Love: More Than Words <3

More Than Words Image ©kleio b'wti

​Love, they say, is a feeling. But recently, when Val related a conversation with a fellow passenger in an autorickshaw, I had a flash of Newton moment!

Love is not just a feeling. It is also a language of emotional expression. And the language of L-O-V-E is complicated. While socially, terms like ‘baby’, ‘honey’, ‘darling’, ‘sweetheart’ and other endearments in English and their counterparts in different languages express love, sometimes, even words like ‘idiot’, ‘stupid’ or ‘shut-up’; communicates tenderness!

In Bihar (A state in India), the word ‘khacchar’ (mule), is used by elders as an endearment for children. I remember how my granda would liberally use ‘khacchar’ to communicate love, anger, reprimand or disappointment. For his grandchildren, ‘khacchar’ meant an absolute feeling of affection. Well, that word can​ singularly inspire a blog of crazy family anecdotes ;), so I will leave it at just that right now.

Going back to Val, and her anecdote- the passenger was speaking to her boyfriend on the phone with the most loving ‘idiots’, ‘stupids’ and ‘mads’. And it gives us something to think about and perhaps change our overview.

While we judge people and their relationships by how we idealize them, our sentiments don’t extend to many.

For some, love is rude. And for some, it is aggressive​ and or unpleasant. While some like lofty stuff, others have a grounded sense of it. Not every time do we fall in love with that person, who shares the same sense of emotion. Their subjective expression may or may not make us feel good or comfortable.

But it is okay. If we don’t understand the language of love of the other person, it is okay to walk away. Yes, it is literally impossible to find an expert linguist who can translate someone’s feelings for us. Who wants a 3rd wheel in a relationship, anyway? And who understands every nuance of love, after all?
Also, it is okay to stick around to decipher a person of interest’s affection and commitment. Love is truly a mystery!

And the language of L-O-V-E is a whole dictionary with hidden messages and subterfuge of expressions. Subtle or tender, harsh or unforgiving- the language of love is more than words, more than feelings and more than research topics. Honestly, it is a ​hyperbole!

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Moronic Heart

Stone Heart Poem Author: Rishabh Raj ©

Oh, heart......


Are you a moron or what ??
Oh, heart… oh, my heart… oh my “beloved” heart,
Why force my life to a dead and slow bullock-cart?
You are my best friend as far as I know,
But where has that friendship gone,
My Dear?

Why not obey my words... To remember her?
Bringing back the happy-sorrow,
Alas! Of that girl?


Please, my mate! Please understand.
She was not a right choice my mate,
You tried so much
(Various attempts of coming closer).
But she never welcomed you
Always rejecting in one way, or another.

Oh Yes!
She never opened the gate of her heart.
You went further, finally proposed-
She went far trashing your heart.


I know it’s tough.
She being the one who impressed u-
Only one who overlooked,
Leaving your heart- squashed!

Ok, don’t pay attention to the lines above.
Coz now I talk to you, my readers-
Telling you her deadly; ruthless tale.


When she dissolved that precious moment,
Into tears of self-hate!
When she shouted, "See your face, you dumb!
Don't follow me- you don't match my status."
So ruthless! Wasn't she?
Tell me Oh! Readers,
Is love a balance sheet?
Or a carpet of sweet dreams?


I can feel your beat, O heart!
You are still alive- make it count.
Don’t be dead or inactive,
You are not lifeless.
Keeping her in you.
Please don't be hopeless,
Let that pain sprout new leaves-
Try, try and try until
You find the perfect one.


Don’t let yourself and ultimately me,
Die because of that heartless dream.
The girl who talks o status and not love,
How can she be of anyone?
But that of money rolls!
So don't be a moron, O heart!
Don't fret, dear moron!



Poet: Rishabh Raj

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Princess Blog Post Author: Rahul Vats ©, 2017.
Maybe most of the Indian men will not like this article. Sorry Gentlemen! I am not one of stereotypical guy, trying to influence you. Having my own free will and mind to think about her I am today sharing what I feel my love for her is all about.


