My First Book

I am happy to announce that my book, Doubt, a collection of my short stories  has been published recently. It is my first book. Thank you Merpati Jingga and Faisal Mustaffa for having tremendous faith in publishing my work !
Some of the stories that are in this blog are featured in Doubt. I am also attaching two reviews  from friends who have been reading my short stories  for some time now. 


* The first review is from  N. Shashi Kala, news editor fz.com a vibrant website that offers news and views across a wide spectrum of subjects. : 

“ I have  been a fan of Bissme's short stories ever since he sent me one  - albiet reluctantly - back in the late 90s. The themes - incest, infidelity, revenge (of the most twisted kind), murder - are all rooted in relationships gone wrong. Whether it is a girl who takes extreme measures to get her father to fall in love with her, or the tale of two brothers who become porn stars to make ends meet, Bissme excels in drawing out the essence of the characters and the twisting perceptions. There is no subject that is taboo in his eyes - we are all flawed creations of God and Bissme is keen to make us realise this through his stories. He takes us into  the dark recesses of the human soul and shows us the creatures we've become. It takes an insane mind to dwell here and that Bissme has chosen to build his home here speaks volumes. But his gift is in making these characters relatable and in some ways symphatetic despite the compact nature of his stories. 
I hope he eventually moves on to novellas and novels - his short fiction always leaves me wanting more.” 

* The second review is from Roslan Jomel the author for Namaku Epal Kuning  &  Selamat Datang Ke Malaywood


“Saya sebenarnya tertarik pada beberapa cerpen Bissme kerana saya dapat merasai kehalusan emosi. dia menulis cerita manusia-manusia biasa yang melalui kehidupan pada zaman moden. hero-hero untuk ceritanya hanyalah manusia tulen yang bergelut dengan teka-teki kehidupan itu sendiri. temanya biasa tetapi ditekan dengan penuh nilai humanis. sejujurnya, cerpen-cerpen Bissme sangat memikat kerana kesederhanaan penyampaiannya. lingkaran kehidupan domestik dan liku-liku perasaan pada setiap perwatakan, dilukis dengan telus dan unik. sangat mengejutkan kerana cerpen-cerpennya pendek, namun kesan yang diperolehi pembaca membawa jauh ke dalam naluri.
jika kita ingin mendekati gambaran permasalahan manusia urban, cerpen-cerpen Bissme menawarkan perspektif yang sungguh berbeza. bakat Bissme sangat besar ertinya untuk kesusasteraan Malaysia. keluasan kasih sayang, batasan perasaan dan apakah yang lebih bermakna pada kebahagiaan seandainya ia tidak memenuhi hati seseorang manusia? dengan begitu pintar dan teliti, Bissme berjaya menulis cerita-cerita yang sangat memukau kepada pembaca. tiada cerita yang lebih mengasyikkan berbanding tentang keanehan manusia itu sendiri. pendekatan sebegini mengingatkan saya kepada gaya penulisan Haruki Murakami dan Etgar Keret.” 

DOUBT

Doubt By Bissme S


I did not believe her. No one did. Except him. I remembered asking him: "How could you choose to believe her?  Don't you want to know the truth?"

Without any trace of emotion, he answered: "I do not want the truth. I am not interested in the truth. The truth is not important. I just want to be happy."

*****

I disliked all the men she had dated. I never stopped finding faults in them. No one was good enough for her. But he was different.

"Marry him,” I told her.

“I can see in his eyes that he is madly in love with you. He will keep you very happy. Trust me! A mother’s instinct is never wrong. The greatest happiness in life is to love and be loved."

Foolishly, she trusted every word I told her. Both of us learned the hard way that love is not enough to make us happy and mothers are not always right. 

*****

I was eager to be a grandmother.  He was eager to be a father. She was eager to be a mother. But God should not have been so eager to fulfill our dreams…. God should have known some dreams are not meant to come true…. God should have known some women are not born to be mothers.

My daughter hated every aspect of pregnancy. She hated being big. She hated the morning sickness. She hated her feet was always swollen. She hated having strange cravings. She was constantly irritated. She was constantly losing her temper. She was constantly in tears.

"I can't wait for the baby to be out of me," she screamed many times.   

When Mohsin was finally out of her womb, I thought her misery would end. But I was wrong. Her misery was just beginning. My daughter hated motherhood as much as she hated pregnancy.  

Mohsin was not an easy baby to look after. He was always crying. His wailing was driving her up the walls.

 "My son hates me,” she cried.  

“I wish I never had him.”

*****

Then, one day, out of the blue, Mohsin went missing. The police was called. My daughter told them that an ape had entered the apartment through the balcony, grabbed Mohsin in his arms and left.

“I was so scared,” she said.

“I froze. I didn’t know how to stop the beast.”   

Her story was outrageous. Her story was ridiculous. Her story made no sense. Our home was no where near a forest. It is impossible to believe that an ape would be roaming freely in a street that is congested with cars and buildings.

My instinct immediately told me that Mohsin was no longer alive. His body could be buried in some bushes. His body could be under a river.  His body could be anywhere.  

The only person who refused to doubt her was her husband. “The woman I love is not a heartless monster,” he said.     

*****

The judge felt the evidence against my daughter was circumstantial. The police made every attempt to find my grandson’s body. But they could not find Mohsin. Their failure had given my daughter her freedom.   

But the society was not kind to us. They were furious with the verdict. They desperately wanted a child killer to be punished. They desperately wanted justice for the poor helpless Mohsin. 

They treated us worst than a pariah. Almost every day, red paints to eggs were thrown in-front of our door. On many occasions, people spat on our faces.

Our neighbors stopped talking to us. Our relatives no longer visited us. Our friends ignored us. We were totally isolated. The hostility was too much for us to bear. 

We had no choice, but to move away from the neighborhood that we had stayed for more than 10 years. Ironically, the new house that my son-in- law had found for us was near a forest.

“Here, nobody will disturb us,” he said.

“Nobody will harass us.  Finally, we can have some peace. Finally, we can have some happiness.”

But happiness was not written in our fate. Tragedy strikes when my daughter was alone in the house. When we returned home, she was no longer alive. She was tortured. Her throat was cut. “A monster like her should not be allowed to breath” was written in our wall, in a red paint.    

The police was called. But they showed no interest in catching my daughter’s murderer. They felt the murderer was a hero, for getting rid of a child killer.

“May be an ape from the forest had entered your home and killed her,” said one of the policemen, sarcastically.

Her murderer was never found.

*****

Her death took a toll on him. My son-in-law was depressed. He could not believe the God had been cruel to him…. first taking away the child he loves, then the woman he loves. 

Then, one morning, he went missing. He left a rambling note that he wanted some time alone to deal with his tragedy.

Three months later, he returned home, with a long beard, happiness shinning all over his face and a baby boy in his arms.   

“When I was in the forest, a strange thing happened,” he said.

“The ape who took my baby approached me. The ape had Mohsin in his arms. He put Mohsin into my arms and simply disappeared into the bushes. 

“I cried. I could not believe Mohsin is alive. I could not believe Mohsin is in my arms again. The moment I got Mohsin, I rushed home.”     

The story he told me was more outrageous than the story that my daughter had told. Deep in my heart, I knew, the baby in his arms was not Mohsin. He had made someone's son as his own. He must have abducted the poor child. Some parents out there are in agony, worried sick about their missing son. He desperately wanted some happiness and the child in his arms played the part, perfectly.

So many questions were dancing in my mind. But I asked him, nothing. I didn't want the truth. The truth is not important.  I am not interested in the truth. I just want to be happy. 

