Saturday, August 28, 2010


DAD : By Bissme S

If God is going to be in heaven, I would rather be in hell. Those were the last words my mom said on her deathbed. There was a time in her life when God and religion played an important role. She was a regular face in church. The bible was the most important book in her life.
She was actively involved in church organized charity events and she didn’t stand anyone making fun of religion.
“God made us and we should respect him and not make joke out of him,” she said.
But when my dad died, everything changed. She stopped believing in God. She stopped going to church. She developed an intense hatred towards God and anything that has connection to Him.
Mom held God responsible for my dad’s death and she didn’t - couldn’t- forgave God for taking her husband away, the man she loved with all her heart and soul.
Dad was only forty-one when he met his tragic death. Too Young to die! What a tragedy! That was what everyone said at my dad’s funeral.
My mom literally worshipped the ground he walked on. In her eyes, he was a perfect man, a perfect husband and a perfect dad. Mom always told me my dad was an angel in disguise.
Indeed, she was so shocked when she learned that someone hated him to the extent of murdering him.
“Ramesh, why would anyone want to kill your father? He is a wonderful man,” my mom said to me when she first heard my dad had been murdered.

It was raining the night someone sneaked into my dad’s shop and shot him. TV shows often have the tendency to portray crime scenes as gory and extremely violent.
But my dad’s murder was nothing like that. Except for his dead cold body and a pool of blood staining the carpet, no one would have guessed a murder had taken place.
Policemen scrutinized each corner of the shop for evidence. They dusted for fingerprints. They studied the blood spatter analysis. They ruled out robbery. Nothing had stolen, so they believed the motive was pure hatred.
“Mrs Shanti, whoever shot your husband wants to make sure he is really dead,”Inspector Ram Kumar explained.
“That is the reason he or she used up all the bullets in the gun,” he added.
He was young and ambitions. This was his first murder case. He promised to apprehend the murderer at all cost. My mom had a hard time digesting that anyone could hate my dad, let alone murder him. She refused to accept the police inspector’s theory. She believed what took place was a robbery gone wrong.
In the end the young inspector failed to keep to his word. The case was forgotten and my dad’s murderer was never caught. Sometimes the young and the ambitious make promises they cannot keep.

Of course, life went on for the rest of us, except for my mom . She couldn’t stop loving my dad and she couldn’t stop hating God.
Years later, a distant relative of mine who became priest visited my mom. He was hopping to convince my mom to love God again…to come back to church again. My mom simply replied: “These days, I find myself having more respect for prostitutes than priests.”
The young priest was startled. He looked at me for support. But I could offer none. My mom continued: “Father, tell me why do pimps, prostitutes and priests starts with the same alphabet.”
My mom took the broom by the closet and literally swept the young priest out of her house. I did nothing to stop her. “Don’t ever come back here again,” she yelled. We never saw the priest again.

I, on other hand, became totally the opposite. My dad’s death brought me closer to God. I went to Church more often. I read the Bible from chapter to chapter, book to book and whispering the archaic verses over and over to myself.
Religion brought me the peace I desperately sought. Killing your own father is not an easy burden to carry. Strangely enough, my hands were not shaking when I shot him to death that night.
I still remember every detail. I walked into his shop, bold as brass. My dad was shocked to see me pointing a gun directly at him. He stared at me speechlessly, a thousand questions going through his mind. Before he could regain his composure, I shot him.
In case I missed the first shot. I shot him again and again, until all my bullets had been used up. I dashed from the shop not looking back.
At that time I didn’t have any regrets killing my dad. He deserved to die. But seeing my mother’s misery put so much guilt in me. Perhaps I shouldn’t have killed him in the first place.
I was getting tired of my dad sneaking into my room and touching me in the place he shouldn’t. I begged him to stop coming into my room.
“For God’s sake I am your son, not your lover,” I whispered.
But my dad wouldn’t listen to me. I hadn’t expected his death will take such a tremendous toll on my mother. Even after killing my dad, I wanted to tell my mother the whole truth. But I was afraid she would hate me the way he hates God. I don’t want her hatred. So I keep it a secret.
Initially like my mom I hated God too. I hated God for different reasons. I hated Him for everything bad that had taken place in my life, for allowing my dad to touch me and for not being there to protect me.
Later I realized I couldn’t lead a life like my mom’s … a life filled with hatred. I needed God in my life. I needed God to forgive me for what I had done.