I will do whatever it takes to make her happy because she is the only one person in my life after my mom and dad who give me happiness, without any reason. She does not see me as a prospect, yet she cares for me. Her feelings for me are selfless. Her warmth for me- genuine.


I am going to treat her like a “Princess”. 


Forgetting all the problem and worries of my life is easy when she is in front of me. I feel so confident in her acceptance of me that I know I can go through all. Although I know the way I have chosen to be with her may be different but not wrong.


Love is never wrong. It's the purest form of emotion. 


The way she looks at me shows the faith and trust she has in me. The way she gives attention to me is when we meet is perfect. It makes my life worthwhile. She deserves to be my "Princess" as she is precious to me.


I feel pleased to have her and feel proud to walk with her. Our walks together will never end.


I don’t believe in God but for my "Princess" I pray- always.


These are my thoughts- these lines are directly from the depth of my mind and the bottom of my heart.


Author: Rahul Vats

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Blog Post: Delhi Author: Kleio B'wti ©, 2017.

The white beauty of CP to the red stone and marble power of Qutub Minar, the serpentine tracks of Delhi Metro or the greenery that adorned the streets every few blocks was marvelous. I could just walk from one park to another and feel happy about life.


Historical monuments were like neighbors.


I would find a dilapidated wall dating back to olden times, or a brick house, with an ancient dust of loneliness very conveniently. There were those ancient water reservoirs or burial places with extensive gardens that I could just walk down to in about 10 minutes from my house. No, I did not live in any affluent area. In Delhi history walks with you.


Most of us take it for granted and seldom notice but when we do, it teaches a new lesson of life on every interaction.


I am not sure how I can elucidate my feelings for the place - I really do not know. I can surely tell you though that I will miss the winters of Delhi, the unpredictable rains, the traffic signals that would go kaput on a slight drizzle, the auto rickshaw drivers who often refused to turn on the meter of the vehicle.  The few who stunned me by turning it on even before I boarded the vehicle are equally dear.


The broad roads where I would accelerate my two-wheeler to its maximum speed, the greens, the pretty newlyweds with even prettier red bangles or ‘Chuda’,  the ‘Momos’, the ‘Chole –Kulche’, the serenity of Lotus Temple, Delhi Haat, Select City Walk, North Campus, Jor Bagh, Safdurjung Place (my chosen historical structure), the street dogs who were my best friends and also some people who made Delhi such a dreamy place for me to stay.


Although there is a sense of longing, there is no regret in moving away from the 'Dil'. I did not shed a tear, I smiled and forgot to bid adieu to the land of Delhi. Yet I know a goodbye was not required, coz my heart, I carry with me and in my heart,  I carry my Delhi.


To all those who have ever loved a land mass more than life itself, all those who will discover such love someday. To all those who do not believe such a love exists, be prepared to get swooned by Delhi. You will find a home away from home; a friend among the green trees; a journey in a metro compartment; a delicacy on the streets of Chandni Chowk; a story behind every structure; a 'you' among its every iota of existence.


You don't live in Delhi; you have a love affair with the place.


Some take a pause. Others continue their relationship with Delhi until their dying breath. Then there are some like me who settle for a long distance relationship as breaking away from the place would mean killing a part of the soul.

I will continue walking this one-way street of love, holding hands, sharing a laughter, wiping a tear, screaming a blasphemy, walking, jogging, running, sprinting: Just Delhi and me and that's about it.

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Annie woke up from his light sleep after getting incoming from the reception that a pregnant lady had met with an accident and was in a critical state.


The nurse briefed on the phone as he ran for the lift on the seventh floor. The injured had a car accident and her womb had been hurt hard with profuse internal bleeding. He instructed to shift the patient to Operation Theatre. It would be difficult to save both, mother and child, something he had learned from experience. He dialed the number of another doctor on duty to assess the situation and simultaneously pressed first-floor switch.


