Fairies

"How many times have I told you not to leave the windows open."

"But Mom, there was a nice breeze coming in...", I tried to explain. But she cut me off.

"My Son, winds never carry fairies with them." She closed the windows.

I remained silent. There are things grown ups won't accept. Might be they don't understand after all. Mom looked at me for some time before leaving the room. After closing the door behind her I gently unlatched the windows making as less noise as possible. One is not supposed to keep the Fairies waiting outside. What if the Fairies leave finding the windows closed and never returns again? It was quiet dark outside. The gulmohar tree across the fence on which the Fairies lived had merged almost indistinguishably into the shadows.

My Grandma used to tell me stories about the wonderful things the Fairies could do. "The Fairy is busy looking after the helpless. But one day she will surely come into your room sailing in the wind. Wait for her by the window." Grandma had said. A few weeks later she stopped telling me stories. She was in her room all the time, either chanting or sleeping. She told me she was preparing for a journey to the world of Fairies. My excitement however dropped when she added that she couldn't take me along with her. I made her promise to visit me one day. A few days later I found Mom and Dad in tears.

'Grandma has left us.' they told me.

"She went to the land of fairies?", I asked.

Mom didn't reply. She hugged me and wept for a long time. I suddenly felt very lonely. Mom and Dad were so busy running the house, Grandma was the only friend I had. But now I'm alone. I dragged myself to my room and sat looking out at the gulmohar tree for a long time.

That was six years ago. I was nine then. I always wanted to go near the gulmohar tree and pay a visit to Grandma. She must be living in a hut hanging down the mighty branches of the tree. But the fence was too high for me to climb. When I importuned Dad for help, he said it is silly of me to be talking about fairies. Even my classmates think fairies don't exist. They call me a fool and I am avoided by them. They make fun of me, but I don't care. One day my Grandma will come and I will prove to everybody that they were wrong. Especially my Dad. He thinks I am not smart enough to survive well in this competitive world. He wants me to be hardworking like him so that I will be capable to look after the family one day. Once the fairies come I will ask them to look after my parents. Then Dad can rest and Mom won't have to cook anymore. I always wonder why Grandma didn't tell Dad about the wonderful things the fairies could do? Might be he didn't believe her. If he can believe in stupid things like gravity, evolution etc, why can't he believe in fairies? After all it is the fairies who created us and not the stupid monkeys.

Last month Mom told me fairies come only in the dreams. She thinks she can lie to me and get away. Once I had dreamt that my class teacher Mrs. Vimala had grown horns and a tail. But the next day everything was normal. Dreams never come true. A few days ago I quit sleeping. It is tiring not to sleep but supposedly the Fairies come in the night I don't want to miss the chance to meet them. I will ask the Fairies to take me to their world where I can live happily with my Grandma, listening to her stories. And one day might be my Mom will tell my story to her grandchildren. It will be so nice when I come back to meet them...

My Jeans

I think I have lost my jeans. I searched everywhere, but I am not able to find her. ( "Her" because I don't feel comfortable saying "My jeans... I love him!" and not because it is a ladies jeans )

When I had bought that jeans, I had never expected to grow so much attached to her. She was not faded or fancy printed. She was a simple ordinary blue jeans. Over the time she turned from just one of my jeans into my favourite leg wear. She was perfect for me. I felt very comfortable with her and hence I was more confident and successful in my endeavors. The fact that I can't find her is eating into me. There has been times when I just couldn't force her off my legs. We were the inseparables. She was my live-in-jeans, day and night. When ever I had to select a shirt, I used to pick the one that would go best with her. I loved washing and pressing her myself with that extra bit of care and affection.

But yesterday, I accidentally spilled hot coffee on her. You have no idea how sorry I was about it. I wonder if she is still angry and is hiding from me. I can never stain her intentionally, you know. There isn't another piece of clothing more dearer to me. In fact there isn't anything else more dearer to me.

She was one of those jeans that comes with a button on the back pocket. So I could confide my wallet with her without being alarmed about pick pockets. She was part of all my happiness and sorrows. A relationship in which I was always mad about her, but could never get mad at her. I took her with me where ever I went. Even when I was required to wear a uniform pants, I used to have her in my bag. It breakes my heart to be away from her.

I cannot live without her. I cannot sleep, I cannot eat, I can't even think about anything else. Away from her I don't think I will survive for long. How could she think that I had purposefully hurt her? I miss you, my jeans. Where ever you are, be happy. This is the last wish of a dying heart.