Footnote: This fiction  has appeared in Dark City 2, a book consisting a collection of 17 short stories

Sunday, August 22, 2010


TWINS - By Bissme S

It was strange to have my twin brother undressing me.... to have his lips kissing my lips ... to have his naked body brushing against mine... to have his hands touching my manhood.
I had reservation touching him back. I wanted us to be brothers forever and not sinful lovers. I wanted us not to cross the boundaries. 
But I had promised him that I would not stop this madness. I would let his dreams come true. I would let his desires be a reality. And I had not broken my promise. That was the first time, we as brothers, made love. But that was not our last time.

Sometimes, I blamed our father for making us from brothers to lovers.  Our father should not have pampered us too much. Our father shouldn't have fulfilled all our dreams and our desires. Staying with our father was like staying with a genie who grants every of your wishes.
Our father made us believe life would be wonderful always, suffering was not written in our fate and misery would never touch us. Our father told us that everyone would bow to us, forever. He was not far from the truth. 
When you born into royalty, you have a bless life. You have wealth beyond your dreams.You always had people respecting you as well as fearing you. My father was the king while we were his precious princes. 
But our father had forgotten that life can be unpredictable and things can change. A king can lose his kingdom. A Prince can become a pauper.
That was what happened to us. A revolution took place in our country. My father was not a great king. People were suffering under his ruling. For years, the people did nothing and endured the suffering, quietly. 
Then came a day when people were tired of suffering… people were tired of keeping quiet.They rebelled against their own king. They burned our castle, captured our father and hanged him. A new government was set up. Royalties were not needed. Royalties were no longer respected.
When the revolution began, my father had my mother and his sons shipped out to America. We begged him to follow us. He was adamant to stay behind to protect his kingdom and to teach his people that King should be respected, not rebelled against.
He believed he could paralyzed the revolution and put the troublemaker behind bars. My father had underestimated the revolution. He had underestimated his people.

Life in America was not easy for us. At first, we had so much money and we were not worried. Then, all the money was slowly spent. Our mother was never good at managing money.She spent money like water coming out from a tap. Our mother had forgotten that she was no longer a Queen of a rich kingdom. Before she married our father, she was a model.
It was her beauty that attracted my father’s attention. Our mother didn’t think twice to dump her fiancĂ©e to marry my father. She always loved a luxury life and who could provide a better life than a King.
When the money runs out, we had not choice but to live in a slums area. My twin brother and I had to find jobs in a super market. It was a shocking experience for us.
We never worked in our lives before. Taking orders from our superiors was a very difficult affair for us. We are so used of giving out orders and not receiving them.
Compare to me, Danny had more difficulty accepting his new poor life and always got into fights with his superiors. But our mother was in far worse condition that Danny. 
She can’t totally accept her new condition at all. Her mind snapped. She refused to speak to any one, not even us. Then one day, out of the blue, my mother ended her life. Completely naked, she walked towards a running train.
“Damien, sometimes I feel like doing what our mother did,” my twin brother Danny told me at our mother's funeral.
“I cannot live a poor man’s life,” he said.
Fear danced in my bones. I had lost my father. I had lost my mother. I can’t afford to lose my brother.


It didn’t take long for Danny to get sacked. The superiors can’t take any more of his arrogant ways. When you are born and brought up as a prince, arrogance comes to you naturally.
Getting fired from your job is never good for your soul. Danny went into a depression. I was fearful that he would take the similar road that my mother has taken. Just like our mother, he refused to speak anyone including me.
The computer had become his new best friend. He would spend hours in front of the internet, chatting with strangers all over the world. Weeks later, to my surprise, he broke his silence.He was no longer depressed. He began to smile. He began to laugh. Happiness danced into his life again. I was so happy, just to see him happy again.
"Do not worry Danny, you do not have to work," I said.
"I will work for both of us," I added.
Danny just laugh at me and said : "Do not worry brother, believe me, life will be easy for us again. We will be rich again. We do not have to work very hard like slaves any more. In few weeks time our lives will change forever. "
Danny didn't elaborate any further and I didn't care to ask. His depression had disappeared and that was enough for me.