I simply put on my apron, and said: "I will make us, a delicious dinner.  We have something to celebrate. My grandson has returned home."

The End

A Woman Of Two Faces

A Woman of Two Faces By Bissme S


I was her secret. And I was tired of being one. I wasn't expecting her to shout our love from the roof top of the Twin Towers. But I didn't want her to hide me, either.
I couldn’t totally blame her. She has a lot to lose if we display our feelings, openly. Ours is a society that is not comfortable with two women falling in love…with two women lusting for each other.
But I didn’t want to live my life in fear anymore. I was tired of dancing my life to everyone’s tune. It is about time I create my own tunes and dance to them. So I ended our relationship. But less than a year of our separation, she was in my arms, again. As always, she never failed to seduce me back. I always had difficulty letting her go. She is a drug I cannot live without.


*****
The first time I met Jennifer, we were hardly 10. Her family was our new neighbor. Everything in her house was regimented. Her family was so prim and proper, full of manners and always had a smile on their faces. They were so God fearing. Going to church on Sunday was a must.
Truly, it was like having the Van Trapp family, from The Sound of Music, living next door to you. The only missing elements were the guitars and banjos in their hands, and songs from their mouth.
My family was totally the opposite. We can be a little unpolished, hippy, moody and outspoken. Swearing and profanities are the second language in our house.
We have never stepped into a church. My rebellious parents believed government uses religion as a tool to make its people submissive.
“You can never be vocal in church,” my father used to tell me.
“You have to accept whatever the priests said.”
My father was convinced all priests are government’s agents that are out to spread government propagandas in a subliminal way.
“In that way, the government can control us forever,” he said.
“We do not need to go to some church to see God.
God is in our heart.”
We were like The Osbournes.  But only more funkier and better looking. Can you just imagine the scenario of Van Trapp and The Osbournes living as neighbors? We were so different like heaven and earth. We had so little in common. Our parents hardly speak to each other. It is only the adults that take differences rather seriously.
But Jennifer and I were children. We were too young to take any notice of our differences. We wanted friends. We wanted to play. And that bonded us.
*****


The older I got, my feelings for Jennifer changed. I wanted her to be more than my best friend. I never had the guts to reveal what was in my heart. I would get extremely jealous when guys shown any interest in her.
But Jennifer was different. She was daring. She made the first move. Passionately, she planted the first kiss on my mouth and the rest was history. The first time we make love, we were hardly 16.
“I like you when you get jealous,” she teased me once.
“You look so beautiful when you get jealous.”
Jennifer was a woman of two faces. In front of her parents and her church going friends and relatives, she had the face of the Virgin Mary – So pure and innocent.
Once their back was turned, she was a wild sexy siren that could even put the famous stripper Rose Chan to shame. I loved both of her faces. I loved both of her contrasting personalities. Everything about Jennifer fascinated me.
I really believed Jennifer would be the first and last woman I loved. I really believed our love story would have a happy ending .But I was extremely wrong.
*****


Eight years down the road, imagine my utter surprise, when Jennifer presented me with her wedding card.
Seeing disappointment was dancing all over my face, she said: “There is a time to be wild and then, there is a time to be practical.
“You will always be the love of my life. I will always treasure what we had. Now, it is time to move on.
“I must do what is expected of me. I must get married. I must have children. I must make my parents happy.  You should do the same.”
Her words didn’t comfort me. I didn’t want her to treasure what we had. What I wanted was a happy ending. I was furious with Jennifer and I vowed I would never see her again. But I never kept to my promise.
*****


Eight years later, we met up again. A tragedy brought us together. When Jennifer cries, I am always there to wipe away her tears.
Her husband was killed in a car accident. I didn’t attend his funeral. I didn’t want to see Jennifer again. Within a few weeks of his death, she was in front of my door steps. She still looked stunning. Her eyes were moist with tears. I melted. I forgot about the pain she brought to my heart. I took her into my arms and into my heart, again.
*****


Our relationship was sailing, smoothly. The sex between us was even better than before. It was if the separation never took place in our lives. I really believed this time around, our relationship would have different outlook.
I hope we would not be so secretive. I hoped we would be living together like a married couple. Once again Jennifer dashed my hopes. Once again Jennifer broke my heart.
“My parents are conservative and religious,” she said. They will not allow two lesbians to be the parents of their only grandchild. They will be afraid that their grandson will grow up to be a gay.
“They will go to court and take away my son from me. I cannot live without Jason.”
I had almost forgotten Jennifer was now mother of one. Her son Jason had just turned six. It is so strange that her parents would think if children are brought up by gays, they will end up being gays. Our parents were not gay yet we ended up being one.
Once again, Jennifer has becomes a woman of two faces. To the world, she is a grieving widow and a dutiful mother. Her son is her life.
And when she is in my arms, she is a different story altogether. She is reckless, wild and too difficult to be tamed. Her life has been one big lie.
*****


Often Jennifer and I would have intense argument about hiding our relationship like some military secret.
“Please understand me, I cannot take chances,” she said.
“I could lose Jason,”
I would admit I was being difficult and sometimes a little selfish. I was tired of her treating me like a second class citizen. We did nothing wrong. We have nothing to fear. We were just two women in love. 
“Sometimes I wished your son is dead and then we would not live a life of lies, any more,” I said to her, cruelly.
A slapped landed on my face. It didn’t take us long to forgive and forget… to kiss and make up ... to be in each other’s arms. Like I said earlier, Jennifer is a drug I cannot live without.
*****


Eight months down the road. What I said become a reality. Jason was killed, brutally. A few Indonesian robbers entered her house when Jennifer was not around. Mercilessly, they slashed the maid and Bobby to death.
Like any caring mother, Jennifer cried, uncontrollably. She had to be institutionalized. The media had a field day with the story, pointing the finger at the Indonesian immigrants for the rise of the crime rates in our city.
****


Eight months later, Jason has become the forgotten news. Jennifer was discharged. She did not want to go back to the house where her son was killed.  She came to my place, instead.
“I do not want to be alone,” she said
“Can I stay with you for while,” she asked me.
I looked at her with a wide smile and answered “You can stay as long as you like.”
****


Nearly a year has passed. Jennifer has not left my apartment. It has become like a home to her. More and more of her things have shifted from her house into my apartment.
People were whispering about our close relationship in a negative light.  But Jennifer didn’t care. She didn’t want to be alone. She wanted to be in the arms of someone who loved her, dearly.
“You are the love of my life,” she said to me in one of our intimate moments.
If only she had known the truth, she would not have uttered those lovely words. She would have hated me.
But I didn’t have a choice. I didn’t want to be her secret any more. I was tired of being alone. I did what I had to.
I hired some Indonesian goons to break into her house when she was in my arms. Their main mission was to kill her son and the maid, and make the whole things look like a robbery that had gone wrong.
Jason’s death was truly necessary for us to be really happy. Jennifer was not designed to be a wife. Jennifer was not designed to be a mother. She became a wife because the society wants her to. She became a mother because the society wants her too. She danced her whole life to the music that society   has set for her.
If Jason dies, there will be no more lies…there will be no more charades… there will be no more secrets….Jennifer would have no reason to be a woman of two faces. Finally happiness will enter our lives. Finally we can be together, forever.
Initially, my conscious used to bug me. I cannot believe I could be so evil to kill a child for my own happiness. But over time, I learned to kill my conscious… I learned accept what happened was for the best…I learned that sometimes one needs to be selfish if one wants to be happy.
*****


Last night, Jennifer had a terrible nightmare where she had seen a vision of Jason covered in blood. She woke up screaming and tears in her eyes. I was there to console her. I hold her close to my breast and whispered: “Hush! Jennifer! hush. Everything will be alright. Rebecca is here, to take care of you…..”




