On life and its vagaries

How the rains come to our lives

with 18 comments

As I was sitting in my small cottage idling away, someone splashed at the door.

I still sat there, merely saying,

Oh , don’t bother to knock, come on in.

Then there was silence. It might have been the breeze, or a dog, or a cat or the god, but nothing came in.

Or I might have been dreaming.

One can dream with the eyes open, they say. But I could not have been dreaming, I was too lazy for that.

Who wants to go to all that fuss? I was not young any more; even girls do not create a rosy haze in me any longer.

I feel troubled by it sometimes. Well other than girls what is there to dream about in our lives? Even the best do it.

I used to smell their sweet  fragrance whenever I thought of them. Not the perfume they wear mind you, the real girl smell, the subtle girl essence, it’s fragrant, it’s intoxicating.

Sometimes I yearn to smell it again. I inflate my nostrils when I see a girl like a rose flower walk by.

I get a twinge in my heart some times, a tightening in my belly, but not that fragrance, not that whisper of mystery, not that magical touch.

It’s a sign of aging perhaps.

Do the girls dream about men? I often wonder. May be they do, may be they don’t, I once tried to read the mills and boon stories, just to learn what girls go for, they did not  involve any real work to the brain too, but I was too damn bored to go forward with it.

It’s written for girls they say. Probably by men, I was not the lean and mysterious type the girls go crazy about in them.

But I was into them all right.

There was again that splash on the door; well I am not going to stir.

I knew of this girl once. She smelled something like the Dove cream. But  no she did not use it, she was a village girl, probably have never seen it……….

She was completely edible, but I did not try to eat her up, I was too fastidious for that.

She came to my house once when everyone was away.

I played the coward.

Nobody is at home. I said weakly.

I know, she said.

I am also not at home. I said again trying to stall for time.

Then I take over this house, she said brushing past me into the house.

There is no power.

I wailed desperately after her.

I am the power. She laughed.

Well I did say that I did not eat her up, didn’t I? She left in one piece and I rather think that she was at peace too.

Normally I do not go out in the evening like some others, I prefer the sloth. But on that day I was feeling very restless and went out.

You look pleasant. Some of my friends told me.

I am totally innocent. I protested.

Oh my god, you devil, you did something  today didn’t you.

We were all very young and used to to feel the mystery  of  such things. We were a lot of innocents.

Okay, this is a moral dungeon, this land of ours.  Well anyway……. I played the not guilty then. What was there to brag really, we had a soulful talk.  May be necked a little too.

That was probably all.  But was it, I sometimes wonder now. Yet  like every young dreamer I tried to keep the mystery alive.

Guys, come on, what  you hinting at?

Damit man, who was it?

It was a Yakshi. I said very lightly,

You need to recite her name a hundred thousand times and then worship her at night on a full moon going into the deepest jungle you can find.

Bullshit. You lucky rogue ………..

Oh, the memories of youth , oh the memories……….

There was again that splash at the door.

This time it opened and she came in.

She was the rain and she was very wet and shaking.

Can I stay here for a minute?

She asked almost inaudibly.


For some seconds at least?

Costly carpet, I said pointing. You are ruining it.

The rain suddenly started to cry. But  if there were any tears in her eyes they got lost in the dripping flow of water from her head.

It is so cold outside. She was sobbing.

I decided to be brutal.

It was not of my making.

She seemed surprised at my answer and then turned to go.

I felt mad. I only smelled rain and cold and emptiness.

Okay, I said, you are rain, you are trouble, stay anyway.

She was thankful.

I shook off my laziness and stepped out into the rain.

It began to fall heavily.


Written by Sam

September 7, 2009 at 9:10 pm

18 Responses

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  1. your themes are really interesting, so is your way of writing.. i have already finished up your blog, good that you have updated it..


    September 8, 2009 at 12:31 pm

  2. I am not as gifted as you are Trisha, I often have to cook up a story out of nothing. Sometimes I like it that way too, it has the element of surprise in it. You never know what would happen next! This story came just like that. I was watching the rain lashing on my windows and then it transformed into a woman in my mind, trying to come in weary and sore at heart. I started on it and found out that I can’t write poetry. So I had to beef it up somehow and thought of this wonderful writer we had. He was the perennial lover and was even romantic at heart at eighty. I projected into him and the story aligned just like that. It is really a tribute to him rather than a real story. I am happy that you thought up of some kind words to say on it. Thank you.