But Danny kept to his promise and our lives change forever. It all began with Danny introducing me to Jimmy Smith. Danny and Jimmy meet through the internet.From his appearance, it was easy to guess that Jimmy Smith was not a poor man. The more he talked, the more I realized that I was sitting in front a billionaire.
It puzzled me that a man of his status wants to be my brother's friend. The rich only mingles with the rich and they have no time for  poor people like us. When my brother and I were rich, the poor have no place in our house, in our hearts and in our mind. The poor are born just to serve us.
When Jimmy took my brother and me to his house for dinner, the sight of his house left me speechless. Everything inside the house was grand. His home is like one of those houses you see in a high class interior magazine.
He showered expensive gifts on Danny. He fulfilled Danny's every desires. What Danny wants, he gets. Jimmy tried to do the same with me. But I refused. Unlike Danny, I didn't want to take advantage of Jimmy.
It was not long Danny and me move into Jimmy's house. I protested, initially. I wanted us to stay where we were. But Danny was more forceful. In the end I had to bow down to Danny.
I thought Jimmy was too naive to see that my brother was taking him for a brother was using him to lead a rich life. But in the end, I learned that I was the naive one.

Jimmy had an ulterior motive to share his wealth with us. Jimmy gets a high watching twins like us making love in front of him.Jimmy was willing to go any length to see his dirty desire become a reality. Jimmy was willing spend any amount of money to see us making love.
Danny didn't have any qualms making love with me in front of Jimmy. Danny kept convincing me that this was our road to richness again…this was our road to an easy life.Danny didn't care about what is sinful and what is not. When I refused, he threaten to end his life , just like Mama.
"I cannot live a poor man's life," he said.
I had no choice. I didn't want to lose my brother. Out of desperation, I agreed to his wishes. I was like a puppet in Danny's hand, dancing to his tunes.I felt guilty whenever we made love. Some nights, I had disturbing nightmares where God punished Danny and me to fires of hell. I wake up with fear dancing in my bones and sweat all over my body.
I described my nightmares to Danny. But Danny was unemotional, unaffected and unperturbed. God, hell and religion doesn't bother him any more.
"If God wants us not to do this sin, then he should not have made us so wealthy and out of the blue, take away our wealth," he says.
"God is partly to be blamed. If God puts us in hell, then he should be in hell with us too. I am not worried about hell yet. Hell can wait. What is important is now."

It has been two years since we stayed together. Jimmy never got bored watching us making love. Sometimes Jimmy joined us in our love making session.My brother and I called ourselves as JD (Jimmy's Darlings). And Jimmy loved the title  we had given to ourselves . As Danny predicted, life was wonderful again.
We were not prince anymore but at least we were rich... at least we didn't have worked hard like slaves just to earn our bread and butter. I began to enjoy my luxurious life.I was also glad that the nightmares had stopped. No more God, no more hell and no more punishment. Just happiness and more happiness.
Like my brother, I have learned to kill my conscious. I told myself what happened was for the best. I told myself, some people are not destined to live a poor man's life.

The End

Sunday, August 15, 2010


She - By Bissme S

"How can you look after your husband's murderer?"