The End


PS: This story was translated in Bahasa Malaysia under the title Wanita Dua Wajah and had appeared in the first Malay-language anthology of queer writing  Orang Macam Kita. Thanks to the publisher Matahari Books and the editors of this anthology, Azwan Ismail & Diana Dirani I

Odelia

Odelia By Bissme S


The first time Adam met Odelia, they were hardly 17. His family was her new neighbor. His family was a born again Christian.
“You can forget to pay your taxes and you must not forget to go to church on Sundays,” his father often said.
For the longest time Adam and his family had abandoned god, church and religion. Their crusade to love God again happened when Adam’s father had a dream where Jesus was giving him a tour of heaven.
“The beauty of heaven is so amazing,” Adam’s father said.
“I can’t find the right words to describe the beauty I have seen.”
At the end of his dream, Jesus whispered into his ears: “Follow the road the God had chosen, heaven will be given to you on a silver platter.”
Adam’s father was convinced Jesus had entered in his dream to save their souls.


******
Odelia’s father was jumping with joy to get a neighbor like them. Her family was a born again Christian, too. Her father had a similar religious dream too.
The only difference was her father’s dream sounds more like a nightmare, a scene out of a B grade horror film. Her father had seen hell where sinners were punished without mercy.
“Snakes of all sizes were swimming on the floor,” her father said.
Since the nightmare, everyone in her family was forced to become religious.
“We do not want to go to hell, do we?” her father said.
In her house, her father was like a dictator and his orders should be obeyed without questioned. Odelia hated the fact that her family had become a religious freak.
“Youth is a time to enjoy life and not be wasted on god and religion,” Odelia said.
“When you are old and wrinkled, you will have a plenty of time to repent and do all those godly things. I am wasting my youth away.”
But Odelia never had the guts to against her dictator. Odelia was more afraid of her dictator more than God.
She pretended to be religious…She pretended to be madly in love with Jesus …She pretended to be excited about angels, devils, heaven and hell. She was miserable. She was no different from a caged bird that was crying for its freedom.
“I hate God,” she often screamed.


*****
When Adam entered her life, she was no longer miserable. A woman in love is rarely miserable. But her heart was shattered into thousand pieces when Adam told her that women do not attract him.
Coming from a religious family, the attraction for his own kind was making Adam miserable.
“I didn’t want to be sent to hell,” Adam said
“I wanted heaven. I wanted to be cured...I wanted to be a better man… I wanted to walk on the road that
God had chosen.”
It was then Odelia manipulated her way into his heart. Like most women, Odelia wanted her love story to have a happy ending. She convinced him that her truelove would cure him… Her true love would transform him into a better man … Her true love would make him walk the road that God had chosen
“Heaven will be yours if you learn to love me,” Odelia told Adam.
Instantly they became lovers. It didn’t take long for wedding rings to be on their fingers and became proud parents to a healthy baby boy that they named Andrew.
Odelia, truly, believed love, marriage and fatherhood would make Adam happy. But Adam wasn’t happy. Adam was in misery. Adam was wearing a mask and a man who wears a mask can never be happy. Adam never wanted to be a husband. Adam never wanted to be a father.
“I had changed so much that I had become a stranger to myself,” Adam said to his image that reflected in the mirror.
Then came a day, Adam was tired of living a life of lies. Adam stopped his car at a railway track. Totally naked, Adam ran towards a moving train. Adam didn't leave behind any suicide note. Adam didn't have to.


******
Odelia was totally heart broken over his death. For months she suffered depression. But Odelia can’t be sad forever. She was a mother of one. Odelia had to take care of their son, Andrew. Odelia had to be strong. She had no choice.
The tragedy in her life had pushed Odelia to find solace in religion. The God she hated once had become her new best friend.


****
Years had passed. Andrew had grown up to be a fine young man with a secret buried in his heart. Out of the blues, one day, he unloaded his secret to his mum.
Odelia was shocked. Odelia was speechless. Odelia went into her room and cried her hearts out. But a few hours later, Odelia was standing in front of him, looking calmed and composed. The first thing she did was to hug him. Both of them had tears in their eyes. Wiping away his tears, she said to him: “Do not worry, I will find a cure for you.”
Odelia sought the church’s help. Andrew would be send to a religious rehabilitation program where he can repent and finally walked the road the God had chosen him to walk.
“Heaven will be yours if you learn to obey God’s rules,” Odelia said to Andrew.
Of course Andrew did not protest. Like always, he let his mother run his life. Oddly enough, Odelia was certain Andrew would not walk the same road as her husband did.
“God had failed me, once,” she said.
“God will not fail me again. He would not let me lose my son. God is great. God is not that heartless. God is not that cruel. God is great….”

A Portrait Of A Mother

A Portrait of a Mother By Bissme S

My mother hates me. I was only 10 when those words were tattooed in my right arm. Years later, when I was an adult, I had a plastic surgeon to remove those words. But I didn't feel any different. It was then I began to realize those words were not only written in my arm. They were written in my heart... in my mind... and in my soul. Those words would never disappear. Those words would haunt me for the rest of my life.

******
It was my mother who had paid a tattoo artist to crave those words on my right arm. Initially the tattoo artist was reluctant.
"I don’t tattoo young boys," he told my mother, sternly. When my mother showed him a lot of money, instantly, he was singing a different tune. My mother hated me from the day I was born. Her sole purpose in life was to bring misery into my life.
"Why do you hate me so much," I asked his mother, once.
She didn't have any rational answer.
"Not all mothers are meant to love their children,” she explained.

*****
Every child wants their mother to love him and I was no different. I would go various lengths to get my mother to love me. But nothing worked.
"Bobby, don’t try so hard to win my heart because you may discover my little secret,” my mother told me.
“What secret,” I asked with so much curiosity.
“I may not have a heart in the first place," my mother answered. Looking at my shocked expression, my mother simply let out a huge laughter.

******
Tragic past are known to turn humans into heartless monsters. But my mother didn’t have any tragic past. She had a great blissful childhood years …the kind orphans would dreams of. Her parents had showered her with so much of love.
On her dying bed, my grandmother said to me: “I have raised a heartless monster. Stay away from your mother. “She will only destroy you. She will only hurt you. She is not born to love anyone.”

*******
My mother was lucky in marriage, too. My dad had loved her with all her heart and practically worshipped the ground she walked on.
But she felt nothing for him. She didn’t hide her feelings. Out of frustration, my dad took his own life. He went to nearest train station. All his clothes were on the ground. Totally naked, he ran towards the running the train.
In his suicide note all he wrote was: “I cannot go on loving a woman who would not love me back.”
My mother showed no emotion over his death. But my grand mother was furious beyond words.
“If you cannot love anyone, why did you get married? Why did you become a mother? Why did you have a husband? Why did you have a child? Why? Why?...” her mother asked her angrily.
Calmly my mother simply answered: “I was bored and I wanted some toys to play with.”
Those words were enough for my grand mother to end ties with her own flesh and blood. Till her last breath my grand mother didn’t want to see the heartless daughter she had raised. Like always, my mother didn’t have any ounce of regret of what had taken place.
“Life is too short to wallow in regrets,” my mother often said.

*******
My best friend Patrick refused to believe me that my mother does not love me.
“It is simply impossible for a mother not to love her own flesh and blood,” he said.
One day, out of blue, Patrick bumped into my mother and me. Quickly he took the opportunity to ask my mother:
“Do you love Bobby?”
Patrick was expecting her answer would prove me wrong.
“I wished I have not given birth to Bobby. I wished I had picked him from the trash,” she said with so much seriousness.
Indeed her answer shocked him. Slowly, Patrick learned that not all women are meant to be mothers.