Dr. Anhaya Kapoor was the cherry among the lot, known by a more popular name among his breed-Annie.


An upbeat guy in early thirties with a faded beard. He was the senior resident doctor at Brighton’s Medical Research and Science Institute, a prestigious hospital in South Delhi. A hospital founded by his father, who passed away six months ago, Dr. Jagdish Kapoor.


Annie’s brain was as good his face that bruised the hearts of many. He was considered one of the best in the profession a talent he had inherited as genes from his father. His father had been the best surgeon in the country, a favorite among politicians and businessmen who traveled in a private aircraft often for holidays.

Annie wasn’t a spoilt brat at all but had a deal in the closet that constituted of everything considered unethical.


He smoked pot, pee-ed on streets, drank abruptly, had a thing for madly kissing his dates in the parking lots. He chased a cop once till the end of the capital border! Annie could play the flute with ease; spoke French and Latin without stuttering. He was a state level swimmer. Rich, smart, fancy looking, a persona other guys wished to be and girls got lured to was Annie. All this charisma was sadly shadowed after he got married to a girl his father chose for him. This was another feather of burden. He loved his dad too much to keep dating Meera; the girl he loved passionately- his lifelong desire.


They had met at a bar at the Inner Circle in Connaught Place, just next to the coffee house.


Meera’s sleeveless blue dress could just kiss her knees! She came for her friend's breakup party, and he was there … coz, he was there most of the times. She was a jingle writer for an upcoming ad work agency who always carried a sweet tone in her laughter. That laughter eventually made the doctor lost his heart. He could never express accurately the love he felt in his heart for her with his multi-lingual skills but she could read it in his eyes. They were the most handsome couple in the circuit without a penny space between them!


A decade later, he was playing high.


When on a game night his dad asked him to marry the daughter of a family friend he held high regards for. His father has just recovered from the second heart surgery. However,  he could feel a lot more pain agreeing to his father’s request, the pain of a poisoned heart! Meera and Annie spent their last night together speechless, just holding hands. He made love to her like never before and cried as she led him to the door in the morning, kissing- a final goodbye. Eight weeks from his wedding date his dad passed away. Annie felt deserted without the two people he loved.


Annie lost the desire for life and spent most of his day hours in hospital after the marriage.

Everybody knew his story but no one ever whispered in those hallways or canteens!  The times were not the same; he was more of an enigma now, never indulging in his old misadventures. The lift reached the first floor and Annie ran out from the half open door and lurched toward the operation theater. Attendant doctor submitted the summary of the report confirming the urgency of the surgery. He wore his latex gloves and entered the operation theater where the proceeding had already begun.  Sphygmomanometer showed a continuous drop in blood pressure due to excessive blood loss.


Annie completed the caesarean and saved the child.


The mother’s heart had unfortunately stopped beating midway the surgery! The beats didn’t bounce back by the defibrillator. The failure- the silence of losing the mother was broken by the first cry of the child! Annie took the child in his hands and felt a resemblance in the touch and couldn’t stuff away that instant love for the child! He went through the patient information sheet to sign off the document and read the mother’s name -‘Meera’. 

His eyes blurred as he waddled out of the room with his daughter in the arms.


Author: Muflis Musafir

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Art of Missing

Art Of Missing Blog Post Author: Kleio B'wti ©, 2017.

"Not seeing you is like not breathing. I see dead leaves everywhere. The red rose looks black and crumpled to my eyes. They pain, yet no tear runs through these dry sockets I use to see the world with. The delicious smell of yours that makes my world fragrant is now an odorless, clinical place. I wish I could run these miles in a second and you could glove me up with a surprised glee in your strong arms. Maybe, I am talking too much. I am not sure, though, if these three simple and overly used words would communicate what I truly feel.


Yet, I shall try-I MISS YOU!"