My best friend Janaki has been asking me this question for years. I can understand her curiosity. But sad to say, I have no rational answers for her.
All I know is that I just can’t abandon her. If I did, my husband would be immensely devastated. My husband had loved his murderer with all his heart.
Even on his deathbed, he pleaded with me to look after her. His exact words were: "She won't take my death well. Promise me, Naveena, that you will look after her till her last breath."
How do you refuse a man whom you love with all your heart, begging and pleading in his last breath? You simply couldn't. You could only comply.
My husband was right. She didn't take his death rationally. She went insane. Looking after a mad woman is never an easy task.
She has not spoken a word since my husband's death. She recognizes nobody. Most of the time, she will just stare at a blank space. There are rare moments when she will throw tantrums. She will throw things at me. There are times when I would defend myself and other times I will just stand there like a mannequin and take whatever pain came my way.
When there are no more things to throw, she will let out a long frustrating scream sounding very much like a wounded animal. After her cries are over, she will slip into her silent mood. No words, only blank stares.
My husband had told me that he had loved her and me equally. But I knew my husband had lied. He loved me. That is one fact I can't deny. But he always loved her a little more. Whenever we quarreled, my husband would defend her even when she was in the wrong.
My husband always told me that I should be understanding and patient. I should learn to forgive easily. I should not take her too seriously. But she was a difficult woman to live with.
She never liked me from the beginning. I can still recall her displeasure the first time we met. But my husband assured me otherwise. He said I got the wrong impression. I got the wrong picture. Foolishly, I believed him.
In front of me, she didn't say much. But behind my back, she'd had a lot to say and a lot of venom to spit out.
"Prakash, you deserve better than her," she said.
But my husband was adamant and his desire to make me as his wife was far stronger.
"If I can't marry Naveena, I will marry no one," said my husband.
Even after our marriage her hostility towards me didn't lessen. There was always a cold war between us.
Then I got pregnant. She was thrilled that my husband was becoming a father. She became kinder to me. Instantly, the hostility between us disappeared. She was looking after my welfare, making sure I ate the right things and I had enough rest. Slowly we built a bridge of understanding and compassion. I was extremely glad we no longer hostile enemies.
Then tragedy struck that changed the nature of our relationship forever. Seven months pregnant, I had an accident - a nasty fall from the staircase. But losing the baby wasn't the worst news that I had to face.
"Mrs Naveena, I am so sorry that you can never be a mother again," said the doctor, coldly and without any trace of emotion.
My husband and I cried out hearts out. But she was far too furious to be sad. Her dream to see my husband becoming a father was shattered. She became more hostile to me than before. Our disagreements were far more intense.
Once I overheard her persuading my husband to divorce me and find a new wife, one that could bear his children to carry on the family name.
"If you want me to stay with you, never bring up the subject of my divorcing Naveena again," my husband harshly warned her.
She never brought up the subject again. But she was still determined to see me out of his life and she was willing to go any lengths to see this happen.
With me out of the way, she felt she had a better chance to persuade my husband to marry another woman that will make my husband a father. She planned my murder. She paid some gangsters to kill me for once and ever. Everything was planned in detail. They would snatch my purse and made the whole incident look like a robbery went wrong .Every Friday I would go to the temple for morning prayers. When the day came, everything went wrong. For the first time in his life, my husband decided to follow me to the temple.
Prior to this, he was never a religious man. Perhaps the recent tragedy of my miscarriage had made him think about God and spirituality. Tragedies have been known to bring man closer to God
His body took the knife instead of mine. The police ruled out the whole incident as robbery. When she looked at my husband's cold lifeless body, out of sheer sadness, she blurted out the whole truth to me.
Beating her chest, she cried, "I was evil and God had taught me a lesson." Those were her last words before sanity left her. She never thought the diabolic plan she conceived would kill my husband. Her grief and guilt were so intense that her mind suddenly snapped.
I knew the truth but I never told a single soul except my best friend Janaki. I just felt I had to tell someone about my grief - someone I know who would keep it a secret too and there was no better person than Janaki. It is just too painful to keep a secret all to myself.
Initially I couldn't bring myself to forgive her for what she has done. My hatred was at the highest degree and I regretted the promise I made to look after her.
But over the years, I have learned to forgive and forget. Instead of anger and hatred, I felt compassion towards her.
I came to realize that her situation was far more tragic than mine. I lost a husband, she a son. But she sent her own son to the door of death. Truly no mother should have a fate like my mother-in-law.

Sunday, August 8, 2010

A Life Without Love

A Life Without Love By Bissme S

Is it possible everyone loves you and you love no one back?