******
In one of my attempt to win my mother’s love, I decided to paint her portrait. It will be the best work I have done. Indeed her portrait was a masterpiece that impressed critics and art buyers. But my mother was not impressed.
“Don’t feel bad Bobby. A lot of people have no talent,” she said.
That was the last straw that broke the camel’s back. I was determined that I would stopped loving my mother. I just packed my bags and left. My grand mother was right. My mother was born not to love any one. My mother was dead for me. I vowed that I would never see his mother again.

******
Years later I found myself breaking the vows that I had made. My fiancée Sarah desperately wanted me to have a better relationship with my mother
“Oscar Wilde said you must never marry a man who hates his mother because he will end up hating you,” she joked
“I do not want you hate me,” she added
She was eager to meet the woman I hated…the woman I loved… the woman who brought me into the world. She was convinced time changes everyone.
“Your mother could have become a better person, “Sarah said.
“Leopards can their spots but not my mother,” I said.
In the end I give in to what ever Sarah desired. So one late evening, we found ourselves in my mother’s living room. I expected that my mother would treat us with hostility and uttered words that would offend us. Our conversation would be sour and short. Our visit would only last for less than ten minutes
But I was wrong. My mother was kind to us. She hugged me and the bride to be many times. She even shed tears of happiness.
“This is bracelet has been with our family for generation,” she said to Sarah.
“My husband’s mother gave it to me and now I am giving it to you.”
The following weeks all of us shared a closer bond. Sarah and I often visited my mother. She was even helping us in our wedding preparation
“I want nothing less than five grand children,” my mother teased us.
Sarah and I blushed with shyness. Our wedding was six weeks away. Excitement was written all over our faces. For the first time in my life I saw love in my mother eyes. May be Sarah was right. Time changes everyone.
Happiness was dancing in my life. Finally, God has showered me with a mother I wanted. But I should have realized God doesn’t like happy endings.

******
One night I went to my mother’s house. It was really strange to find the door to my mother’s house was unlocked. When I entered her bedroom, I found my mother and my fiancée were in intimate position. I was speechless. I was shocked. Sarah was covering her face in shame. She was in tears. But my mother was smiling wide.
It was then I realized that the kindness and the love that my mother had showed was a charade. She seduced Sarah into a relationship and make sure that I saw them in a position I should not see them in.
My mother just wanted to break my heart. She wanted to bring misery into her life. My mother didn’t change at all.
The wedding was cancelled. I simply cannot forget the image of my mother and Sarah in the same bed, sharing kisses and having their naked bodies pressed against each other.
I never saw both of them again. I prayed that our path would never cross again. Some pains are impossible to forget. Some betrayals are impossible to forgive.
Sarah never saw my mother again and my mother has no intention of seeing Sarah any more. My mother had no use of Sarah any more. My mother got what she wanted. She wanted to see me in misery and she had her dreams come true. Indeed, not all mothers are meant to love their children.

A Necessary Death

A Necessary Death By Bissme S

I really believed, to save my marriage and my sanity, Jhanvi must die. There was no two ways about it. Her death was a necessity. So I planned a perfect murder. Everyone including my husband and the authority believed her death was a tragedy.

******
Truly, our marriage was a happy one till Jhanvi walked into our lives. I really cannot comprehend my husband's obsession for Jhanvi.
Jhanvi had a face that was so revolting. But in his eyes, Jhanvi was beautiful…. Jhanvi was perfect. She was his number one priority. Everything and everyone including me, his wife, came second.
He took two jobs just to make sure Jhanvi had the best things that money could buy. His two jobs took most of his time and he rarely had any free time. When he had free time to spare, he spent every moment with Jhanvi.
I was feeling neglected and ignored. For the longest time, I just bite my tongue and suffered silently. Then came a day I can't take it anymore.
"Parvathy, try to understand, Jhanvi needs me more than you, " he justified his action.
It was an intense argument where I ended with tears and it was not our last argument about Jhanvi.
"You are letting Jhanvi to kill our relationship," I said.
"She has taken over our lives and our marriage."
With each argument, my hatred for Jhanvi increased. I was convinced as long as Jhanvi was alive, my husband and I would not be happy.
Before Jhanvi, I was everything to him. But now, everything changes. Jhanvi was everything and I was nothing.
But I was determined to change that. I was not going to be a second fiddle to Jhanvi, anymore. I was going to win my husband back at any cost, even if I had to kill Jhanvi.
My first strategy was painting a fake picture that I really cared about Jhanvi. Naturally my husband was happy with my change of attitude. He really believed my emotions for Jhanvi was real. Men are so easy to fool.
"I love you and I will do anything to make our marriage work," I lied.
I did not want him suspecting that I had anything to do with her death.

******
My plan to kill her came months ago when I bumped into a snake charmer in a funfair. I offered him a lot of money to kill Jhanvi.
When Jhanvi was fast sleep and my husband was away at his job, I let the snake charmer into my house. He went to Jhanvi’s room and let one of his snakes to bite her.
The following morning, the maid found Jhanvi dead and screamed her heads off. The ambulance was called. So was the police.
They all came to conclusion that a snake had roamed into our house and bitten her. My husband became a broken man. He became depressed, lost all hope for life. For months, he would only stay in bed without shaving.
It was during this time, I played a dutiful wife, trying to be understanding, patience and ultimately, giving him the motivation to continue living.
"Jhanvi is not really dead," I said to him.
"She is up there in heaven. And when she looks down and see you in this pathetic condition, she will be utterly sad."
Those words were enough to spark him out of his depression. He can't have his precious Jhanvi shedding tears of misery, at any cost. He made every effort to be happy. He made every effort to live life again.
It has been two years since Jhanvi left us. As I had predicted, her death was a blessing disguise. We were happier.
He no longer had to hold two jobs. He had more time to spend with me. We were also better off, financially. There was no Jhanvi to take care of.
He was flourishing where his career was concerned. He didn't have Jhanvi to distract his attention. He was awarded as the Best Insurance Sales Man. In his award accepting speech, he sang high praise of me.
"Parvathy, you are the best wife that any man can have," he said.
If only he knew the truth of what I have done, he would hate me and most likely, end our marriage. Frankly speaking I would not blame him. His action would be justified. Which man could love the woman who murdered their daughter?

