Dark folks

It’s 2.30 am. I, once again, sit to write something for my dear magazine, about my dear theme and on my dear laptop. I utterly cherish these dear trios as they come as a rarity, especially in the lives of people like me whose default mindset is some form of mental instability. Anyway, today I’m going to be a bit cryptic and travel another ‘less explored’ road as usual.

What is dark, darkness or black? For a scientific brain, it’s the subtraction of all colours. For a small kid, it’s the quintessential reason of fear. For a common man, it is something to be kept away from. But for some people, it is a way of life!

Normally, there are two types of people - those who are scared of darkness and those who can fight it. But what if there exist some who love it? There are people who have completely outgrown the stage of being scared of the darkness or even the stage of bothering to have the courage to keep themselves away from it. They share a friendly relationship with darkness. A normal man would like to keep away from any sort of darkness (now, you need not take the meaning literally) and live happily; but what about those who have outgrown the whole idea of happiness itself? Cynicism, criticism, pessimism are all causes as well as the effects of what I mean by the word ‘dark’. Everyone has them in some amount. But what if there are people whose emotions are purely based on these characteristics? What about the fate of the people who will have nothing left if these characteristics are taken out? Well, life comes rather cruelly at them.

These people are so tired of the unfruitful search for happiness that they start getting frightened of happiness itself. They are habitual to melancholy. Luminance comes so rarely to them that they get habitual to the dark. They dream at night, they imagine at night and they live at night. Their dreams, too, exude relentless negativity, restless fears and a sarcastic approach toward the way other people analyze things. They love the sunset way more than the sunrise. They love the moon (which signifies lunacy) more than the sun (which signifies strength and hope). They love the ‘bad’ more than the ‘good’. They simply love everything about the night and they, genuinely, hate everything about the day.

These ‘dark folks’, as I would love to call them, are generally in disguise. You would never know if a few of them are around you. Someday, you might as well catch a glimpse of such a person in the mirror. You never know! Many of the dark folks, themselves, don’t know when they surrender themselves to the world of darkness and become a part of a group, which no school text book will ever advise you to involve yourself in. Many of them simply walk around with their thoughts in the seemingly infinite territory of darkness. Some of them gradually start expressing themselves. A few of them start writing and share a word with those, whom they consider fortunate enough not to be along with them in the dark walks. Even fewer of them start a blogazine. ‘Normal’ people visit the site and kindly lend them a pair of beautiful eyes. Probably, just as you did today.



(Note: ‘Dark’ or ‘darkness’ holds a quaint significance in my life. It has always thrilled me with a remarkable consistency for various reasons. Actually speaking, it’s one of the fundamental reasons of my writing. Please excuse me if I could not do justice to the theme.)



- Mihir Chitre
mihirmumbaikar@gmail.com

maggie and milly and molly and might

maggie and milly and molly and might
went down to the cemetery (on a dare one night)

and maggie discovered the bell that rang
so glumly she had been scared for days, and

milly in peace found her mother sleeping
who she was told was in god’s keeping;

and molly was chased by a horrible dog
which raced sideways while blowing out fog

might came home with a white wispy clone
as small as a world and as large as alone.

For whatever we lose (like a ’gale or a lark)
it's always ourselves we find in the dark

[Based on the poem ‘maggie and milly and molly and may’ by e.e. cummings]



- Siddhesh Inamdar
siddhesh.inamdar@gmail.com

Demonic Darkness

It was rush hour on a Friday evening at the exquisite Concorde square. The traffic was barely moving. I could sense the irritation among my co-passengers. “Que faire?!” they shrugged to each other, shaking their heads huffily. It became a ritual for me to look at my watch every few seconds and wriggle my wrist restlessly.

“Damn, I’m going to miss her call” I scoffed to myself.

Music was pulsating in my ears. The buzz inside and on the sidewalks interspersed with music playing on the radio along with honking horns made for a rather noisy melody but there was no escaping it. On second thoughts, Silence would be frightening too.
“Excuse-me can you please lower the volume Robert?” I asked the driver with a smile.
“Sure...” he said with a questioning look on his face. “Peter” I offered. We shook hands. I’d been traveling in this bus for a week now. Finally we’d been acquainted. It felt nice.

I looked outside my window, to see the bunch of laughing fair heads walked past our bus. Eager tourists were busy clicking away while some couples strolled around. It struck me how private each of our lives is. We all occupy such different worlds and yet, here we are, put together in a mash. This feeling of alienation from the world around me had never clouted me in my country. It just pinched me hard, ironically in a place as beautiful as Paris. Probably I’m growing old, I joked to myself.

