Baapichi

Baapichi – Abdul Salam

We lost Baapichi 40 days ago today. We lost him many years ago to Alzheimer’s. Baapichi, as we call him, has and will always be a father figure to me and I will always be his naughtiest child. I credit him with a lot of positives in my life, From tempering my Aapa to the way he weaved his stories that I cherish, Baapichi will forever play an irreplaceable part of our lives. Watching this man who could shoulder the weight of the world wither away to that awful disease was one of the hardest things to do. This poem was written shortly after he passed but I couldn’t bring myself to put it out there until this morning.

14 Years Hence

This morning was just like any other,

That does make it a bother,

It’s not like I forgot,

But the day did not consume my thought,

It’s a strange and scary feeling,

One I’m having trouble with dealing.

Fourteen years this day,

I lost my mother without a say,

I never got to say goodbye,

I still remember watching you wave with those angry tear-filled eyes.

Ustaad Hotel FanFiction: Karimikka’s Sulaimani

“Mone Faizi, Do you know who that Hoori is?” Karimikka asked with a grin on his face. Your grandmother.”

“What?!? Faizi exclaimed.

As Faizi was on his way to look at the photographs on their wall, Karimikka lay there, eyes closed and pretending to sleep, lost in the thoughts of his Hoori.

His thoughts flowed back to the wedding where he had first seen her, a story that was not so secret. After all, the gossip vines would be set alight with news of a bride running away with the cook’s assistant in that century or this one.

Message in a bottle.

He sat quietly scribbling on a piece of paper. Two open beer bottles lay right next to him. The night hid his face well, it hid his tears better. He scribbled on for a while aided by dim streetlight that barely sufficed. When he was done he paused for a moment and read what he had written. This was the outlet for his sorrow. This was everything he had left. He carefully rolled up the paper he had written on and dropped it into the empty bottle he had dried. He took out a cork from his pocket and pressed it into the bottles mouth. He kept it aside and turned his attention to his smartphone, he opened up the gallery and browsed through the pictures until he reached her. She was smiling, happy and beautiful. He smiled at her through his tears. For a while now, he had only been able to see her smiling and happy in the photographs. They had somehow grown apart almost as fast as they had got together. He let his thoughts travel back down memory lane back to the day when he first saw her.

Realising a Dream! Yukthi ’17

First of all, let me apologise. I am only used to writing out figments of my imagination and writing facts out is very different and I am in all probability not at all good at it. My writing may not do justice to what was actually one of the best things in my life.

Where do i start? The beginning? The beginning was just a wish said out loud half-joking among a group of friends soon after the 4th A.T. Markose Memorial National Moot Court Competition. Yes! That was exactly how Yukthi ’17 began. “Aliya nammal nadathumbol moot maathram alla, fest venam!”

Regret: A Short Story

I woke up around 4am. My pillow showed signs of dried tears, someone had probably cried a lot last night. I smirked at the pillow, today was a new day. Today was a new start. I stood on my balcony and smiled as the sunrays kissed my skin. I smiled at the birds that flew in the beautiful morning sky.

The Bus: A Short Story

(Inspired greatly from a true story a friend told me )

“… Designer shades just to hide your face in… wear ‘em around like you’re cooler than me”

I softly sang along with Mike Posner playing on my earphones as I waited at the bus stop after college. I was so bored. The classes sucked, I nearly fell off the desk sleeping. Bah. I didn’t even want to think of it anymore. I started checking out the girl who stood nearby. She probably saw me staring and looked at me cross, I looked away relieved as I saw the familiar orange low floor quietly rolling in. As I got in, I paused at the door, turned around and stuck my tongue out at the girl as the bus started moving. She started to say something but by then the doors had closed. I wore a smirk on my face as I found a seat towards the back of the bus.

Blue Eyes: A Short Story

It was raining heavily outside St. Luke’s home for the Aged. A young man knocked on the door impatiently. He mumbled something indistinctly as he waited for someone to open the damn thing. He was visibly irritated; he had called ahead and informed them that he would be late.

May and September

Once upon a time,My story I sing for a dime,

In a land far far away,

There lived a young princess, May.
May was beautiful beyond measure,

Certainly the king’s greatest treasure.

She was the fairest in the land,

Wars were fought for her hand.
She roamed around the market place,

A young boy peeped at her through the curtain’s space.

The Wedding: A Short Story

(Inspired from an episode of Grey’s Anatomy)

Silence hung in the hospital room. A middle aged woman lay on the bed in a hospital gown a middle aged man held her hand and sat by her side, their daughter and the doctor stood nearby discussing something.