*****
Oh yes, Jhanvi was his daughter and also mine. I remembered we were jumping with joy when we first learned that I was pregnant. We were so eager to become parents.
Like all parents, we expected a healthy baby. But that was not written in our fate. Jhanvi was born as a retard. Our heart sank when we learnt this.
With time, my husband learnt to accept the fact and came to love her, regardless her condition. But I had a hard time accepting my flawed baby.
Jhanvi was not an easy task. When she was a toddler, she would cry her hearts out and it would take me hours to calm her down. Her wailing would drive me nuts.
Surprisingly, my husband had more patience with her. Then as she grew older, her tantrums stopped. No more wailing. Finally, I thought the good times are here.
But I was deadly wrong. Things became more difficult. Things became more complicated. It was then, the reality hit me - Jhanvi would never get better.
She would be a vegetable for the rest of her life. She would be a burden for my husband and me and we had to look after her for the rest of our lives.
The most dreadful experience was going out with Jhanvi in public places. She would attract unwanted attention. Her head was bigger that her body. She looked like a freak that just step out from a horror film.
Her state of mind made her unconscious to the stares and the attention around her. But I didn't have her state of mind. A big dose of embarrassment enveloped me. Silently, I was furious at God for giving me, Jhanvi. I remember what the priest told me when I had expressed my disappointment.
"Whatever God had given us, we should accept as a gift," the priest expressed his words of wisdom.
"God loved everyone unconditionally and we should strive to be like him."
That was easy for the priest to say. Day in and day out, he didn’t have to live with her. He didn’t have to walk beside her. But I had to. What kind gift God had given me? Well I was not happy with the gift and I wanted to return the gift back to God.
So I planned a perfect murder. She was hardly 12 when she died. Initially, my guilt bugged me. My inner conscious reminded me that being her mother, I should love her, unconditionally.
Instead, heartlessly, I murdered her. It made my stomach churned inside- out. Guilt danced in my soul. I had disturbing nightmares about thousand snakes was chasing after me.
Then slowly, I justified myself that Jhanvi was in a better place … she was in heaven … she was with God who could love everyone unconditionally. I could not love her so I have sent her to a place where she would be loved. This fact was enough to drive away all my guilt. Slowly, the nightmares where thousand snakes were chasing after me also stopped. In the end, I learned that sometimes to be truly happy, one needs to be a little selfish.

The Lovers

The Lovers By Bissme S


We were tired of keeping our affair a secret. We wanted to abandon our spouses. We wanted to abandon our children. We were willing to take the risk of them hating us, forever. We planned everything carefully. We would migrate to Sydney, Australia. Nobody knows us in Sydney and we could start our life fresh.
But when the time finally came, we didn't have the guts and the hearts to abandon our spouses and our children. They did nothing wrong except to love us with all their heart. They will have a hard time digesting the truth.
In the end, we ended our affair and went back to our family. We decided that was for the best. Deep down our hearts, we knew if we did what we had, years to come, we would regret it and we will not be able to forgive ourselves. We might even blamed each other for the sins we had committed and whatever love we had for each other will vanish.
"I would rather have my heart broken than to break their hearts," Ramesh told me.

*****
Ramesh was my first love and I never had the guts to tell him what I felt. I was afraid of the consequences. I was afraid that he might not feel the same way about me. I was afraid that my confession might drive him away and I would not see him, anymore. I was not willing to lose our friendship. We were best friends since our childhood days.
We were hardly 10 when we first met. His family had just moved into our neighborhood and lived the next door to us. Both of our families immediately created an instant bond. Both of our fathers were crazy about football and that subject alone was enough to get them talking for hours.
Our mothers, on the other hand, were mad about Bollywood movies and shopping. Since our parents were always spending so much time together, we became close too. I can’t really pinpoint the exact time when I began to regard him more than a friend. My feelings for him happen so naturally.
My heart was broken when I received his wedding card. I conjured excuses so I didn’t have to attend his wedding. I can't bring myself to see the man I loved tying knot with someone else ... building a future without me. Since his marriage, I purposely put a distance between him and me. I see less of him.
Whenever he call and asked to meet up, I always find some kind of excuses. I thought the less I see him, the less I would feel hurt. It was a difficult task of avoiding him. He was after all my neighbor. That is not all. We were teaching in the same university.
I, often prayed, that he would move far away from me. Seeing him with his wife makes me very sad… reminding me of the life I will never have with him. God answered my prayers when he got a teaching position in one of the well-known universities in Sydney, Australia. I didn’t go the airport to see them for the last time. I just sent a goodbye card with an expensive present.
I really believed his absence would make me forget him. But I was really wrong. No matter what I did, I can never really forget him. I believe marriage will cure my broken heart and give me new dreams. To a certain degree my marriage and my two young sons had kept me busy but still I have not forgotten the moments I spend with Ramesh. His memories never stopped haunting me.
He never stopped sending letters, presents and cards to me on my birthdays. But I never replied any of his letters; and his presents always end up in the dustbin, un-opened.

*****
Five years had passed by and out of the blue, he and his wife Manjula decided to return home. Manjula hated everything about Sydney and wanted desperately to return to Malaysia. He simply complied. He looks a little older but still dashingly handsome. He is a father to a set of twins. He was back as my neighbor again.
By then, both of our parents had passed away. His died on a car crash while mine passed away of old age. I inherited my parent’s home while he inherited his parent’s home. Life is full of ironies. Our parents were neighbors and now we are neighbors. Things got worse when he got his old job back in the university where I was teaching. We became colleagues again.
I asked myself why God has played this cruel joke. Why can't God make him stay in Sydney forever?
He tries his best to resume our friendship. He wanted us to be close again. Strangely enough he doesn't hold any grudges that I didn't reply any of his letters from Australia. I tried my best to give him a cold shoulder, always finding excuses not to spend time with him. But he doesn't seem to get the hints that I didn't want to see him anymore.
It was then I decided that I should tell him the truth, not caring whatever consequences. I should not keep all these feeling bottled up. Perhaps, the revelation will be good for my suffering soul. I would feel a sense of freedom. I feel like a caged bird that desperately wants to be free. I wrote a long letter expressing the feelings I had for him and begged him to stay far away from me.
When I handed him the letter, I said to him: "After reading this letter, I am sure you want nothing to do with me." I walked away without looking back. Within the hour, he called me and said he wanted to see me. He came with his car to pick me up after my classes.
We drove for hours in silence. When the car stopped in deserted area, to my shock, he kissed me, passionately. Only then, I realized he too had the similar feeling for me since his childhood days. Like me, he was too afraid to express his emotion. It was a beginning of our affairs.
We became the sinful lovers. We were smart enough to keep our affair a secret. Nobody suspected a thing. After two years of our affair, we got tired of all that lies, pretending and charades. We wanted some honesty in our relationship. It was then that Ramesh suggested he could ask the college in Sydney if they had any teaching vacancies.
"Our lucks are good. We have jobs waiting for us," Ramesh told me rather excitedly over the phone.
We wanted a fresh beginning in Sydney as a pair of lovers starting a new life together. No more lies, no more pretending and no more charades. But in the end, our conscious got the better of us. We knew we couldn't bring this misery on our spouses and our children.
We can't build our joys and our happiness on their sorrows and their misery. At the same time, we could not continue our affair like before. The lies, the charades and the pretending were taking toll on us. Guilt was killing us slowly. We decided that it was best that we ended our affair.
Ramesh found a teaching job in Singapore and decided to shift there. Distance will put an end to our affair definitely. He sold the house. It was a clear indication; he was not coming back anymore, at least not to my neighborhood.
My heart breaks to see him go. But I had to let him go... for him ... for me... for our wives... for our children ... for all of us. As I reminiscence my love story, I am looking out of the window and see my two sons are playing football. I pray neither of my sons will lead the life I had ... neither of them must feel the way I feel ... neither of them have to make sacrifices I had to make… neither of them must be a homosexual in the closets. They must have a happy ending.

