It is another Sunday in the winter.
I am properly tucked in my quilt.
I browse through the top headlines of the hour.
It says the temperature outside is two-degree centigrade and I quit
all ideas of leaving my quilt.

Sundays in winter were my favourite days
and letting me play on Sundays my cookies
for reading properly for six days.
Those Sundays, which seem to be distant memories,
are some of my best memories.

Saturdays were the days of preparation.
Arranging bats, *****, and bicycles, at least, four,
deciding time and venue for the action,
making strategies to sail us ashore-
were some important tasks to be completed before.

I used to sleep a bit early after setting
up a thousand alarms, in case I missed a few,
to ensure I woke up in the morning.
and then I would make a few
calls to wake up the crew.  

Though while gearing up,
I would move as little as possible
my Mom would always wake up
and then I had to wear all the clothes ‘cause cold air made you susceptible
to sick and sick made you feeble.

Before I could leave home, I had
to close the door as slowly as possible
because I didn't want to wake up Dad
for he was predictably unpredictable
and it was too risky a gamble.

We dared not look into uncles 'n aunties'
eyes while asking our friends to come to play
for their looks could terrorize
anyone. We'd then go to the decided play-
ground on the shared bicycles without delay.

Quarrels to bat at the top,
the endless running around to save a few runs,
‘barking’ on fellow players lest catches they drop,
heated discussions on run-outs-
these memories still give me goose bumps.

The celebrations after winning the matches and
blaming each other for losing were
the customs of the day and
mom made ‘chicken’ and a good after-
noon nap - a perfect finish for a day to remember.

A lifetime has gone by
since we last played together
and bade each other goodbye
but those memories still lurking somewhere
inside our brains adhere us together.
I usually do not write about myself or my memories, which makes it special. Those days are some of my best memories. And in a cricket crazy country like ours, many definitely have similar memories.
© Devashish Kumar

Brain was a happy place where
all the memories lived together.
There were occasions of mistrust
but it seemed like a good place to live.

Like every society, there were
some unsocial elements in Brain too.
But the good memories could
keep them in control easily.

But something changed in Brain.
Negative thoughts came in large numbers.
They were heavily armed and
were well trained for combat.

The good memories, the core
defence of Brain, were helpless.
They lacked the necessary skills
and the “good will” wasn’t enough.

All the memories were terrified.
To make matters worse, the bad memories
colluded with the negative thoughts.
They leaked vital intel about the defence.

Once the good memories surrendered,
all hell broke in Brain.
The negative thoughts became unstoppable.
They tortured the memories to death.

In this time of terror,
the memories needed a leader.
Someone, they could look up to.
Hope came to their rescue.

Hey Hi,
I am taking this opportunity to write to you, Love. I am a bit old-fashioned, you know. In this fast moving world of jets and satellite phones, I am still writing to you. To be fair, I will be using the internet for sending it to you. Still, it is different than sending texts.
Anyway, I am doing fine, if you are wondering. And I sincerely hope you are good too. You must be wondering why I am writing to you if I have not yet figured out who you are. I am in a very important phase of my life. I will be taking very important decisions which will affect both of us. I know you are going through the same. But I want you to know that whatever decisions you take and no matter where these lead to, we are going to find each other and fall in love with each other. There will be a few things we won’t be proud of. Those things don’t make us who we are. We are better than our mistakes.
Sometimes, we don’t know where we headed to. We hold no clue what’s special about us. What makes us different from others? Believe me, I understand that predicament. I have been through that too. Actually, I am still in that phase. It is okay if we don’t know what we are meant for. Yes, it is important to figure it out eventually. But there is no point of putting extra pressure on yourselves for that. Explore your options. Exploring is fun. You get to know about lots of things. Somethings interest you and some don’t. But the tough part is leaving something behind. You put so many efforts to learn and at the end when you have to leave, you feel kind of bad about it. It is alright. You don’t have to say goodbye to anything. They will be with you always, the memories.
I know you miss me. I miss you more than you can imagine. I do long for your company. The desire for holding you in my arms keeps me awake at nights. Listening to my favourite songs in your sweet caramel voice and watching movies and reading books together will be my favourite pastime. The slow wild, passionate kisses……. (Breathe in…………. Breathe out). But I will wait for these things. I will wait for you. And I know you will do the same because we are meant for each other. I have grown to realize that it is not just about the destination. It is about the journey. The long wait, finding you and falling in love with each other- everything will be part of our love story. It is worth the wait.
I know you too have lots of things to say to me. Write to me, if you please. It is said when you love someone truly, the world conspires you to bring the two together.

