DEAD END

The failed conviction of an error
The decay of an agreement breached.
The biting thought of a doubt
The searing pain of a mutilated promise.

A recluse in a land he knew as his own
An offender of permissions that he called rights
A dust eater in that garden of fruits
A fault that screams of its being precise

The moment of separation seeps closer
Sweat washes his side locks with their salty touch
There isn’t any going back from here
A reality he wishes was untrue so much

An attempt to look back at life that was Alive
Reflects the picture of a tragic tomorrow
It’s an evening when youth embraced terrorism once again
A moment of shiver
A minute of calamity,
A flash of terror
And the start of a life full of deaths and sorrows.

HONNEY- My encounters with an Aspiring Prostitute

Dark swollen skin. Pigmented cheeks. A slight hunch. Dirty hair. She looks like she’s straight walked out of the slums. I abhorred her when she came knocking at my car’s window that day. A dark red sari wrapped around her minimalistic frame…just like a red rose petal scarcely covering a stinging thorn. Yes that’s Honney for you.
From the time I remember, she had this weird way of reciting her name. Honney! She had come to the Financial Capital from the City of Joy at 20, was an illiterate with a gifted classical mujrawali voice which wasn’t really what anyone would pay for anymore. A few scraps of bread to live in a costly metropolitan weren’t really enough. Honney had tried her luck as a maid, as a sweeper, an ayah, almost every depressing job; but had miserably failed. And then she needed shelter now. Even if it was in the dark and shady streets of the Red Lights in Mumbai.
I saw her each day then. Knocking at every window pane that halted by the red lights of the traffic signal in search of a possible customer. It was one of these searches when she had knocked into my window and asked if I knew of anyone interested in a body on sale for a few hours. And yes, no bargaining. Her language shocked me a little more than her appearance. But then something about her speech appealed, inspite of the crudeness in it. Probably the fact that she wasn’t realizing how low she had fallen.I asked her in one of our many chance 15 second meetings that why wasn’t she departing to Mahalaxmi, the hub of her trade. Her answer- Surat A1 hota, five star hota… to jaati…Itna compatison ka jamaana…Kaun Marne ko jayega?
I knew she wouldn’t give up. She was selling away her bare few belongings to live up to the next day. Find one good customer. She was sure she would. She had after all, ventured into the world’s most ancient profession, where class, creed, even sex didn’t really matter. All you had to do was wear off any shame you restored. And she had done that long back.
Last week I happened to meet her again. She came running to me while I was crossing the street. With sweets. I thought she had finally got a new place to work. Well she almost did. Her first customer had paid her really well. And she had six new deals done for day two. Very enterprising I figured out.
I looked at her once again. Happy Honney. Ugly Honney. Shameless Honney. Weird Honney…and definitely now Independent Honney.
And for once, Honney the aspiring prostitute isn’t aspiring anymore.
Mockery of human values or a Successful venture begun...I wonder in quiet!