The Wrong Woman

The Wrong Woman By Bissme S

“Only death could give me the peace I wanted so badly.”Those were the only words Prakash had written in his suicide note. He went to a railway track, took out all his clothes and ran towards a moving train.
Everyone was surprised that a vibrant man like Prakash had taken his own life. But not me. I knew his reasons perfectly well.He had fallen in love with the wrong woman. Never once, had he expressed his true feelings to her. He was fearful of her rejection.But being his best friend, he felt he could confide to me about the woman he loved. I tried to make him understand this love story will not have a happy ending. She was all wrong for him.
She was not his perfect match. But he refused to listen.“Arjun, sometimes you can't choose who you loved," he said."Love is just happened."I kept telling him that what he felt for her was merely a crush and with time he will learn to forget her and fall in love with a different woman... a woman less older... a woman that is not wrong for him.
“Arjun,” he retorted, “Only teenagers have crushes, and I am not a teenager anymore!”He was right.
We were not teenagers anymore. Both of us had justturned 25. He just can't forget her. He loved her to the point ofmadness."I can’t tell you the exact moment when I fell in love with her,” he said.
"Maybe I loved her since my last birth. We were lovers in our last life. In this life, fate has cruelly separated us.”Prakash sounded like a character in a bad romance novel. I really believed that time will cure his obsessions and he would learn to forget her. It appeared that I had underestimated his obsession.
I also knew that she wouldn’t have agreed to be his lover. If she had learnt about his love and his obsession, she would have kept her distances. Her heart belonged to a man that she married more than 25 years ago.He died in car crash after ten years of their marriage. They were the most romantic couple I have ever known.
Her friends constantly urged her to get married again."In this lifetime, my heart only belongs to one man,” she replied each time the subject was brought up.She would not let any other man replaced her dead husband's place in her heart. Naturally, Prakash suppressed his true feelings.
He never wanted his love to frighten her... to give her reasons to be angry with him.He preferred to live with the disappointment of not having her as his lover. But in the end, the disappointment was too much for him to bear.
The lady of his dream attended his funeral with tears flooding from her eyes. I can’t deny that she had loved and cared for Prakash. But not in the way Prakash had hoped. Prakash wanted more ... much more.
Like everyone, she was puzzled that Prakash had taken his own life. Days after his funeral, she came to see me. We had intense discussion about Prakash. From me, she hoped she could learn the reason for his suicide, but I didn’t have the heart to tell her the truth. So I lied.I pretended to be like all the others and be totally clueless over the reason for his suicide. After all, she had enough grief to bear and I certainly didn’t want to add guilt to her grief.
I really believe the greatest tragedy any parent can face is when their children die before them. And she had been faced with this tragedy. I would not to add more pain to her tragedy.I wouldn’t want her to feel responsible for driving her own son, Prakash, to suicide. Some truths are not meant to be told and some lies are necessary.

All about My Father

All about My Father By Bissme S

Love is not enough to keep my mother happy. My father failed to understand that. He was utterly shocked when she wanted to end their marriage.
“Do not leave me…I will change… I will become a better man… I will change… I will change,” my father kept begging my mother.
Truly, there was nothing to change. There was nothing wrong with my father. He had been a great father, a great husband and a great lover. He had showered my mother with love, laughter and happiness.
Most women would die to have a man like my father as their husbands. But my mother was not like most women. She wanted more out of life. Simple happiness is not for everyone.

******
The first time my parents met was in a college. My father was studying to be a chef while my mother was grooming to be a painter. For my father, it was love at first sight. But love had no place in her life.
My mother wanted to be a painter to that is respected, admired and emulated. She wanted to be best in the world of arts. And my mother believes, to be the best, you need to put a total commitment to your craft… You need to make some sacrifices… You cannot have time for love.
She wanted to dedicate her life to arts and nothing must distract her from her goal. Especially love. She had seen thousand women given up their dreams in the name of love. They ended in an apron and making cookies for their husbands and children. My mother determined that she was not going be one of those women.
My mother send back all my father‘s love letters, unopened. All his gifts ended up in a dustbin. All his dinner offers met with rejection. But nothing my mother did could dissuade my father. He was determined to win my mother’s love…he was determined to make her as his wife….he was determined to make her the mother of his children.
My mother found his determination to be appealing, attractive and extremely sexy. In the end, my mother gave in to temptation of love and allowed my father to dance into her heart. It was the biggest mistake my mother did in her life. My mother should have stayed away from my father. My mother should have stayed away love. My mother should have known that some women are not made for love.

*****
My grandmother hated all the men my mother had dated. She never stopped finding faults in them. No one was good enough for her darling daughter. But the scenario was totally different with my father. They immediately shared a close rapport. They can talk for hours. She wanted him as her son-in-law.
“I can see in his eyes, he is madly in love with you,” my grandmother told my mother. “Marry him and you will be very happy. The greatest happiness in life is to love and be loved. ”
Foolishly, my mother trusted her every word. My mother should have learned that mothers are not always right and some women are not made for love.

*****
It cannot be denied my father and I had brought joy into her life. But the joy was not enough to satisfy her. She constantly felt restless like a vampire who has runs out of her blood supply. The mediocrity of our lives was choking her to death. My mother was like a volcano of frustration that was waiting to erupt.
Her career as a painter had not reached to greater heights the way she had hoped for. She was not as famous as she dreamt to be. That has builds a lot of frustrations and disappointment in her. She had won awards. The media had covered her intensively. She had successful art exhibitions. But that was not enough. She had bigger dreams.
She wanted her works to be exhibited in New York art museums. She wanted to be in the covers of foreign art magazine. She wanted to appear in international talk shows. In short and simple, she wanted greatness. And greatness has not come knocking at her door.
“This country doesn’t appreciate talent,” my mother said.
“As long as you have no money, you won’t get anywhere in this stupid country.”
My father had failed to see the frustration dancing in my mother’s soul. Men can’t never fully understand what goes on in a woman’s heart. But I was a woman. And seeing frustration dancing in someone’s soul can be an unpleasant affair.

*****
God was kind to my mother. God didn’t want her to die as a frustrated woman. God send Eliot Gold into my mother’s life. Eliot Gold was my mother’s ticket to the life she wanted, a life of greatness. Eliot Gold was an insurance man who had built a business empire that worth millions.
First, he was attracted to my mother’s art works. But once he met my mother, he loved the painter more. He wanted my mother at all cost. When a rich man goes hunting, he rarely returned home, empty handed.
My mother was not in love at Eliot Gold but his wealth was difficult to resist. She knew Eliot Gold could be the genie that fulfilled all her dreams. And more than anything else in the world, she wanted her dreams.
In all her life, my mother had loved one man and that man happens to be my father. But not all love stories should have a happy ending.

*****

With Eliot Gold’s wealth and powerful connections, my mother left no stones unturned. She used every opportunity to make all her dreams come true. She wanted greatness. She went out there in full force, grabbed greatness by its neck and never let greatness slipped from her hand.
She had several successful art exhibitions in America and all over Europe. She was featured in many prestigious art magazines. She was labeled as the Frida Kahlo of the East. Indeed when you have money and power at your finger tips, you can even make the most ridiculous dreams come true. And my mother dreams were far from ridiculous. She was no longer a volcano of frustration. Life was a bed of roses for my mother.
But it was totally different scenario with my father. My father became a tortured soul. He can’t stop loving my mother. He was obsessed in getting back the wife that he had lost.
“Annabel, I will get back your mum and we will be one big happy family,” he told me.
My father sent countless love letters to my mother, begging her to come back to him. My father had succeeded in winning my mother’s heart in college and he believed he will succeed again. But my father had forgotten my mother is not the same women any more. My mother had not allowed love to rule her heart any more. All my father’s letters were returned to him, unopened.
“Your mother wants so much of money and I will get her the money she wants,” he said to me.
“I will become richer that bastard who stole your mom away from me.”
Soon enough, his house was flooded with self help books that were supposed to make my father, a millionaire. Amazingly, none of the self help books worked. My father died almost penniless, and with a broken heart

*****
More than a year has passed. My father had no choice but to face the bitter fact he has lost the woman he loved forever. It was a lost that drove him mad… It was a lost that he cannot digest…. It was a lost that brought him so much misery. And one evening he decided to end his misery. My father went to the nearest railway track. He got undressed. Completely naked, he ran towards a moving train.