I looked at the empty seat next to me and quickly turned my face back to the window. This time I saw a vision. I saw myself walking hand-in-hand with her, discovering the beautiful promenades and street corners. Paris would have such a romantic meaning then. I saw myself buying flowers for her and her beautiful face lit with happiness. On impulse, her soft curls tickled by ears. I chuckled with warmth.

The traffic had begun to recede and steadily the bus began to move smoothly. I sighed, returning to her thoughts again. I never quite understood the mystery about her. I did not fall in love with her instantly. It was so gradual that I feared it would go away. But it didn’t. I found her vile at first and gentle the next and there were more and more layers to be unearthed every time we met. “My Mona Lisa” I’d tease her.

The bus was beginning to empty out with every stop and it was getting cold. I shivered with every gust of wind that hit me when the doors opened to let the passengers out. I decided to move my seat closer to the driver’s seat. It would be warmer there, I said to myself.
I got up to move towards the front seat when the bus jostled for balance. There were violent shrieks coming from outside. The driver had lost complete control. Before I could check myself, it rammed into a huge tree. The music had stopped.

Few minutes later, I opened my eyes to find blood splattered around me. My limbs were numb with pain and cold. A medical team was carrying me away on a stretcher. What was happening? What time was it? My watch was in pieces.

I noticed my glasses were crushed too. But my vision was unnaturally hazy. It was getting weaker and weaker every few seconds. It must be because of no glasses, I told myself. As I entered the ambulance, there was a black out. It felt like a dissolve, a slow fade out in a movie. “Switch on the lights” I screamed. “It’s cold and I need to find my glasses”. There was only darkness. “Someone switch on the lights, for god’s sake” I yelled helplessly again but only got hushed reassurances in return. I rubbed my eyes. Again and again and again! Then the tears flowed, sourly. The pain had been wiped out. In an alien country without help, or security, or sight I felt numb. “How long will the night be?” I asked in desperation. There was no answer. Perhaps, they did not understand my language.


- Janvi Gandhi
janvi.87@gmail.com

One with Darkness

We begin with darkness!
We end in darkness!
‘We are darkness. Darkness is us.’

We start our life in our mother’s dark womb,
In its security, comfort and care- we bloom in darkness!
‘We are darkness. Darkness is us.’

When we shut our eyes in extreme joy or in total sorrow,
Darkness gives us the respite we need in its abundance of feelings and thoughts!
‘We are darkness. Darkness is us.’

Every time we seek strength- it comes from the darkness within,
An inside that is deep, serene and boundless!
‘We are darkness. Darkness is us.’

When we wish to just be blank and thoughtless,
Darkness gives us peace!
‘We are darkness. Darkness is us.’

We die with eyes shut, moving into complete darkness,
Back to square one!
‘We are darkness. Darkness is us.’

We begin with darkness!
We end in darkness!
‘We are darkness. Darkness is us.’


- Pallavi Arur
pallaviarur@gmail.com

The Black Well of Dark Love

Your love comes with tags of ifs and buts.
I need to alter myself to fit your standards all the time.
And I have been doing that forever now.
I have lost myself somewhere along the way in the dark love you gave me.
Everything seems to be adulterated, even love.
This black well of dark love surrounds me, it binds me, it comforts me.
I have learnt to seek love here.
I love the darkness that loves me!

I am exhausted now. I have given you a lot of love that is unconditional.
And I don’t know how much more I can give, for how long I can sustain this.
I shall live in this darkness you have given me. I shall love this darkness.
I don’t want to lose myself. Free me, darkness…from all the bonds, the conditions.
Accept me! Love me because you are all that I have now.
I shall love you too, unconditionally.
This black well absorbs me. It protects me. It holds me close!
I love the darkness that loves me.




- Pallavi Arur
pallaviarur@gmail.com

The End

A strange sort of emptiness took hold of me.

As I stood there, every inch of me perspiring and sweaty hands making it difficult to grasp the rough and battered hold of the bat, several unconnected thoughts flashed in my head. Memories, rather good memories! Things weren’t supposed to turn out this way.

