My Picture Stories

A picture is worth a thousand words. Sometimes, a picture could totally change a vague idea into a very real breathing and kicking thing, assuming a life of its own, completely occupying you, consuming you whole – body, mind, and soul.

Mine is a typical arranged marriage. You arrive at a “marriageable age”. Your parents talk to you and put out a word about your “availability” in their social circles. And you wait…

Then finally, a few weeks later, they find a “nice” boy. They match your ages, heights, horoscopes, and a whole load of crap that’s to be matched. And then, you exchange photographs.

When his photograph arrived, a few people at home looked at it before I did. They started throwing around these random judgments – he's cute, he's handsome, nice, tall, etcetera, etcetera…

So, my indifference slips a little bit and I get a little curious. Finally, I open the laptop and while his picture loads, my family throw in more appreciative adjectives for my benefit. Amidst all this hubbub, I look at his picture and decide – well, they are not wrong. He is one attractive man. It’s a waist length photograph. He’s in this red and white shirt, posing for the camera, smiling and all…

He had a very gentle and pleasant smile and I wonder “what's he smiling at”, though I knew that he was just posing for a photo.

He had thick and black curly hair which was well-groomed and I wonder “Did he get a hair-cut done specially for this picture?”

His arms are long and strong-looking and I wonder what his touch would feel like.

While going to bed that night, I wonder if he was going to bed too. While having breakfast next morning, I wonder what's his favorite dish. I wonder what movies he likes to watch, what books he likes to read. I wonder what his kind of vacation is. At every moment, I would think – What is he doing right now, at this exact moment? Is he eating, is he working, is he sleeping? Does he know I am thinking about him?

All of a sudden, he was this real, living, breathing person whose existence I was not aware till now, who I had never met till date, yet strangely, could not get out of my head. Not that I wanted to, of course. I shamelessly admit – I was obsessed. I was obsessed and I just couldn’t wait to meet this stranger.

Fast forward six years. I’m married to this stranger, we have an adorable little boy, who’s also a brat sometimes. And now, we register to legally adopt a girl child. We fill up a truck load of forms, face innumerable interviews, finish another truck load of formalities and then, we wait…

Here again, they match your requirements with the available children and finally, a few years later, there’s a match – a nine-month old baby girl! While speaking to the Children’s home about the baby, I hear some appreciative adjectives – she’s very cute, she’s extremely active, healthy, adorable... My nerves are a wreck (well, I can’t tell you how nervous I was) when I opened the laptop and saw her picture and I decide – well, they are not wrong – She’s one adorable little munchkin.

It was a tiny passport size picture. She had little almond-shaped eyes looking not towards the camera, but towards a side and I wonder “What is she looking at? What’s there that grabbed her attention?”

She had thin little lips, forming just a hint of a smile and I wonder “What’s got her so amused?”

On her head were just a few brownish strands set slickly on her head with a couple sticking out awkwardly from one side and I wonder “Has some one combed her hair back so slickly or is her hair prim and proper always?”

While having dinner that evening, I wonder what she liked to eat – is she a fussy eater? While going to bed at night, I wonder if she likes to hear lullabies at bedtime. I wonder if she liked to play peek-a-boo or would it scare her. I wonder if she has a favorite toy, I wonder what she likes to play, I wonder if she smiles a lot. At every moment, I would think – What is she doing now, right at this exact moment? Is she eating, is she sleeping, is she playing? Does she know I am thinking about her?

All of a sudden, she was this real, living, breathing person, albeit a little person, whose existence I was not aware till now, who I had never met till date, yet strangely, could not get out of my head. Not that I wanted to of course. I admit I was obsessed. I was obsessed and I just couldn’t wait to meet my little stranger.

Come back home, my dear

The sun dips lower in the sky, taking along my hope

A darkness descends, wrapping my world in its envelope

His arrival I await, at home, sitting at the threshold

Fearing the worst, trying to brave an internal cold

From the darkness emerges a darker form - an unsteady silhouette

I am not sure if I it is my imagination - it sways like a stringless puppet

I look sharply for a sign, any sign that says - no, he has been strong

My heart knows the truth, but I still hope to God - please prove me wrong

As he stumbles closer, the strong whiff is unmistakable

Oh, may be he has just had one or may be a couple

And there are his bloodshot eyes - as red as my sindhoor

The dreadful proof that he had, again, surrendered to the lure

I could just push him off a cliff right now, give him so much pain

I could rip his face apart, beat him black and blue with a cane

I could slap him, cry out to him, scold and cuss

For letting this happen to him, to me, and to us

I stare at him maliciously, witnessing his blood red eyes drooping with shame

For letting his demons get him again, for letting the evil liquid win the game

I weep silent tears aware of his silent cry for help, for understanding and for care

For good or for bad, I am with him and this fight against his addiction, we both share

Is it really all gone?

