I AM

I am not a healer
But I can erase pain
I am not a builder
But I can create a home
I am not a tailor
But I can mend a broken heart
I am not a judge
But I can evaluate the right from the wrong
I am not a magician
But I can enchant tears with smiles
I am not Cupid
But I can make two hearts meet
I am not God
But I can promise trust and fulfill.
But then, I am, yes I am,
Certainly Human

SILENCED

In a time unknown and in a city unheard Soumen and Souwomen lived together. They had the brightest lives, excellent bonding and the most harmonious relations between each other. However they were what one could call as Two in one. Because the Soumen & Souwomen had a different way with their innerself, their soul. They could talk to their souls. Their souls were their teachers and guides. Whenever a decision needed to be taken, they asked their souls and acted accordingly.
Life moved on happilly in that city unheard.
Then came famine. There wasn’t enough food. Children were dying and so were Soumen and Souwomen. Life looked tougher day by day.
One night when the dark hounded the city, a Souman lingered out of his little home. He didn’t know where he was going, what he was going to do. All he knew was hunger and pain. And that he couldn’t take it any longer.
As he continued his walk he saw some light in the nearby hut. The door looked slightly open. He slowly entered the hut, tempted by a smell he well recognized. A loaf of bread awaited his eyes there. His senses evoked his actions and he was about to grab the loaf when suddenly he heard a voice. His soul's voice.
'No u cant do this. This isnt your bread. Wait, you shall get your fill. It wont be as bad as it is. This isnt yours.' His soul was trying to stop him, guide him.
But then hunger was a strong temptation getting stronger each minute. And at this point the soul's voice sounded more like noise. The Souman's soul didn’t feel like a friend any longer. It sounded like an enemy. And enemies need to be done away with.
Half an hour passed. The hut door was still open. But the loaf was missing. And so was the Souman. He was lying in his empty bed. Without an empty stomach after two long days. But Souman wasn’t himself anymore. The enemy had been silenced. And so had his Soul. The Souman was a man now.
When the true owner of the loaf realised the theft, he blamed his neighbour for it. The next night the neighbour was killed and so was another soul.
As time passed more and more Soumen & Souwomen became men and women. They were still happy, sumptous and healthy, but they were also sad, greedy and weak now. Some of them continued to be Soumen and Souwomen still but then, they couldn’t do much because of the increasing army on the other side.
Life continued and still continues in that unheard city. Just that times have changed. And that city is your city, everyone's city. We gave it a name. The World.

Question is who are you? Souman/ Souwoman or Man/Woman ?

BARED

I cannot write,

My words fail;

I cannot always offer,

My demanding senses sometimes prevail.

I cannot always be truthful,

Though I regret those lies;

I cannot smile forever,

I very often give up and cry.

I cannot create the perfect home,

There will be loopholes I know;

I might not give you the most beautiful baby,

I shall try very much though.

I cannot lose the love I was gifted,

I know I am a coward deep inside;

I shall be a loser in need of support,

More often than the strength by your side.

All this and much more in hiding,

I conceal from your sharp probing eyes;

I just bared the secrets of my soul to you,

Just stay and listen to its silence…don’t ever utter that last Goodbye.

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!