But at that very moment, as my heart thumped in my chest, and my breaths came in short and deep breaks, everything around me seemed to be slowing down and turning sour. The memories, the people, my life so far, everything was turning sour. I was not a bad person. And a strange sort of emptiness took hold of me. At that very moment, more than the fear of losing my degree, more than the fear of breaking my skull, more than the fear of Baba’s wrath, the fear that he might be slipping away gripped me. At that moment, everything ceased to matter. I never did anything bad to anyone intentionally. The ugly, loud and deafening abuses that filled the air, the throngs of people that were coming towards us with blood and vengeance on their head, the odd tear that trickled down my cheek, merging with the beads of sweat and dying a slow, noiseless death as it fell to the uneven concrete, everything. Why was this happening to me? At that very moment, the only thing that remained, amidst the ruckus, the penetrating shrieks and the pounding of my heart, was the look in his eyes. That look kept interfering with my vision, my thoughts, the memories, the melee, the loosening grip of the bat. I was very scared. I heard the crack when he fell to the ground. And I saw the blood as it started to flow slowly, just so slowly. It was dark. It could have been red, but it was just dark. It was a sight I can never get off my chest. I was standing right there then. I couldn’t be a part of this. I was standing right there then. The bat was now an extension of my arm. I could feel the cuts, the coarse edges, the jagged rubber, I could feel them all. I was ready to take a swing. But was I so full of hatred yet? I was ready to take a swing, all right. But was I ready to take the swing? I hated myself at that moment. I was so full of questions. And there was no time to contemplate answers. They kept drawing near. I could hear the frightened footsteps of the others as they dragged back through their feet the impending doom every tiny second they could, as the bats and stumps shook in their hands as much as they did mine. My grip was loosening. They swung at me. I flinched, but I didn’t scream. I staggered, but I didn’t fall. I could have swung back. I was ready to take the swing. I heard shrill cries of my name behind me, and piercing abuses ahead me. I heard bones cracking all around, and I heard pain. I heard pain the second time today. I threw my bat away. I didn’t take a swing. Instead, I waited. Then, they swung again. This time, I heard nothing.

As I lay on the ground, smeared in my own blood, a strange sort of emptiness took hold of me.

- Nikhil Taneja
nikhiltaneja@gmail.com

One Day

One day, I’ll wake up and say to myself,
‘Hey Joey,
You too can go on with life just as they do.
You too can make merry without much ado.
You too can have fun and not feel guilty.
Colours after all are colours; they don’t make you filthy.
You too have the right to be touched and loved
You don’t deserve to be pushed and shoved.
Even you’ll be noticed; it’s just a matter of time.
And you won’t no longer be treated like dust and grime.’

They taught us in school we’re all the same
Then why on this country I’ve got no claim?
Why should I always be the one to strive?
Why must I fight to exist when they’re all alive?

One day, I want to be able to tell my children,
‘Hey kid,
Your father was mighty and fearless.
For trivial things like colour he couldn’t care less.
All his youth, he bore them without complaint,
But when he got old, he couldn’t take the pain.
To give you your rights, he fought with all his might.
He worked day and night to make things more bright.
He lived a life without much disgrace.
He put in his best to make your world a better place.’

Why can’t they just let me live the way I want to?
Why can’t I make merry without much ado?
They say I’m dark and don’t deserve a good life.
They say I’m someone only worthy of strife.

One day I will fight with all my might.
One day I will fight for all that’s right.
One day I will wake up and pat myself.
One day I will narrate stories to my children.
One day I want to tell them – all them whites
That the dark skin is the one that has seen the most light.



- Divya Shetty
divya_infinity@yahoo.com

The Dark Winner

11.30 pm on a not-so-drunk Saturday night. I was driving home after a dinner party at a friend’s place. It’s a 20 minutes ride down this straight road at my speed; more so because the road is dead empty at night. Cruising down this lane with a mild breeze touching your face gently is a delightful experience. Racing down this lane, I realized, was another story. No one to stop you, no traffic, no cops, no old grandma crossing the road, no school kids walking in the middle of the road. With the fastest production bike on Indian roads under my ass, I set out on my Adrenaline pumping ride.

The road was dimly lit with whatever little street lights it had. It was a bit darker than usual. May be because the moon was no where to be seen. There was very little or almost no traffic on the road. An occasional car or a bike brushed past me at random. There was this dark serenity that seemed to keep me at peace. Half way down the road, I saw a bright light flashing at my rear view mirrors. The light kept coming closer and soon it was tailing me. Bouncing on either side it was trying to get ahead of me. In a moment it came ahead right next to me and I noticed a guy and a girl on his bike. Well, his girl? The flaunt in his eyes and the way she held on to him said it all. He revved his engine a couple of times in an unsigned agreement to race with me. I complied. Testosterone took over Adrenaline. I had to beat him. Make his girl wish that she was sitting on the opposite seat. Make him swear to himself that he’d never try this again; at least not with me.