The initial magic has worn off. They are now just a boring middle-aged couple, each caught up in his or her own daily lives. Gone are the good morning kisses, the starry-eyed staring at each other, rambling on and on in each others arms late at night, and all the other things that consumed almost half of the ‘honey moon years’.

She longs for those little gestures that used to make her days, made her feel wanted, made her feel loved, made her feel alive. Had she not vowed, as a teenager, that she would never let this happen to her life? Wasn't she determined never to get bored of her marriage?

She forgot how it felt to have butterflies in her stomach. She forgot how it felt to snuggle close to him on cold winter nights. She forgot the fun of pillow fights. 

How many days has it been since they spoke of something other than news during breakfast?

How many years has it been since they had called each other during work for something other than to remind each other of an unfinished chore?

How many evenings has it been since they sat together for something other than to watch the television?

How many nights has it been since they actually ‘shared’ a bed?

The sharp ringing of her phone snaps her out of her sad reverie. It is him calling.

But surprisingly, it is not his voice. She hears an anxious voice of a stranger. He is sympathetic and tries to break the news about the fateful accident as gently as possible. As he goes on rambling about how the accident happened, she blanks out, the phone falls off her sweaty palms, and she collapses on the ground.

How could this have happened? How could he be gone? What would happen to her now? Her mind becomes a mirage of confused feelings, coming and going.

Who would give her news briefs during breakfast in the morning?

Who would call her during work and remind her of an unfinished chore?

Who would she watch the television with, during evenings?

Who would she find beside her, when she wakes up in the middle of the night?

Oh, what would she not give up to have him back in her life! She didn't want any butterflies in her stomach or the silly pillow fights. She just wants him back!

She is oblivious to her phone that is still ringing and the impatient knocking on the door. She loses track of time and doesn't even know how long she sat there, sobbing and regretting. Suddenly, she sees an apparition, his apparition, in front of her. 

Is it a dream!?

She stands up and rushes into his arms. His palms smooth her hair, comfortingly till she comes back to her senses.

He is not an apparition, she realizes as sense dawns upon her. He is alive! Very much alive! He is here, in flesh and blood! 

But the phone call…? She is very confused! She is blabbering incoherently.

‘Honey! Someone stole my phone in the afternoon,’ he explains and tears of relief stream down her eyes. They are lost for words and fall asleep in each others arms.

The next morning…

As usual, the persistent alarm wakes them up. They hurry through their chores and before long; they are at the breakfast table.

As she listens to her husband’s news briefing, a line that she had read in a book years ago strikes her:

“Early love is filled with attraction. It is like a flower of a plant. It is beautiful, but it is delicate and fragile.

The love that comes later on is filled with responsibility. It is like the root of a plant. You may not be able to see it and it is not beautiful like the flower. But, do not forget that it supports and nourishes your entire life!”

Your Silent Heart to Mine...

You are a wonder, what goes on in your mind is a puzzle

Deciphering you, for me, was once upon a time a hassle

But now, I know your little secret which gives you away

Your beautiful eyes show everything that you cannot say

I stare into them, right into the depths of your heart

In the silence, I hear them speak to me and they tell me a lot

Your voice fails you, but your eyes never

I notice everything from a hesitant blink to the slightest flutter

When you are angry, they look like tiny balls of fire

In a peaceful time, a silent and comfortable look they acquire

The lashes, dark, long, and lush

Droop onto your eyes, when all you can do is blush

You are elated and I see them smiling with bliss

They pose endless questions when you are confused and find something amiss

Silent tears of pain at the corners show an intense anguish

A funny look your eyes wear, when you feel silly or foolish

Everybody calls you ill-fated

Some evil force had his wicked desire sated

You are not given a voice to speak out loud

But for me, your eyes are the biggest gifts with which you are endowed

Official Mistress

‘My lady, your loss is too great,’ she hears a gentle voice

Some compassionate mourner, someone trying to be nice

To acknowledge the greeting, she turns to the side

Yet, surprised she is to find no one there, except for her gloomy aide

Then it struck her, she wasn’t the Duchess, not the Duke’s wife

She has a label ‘the official mistress,’ though she loved him with her life

Mourners glide towards the Duchess, expressing their sympathy

While the mistress gets only awkward glances, disapproving stares, without the presence of any empathy

True! She had not vowed in front of God to be true to him in sickness and health

Yet, she had cared for him, with a heart pure, full of love, and no stealth

She was there for him during his good times and the bad ones too

She belonged only to him, her heart was pure, and her love was true

Now near the grave, the Duchess stands with her son, out of duty

A perfect widow, a picture of grief, yet manages elegance and beauty

She was the wife of a Duke and is now the mother of one

She looks at the mistress, her eyes mocking, ‘See now, who has won!’

