Homes

You're sitting in the drawing room with your grandfather.

He reluctantly chews the sandwich you made for him,
 out of fresh vegetables you think he'll like.
He drinks the cup of kehwa like a victory song.


On Sunday mornings he tells you stories about his childhood
 and fragments of him that you never understand.

behind the chinar tree was his favourite hiding place he says.
You wonder does he hide within himself today.


He married his college sweetheart,
He says your mother had a smile just like her.
Both of them are fragile memories to you.
You hold yourself together.

He turns quiet too.


You once asked​ him what his favorite part of having being a lawyer was,

He replied it was saving lives
And you drown in a sad sea of irony.


When you escaped Kashmir with him,
You never knew that the most simple questions with would scour the deepest scars
which then would refuse to heal.


Today, he asked you at dinner, to take him home one last time,
to the roses and gogji in his garden
and to his Graham phone that used to play Kashmiri music all day long.


You keep quiet.

You don't have it in you to say,

"grandfather there is no home anymore. "

Life Games

Life and I, life and I we have this game, you know. 

I just have to like a guy,

turn to life, say "him".

Life will look at me, grin like a teenage boy after his first puff of cigarette
and blow the guy up in smokes. 

Smokes that are as gray as the color of the pessimism and failure combined. 

You see the first time I liked a guy

I was at school in the basket ball court trying to dribble my way past his charm. 

I convinced myself it was puppy love
and that 3 pointers are not the best if you don't know how to hold the ball and aim.
Worse if you don't know  the game. 

Three months in, I'm with the same guy learning how to shoot better 3 pointers. 

That night, life knocks on my door, "Do you like that guy?"

"Yes" I confess, sweating like I do after a pre-match warm up.

The next thing I know, 

We're in different colleges and well, in different cities. 

Never works out. 

Life suddenly grins through the ashes of all my emotions that I have hidden.

Emotions that I've had but don't want to agree to,

Emotions that I never want to speak about,

Emotions that I find in all sad songs now that I listen to them hard enough. 

Emotions that don't let me finish me my meals,

Emotions that don't let me finish this list,

Emotions that are best left as a pile of ignored ash. 

I like someone new after years. 

We stand around a pet reptile cage and talk about events I must go to. 

It makes me feel like cracking a reptile joke already.

One night, life gently slithers into my room 

Catches me texting him

And asks, "do you like him? "

I quickly do the math
And realize life can't throw him to another geographical habitat 

So I proudly say "yes". 

Life camouflages like a chameleon and leaves.
I behave like a complete idiot to this guy. 

Next thing I know, he's dating someone else. 

See that's the thing with this game, life won't always do all the work. 

Sometimes it will mess with your head, make you doubt yourself a million times.

Sometimes it will put questions in your head you never want the answers to.

Sometimes it will make you behave like an idiot
even though deep inside you want to cry and hug someone, 

hug someone, bawl like a baby drown yourself in containers of ice cream that fill your loneliness, 

loneliness that creeps on you like sudden spiders when you thought you cleaned your house, 

cleaned your house of all the memories that you now regret, 

regrets that remind you of days gone past, 

of past and present that never worked out. 

Sometimes you'll be life. And completely hate it. 

Life and I, life and I we have this game, you know. 

I just have to like a guy,

turn to life, say "him".

Life will look at me, grin like a teenage boy after his first puff of cigarette
and blow him up in smokes of impossible.

Buld a Home

At school on a Wednesday, 

our teacher taught us about buildings.

Schools, hospitals, houses. 

Bricks and mortar. 

Achievements of human toil. 

At recess, the wisest among us spoke, 

"What builds a house into a home is people. "

The ingredients to a build a home,

they told me

Was

A mother, a father and a child. 

"That's all you need, money is a bonus."

I was delighted!

Smiled from ear to ear.

I had all the ingredients!

That evening when I returned from school, 

My eyes searched for mother. 

She was in the kitchen, 

demure as a daisy,

cooking our meals. 

I ran to her, 

with my small bag torn and stitched back repeatedly, bouncing on my back, 

and whispered,

"thank you, 

thank you for building me a home."

She looked astonished, gave a sad smile and embraced me. 

The ingredients to a build a home they told me

Were

A mother, a father and a child.

So I waited. I waited for my father to return 'home'. 

Six o clock, 

seven o clock, 

eight o clock, 

nine o clock,

he still didn't return.

This was the latest I had been up, 

mom put me to bed at eight every night.

But today?

Today I was determined to throw my arms around my father, 

hug him and scream out loud "thank you for building me a home!"

At exactly 10:34 pm father arrived.  

As I rushed to open the door he staggered in,

With the smell of alcohol having devoured him whole. 

The air all around us

instantly turned as stale as the two day old roti ma was eating. 

I forgot why I was standing next to the door in the first place. 

Father fell to the floor. 

Mother rose and pulled him inside. 

He fought her and her lip began to bleed.

And then,

Suddenly, 

I didn't want to say anything anymore. 

The ingredients to a build a home,

They told me

Were, 

A mother, a father and a child.

But maybe, some houses are just houses. 

Do Not Call Them Back

Do not call them back,
After they leave,
Because if you do,
And they come back
That makes it two of you
Not in love with you.

Misery will devour you
Like the loneliness
you shall breathe in
on the bed,
sleeping together.

Do not call them back,
After they leave.
It is the fire
within you,
that keeps you going,
Not the false warmth
of their embrace.

Do not be a broken star
that could've
lighted up the sky,
But went home
to the darkness
that engulfed it instead.

Do not call them back,
After they leave.
Because,
Loving another,
Is an option
But to not love oneself
Is folly.