With realization of the challenge as the starting point of the race, we started off. Getting ahead and staying ahead was the only finishing point of the race. A couple of smart moves and he was ahead of me. His girl was staring gloriously at me. All I could see was the road ahead, with him on it. All I could think was beating him. All I could hear was engines grunting and battling it out. Up shifting a gear and a couple of amateur Rossi moves, I accelerated past him. In true racing terms, I had smoked him. I kept accelerating with an evil grin on my face. The biker had finally beaten the loser. I could picture the look on his girl’s face, more importantly his face. I had won the race.

My victory trance was broken by the sudden sight of another bike crossing the road at an intersection. It was the only intersection that I had forgotten in the moment of insanity. As a reflex action I braked hard, really hard. The tires began screaming in pain. Smell of burning rubber filled up the chicane. My bike started fishtailing like a shark caught by its mouth with a hook. Within a moment I found my bike piercing into the other like a bullet into glass. The dark calm turned into a chaos of metal clashing against metal, burning rubber and the resultant noise gave a feeling that death’s come knelling down. I saw three people being flung into air; the third one being me. And that was the last thing I saw clearly.

Then everything turned silent. The metal clashing had stopped. There were no screeching tires. The roaring engines had died. And I lay on the ground hoping that those were the only dead ones in the whole story. I thought that the dark calm had returned. It did but it brought with itself the faint moans and screams of the victims of my actions. I couldn’t see who they were, for I couldn’t move. The pain was so excruciating that I had stopped feeling pain itself. The smell of blood had dissolved in the smell of petrol and the only feelings I could associate with myself was that of being in pain and being alive. The darkness had grown because the dim street lights turned dimmer. Everything seemed hazy. Fear replaced every emotion in my mind and life started playing backwards. The darkness kept growing in my mind, in my eyes and in my time. And then everything was just switched off.

Now I lay on a bed. I can feel myself being there, the pain being there. I’m alive and counting reasons for being so. The darkness is gone, the lights are back and so are the sounds, mostly voices. I hesitantly look around and I see people standing near a bed and talking. I see people standing outside the room. I see my dad, I see a doctor and I see a cop. Things look bad. Fear again takes over curiosity. All they say is one thing and all I hear is one thing.

“He must have been doing at least an insane 80 when he hit them. What was he thinking? Huh …was he thinking?” “His blood indicated alcohol levels. The guy must be drunk.” “We saved the man but the woman and the child are no more; the unborn child that is.” The darkness is back. Its brought pain, fear, remorse and above all, death. The accident or murder, as my conscience terms it, had killed the lady who was a couple of months pregnant. The impact of my winning sprint was so strong that she was thrown away a couple of meters killing her with her baby on the spot. The helmet saved me and the other guy. I don’t wish to propagate the RTO rule that it implements according to how empty its pockets are but that’s the only reason I can think of that saved us.

They say one man’s loss is another’s gain. He lost the race and I gained a lot with it. A title of winner only to be stripped off to fit in the new one of a killer, not just that loser’s but a lot of other people’s anger as well. I got a lot of bandages as trophies. There’s no other guy, there’s no impressed girl, just a lot of people in pain and two in grave. Now I’m the one who’s swearing never to try this again. The dark calm before the race is back. And it’s brought death with it this time. Clearly there’s just one winner now. And surely it’s not me.



- Harshal Kalyanpur
harshal.kpr@gmail.com

Night

As the earth shies away
From the source of hope,
The mortals back in theirs;
While the satan out.

The skies go still
But for the clouds;
The land chills
And some howls.

Wandered on the border,
Between land and water;
Splash splash splash,
Music and hash.

Toiled from dwellings,
One to the other;
To earn for self
And serve the unknown brother.

Exchange of air,
At a speed more than fair;
Makes cupid bloom
And also is borne, hate.

Beats to dance,
Mind in trance,
Its all haywire,
Bulb separated from wire.

Some find on streets,
Some on cotton and feathers,
All have it tight;
In the state of earth
called NIGHT!


- Alok Shah
alok1511@gmail.com

Afterdark

Helpless and hollow,
I sat down, quietly staring outside the window.
Serene, flamboyant and intense! Reflecting in my eye sight,
was the thunderous crescendo of night.

Several dreams apart,
Many memories away,
The night was getting darker,
drifting away from the day.

With ruins of hopes and demolished dreams,
Anticipated thunders and forgotten wonders,
Through the scattered memories, my mind had a haphazard walk;
as I vaguely portrayed myself in the dark.

The darkness was lethal, tranquil and destructive!
Suicidal feelings conquered my psyche.
With optimism buried under the grave of reality,
I surrendered myself to the darkness.
And in melancholy, I got engrossed;
Recollecting the dreams that were tattered;
and memorizing the smiles that were lost.




- Mihir chitre
mihirmumbaikar@gmail.com