Goodbye

The key clicked inside the lock with a hesitation. Even the door didn't want to budge. It was drizzling outside, but the air inside was hot and suffocating. In spite of that, he realized that her scent lingered thick in the house. He moved inside in no hurried pace. He threw the wallet and the key to the car onto the bedside table. The bed was unmade and the sheet was still crumbled. And wet from her towel. He went to the refrigerator and took out a bottle of water. And then he noticed the bottle of wine, half empty. He kept the bottle of water back and took the wine bottle instead. He moved to the kitchen to fetch a glass. The dishes weren't done. Their lunch, cooked but half eaten, was still on the stove. He took a glass and poured himself some wine. The red liquid splashed and swayed against the crystal of the glass. He moved to the living room. It should be called a dead room, he thought. He noticed the packet of cigarette on the table. He had quit smoking. There was just one left in it. He took it out and brought it to his nose. He smelled the length of the cigarette and stuck it between his lips. He went out onto the balcony and took a deep breath. Petrichor. Or a long reminder of that. There was a chill in the night and the sky was starless. He took out the lighter and lit the end of the lady in the white. He took in a deep drag as the end of the cigarette glowed in the darkness. Treat your cigarette as you'd treat your lover, he had said to her earlier that day. He exhaled a cloud of smoke into the unknowns of the night. He took out the cigarette from his lips with one hand and brought the tip of the glass with the other. He let the wine splash inside his mouth before letting it drown in his feelings. It's just the rain and me tonight, he thought.

Wedding Invitation

Mr. I-Told-You-So and Mrs. Emotional-Dramabazi

cordially (read because of society and because you invited us for your daughter's marriage) request the pleasure (yeah right!) of your company on the occasion of wedding of their son,

Mr Bechara Bakra, B.Tech (Obviously)

with

Ms. Emotionally Blackmailed, B. Tech (Again, obviously)

D/o Mrs. & Mr. Soon-To-Be-Kangaal

Address Is Vague Because We Don't Want You To Enquire

on Friday, the 13th of May 2016

at 

That Big Marriage Hall in the City with Air Conditioned Halls and Little Parking

and for lunch thereafter.

Please consider this as our personal invitation and graze the occasion with your esteemed presence. Please make this occasion memorable with your hushed whispers about the bride, her dress, her make-up, the amount of the jewellery, the food, what you heard about our family in the grapevine, and other gossips you heard in the rumour mill, because the food and the drinks are free, the hall is air-conditioned, and we are paying for everything.

Also consider this as our personal invitation to speculate on and/or discuss the future life of our son and our bahu from day 1 including when they should have a baby, whether our son is virile, or a gay, or whether the bahu should see your gynaecologist or any other matter you find worthy of your discussions during the next marriage of someone you know.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Your presence is the best present!

(But yes, we are keeping a tab of the presents because we had our son's marriage in mind when we gave you all those presents on different occasions)

NB: RSVP

(Because we have to inform the bride's parents whether they will have to mortgage the house too)

That One Time In Paris

"Why did we meet? I mean, the virtual meet. Why did you comment on my blog? What were you looking for?" 

She asked him, as she sipped her citrus crush from the comforts of her wicker chair. The joint was an extended balcony overlooking the balcony, with old and ruined red brick half walls, overgrown with vines. It was called Paris. Her eyes returned from the sea and stared into his eyes for a moment, searching for an answer that didn't matter.

"Nothing in particular." He paused for a moment before continuing. "Why did we meet? Maybe because of the Butterfly Effect. Maybe because, somewhere, a butterfly flapped its wings!"

And he smiled.