I wait at the bus stop as usual to catch the last bus home. I've come to know a few others who take this bus and smile at them as they arrive to wait with me. I say "hi" and make small talk with a few of them. I don't know any of them well, and we usually stop talking when the bus arrives. Today is no different. The bus arrives and I get in line behind two other middle-aged men who are dressed like they just left the gym. I think to myself "I used to wear clothes like that." As I am about to board the bus, a hand taps my shoulder and I hear a woman say, "Excuse me?" I turn around and see a disheveled lady wearing a coat that reaches her shoes and a hat straight out from a 60s gangster flick. I gaze into her eyes and she continues, "Is this your umbrella?" I look at the umbrella being held out to me and I know that it isn't mine. I reply, "Yes, it is." She pauses a moment and then hands it to me with a smile. I smile back at her and she keeps her hand stretched out. I automatically dig out my purse and hand her a few bills. She's surprised too but she walks away silently. I wonder if she wanted me to kiss her hand as her shadow fades into the night. The next day, I wait expectantly for the bus to arrive. I'm hoping the umbrella lady brings me something again. I keep looking around me to check if she is lurking nearby, but she does not turn up. No one stops me as I board the bus. As the bus rolls down the street, I see her leaning against a lamppost smoking a cigarette. She spots me and reaches out her hand. I wave at her awkwardly. She is at the bus stop when I arrive the next day. She sits quietly in one corner, reading a newspaper. I think about going up to her and then change my mind. I notice her peeking over the paper at me from time to time. I smile to myself. Today, she gets on the bus with the rest of us. I take a window seat and she sits across the aisle from me. I turn to her and smile. I almost forget that she's there when I hear a "Psst." I turn to her and she's leaning over with a wicked smile. She asks, "Did you open the umbrella?" I reply, "Umbre-- Uh, no--yes, I mean no." She shows no sign of retreating so I add, "Why?" She says, "You'll see," and sits upright in her seat. I watch her confused, hoping she would explain what she means. Nothing. When I reach my flat, I unlock the door and rush to my bedroom. I see the umbrella near my study table and whisk it up. I press the button to open it and "whoop" it spreads out. Lit up in huge, glowing letters on the inside of the umbrella is scrawled "LIAR."

I wish we didn't fear death I wish we didn't equate wealth with security I wish we allowed ourselves to be wrong sometimes I wish we trusted more and worried less I wish we focused more on our similarities than differences I wish we valued all life and not just our own I wish we could stop doing things because they're easy I wish we could do away with all dogmas which segregate I wish we practiced more kindness, instead of diplomacy I wish we could learn from our failures and not be bitter I wish we were not blinded by instant gratification and focused more on aspirations and ideals  I wish we could gracefully let go of things not meant for us I wish we learned how to love without expecting I wish we spent more time trying to be better people than being better than others

You are unique. Your standards are your own. You are enough. Your beliefs need no justification. You are complete. Your failures and disappointments don't define you. You deserve love. Your flaws make you you. You are not a slave to the past. Your present is your creation. You are broken, challenged, overcome, trying, hoping, living Your path awaits

Shiroi  Stalling

The art of randomness

Part 1: https://anchor.fm/vimal-samuel/episodes/Alphamous---part-1-evu5gs "Alphamous" is an untrue story that I wrote between December 2008 and July 2009 that's set in the Bangalore of that time.

Where the light never reaches Only faint sounds trickle through Good company for overcast nights Ramshackle meals by campfires Slow-cooked to kill the boredom A foreboding stream for water Murky under the waning moon As the pail sinks into the opaque soot Forlorn sparks appear in ripples Somewhere a hyena laughs Worn reeds a pauper’s bedding Ashen coals from the dying flame Eyes close to caress the despair The night settles like a frigid blanket Narrow coffins await us there

Silently it beckons Strums of lyres and whispers of sinister realms Sprouting needles of desire Tickling soles to explore Foliage blinds the sun Flickering lights of fireflies and glowworms Twinkling gems in the underbrush Tugging the tails of moonbeams The core a copy of the exterior Shades of black and silver Blurring the lines of before and now Leaving no trace

All bitterness cease Sounds of laughter ring Anger and jealousy fade Dew that melts with the sun War and intolerance be forgotten Leaving innocence and love All deceit and malice be buried Under eons of judgmental dogmas Selfishness and abuse denied A hundred and infinite times Fear and bias never heard of again Purity and peace thrive

only asked to silence the question winding like the tail of a snake about to strike only stated a partial explanation to quieten the cynical grins of disbelief only hung on with the hope of closure tattered ends like worn-out shoes on a sage’s wall only created an impression of joy while beneath the clay thickened sculpting a tomb