My mother posed me this question when I was hardly 20. I was too stunned to reply her question. I just stared her, blankly and she did the same. Then, slowly, she gazed down on the table and start eating her dinner.
And I did the same. Throughout the dinner, there was an awkward silence between us. Our eyes were fixated on the food that was on our plates. We were afraid to look at each other’s eyes. Only, the sound of our spoons and forks hitting our plates can be heard.
Deep in my heart, I was glad she didn’t pursue the answer to her question … I was glad we didn’t have an intense discussion on this topic. I was afraid of the conclusion of our discussions. I was not ready to face the truth. Till the day she died, she never brought up this question again.
To a certain degree, I could felt my mother was afraid as I was. Like me, she was not ready to face the truth, too. She didn’t want to rock the boat. She preferred to let sleeping dogs lie. I shared her similar feelings.
Both of us knew the answers in our hearts but we were not brave enough to bring the answers from our hearts to our mouths. Perhaps, some questions are not to be answered.
But if truth to be told, my mother had mastered the art of getting everyone to love her and she love no one back. My mother had one of those charming personalities where she doesn’t have to do anything and people just loved her. What they failed to see is my mother feels nothing for them.
My mother never demanded to be loved. She was one of those individuals who could live a life without love. Some people have to walked miles and miles to find love. But with my mother, love came knocking at her door, easily and she can never appreciated this fact. I, truly, believed my mother was born handicap. But her handicap is the rare kind. She simply doesn’t have a heart to love.
She can’t even bring herself to love the man she called husband and the man I called father. She lost her husband at the young age of 30. When the police informed her about my father’s terrible a car accident, my mother had no emotion all. If anything I noticed there was a sigh of relief, as she does not have to pretend to be a caring wife anymore.
She was happier to be in a widow’s shoes. At my father’s funeral she stood there like a lifeless statue. Everyone at the funeral thought she too grief stricken to show any emotions. They pitted for her. They felt the God was unkind to make her a widow at the young age. They never stopped hugging her. They never stopped consoling her.
In reality she just can’t wait for the funeral service to be over. She was eager to go back to the comfort of her home and perhaps reading one of her favorite novels. She was wanted so desperately to go as far away as she can from the overly dramatic emotions that my father’s friends were showering at her husband’s funeral. If only his friends had known the truth, they would have probably spat my mother’s face, called her unkind names and dragged her out of my father’s funeral.
Even her own mother could feel she didn’t have a heart to love. On her dying bed, her mother said to me “ Please forgive your grandmother! I have raised a monster.” Looking back now I can never blamed her parents. My mother didn’t have a tragic childhood. If anything her childhood was a blissful one and a dream that every orphan looks forward too. Her parents never stopped showering my mother with love and more love
Perhaps God had just forgotten to put a functional heart in my mother. Therefore, she can’t bring herself to love anyone. I remembered years ago, asking her why she married my dad. I was expecting the usual answers – “It was love at first sight”… “He was handsome and had the kindest heart”… “He was so romantic and never stopped pursuing me.”
With my mother, you can never expect the usual answer. “Jason, I married your father so that I can know the meaning of love,” she said.
Sadly, marriage failed her miserably. My mother never learned to love my father even though he worshipped the ground she walked on. He never stopped loving her even though he knows she has a cold heart that can never love him back. He believed he can changed her.
He had high hopes that one day his wife will love him as much as her loved her. I believed, sometimes, my father had convinced himself that he was Rhett Butler from the movie Gone With The Wind who will in the end win the love of heartless and beautiful Scarlett O’Hara which was my mom. Of course my father will make sure his Gone With The Wind will have a happy ending. He will learn to forgive his Scarlett O’Hara and together they will walk into the sunset, holding each other’s hand and gazing at each other eyes, lovingly. But my father failed to understand life is not movies.
There are some people who simply don’t change. My father should have learned there are possibilities for leopards to change their spots but not my mother. Sometimes I felt my home was like an asylum where I had a father cannot accept reality, a mother cannot love any one and I was this lousy psychologist who cannot find cures for my parents. Of course my father died of broken heart and my mother never learned to love him till his last breath.
But my mother wanted to learn the meaning of love, so badly. She desperately wanted to be so normal. She wanted so badly to fit into the society where love is a normal expression. When she found marriage failed cure her handicap, she resorted to motherhood. She read somewhere mothers are angels in disguise and they have natural instincts to love their flesh and blood. And that was her reason to have me.
But like marriage, motherhood failed her miserably, too. She began to accept it was fated she is never meant to love anyone but herself. She began to believe not all mothers are angels in disguises… not all mothers are meant to love their children.
When I was young, I must confessed that I hard time accepting my mother didn’t love me. All children want their mothers to love them and I was no different. I did everything in my power to make her love me. I was hopping that I can change her…I could make her love me.
But unlike my father, over the years, l learned winning her love was an impossible task. There are possibilities for leopards to change their spots but not my mother. Perhaps my mother was right that not all mothers are meant to love their children.
When I was old enough, I made a point to accept a job where I will be far away from her. I wanted to give her freedom where she doesn’t have to be my mother anymore. Most mothers will be sad when their only child will be so far away from them. But my mother was different. I could see joy was dancing in her face. Finally she can be alone. A lot people are afraid to be alone. But she cherished the companion of loneliness than people. I can fully understand her motivation wanting to be alone.
When she was alone, she can truly be herself…she doesn’t have to conform to the society norm where love is supposed to be natural expression. She can lead a life without love, with some peace and without have any guilt. She was most comfortable when she was alone.
I only visited her during Christmas Holidays. I do not want to intrude her new life with loneliness. I could feel there certain amount of tension whenever I returned home. She can’t wait for the Christmas Holidays to be over, so she can be alone again.
When she was on her dying bed, I went to see her. I hoped she become a changed person and developed a heart to love. When you are near death, people become different… people become less heartless. But my mother never changed. She never talked about love. It is possible for leopards to change their spots but not my mother.
At her funeral, I promised that I would not cry for her. After all, she never loved me. But I never kept to my promise. Tears never stopped streaming down my eyes. She can’t bring herself to love me and I can’t bring myself to hate her. Not all children are meant to hate their mothers.