Alone, bereft, emotional, sad, insomniac ache are the symptoms of throbbing for someone’s presence. Some compensate ‘missing’ with ice-cream, hot chocolate, some cake or pudding. In other words, they replace the absent individual with calories devouring comforting food. The number of people hitting the pubs and drinking themselves insane, usually attribute the impulse to the 'Act of Missing' someone they love, as well.


As Jeremy Sherman has pointed out in his blog, 'missing' isn’t always being sad.


Giving up something unwanted or unpleasant 'a miss' does sound like a wise choice sometimes. Most importantly, when someone becomes a part of one's environment, he/she ends up influencing the other. Humanity is about connections- good or bad ones. When something good exits one's immediate universe, it pains, yet when an unpleasant stimulus gets deleted from one's vicinity it brings a reprieve.


Yet every wise man, poet or philosopher ends up ‘missing someone badly’. Poetry on longing, unrequited love, betrayal, the guilt of deception, reminiscence, and longing are different shades of nostalgia dealing with the central omitted emotion that binds the poet to the cherished.


A fragment from 'My River' by Emily Dickinson goes like this: My River runs to thee. Blue sea, wilt thou welcome me? My river awaits a reply. Oh! Sea, look graciously.


She makes an indirect reference to that special someone. She awaits his reply and desires to join him, in that emotional sea; to mesh herself with this person she loves. While only the creative minds write poems and music about the person being remembered, the feeling is universal.


That pang of pain, that sudden stopping of mind, that literal heartburn, those misty eyes, the lonely nights, and that sullenness of the early sun distresses every abandoned soul; suffer the pang of longing. It's because the one who moves on leaves us, goes on a business tour or vacation takes that major chunk of the heart where love dwells. Essentially stingy, they leave behind just a wisp of themselves. That big piece of love that can keep one warm during those long wakeful nights, that caress when the nightmares knock, that makes the mornings brilliant, the days agile is never shared by the miser.


The ‘Art of Missing’ is that mushy feeling of passion that makes one ardent until their love returns. Love is a crazy feeling. It is the wackiest when it cannot be instantly articulated.


Brian Adam's points out in his song; only when someone leaves, only then one really understands the feeling of being in love. A love that is hopeless, irrevocable, absolute.


Author: Kleio B'wti

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Incognito Inamorato

'Incognito Inamorato' Short Story Author: Kleio B'wti ©, 2017.

Hardbound in red, with gold ink etching out the name 'Incognito Inamorato' winked wickedly at Lana.


The very cover of the stationery made her cringe! For years she had poured her heart out in it. She had once thought it to be her best friend; the one who knew everything about her one-sided love, her wishful thinking, her angst, her jealousy, her fears- every emotion that 'he' evoked in Lana. The Diary was her witness.


Lana reasoned how it was important to move on, to survive. It was crucial to surrender to hopelessness, for new hopes to sprout.


The only way she could make a fresh start was to let the diary go.


With a deep breath, tears rolling down her eyes, she walked down the stairs, into the living room; opened the door to the porch- resolutely walked further until she reached the picket fence at the gate where the black garbage bag lay abandoned.


She carelessly tossed the diary, never looking back. The Diary almost wilfully somersaulted from the edge of the garbage bag into the center of the pavement. A resolute Lana hadn't looked back, she wouldn't look out of the window where her beloved diary could be seen lying alone, sad.


Dave in the other part of the same neighborhood cursed under his breath as we walked through the pavement. He had had enough! After years of squabbling more than loving, he wondered if his childhood romance with Summer was a mistake. She had believed it was! She had given him an ultimatum today. He should either propose or stay away.


Dave loved Summer, yet a niggling thought was growing into a shout in his head, "It was puppy love. Don't commit!" Distraught emotionally exhausted romantically, Dave kicked the few dry leaves on the pavement and strode away quickly until a light object touched his toe.


The red Diary smiled invitingly at Dave, shimmering in the street lights. Dave was longing for a change in mood. He would rather read a stranger's secrets than prod on his own love life. So he sat down on the side, picked up the diary and turned the pages until morning came.


