagne of voices and laughter that trickled down his parched throat only served to exacerbate his thirst for company.
IV...
Then had come the chagrin of having swollen to twice the size he had been in his younger days. The loneliness had gnawed at his heart, leaving a dull throbbing pain. Now, when the ships passed by, he no longer tried to keep pace with them. Instead he rolled along silently and ponderously, sometimes even parting to let them through.
V...
He had seen her for the first time a week ago. Tall, willowy. Her emerald green a contrast to his topaz blue. He knew he had been waiting for her all his life. She stood there, proud and tall, amidst the rocks- like a princess guarded by soldiers.
All he wanted to do was to touch her. Once. He charged towards the shore, aware that he would meet his death at the hands of the rocks' jagged spears. Galloping in a mad canter, he smashed against them and vanished in a mist of spray...hoping to take the tree in his dying embrace....

Of Birds and Bees

I

The window-sill was encrusted with decades of bird shit. The eaves overflowed with straw, the result of arduous efforts of uxorious husbands. Roof tiles and shingles vied with each other in their attempts to prise off their neighbors and rattle hauntingly in the slightest breeze.

II

The breeze sat on the window-sill debating whether to enter the house or not. Should it enter as a disruptive gust, leaving havoc in its wake, or should it flow softly, like lapping waves, kissing the baby’s hot cheeks and drying the mother’s tears.

III

The mother’s eyes were riveted to the window pane. Layers of dust and grime coated its surface. She traced a pattern with hesitant digits. Two eyes and a smile gazed back at her. A sigh escaped her lips and moistened the face on the window.

IV

The eyes in the window stared at the baby in the cot. It was a beautiful baby- with a golden halo and blue eyes and pink lips and white, oh so white, skin- the angel child spawned by the Devil himself. Beads of perspiration stuck to the down on its upper lip, its tiny fist crumpled into a ball and pushed against teeth not yet emerged. Its dimpled knees winked at the face in the window causing it to smile wider. The baby gurgled.

V

Little gobs of drool trickled down its chin. The baby opened her eyes and saw the creases of worry on her mother’s brow. Hers crinkled in replication too. The soft skin learnt the first lines of worry that appeared there and then smoothened out. The furrows would be etched deeper with age and there was no hurry to reach there just yet. The baby looked at the face and smiled back.

VI

The smiling face, reminiscent of a laughing Buddha she had caught a glimpse of in the toy shop that he had taken her to when they had first met at the local fair, where they’d tumbled into each other’s arms and intertwined legs and locked lips and made ‘her’- an “offspring” of their unbridled passion, now looked at her mournfully.

VII

She raised a finger to dry her tears but found that the soft breeze had caressed them into submission, rousing her to the same passion of that long forgotten night. It rustled through her heavy tresses and the flaxen curls on the baby’s head, bringing with it a brief respite from the agony of burning shame which remorselessly haunted her.

VIII

The breeze went back to brood on the window-sill and wondered afresh about the close proximity of hives and nests suspended from the eaves in mid-air in a time-space continuum. The birds and the bees hummed and buzzed while she reflected on birds and bees and thereof.

Monday Morning Musings

An empty stomach...an empty mind...

Pangs of hunger...sharp shooting pains where the fists had pounded....

Swollen welts...breeding ground for flies....they do the buzzing in the head...

Raindrops pelt body....tatters...the sky is my roof....

The smell of rotten fish and eggs...sumptuous breakfast....

Flaccid belly.... pallid eyes.... placid soul... rhyming words...

Tears... wide open ones and round liquid ones... across the cheek and down the cheek...

Whipped.... cream and eggs and back...

Shivers like shackles.... they rivet to the ground.... ague and fear...

Restraining fetters of sleep... tenuous hold on dreams...

Dust everywhere.... motes and grains and lumps... eyes are dry... parched throat...

Red and blue... up and down... old and new... Life and Death...

Six feet of ground rises up to embrace its inheritance....

The World’s “Ho”

I

I was born into that most royal of families—Kings and Queens and even Governments bowed before us unequivocally, catering to every caprice and whim. Yet I was stamped and marked the very first day—my destiny predetermined. No other course of fate was permissible; no other path could be tread. I was already paid for—to be bought and sold throughout the rest of my wretched existence.

I grew up with my siblings in an environment where everything was measured in pecuniary terms. Greed and avarice reigned supreme. No ethics were permitted to permeate our pernicious household. Our skins were polished till we gleamed and were flushed with our own radiance. Virgins we were, all of us, with no skills or expertise. Yet.