*****
When my mother first heard about my father’s death, she was devastated. She spends most of her time in bed, with tears streaming down from her eyes. But with time my mother learned to cope with her sadness… She learned to forgive herself… She learned there is a price for everything and nothing in life comes free. The price for her success is that she has droved the man she loved to his death.
Her greatest fear now is that I would hate her. I would blame her for my father’s death. Most mothers do not want their children to hate her and my mother was no different.
Truly, my mother has nothing to worry. I do not hate her. I do not blame her. If she didn’t want my father as her husband, I didn’t want my father as my father. I wanted a man like Eliot Gold as my father. Like my mother, I wanted a life where all my dreams come true and only men like Eliot Gold can give me the life I wanted. All my father can give me is love. But love is not enough to keep me happy …

The End

His Wife, My Mother

His Wife, My Mother By Bissme S


My dad was an affectionate man. He was never afraid to shower the people he loved with caring gestures. But when I turned 15, all this changed, drastically and dramatically.
He completely stopped loving me or anyone else for that matter. He became restrictive with his emotions .To a certain extent, his wife, my mother, was responsible for this radical change. She promised that will be together forever. But she failed to keep to her words.
She left us and my dad couldn't accept this fact. On the day she left, my dad was emotionally upset. He shed tears uncontrollably. He was raving like a mad man. He begged her to stay, he begged God to change the fate.
But God and my mother disappointed my dad immensely. Indeed their refusal had made him a broken man... too broken to have any more love in his heart.
That was the last time I saw any emotion outburst from my dad. Since my mother's departure from our lives, my dad and I rarely had any more intimate moments.
He left the responsibility of bringing me up in the hands of nannies, maids and tutors. I saw more of them than I saw my own dad. He buried himself in his work.
He hoped that his work would distract him from remembering the pain in his life... his wife, my mother. Over the years, my dad and I became more like strangers.
Many times I have tried to bring down the barrier between us... and be father and daughter again. But I failed miserably. Dad was not cooperative. He preferred to have a distance between us. He didn't say this directly to my face. But his action spokes volume.
After my mother, he was afraid to get too close to anyone including his own daughter. Maybe he was afraid that I might leave him the way my mother did. He was not ready for another disappointment.
He did everything in his power to forget her. He put away anything reminded him of my mother away in the attic. He forbids anyone to speak about her. He didn't want any memories of her lingering around. He treated her as if she never existed in his life.
But no matter what he did, he never really forgets her. The fact that he remembered her name in the last moments of his life simply testified this fact.
Truly, my father had loved my mother with all his heart. I remembered my mother once told me in one of our intimate moments, "Simran, I am the luckiest woman alive. I hope that when you grow up, you will be as lucky as me to have a husband to love you as much as your dad loves me."
Still my mother left him. I learned the hard way that love is not enough to sustain a relationship. But to be totally honest, I can't fully blame my mother.
If she had her way, she would not have left my dad. It was fate that had the last say and I must add that fate was cruel to us. My mother was involved in a car crash and the best doctors failed to save her. She was barely 40....really too young to die.
For the doctors, she was just another patient that they lost... another casualty. But for us, she was an important part of our lives. We loved her with all our hearts and emotions. Our world come tumbling down. Indeed our lives were never the same again.
All the love in our house and our heart was buried together with her. Looking back now, I think my mother, my father and I, should take some blame as well. We should learn to love each other a little less. Perhaps then her death won't have a drastic consequence on my father and me. Truly, we should learn to love each other a little less.

Forgetting Adrian

Forgetting Adrian
Truly, I believed, one of the hardest things in life, is watching the person you love, love someone else. I was madly in love with Adrian but he never loved me back. He only regarded me as his best friend and nothing more. I didn’t want his friendship. I wanted his love. I wanted his body to touch mine. I wanted his lips to be on my lips. I wanted to carry his child. When he introduced me to the woman he loved, my world came crashing down and my heart was broken to thousand pieces. I was no different from the Humpty Dumpty that sat on the wall and had a great fall, and no one can fixed me back.
Frankly speaking I can’t totally blame Adrian for breaking my heart. I never confessed my true feelings to Adrian. I never had the guts to reveal what was in my heart. I never showed my pain to Adrian. I put on a clown mask and pretended to be happy for his happiness. I attended Adrian’s wedding with smiles in my face and tears in my heart. I reminded myself that love and marriages were fated and it was not in my fate to be Adrian s soul mate. I tried dating other guys. But no one can take Adrian’s place in my heart. Forgetting Adrian was not easy. May be I was fated to love only Adrian and no one else.

*****
The first time Adrian and I met, both of us were hardly 12-years-old. Adrian and his family were our new neighbours. Our parents become fast friends. Both of our parents had so much in common and spend so much time together. It was only natural for Adrian and I to become close friends. My feelings for him didn’t only remain as friends. Slowly, I find myself falling in love with him. Love happens when you least expected it. I began to have dreams about us falling in love, getting married and living happily ever after, just like in the fairy tales. I learned the hard way that some fairy tales are not meant to come true.

******
I cannot understand what Adrian saw in Anita. She was just a plain Jane. But in Adrian’s eyes, she was the most beautiful creature to walk upon on his earth. He sang high praises of Anita like angels sings sermons in the praise for their creator. The first time they met was when Anita s car broke down on the highway. And the shining knight armour who came to her rescue – the love of my life – Adrian. Naturally the numbers were exchanged. Out of gratitude, Anita took him to a dinner. That was not the end of them meeting each other. Soon more dinners followed. Slowly, love blossomed between them and naturally the next step was to get married and start a family.

******
I had a hard time accepting the fact Adrian was not my lover… Adrian was not my husband … Adrian was calling another woman as his wife. Loneliness became my faithful companion, bitterness enveloped my life and pain never stopped dancing in my heart. I have been told some disappointments and some broken hearts are good for your soul. It makes you a stronger person. But I never wanted to be strong. I just wanted Adrian to love me.

******
Like most men, Adrian was jumping with joy when he learned that his wife was pregnant. He wanted me to be his wife’s doctor and bring out their child into the world. He wanted me to their child’s god mother. Life is full of surprises and disappointments. I dream to be the mother of his children. Instead I was becoming the god mother to his children. The day finally came where his wife was in the delivery room. There was complication and her life was in my hand. My pain robbed me of my rationality. My life didn’t have a happy ending and I didn’t want Adrian to have a happy ending either. My dreams had turned into disappointments and I will do the same to his dreams. I made sure his wife and his child didn’t survived the operation and like I have hoped, the tragedy made him a broken man. His life became be a carbon copy of my life.
Loneliness became his faithful companion, bitterness enveloped his life and pain never stopped dancing in his heart. Adrian tried dating other women. Like me, he can’t never find a woman who can take place Anita’s place in his heart. “Basanti, may be I am just fated to just to love only Anita and no one else” he confided in me. Strangely he never blamed me for his wife’s death. If anything he blamed God for his extreme sadness. He stopped going to church. He never forgive God for taking away his wife and his child. He was furious at God and anything that has connection with religion. “Doctors are not God,” he pacified me. “Life and death is in the God’s hand and God always has the last say ,” he added. Our regular church priest, Father Joseph Convin tried to convince Adrian to love God again and to come back to church. But Adrian was adamant to hate God. “The day my wife died is also the day God died for me,” Adrian told the priest. “The next time you come to my house, it will not me who will welcome you, it will be my dogs. And my dogs have fierce hatred for priests,” he added. Father Joseph Convin never visited Adrian again.