He then walked up to the porch and rang the bell. Lana groggily skipped down the stairs to see who it was. A look at Dave and all her sleep was replaced into stupendous elation!


She squeaked, "What are you doing here, Dave?"


Dave looked equally perplexed! He had never known that the shy and beautiful Lana, his classmate since middle school lived just a few blocks away! He cleared his throat in wonder and said,
"Hey Lana! I found your diary. You must have dropped it on the road by mistake. I didn't know you lived here!"


Lana replied accusingly, "How would you know Dave? You have been too busy for too long!"


"You write well, Lana! It’s funny that your boyfriend shares my name”, Dave mentioned with a chuckle.


Flabbergasted, Lana repeated in a rising voice, “Funny!”


Hey, Lana! No bad blood girl! I mean your guy is lucky, to have a perfect girl like you", Dave smilingly declared.  “I must confess, I always had a thing for your poems since Grade 6! Your Dave is a lucky dog!”


Lana with stabs of embarrassment, yet giddy with a resigned love, snatched the diary from Dave and shouted angrily as she slammed the door- "Me! Lucky! I have no boyfriend! It was always you, Dave- you fool!"


Author: Kleio B'wti

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Heartbreak: A Poem

Poet: Rishabh Raj


The day I saw her;
I dissolved in her sea like “blue eyes”,
Felt; that for my “Ludo” game, like life;
I finally got the correct dice,
I cannot describe her beautiful face in words;
all I can say is; as glowing and charming as pure white milk,
…. I remember I gave something to her on birthday;
Yes! it was the chocolate named “ Dairy Milk Silk ”.


I was eager to see the conversion of The friendship bud;
Into the loveliest love bud,
Thankful to see The pretty flower growing:
A friendship becoming strong
Sharing my little thoughts and life issues with her,
Lots of dream of me and her, We love bird!
Finally deciding to share my feelings about her,
And she also agreed to serve a chilled ice for my hot love fever,
But something else was going on in her mind,
To use my love for her own pleasure; seeing me as a guy
Who in love ad gone completely blind,
She Talked to me, considered me everything whenever she was in need!
Otherwise the most unripe seed.


Her actions and ruthless behavior sometimes switched the tears on,
It was that kind of love that never led me to cheer upon,
Finally deciding to say about the mishappenings to her,
But Alas! She retreated into never,
Hmmmm…. she went away,
Didn’t even bother for a second about me and my job
[of helping her in every circumstance;
Friends Told me cruel tales about her???
Overall, it remained as a one-sided love,
Ya…. I thought that my life  was ECLIPSED;
But no; it remained as a parabolic curve,
Relation is worthy when love exists between the two,
Always equal in measurement; without any extra effort;
In the Machine of love, enhancement acts as a dynamo
What to do with this broken heart? I really didn’t know,
I Started chanting: “Help me out o’ lord to spread a shadow
A Black Cloud to Banish all sorrow”,


I was in a very pensive mood,
Questions bombarding my mind, all bad not good,
I found myself all alone and shattered,
But those feelings for her;
Not even a millimeter- got altered.


One night a message came in my name,
‘See yourself in mirror and have some shame,
And a para of inspiration….
For my critical situation:
“Love is beautiful but sometimes it is horrifying,
The girl who left you;
isn’t going to think whether her absence Left you living or dying,
So why are you still thinking of her?
Please go on to live your life, remembering her never,
Your world is not over;
because Life has a ‘one goes one comes’ rule.


Move on and try to get the right girl,
whom god has made for you,
Who will not give you sorrow but
always hold your hand and be in touch with your heart too,
And does everything in your Troubled life so as you to console ……..”


For me, this message proved to be a boon,
Now I can see some laughing gas in my heart- a deflated balloon,
I can now live my life as I did earlier,
At last, the fact exists; love is Responsible for one’s success and
Responsible too for Life’s Misses……

Message from this short story:

Love is something which when does not Happen; then it can’t happen but when It happens; it does enhance a special radiance and much more…
Yes, it is not easy to forget someone Whom u loved the most but why to do This type of stubborn thing of not forgetting him or her as it will not Let u get back him or her but give u grief, grief, and only grief ……..
So it is far far better to live life as U want to live; not governed by anyone Else and find someone else who do Understand the true meaning of love as Compared to your gone away love …….