Consoling herself that she has not yet lost everything

The mistress pats lovingly her belly, the only thing to which she has to cling

So what if she is the Duke’s mistress and what if she does mother a bastard

She walks out of the grave, holds her head high – a skill that she has, by now, mastered


Inspired from The Tudors - The plight of Charles Danton's mistress

Stranger in her Bed...

Her eyes full of sorrow, a part of her heart weeps, as she leaves behind her
Everything she's owned, everybody she knew - mother, father, sister, and brother
Yet, a larger part of her heart rejoices, as she knows that she now begins a life brand new
She looks with awe at her new husband, thinking she's among those blessed few

As her first day wears on, she looks from the corner of her eye for a sign from her better-half
She cannot follow him, as million eyes follow her, seeking for a serious gaffe
Treading carefully, slowly, she hovers around him, follows him like a shadow
Though he doesn't look at her in the eye, she can now see, plain and clear, his countenance is hollow

Women surround her, decorating her like a doll, they taunt her about 'the night' and giggle
They lead her to the room noisily, they laugh, tease, and tickle
The night approaches fast, her heart beats faster, as she senses her anxiety grow
He just stands there, not even glancing her way, why? the answer she doesn't know

Suddenly, it turns dark and she feels faint, as he undresses her and into her bed he climbs 
No love, no gentleness, like a blood-thirsty monster, onto her, he looms
As tears spill out, she bites her lip, bleeding it, stopping herself from screaming out in pain
She thinks the worst is over, and then she hears him screaming another woman's name again and again

Her eyes well up and tears warmly trickle down her face, which is now savaged 
She lay there, like a ragged doll, her heart broken, her body and soul ravaged
Her home, her life, and her dreams, all destroyed by a stranger in her bed
Is there no way out of this misery? Or is she as good as dead?

Going Back Home...

Their eyes twinkle when they see me. I am aware of their hearts leaping with a bittersweet ache, for here, my own heart reacts similarly. All of a sudden, I forget that I am a woman, all grown-up. I go back in time, becoming a little child all over again. I fly straight into my mom’s arms, just like how I always did, when I came back from school. I embrace my dad, just like how I used to do every evening, after he came back from work. The tears which follow are inevitable. Only when I look at them now, do I realize how much I miss them…

It jumps onto me and licks my face entirely, the moment it catches my scent. Though it does not have a mouth as large as mine, I know its heart is screaming noiselessly. The poor creature does not even understand why I had to leave and tend to myself. All of a sudden, I forget the fact that I had been away for so long. I play with it, allowing it to pull me and push me as much as it likes. The tears which follow are inevitable. Only when I look at it, do I realize how much I miss it…

They come in bustling, as noisy as always, and give me bear hugs, rough and playful, just like how they used to be when we had lived together under the same roof. All of a sudden, I forget that we don’t do it any longer. I join them in the loud laughter, the ear-splitting music and awkward dancing, without any restraint, without a shame. These are my siblings, who knew my most embarrassing secrets. I am aware that their feelings and thoughts at this moment are the same as mine. The tears which follow are inevitable. Only when I look at them, do I realize how much I miss them… 

My old room is just the way I had left it. It’s just that it felt a little empty now, as all the stuff that I really cared for; I had carried off it with me. Yet, the moment I step in, I feel as if the room has come alive. All of a sudden, I forget that it is no more the room I used to dance in, without a care in the world, without inhibitions. Automatically, my feet move and I do a jig, just like how I used to do frequently. I still have my privacy in this little hub of mine. The tears which follow are inevitable. Only when I look at it now, do I realize how much I miss it…

 They giggle and grin, as always, when they look at me. We hug each other and tease each other. Someone has her hair too short. Someone has grown a paunch. All of a sudden, I forget that we hardly hang out these days. We relentlessly pull each other’s legs, just like how we used to do, when we hung out, every day, without fail. These are my friends, who had been with me, through thick and thin, crying over my shoulder when they needed it and offering me their shoulder, when I needed it. For now, here we are reminiscing past memories. The tears which follow are inevitable. Only when I look at them, do I realize how much I miss them…