Stories
A book of twenty-five short stories, along
with a novella, The Lady in Black, is available for publication.
A sample story…
Shakespeare Revisited
A sudden burst of fire from the reed-pen, licking his script clean of all words, and Shakespeare was hurled into the tunnel of the Past. His eyes were fixed to the stack of mutilated scenes from Romeo and Juliet, the shutters in his mind expanding and shuddering. The reed-pen of Time was the weapon of his mad inspiration, though haze and stupor were gilding his eyes in a veil of shock.
The Genius of his passion was facing his Third Eye, challenging him to a duel between the life wasted and a life throbbing with the promise of Fame. There was a bridge of glare separating Him and the Genius.
Shakespeare blinked, aghast and shrinking.
"You
know me. Why are you afraid, o bard of
"I don't know you..." Shakespeare murmured, blinking away haze and mist.
"I know you;” Genius stroked his beard, an evil smile surfacing on his thin lips. "You are Sheikh Pir, the poet of the East, dead and forgotten."
"Dead?" Shakespeare could barely murmur.
"More alive than many Living, even than the ones living in the
slums of
"Who are you? Why are you here?" Shakespeare braved a query.
"If you don't recognize your own Genius, then you are a lost soul in this life too. I am here to goad you into writing a Tragedy, which would shine forever in the hourglass of time." reproof was shining in the eyes of Genius.
"If I was a genius, I would not be scraping pennies from the filthy hands of the droolers, or living in a garret, staging farcical scenes in my head? Besides, I am writing a comedy, not a tragedy,” Shakespeare sat listening to the echo of his own voice.
"Juliet is not who what you think she is? And Romeo is not the brawling prince, waging wars in your head?" Genius was bent on shooting reprimands.
"Who do you think they are?" was Shakespeare's loud lament.
"Let me think! Juliet must be Hir, a princess from Jhang. And Romeo is no other than Ranjha, the prince from Hazara. You saw them both. They were condemned in love, and fated to die." Genius expounded mockingly.
"Such alien names and alien places? How come I don't remember?" Shakespeare brooded to himself.
"Genius is a mystery! Remembering, while claiming not to remember? Now you see Hir in the guise of Juliet, and are even forgetting how she looks like?" Genius was assuming the air of indulgence.
"Juliet's beauty is engraved in my heart. I don't know who Hir is?" was Shakespeare's baffled response.
"Hir is the beautiful daughter of a king. She is the victim of a tragic love. Ranjha falls in love with her. And she in turn is consumed by her own love for him." Genius was smiling
"I know! They get married, and live happily ever after?" Shakespeare intoned with a stab at humor.
"Truth! even veiled in falsehood, never dares kiss the lips of
lies. Hir was
forced to get married to a rich lord by the name of Saida,
in the
"She falls in love again? With her husband, this time?" Shakespeare was not heeding the voice of Genius.
"Love! a grievous folly, no wise woman ever commits even while wedding the very first time," the eyes of Genius were glowing with rage. "After that farce of a marriage, Hir longs for Ranjha. And Ranjha appears at her door in the guise of a jogi."
"Will you please leave? I want to finish this Comedy in order to pay my rent, or my landlord would throw me out on the streets," the stars of impatience were alighting in Shakespeare's eyes.
"You don't want to hear the end?" amusement was shining in the eyes of Genius.
"Tell me quickly then! And leave me in peace?" Shakespeare consented hopelessly.
"Hir and Ranjha elope. Hir's parents urge them to return home. Promising them the bliss of home and marriage. Death and doom are waiting in this promise of wedlock, not wedding celebrations. Hir's own mother poisons the milk which her daughter is to drink during the ritual of her wedding ceremony," Genius leaves the fated end lurking behind his own gaze.
"A dull, gruesome tale, concocted by the troubadours?" Shakespeare mocks.
"Not dull, but tragic. Not gruesome, yet unutterably awesome! You don't want to know the end?" Genius whispers a challenge.
"I am dying to...this second time around, in my effort to be a rich playwright. If, this indeed! is the second time. What was I before I was the poet of...? Don't answer. Just tell me the end of this story. The dawn is nigh, and I must finish my play,” Shakespeare’s heart copies the beat of thundering drums.
"Hir's maid manages to reveal the treachery, but too late! Hir has already taken a few sips of the poisoned milk. She collapses. Ranjha drains the rest of the milk, immolating his life at the feet of his Beloved," Genius murmurs dreamily.
"Romeo and Juliet! It is a comedy, and it is going to stay this way as I have planned. You may leave now. I want Juliet to live. She is so beautiful!" Shakespeare's own tone is opiate.
"This play will be a Tragedy! Fates can't be averted. Juliet is not permitted to disappoint the lovers of pain and grief, as Hir couldn't either. And Romeo Cannot live! by the law and virtue of his own madness, much like Ranjha's, which rewarded him with the honor of a Sufi and a Lover," Genius expounds vehemently.
"Were they really alive? And dead now? The Lover and the Beloved, I mean?" Shakespeare utters a low lament.
"They are embalmed alive in songs sweet and tragic. Now young lovers flock to their tombs in droves,” Genius lets out one bellow of a sigh.
"Where are they buried?" Shakespeare's lips tremble in conformity with his thoughts.
"Look at that moon yonder?" Genius points at the shining orb through the slit of a window.
"Waxing and waning. Livid and dying! The scarlet lips of fate, sinful as death. A tragedy most beautiful..."
Shakespeare's head was drooping over his parchments. The ghost of Past, not the Genius of his Psyche, was enveloping him in the comfort of sleep. From the lily-livered heart of dawn were born the children of a Tragedy. Romeo and Juliet were breathing Pain. Abandoning Love and Hope. Shakespeare's heart was a torch of life, resurrecting Hir and Ranjha from their tombs unforgotten.
The Blessed Blind (published) is a short
piece about the grief of a mother, whose son is mentally disabled. Death of a
Bride (published) explores the metaphysical realms of love and illusion. Oblong
Mirror is a mystery with the power of love as its great theme. O, Ye Faithful,
is the story of a little girl with AIDS, with a metaphorical theme as the
emblem of Faith. Unwedded Bevies portrays the traumas and tragedies of the
spinsterhood. A Jobless Mother, reveals the unvoiced
sorrows of a wife whose talents lay unexplored. I am Still Thirteen, is the
story of a girl with thirst for knowledge. The Lost Glove; Men Wear Lipstick;
and Silver Men and Copper Women, are parodies. What are we doing to our Kids,
is about a young boy who is the victim of drugs since childhood, finding
release through his own dreams and visions.