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Yellow Slip

For the first time in her life, she felt that a pack of stapler pins could be that heavy to lift as she tried to throw it in her drawer. She could feel her heart go heavy with those thoughts as she tried to quickly clear up her desk. She extended her arm to the fullest and swept the desk at one go and dropped everything into the middle drawer of her Sheesham wood desk.

Stunned at how dreadfully she had let him go- actually made him go! She rushed out of her corner desk leaving behind her favorite red stole on the chair, whispering in her concerned colleague's ear about some emergency for her pale face. The stairs of the two floored building looked like an infinite to her.

She smashed the door of her office building and ran through the pavement shouting for a taxi. Some angel from heaven stopped his taxi and she occupied it without losing a breath. She ordered and begged in a single tone to the man on the wheels to drive to the airport; her thoughts on the ruined collage of her life- a life without him.

The terminal T2 was just 5 kilometers away from her office and never took more than 20 minutes whenever she traveled in the past, but presently it looked like a travel to another continent across the seas. She could not imagine the look on his face after reading the letter she left on the kitchen table.

On a yellow slip, she had burst her heart out on. She had known him for years and today it felt like never ever. She always knew there was something which staggered his smile sometimes but he never expressed. He was always caring and loving, someone who would die for her smile. He was lazy but never failed to share his feelings, except one.

She still remembered the day her father, even against his dislike of him agreed to let her move in with him. He dressed clumsily in formals; didn’t shave for a month and was often high on alcohol. Still the charm he carried in those brown eyes and double-chinned face along with the ability to accept the failures of his life without a rebuttal, left no corner of insecurity in her dad's heart that he is true to himself if nothing else.

A sudden stoppage at the corner across the foot over bridge brought her back to her senses. She observed lane of cars bumped into each other, in alarm. She quickly grabbed her wallet, took a couple of tenners and threw them on the front seat next to the driver's, collected her stuff and thoughts and ran like a train towards the airport.

Her feet felt as if they were not with hers. She tried to run faster with those heels but couldn't overcome the resistance offered by her legs. How could she just write a letter asking the guy who cared for him the most to leave her and go to the girl she thought he wished to spend his life with? She was too broken and in love with him to give up her only desire and reason to live. She loved him too much to make him stay although she knew the feeling of pain it would invest in the heart to not have his love.

What could she have done? The question kept hitting her head. She has been stubborn and a demanding girl since childhood, one who never ever shared, forget about giving up! But today she let her most prized possession go, and he was the reason for that change in her.  The only thing she could do was to let him go, she tried to lessen her pain of guilt with this thought, but it would come back with more beat.

He made her laugh and took jokes on himself, they dined out often, he bought her flowers and chocolates, and they danced and held hands at events. He even kissed her at his mother's birthday. She loved sleeping in his lap with her cheeks in his hands and arms around his waist.

Although he earned little from his hateful job, he always found time to hear her office woes. And she returned the favor with a yellow slip endorsing him to return to his earlier love and a flight ticket- a complimentary gift. And she had done it all, without confirming what he wished for.

She was brought back in time by the security personnel at the entrance of the airport; with a pounding heart and vision blurred with uncontrolled tears. She believed this poison would kill her which she herself slipped in for no grant. She took long steps, by now her feet had given up, could barely stand but she refused to lose the battle.

A piece of paper could not be the reason for her soulless life. She’d fight, beg, cry or even contest but wouldn’t let him go. Standing next to the immigration counter dressed up as he wished to live for only this moment, she thought she saw him! A sound hit her ears confirming that the flight for Sydney has left with all passengers on boarding. With her misty eyes drying up, she had imagined someone but it was actually the image of another footfall in the crowd and not him!

