Hold it, you’re a “kill joy”



You’re a kill joy.

Yes YOU.

Why do you have to just butt in with sickeningly depressive verbal thoughts every time someone shares their happiness with you?

Why do you have to decapitate their moment of glory and bliss with the axe of melancholia?

Why do you act like the black-magic trick that vanishes their open mouthed smiles by punctuating what they tell you with your never ending sighs?

Why do you have to brandish your hate, possible ill-fate at their face & block their cheerfulness with morbidity every time they try to take a turn in life?

There is a special place in- , nah, I’m not even going to tell you where you belong. Doesn’t matter to you anyway, does it? As if it’ll ever change you.

You know what I think? People like you are God’s test for us. Yeah. You’re just born for our “use”. And we know how to deal with dirt like you. We won’t scrub you. We will ignore you even exist. We will ignore your unkind uttering and keep patience close to us. That would rot your insides even more. That would actually burn you up, then at last, maybe, you’ll know where you’ll end up after we’re through with you.

We will surely do so. And just keep this secure in that brainless skull of yours: if you even once dare say “the world doesn’t care about me…” that would only mean ‘more burning.’


War In Solitude

Everyday and every night,

My conscience witness an ugly fight,

Without bullets, canons or blood,

But, a war with equal might.

The good ‘n’ evil, the sweet ‘n’ bitter,

Each trying its best to reach the height.

One killing hopes, other fanning strength,

Both believing that they are right.

As one silences the scream,

Other propels a deepening fright.

Every time when I view this storm,

I loathe the darkness, I envy the bright.

A flailing chagrin

I’ve committed a crime…

And I’m on the run…


“Leave everything and just go to Mr. XYZ’s house! I won’t repeat myself, do you hear me girl?” My mommy came roaring out of the kitchen, brandishing the rolling pin in her hands and threatening as if she’ll kill me with it.

“Yes mommy.” I stammered.

I didn’t even bother to change. I simply covered my head and dragged myself out the front door. Mommy didn’t even come to say goodbye.

The roads were bustling with traffic. I love watching the huge shiny cars with the people sitting in them, fogging the windows from inside with the expensive cigarettes they smoke. The rest, they have black windows. I always wonder what they’re hiding from…

I hate going there. I’m trying to be as slow as I can be. I wish I could die this very moment. I wish some rich would run over me with one of these huge jeeps and simply put an end to the constant harrow I face in this cruel world. Just one swish of the wand from almighty Death, and everything would be peaceful for me.

I’m tired of fighting.


I entered the mansion. Oh what I wouldn’t give to never ever see this place again. I’m ready to exchange, for that freedom, a gold necklace which my granny pressed into my palms, before death swallowed her. Only one soul knows about it in this whole universe. Me.

I made it to the mistress’s room without interruption. I took a sigh of relief. I knocked.

“Come in! I hope it’s the God damn young lass I hired ages ago! 15 months, still she never comes on time!”

Oh boy. Here it goes. I opened the door, eyes on the floor, muttering under my breath, every verse of the Quran my granny taught me for being safe. It’s the only thing that can save me from this worldly Hell, she used to tell me, before kissing my forehead. For a fraction of seconds, I glanced at my mistress. Nothing different. She is always dressed like a queen. Repressing a sigh and the ugliest profanity I heard, uttered by the gardener of this mansion, I closed the door to the room and faced my fate.


Every bone in my body screams with pain right now. My mind’s blurring with images I can’t discern. At least, not when, as I open my eyes, I’ve to see a hairy-chest, burly beast lying beside me. Bolting upright, I gathered my clothes and left the room.

Is it possible to die of shame every time I face this situation? Why not? Why can’t my mistress just beat me to death instead? Why can’t she feed me to the wolves instead? Why is it my, an 18 year old’s, daily routine to satisfy her son’s needs? I’m not even spared on weekends. No sir, I’ve to work extra hours that day! I spat at the basin, imagining his face there. Thank God, today I made it to the washroom even, undetected and without having to endure the teasing sneers of fellow maids/workers.

Thank you Lord, for at least sparing me from that shame.


I found what I was looking for. Earlier the day, when my mommy was shouting at me, I had sneaked the sharpest knife in my pocket. This pocket is well hidden.The only thing that kept my heart hammering was “my master” finding that knife. I have no use of knife, at least not in their mansion. Would’ve raised a lot of questions.

It was evening. Time for me to go home and everyone else to go out. Except him. I heard him telling my mistress the other day, that he couldn’t go to the dinner they were planning. He had other plans, he said. Right, as if we don’t know what they would be. I have had enough of it. I couldn’t, rather wouldn’t, let him ruin other girls’ lives, Not anymore. I thought of ending it the moment I knew I had a chance. The very first and the very last chance I could ever get.

It might be my end too. But I don’t care. Anything’s better than this Hell.


It was so easy. I didn’t even feel remotely scared. All other workers and maids were in the basement. He was sleeping, probably napping before the next one entered his room. I slit his throat. The blood gushing out satisfied me.

His eyes were blank. I took a sigh of relief.

And then… I ran.


They won’t find me now. I knew of a lone hut, very very far from that place. A lady used to live there. I knew her. She died of liver cancer. That house was left un-cared for. I used to go there, whenever I had time for myself. And now, it was mine. She said it herself. She wanted me to come to her. I was here now. A little late, but I was here, now.

My mommy won’t bat a lash if I go missing. She used to call me a slut. Funny, she was the one who made me one. She’ll be happy she had one less to care for now.

I find this place Heavenly. My sanctuary. Th e place, where at last, i have found peace.


“I have two questions, my Lord.” I’m eating grapes. They are delicious.

1. “Who is the real criminal in my story? My mommy, him or me?”

2. “How long will I be on the run? Are they still looking for me?”

I hope I am not the criminal. I hope it’s not the police who’s looking for me.

But in the end, I’ve committed a crime and I’m still on the run.