Men would visit, of course—day in and day out. Gaunt ones and corpulent ones, dry ones and oily ones. Some clucked over us, fussing like hens and some rubbed their oily hands together in what can only be described as undisguised glee over what I could imagine was anticipation. Some leered and drooled over us with gaping holes where teeth should have been. Some self-professed connoisseurs determined our worth by running their promiscuous hands all over our bodies, searching for any bumps and projections and rubbing them lasciviously when discovered.

I distinctly remember that ‘first’ visitor- a decadent, and for lack of a better euphemism, ‘gentleman’. He was different from all the rest. Garbed completely in black, he looked, nay, he was the devil incarnate. His skin was sallow and he carried a cane, which looked as if it were itching to be used. His fingers were calloused which was surprising for everything else about him including his nails was immaculate. And then he came to where I lay.

My sisters clustered around me, trying to protect me from his stripping stare. But their feeble attempt was easily thwarted. Like William Tell’s arrow, his eyes found their target. Without hesitation, his fingers wrapped themselves around my frail body. He stared at me as if my luminance distracted him and then without another word, he claimed me. I was branded now.

II

My life had changed as I knew it. No longer was I a virgin. He had defiled me and the remnants of his touch nauseated me. He made me spend nearly five years at his side, treating me like a slave. There were times when he would bet me as the spoils of a gamble but inevitably, he would win me back. My heart would be aflutter each time he placed me as the cynosure of those devouring wolves. Their eyes shone with an unnatural gleam and they would drool all over me. But as long as my ‘protector’ was there, they would not dare to paw me. And then one day my master’s fortunes were reversed.

He had visited a new tavern- one not thronged by his usual cronies. This time the people were of a lower strata—merchants and traders who perspired like pigs and had small mean pig-like eyes. “Pig people”, I called them to myself. And then I heard my master haggling with one of them. The pig was eyeing me greedily, like a vulture had just seen a dead rat for the taking, while my owner held on to me possessively. They finally reached an agreement and I was handed over to this parsimonious looking nincompoop without a word. My first owner did not even spare a glance at my beseeching eyes as he left.

Now I was in the hands of a new breed of ‘animal’—for a man he was not. He looked at me with such intensity that I knew my suffering was just about to begin. The first thing he did was to lick me from tip to toe. No inch of my body was spared this excruciating agony. His breath was dank, and I felt I was covered in slime. His nails had years of accumulated grime under them and with these, he scratched my body trying to leave deep gashes as a mark of his ownership. This process was repeated so often that I soon resigned myself to it. But everything in this world is transient. So was my suffering.

One day, nearly a decade later, when the Gods were smiling down upon me through the golden halo of the sun, I heard the ring of a bicycle. It seemed that the baker’s son had arrived and the usual haggling over the month’s groceries was on. I wondered idly if he would be able to afford me. I had often caught a glance of his acne-covered pug face from my window. In the midst of my speculation, I was ‘signed over’ to him. The silent imputation that my will was of no consequence did not bother me in the least. By now, I knew that my life would always be controlled by others.

Life took on a new dimension now. For the first time, I knew care, if not love. He would inundate me with the drivel of an adolescent, but I bore the deluge calmly. One day, his girlfriend- the butcher’s daughter- invited him to a dinner of pork chops.  Her parents would be out of town. He figured that screwing her would become easier if he made use of the considerable assets I had at my disposal. So that night, for the first time in my life, I helped another lose his virginity and earned his everlasting gratitude.

III

These were just the first three. After that, men entered my life with clockwork regularity and jettisoned me out with equal ease. The one thing I can tell you is that none of them wanted to part with me willingly. Ever. Sometimes, even women would desire me. Their hands felt softer on my body. Some kept me cuddled against their heaving bosoms; some liked to feel me down the length of their body, clamped tightly between the folds of their skin.

I saw the world changing but always through others’ colored views. Then, one day in the year 1800, I was ‘acquired’ by a Sultan. He placed me in a harem with others, most of whom were older than me. There were a few snide remarks and covert glances but otherwise they left me pretty much alone, choosing to dress themselves up in all their finery to keep the Sultan not only interested but also stimulated. The Sultan, a famous numismatist, would often visit and spend time with some of us, bestowing favours in this voyeuristic place. But he almost always skipped my chamber and I was glad for God’s small mercies.

By now, I had lost the vigour and charm of my youth, but my companions assured me that I looked as beautiful and radiant as ever. Today, my value is beyond compare. Only the most exorbitant sum can acquire me. After all, I am one of the first few gold coins ever minted in the world.