Her heart stopped for a minute and her throat went dry. She then recollected the images in her head and walked out of the airport unsteadily. She bought some eggs, a milk pack and a loaf of bread and walked back on her way home. There were no thoughts fighting in her brain, the feelings were all fallen.  Her feet were blue out of defeat as she climbed the stairs of her apartment.

She opened the door- her fingers devoid of any blood flow. She locked the door from the inside with no intentions to ever unlock it again and dragged towards the kitchen sink. As she unfolded the paper bag and got hold of the matchstick to light the stove, she felt a pair of hands swirling around her waist, a pair of wet lips touched her neck. She turned around and looked into those brown eyes that freed her and fell into his arms for a sound sleep.

Author: Muflis Musafir


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Fishermen’s Bond

"There are very few fishermen left today."
- Paul Watson


Once Upon A Time, there lived a young widowed fisherman- Zingloo and his young boy- Vindloo, by the sea.


The young father and son spent hours trying to catch fishes that mostly slipped through their almost tattered fishing net. Catching only a few, they sold them at the fish market for dearth cheap price, except one. Zingloo saved the biggest fish each day for his beloved son!


With little money, a lot of hard work and a daily one-time meal of fish stew, Vindloo grew up agile as a fish, strong as the sea waves and handsome as his father. As the years passed, the fishes became harder to come by. Then came a day when the fishes had gone extinct!


Zingloo, the forever optimist did not give up.

“Vindloo, my son, do not listen to the others. We make our own destiny. I believe there are some fishes still left. I will myself go into the sea and find them.”


Saying so, Zingloo dived deep into the sea. Vindloo's salty thoughts hung heavily in the pregnant atmosphere. Even the sea waited expectantly for Zingloo come back a winner! The seagulls flew around the boat in excited circles at seeing Zingloo’s left arm and then right one wading the waters to the boat! Vindloo, the young teenager, clapped his hands and jumped with joy to see his father’s form break through the waves!


Zingloo raised his head and asked his son to help him up the boat. The disappointment in his eyes pierced through the heart of Vindloo.

“Son, there are no fishes in the sea, no more!”

Tears rolled down Zingloo’s cheeks. He was only a fisherman. He knew nothing else. His mind scrambled in panic,

"What now?"

Vindloo reading his father’s thoughts, said to him,

“Dad, you remember what you said to me some hours ago? I will make my own destiny. I will find something for us in the sea.”

Saying so, Vindloo dived into the sea much like his father.


Vindloo was back in no time armed with clams, snails, prawns, corals and other aquatic beings that people had overlooked for years! Soon, while the fishermen left the coast to find other sources of employment, Zingloo and Vindloo built their small fishing business into an empire. Strangely, it was only Vindloo who was able to find the other aquatic beings. No other fisherman including Zingloo had been successful in catching even one! No one knew Vindloo’s secret yet, although they realized that Vindloo had been blessed by the sea for some reason.


On that very cloudy and cold morning, when Vindloo dived into the sea to find some fishes for his dejected father, his gaze was attracted by an ethereal beauty, with big ocean eyes, golden and green tresses that even a Goddess would envy! Vindloo, like an iron pin, swam into the magnetic persona of the mermaid.  The Mermaid asked Vindloo what he was looking for. When Vindloo shared his sad tale, the mermaid smiled kindly and told him,


“Here take these. They taste as good, sometimes even better than fishes. We farm them for our meals. Whenever you need some more come, see me, but remember not to tell anyone about me!”


Vindloo’s trip to the Mermaid became frequent as the demand for his aquatic items increased. The more they met the more they fell in love. Vindloo, on the 135th day of their meeting, proposed to the mermaid with a huge diamond ring he had secretly purchased from the best jeweler in town. The Mermaid gladly accepted. The sea and the aquatics swayed in happiness.


When the excitement had dimmed a wee bit, the Mermaid took Vindloo to their special corner and told him,

“Vindloo, the rules of the sea are very different from that of the land. If you marry me, you will never ever be able to go back to the land. I can’t ask you for such a big sacrifice. I have changed my mind!”