Yours

As the relentless sun sets, a rich velvet of black engulfs the sky.
Under it, hang the twinkling stars with the strings of yearning.  
The night’s tranquil silence and the impending darkness announce, it is time go home.

The long way to home is glistening with the soothing light of the waning moon.
The cosy bed awaits you to pack off your fatigue.
Swooping puffs of grey clouds play hide-and-seek on your way.

After the day’s tumult and exhaustion, it is time to lie down.
The shimmering stars welcome you to the hours of solace and unwinding.
The whispering of the leaves and the splashing water from a nearby waterfall make the perfect lullaby.

Go tenderly into the night.
Let the soft wind caress you the world of dreams.

In the ***** green background,
There stands a flower,
Painted in the colour of love,
Flaunting her curvy petals,
Adorned with crystals of water.    
She brightens up,
As the mighty sun compliments her.
The gentle wind caresses her beauty
And spreads her intoxicating fragrance.    
The vibrant leaves dance around her,
Desperately trying to woo her.
She smiles at those poor leaves.
But a little insect wins her over,
And drinks her nectar of youth.

Sitting on the edge of the bed,
He was looking over the ‘to do list’.
This ‘to do list’ seemed to end never.
He’d to prepare a speech for Thursday.
He was to be presented with Director’s medal for his brilliant academic performance.
Everyone admired him.
But there was something missing in his life,
That made him think
Whether the things he had achieved would be enough
Whether they would make up for the lost time and people.
The crescent moon from the window of the room seemed to laugh at him
For it had got the company for stars.
The stranger in the mirror, as always, agreed with the moon.
As an ice-cold gust of wind filled the room,
He shivered making him feel a bit alive.
But when it subsidized the room became darker and quieter.
A moment later, his gaze shifted to the pictures hanging on the wall.
These pictures were the testimony to his achievements.
But the alien people in them reminded him of the big void in his life.
As the bright moon in the silver knife drifted away from him, he felt lonelier.
He stood up to make it stay.
And stay it did, till he found it moving away again in the dark red liquid
Leaving behind the fluttering ‘to do list.’

It was a complete mess.
Loads and loads of things,
From soiled hosiery to paper cups
From books to each piece of clothing I ever had
Were thrown everywhere around in the room.
The whole place looked robbed.

Cleaning the room and keeping things in order
Was never my responsibility.
It was hers.
She would nag about it all the time.
She would ask
What I’d do without her.
This was the one question I never wanted to know the answer.

May be that was why,
I was reluctant to clean the place.
Deep down, I believed,
If I waited long enough,
She would figure I could not manage without her
And she would come back
And clean up the mess.

But weeks had gone,
I still had no clue about her whereabouts.
Why would she do that to me?
I was the love of her life.

“Enough is enough.
I am going to clean this mess.
I don’t need her.”
Enraged, I decided to start with books.

Books were the second best thing in my life.
They’d keep my company always.
Then I saw the book, which she bought me
When we moved to the countryside.

As I picked that book,
A small turquoise-y peacock feather fell.
The falling feather brought to me
A series of memories-
A mix of sad and happy moments with her.

After we moved here, we went to a park
In hope, it would cheer me up.
And it did cheer me up.
We played, we laughed.

At a distance, there was a peacock,
Boasting its colourful feathers.
I’d never seen a peacock before.
Amazed, I found a feather it had left behind.
Which I insisted to keep.
She placed it in the book
We just bought.

I still tremble sometimes,
When sights of my drunkard father beating her cross my mind.
He would abuse her and do sick things to her,
Still she would say he was my father
And I ought to respect him.
How could I?

And one time, he beat me.
He beat me with a belt
Because she bought a ‘stupid’ book for me
Instead of a bottle of bear.
That was the last time
I’d seen him.
She decided we would move away
Without any second thoughts.

“You’re meant for great things.”
She would always say.
She did odd jobs,
Tailoring, waitressing, private tutoring,
So that we could manage my school bills, rent
And square meals a day,
Probably ignoring health and physical wellness.

She sacrificed everything for me.
When she’d me, she left her job to look after me.
After we moved here,
Things were supposedly normal.
But she was going great troubles
To make ends meet,
With a smile on her face, she kept going.

At that instant, I knew she would never leave me.
She was still watching me,
Probably telling the stars
About her 'childish' son.
“I will make you proud.”
I promised to my Mom, my hero.

…  And I am still trying.