    September 8, 2009 at 1:05 pm

  3. I really enjoy your writing, it is very interesting. I look forward to reading more. Feel free to check out my blog at if you want to. =)


    September 9, 2009 at 6:20 am

  4. Thank you for visiting and saying nice things about my story, and you are very welcome here. Shall be looking your blog up.


    September 9, 2009 at 7:45 am

  5. i love the way you write and i have added you to my blogroll. i’m looking forward to read more of your creative views.

    i see that you seek to understand women’s or girls’ desires. i feel that i have equal fervor in trying to understanding men. i might just find it here. 🙂

    it’s good of you to have found my blog and leave a comment. thanks!

    the woman

    September 9, 2009 at 8:34 am

  6. Thank you for adding me to your blogroll and the kind words on my writing. Its true that I seek to understand women. They have always been a mystery to me, a puzzling and fascinating one, we live so near but in some subtle way so apart. It just can’t be the work of a single chromosome 🙂


    September 9, 2009 at 10:13 am

  7. Hey, keep up the good work.

    “Beloved is mysterious, puzzling and fascinating! Our differences be sharp and foggy! For, in the release of seriousness. We lay with her for fun.”

    Shawn Roske

    September 9, 2009 at 12:39 pm

  8. I hope that you might err on those differences Shawn and comes back here often.My beloved plays tricks on me sometimes and has not yet shown a deep spirituality as in yours, I agree. That’s not easy to achieve and maintain. But she can’t be totally willful!

    Thank you so much for stopping by. I greatly appreciate that..


    September 9, 2009 at 3:03 pm

  9. dear sam,
    well, thats how stories go.. i think cooking a story out of nothing shows talent.. writing a diary doesnot shows much talent..


    September 13, 2009 at 6:49 pm

  10. Thank you Dear Trisha, you have my heart on this. I just love weaving stories out of nothing. The real can be so drab sometimes 🙂


    September 13, 2009 at 7:39 pm

  11. dear sam,
    and i cant cast a spell.. i simply write what i feel or think about or encounter in life..
    i sometimes feel really impressed and full of awe how writers can write an entire novel about things they have never seen..


    September 15, 2009 at 6:27 am

  12. Dear Trisha

    Thats not true you know. some of your poems are magical and if thats not a spell what else is. They often trasport me to other places. That is pure magical art. 🙂

    But seriously I too can’t do that, that is, on real life and on events which I haven’t seen or experienced. For example even if you supply me with all the details of a place and its inhabitants and all events over a period of time I won’t be able to write a single line. There won’t be enough feeling in it for me. But if I start writing on an imaginary land that I created it might look good even to me when I read it later.

    Of course all that we write is the result of our experiences with life. But they get subverted in my writing sometimes. I consciously try to upset our notions on reality to introduce a freshness in our views. It is highly interesting for me to do that.


    September 15, 2009 at 11:09 am

  13. dear sam,
    you too have that magical quality in your stories.. i could see the tree talking, or the night goddess stalking.. or that wild cat or nayana’s sun 🙂

    your way of writing is magical, but it will need someone else’s eye to feel it.


    September 16, 2009 at 6:33 pm

  14. Thank you dear Trisha, You make my heart warm. Who would not feel great when a beautiful mind like you say such things:)


    September 16, 2009 at 7:51 pm

  15. whatever i say they come straight from my heart.. 🙂 you will know it when you read the comments i have left in your today’s stories..


    September 18, 2009 at 12:08 pm

  16. Yes I know. You are a most beautiful mind 🙂


    September 20, 2009 at 6:18 pm

  17. 🙂 I am very bad at pretending.. really miserable so i simply dont do it.. 🙂


    September 22, 2009 at 12:04 pm

  18. I like you for that quality in you 🙂


    September 22, 2009 at 9:16 pm

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