Vindloo found his heart torn but said,

“Lady Mermaid, I love you. I live where you do, already. So, I will remain here with you. My only condition is that my father should never be short of clams, prawns, snails and more. He has fished every day since he was a baby. This is all he knows apart from being a loving father.”


For one last time, Vindloo returned to the land to meet his father. That night the father and son partied, sang fishermen songs and talked. Sleep didn’t knock on their eyelids that night. Zingloo felt his life was about to change. He had no time to ponder on his premonition; he had only time to see his son smile. The next morning, before dawn, the duo walked to the seashore, removed the anchor, pushed their big boat into the sea and rode into the middle of the mist. Vindloo had promised the night before to teach his father the art of catching precious aquatics, their livelihood!


Like they had done when Vindloo was a baby, Zingloo held his son’s hand and jumped into the sea. This time, however, it was Vindloo who was guiding his father, teaching him a new craft! Zingloo was excited with the first catch! He swam up to the boat to deposit his catch while Vindloo followed. By the time he had climbed up the boat, Vindloo was nowhere to be seen! Zingloo searched, for hours but could not find his son. Defeated, he rowed his boat back to the mainland.


Vindloo soon became the Emperor of the sea with his foresight, his compassion, flexibility, and acumen. His kingdom spread to all the five oceans of the earth. As his children grew, he started missing his father more and more! Vindloo became pensive as the days went by. His wife, who loved him dearly, sensed his dilemma but could do much. Both she and Vindloo knew the rule of the water world. Vindloo walked up to his wife one day and asked her if she knew any news of his land. The Mermaid said,

“My Love, a lot has changed on earth now.

“I want to go, for once and see it for myself, dear Love”, said Vindloo.

“Let me see, what I can do about it, My Love”, said his wife.


The Mermaid went to the wisest soul of the water world and told him her husband’s wish. She wanted to know how he could go visit the land and come back to his kingdom and his family without any repercussions. The wizard gave the Mermaid a box and instructed her to give it to Emperor Vindloo with some words of caution. The Mermaid happily reached Vindloo and gave him the box. She said to him,


“My Love, the Great Wizard wants you to take this box along with you to the land. Do not open this box. Once you swim back to me with the box, I will then take you to the Great Wizard, who will help us understand why he asked you to carry the box with you.”


Vindloo returned. Everything looked different in his land of his birth! He could not find the hut he lived in anymore. Concrete roads, huge bungalows adorned the place instead. Thwarted, he walked up to some fishermen by the wharf. The Wharf! It looked completely different and broader than before, and stronger.


He asked them, “Do you know of a fisherman named Zingloo? Can you tell me where he lives?”


The fishermen stared at him in amazement and informed, “Zingloo, the fisherman died about 200 years ago. We can definitely tell you the way to his grave!"


Another one quipped in, "Zingloo contributed greatly to making our town, our community prosper. Zingloo died as an Emperor of ZinVin. He renamed the town in the memory of his beloved son who had drowned while they had gone fishing at the sea.”


Vindloo was still a young man, yet the fishermen said that his father had died two centuries ago! How could this be? This was staggering! He had not been there to say goodbye to his beloved father, nor to take care of his last rites. Vindloo walked up to Zingloo’s grave and arranged all the aquatic gifts and pictures of his immediate family on his father’s. On his epitaph was written “Zingloo- the proud father of Vindloo.” Two centuries of tears flooded the cemetery yet Vindloo was completely parched.


Getting up from his father’s grave, Vindloo opened the box his treasured wife had given him. Unaware that the box contained the elixir of youth. Vindloo aged drastically within seconds and was reduced to a skeleton and then to ashes. A sweet aquatic breeze carried his ashes and covered Zingloo’s grave. The Emperor of the Sea and The Emperor of the Land, who had separated hundreds of years ago- the father and son were together again.


Author: Kundan Bhagwati


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