******
I never wanted sadness for Adrian. I had loved Adrian with all my heart and I have always wished all the happiness in the world should be showered on Adrian. But I can’t see him being happy with another woman in his arm. Like I said earlier one of the hardest things in life, is watching the person you love, love someone else.

The End

His Father

His Father By Bissme S

I have always prayed that my son must never find out the truth about his father. The moment he asked me about his father, Ihad painted a picture of lies.
Convincingly, I told him that his father was a real warrior... a real hero... a soldier who died while protecting his country from the vicious enemy.
But in reality, his father was a man who had committed the most hideous crime. Truly, the truth about his father will only psychologically scar him for the rest of his life.
The truth has broken me. The truth has brought unspeakable misery in my life. Even now, I have a hard time digesting the truth.
I don't want my son to go through what I had experienced. He must be protected from the truth at any cost. He must not suffer for the sins of his father.
I didn't face any difficulty painting this picture of lies. Firstly my son has never met his father. He died before I gave birth to Ajay.Secondly, nobody in this town has ever met Ajay's father. When I arrived at this town, I was a four-month pregnant widow looking for a job and a new life.I created a different identity entirely. I had to. If they knew the truth, they would probably outcast my son and me.
They would probably spit in our faces. They wouldn't want a convict's family to live within their community. His father and I were teachers in a small town. The first time I met Ashok was at the teacher training college. Slowly we became more than friends.
The moment we graduated, we tied the knot. I thought that I knew him well. It appeared that I was wrong. After two years of marriage, I learn about his terrible dark side.
Apparently he had been molesting some of his male students in the pretext giving them extra free tuitions. He took advantage of their innocence.
His secret was exposed when one of the student, Bala, made a complaint to headmaster as well as the police. My husband was arrested.
At first, I doubted the charges against him. Later, it became difficult to believe in his innocence. Bala managed to reveal some intimate details about his penis... a certain dark patch. Bala's confession gave courage for other children to come forward and speak out. In the two years of my husband teaching career, he had at least molested 25 children.
Out of shame, my husband committed suicide between the four walls of the cell. He was found hanging. I wonder what happened to the shame when he was doing the unspeakable act on the children. Perhaps he was more ashamed of getting caught compared to the act of molestation.
The town folk felt immensely cheated when my husband committed suicide. They felt that he had escaped the law and punishment too easily. In their eyes, justice was denied.
They were furious and frustrated beyond words. They directed their angry emotions at me. They felt that being his wife, I had to pay for his sins.
Whenever I went, they were throwing insult and curses at me. Shopkeepers refuse to serve me. I was not allowed to enter the temple.
Suddenly, none of my friends wanted to have any more association with me.The headmaster hinted that it is for the best that I resign. Apparently parents have been threatening not to send the children to school if I was still working.
I find the society is more unforgiving when the crime involved innocent children. When I learnt that I was pregnant, I had decided to leave this town and find somewhere else to start a new beginning. I don't want to subject my son to their anger and to their punishment.
Off I went, to a new town with a fake new identity. It has been 30 years since the incident. My son is a successful lawyer, happily married with two children.
To this day, Ajay doesn't have a clue that I have been lying to him all these years. Looking back, I have no regrets telling those lies.
For sake of my son's happiness, the lies on his father were necessary. Even on my dying bed, I would not tell Ajay the truth about his father. I will carry his father's crime to my grave.

Separation

Separation  By Bissme S

When I wanted to separate from my brother, my mother was not happy. She was convinced my decision would bring nothing good except extreme sadness into our lives.
She begged me to change my mind. For the first time in my life, I never listened to my mother. I broke her heart. I wanted the separation at any cost.
I was tired of living in my brother’s shadow. I wanted to have my own identity. I wanted to have my own space. I have wanted to my own voice.
As long as my brother and I are together, I will never have my dreams come true. With my brother, only his opinions mattered. He always has the last say.
For years I have allowed my brother to walk all over me. I have allowed my brother to bully me. I have kept quiet. I have suppressed my frustrations.
But now I wanted my freedom. I didn’t want my brother to dominate my life any more. Seeing my mother’s grief, my brother didn’t want us to separate.
He promised that he would change. He would become a better man. He would become a better brother. But I was not convinced.
”A leopard can change its spots but not my brother,” I said to him.
In the end I had my way. The separation took place. I thought I would have enjoyed my freedom. I thought I would finally have happiness.
But I was extremely wrong. My mother prediction became a reality. Our separation had a sad ending. Indeed it was a sad ending that was beyond my imagination.
Our separation killed our mother. The stress of our separation was too much for her to bear. In the end, she suffered a heart attack and died immediately.
My brother was furious beyond words. He held me responsible for my mother’s death.
“You wanted the separation so badly and now our mother is dead because of it,” my brother shouted at me.
“I can never forgive you. You are dead for me. We are no longer brothers. I will never see you again. We will be separated forever. ”
My brother just disappeared from my life. For many years I have written countless letters to my brother asking him to forgive me … asking him to forget the past… asking us to be brothers again … asking for a reunion.He never answered any of my letters.



*****

Twenty years later, out of the blue, finally my brother wrote a letter to me, agreeing to have a reunion…agreeing to let bygones be bygones… agreeing to forgive and forget.
I was jumping with joy. I prepared all his favourite dishes. I thought we are going to have feast and remember the good old days. But what my heart desired didn’t come true.
My brother didn’t turn up for our reunion. A few days later he wrote me a long rambling letter telling me that he can’t forget the past…He can’tbring himself to forgive me.
“Mahatma Ghandi said that the weak can never forgive,” my brother wrote in his letter.
“Forgiveness is the attribute of the strong. But I am not strong enough to forgive you. I am not strong enough to forget the past. May be you are right when you said a leopard can change its spot but not your brother.”
His letter broke my heart. Now I am certain our reunion will never take place… we will never meet again… we will never be brothers again.

*****
Indeed separating me from my brother was not an easy task. There was a possibility one of us could have die. There is always a danger in separating twins that are joined.
Instead the operation went smoothly. We survived. But our mother didn’t. In the waiting room our mother was worried to death about our safety on the operation table. The fear that one of us could die was dancing heavily in her heart.
After the operation was completed, the nurse arrived at the waiting room to deliver the good news to my mother. But she was no longer alive.She was found dead in her chair. She suffered a heart attack. Her worries killed her. Her fears killed her.
When my brother and I first heard her death, we had a hard time digesting the news. She was only 50 when she passed away. Indeed too young to die.When my mother first gave birth to us, she cried her heart out. She was totally disappointed and dishearten.No mothers wanted freaks like us as children and my mother was no different. It took her weeks before she laid eyes on us.
Once she held us in her arm, her heart melted and she stopped hating us. We became the joy of her life. She never allowed any surgery to perform on us. She was afraid that one of us would die on the operation table.

“I cannot afford to lose any of my sons,” she said to the doctor.

My mother was happy with she had. My mother was grateful with what God have given her. But my mom was not in my shoes. She cannot feel the misery I felt. She cannot feel the frustration I felt.

She didn’t have to endure the weird stares I got whenever my brother and I were out in the public. Joined twins always attract unwanted attention. I felt like a circus clown.

She didn’t have a domineering brother who will not allow her to have her own voices. In the end I broke my mother’s heart to pursue my own happiness. I would rather take the risk of dying on the operation table than enduring a life full of sadness… a life full of frustrations.

But happiness didn’t come the way I had imagined. If I have known the end will be like this, I would not have agreed to have the operation. I didn’t want my mother to die. I didn’t want to be separated from my brother forever.I would remain glued to my brother and suffered in silence. Sometimes silent suffering is necessary. It can be a key to happiness.