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(This is a lengthy story based on actual facts. Episodes will be posted over a span of a few weeks.There are going to be NINE episodes in total. For Episode 7 click here . Enjoy!) Episode 8 Two years and a few months months later. Maheen is standing in a huge graveyard. She appears very thin and gaunt. She is staring at a small grave that is located under a very old Neem Tree. Her hands are cupped in front of her; the duppatta is on her head. She is praying. She closes her eyes; a tear escapes and falls on the grave. “Happy birthday my sweet girl.” She whispers. She bends and places a birthday card on the grave and a long stemmed red rose. She turns and walks away. Maheen sits behind her desk and types on her computer. She picks her phone. “Saima please come in my room.” Saima enters with a notepad in her hand. Maheen looks up. “I want the latest updates on the Transsexual AIDS project by this afternoon.” Maheen instructs, “I want to know everything from the room that was hired, ...
Life goes on even when a father lays his son six feet under. It points and laughs at you when you make friends with the wall and wonder. It tackles and pulls you down when you're already trippin' over. It just never stops. Gives in. Lays to rest. Slows down. Takes a breather. Its a never ending circus act, giving tears and laughs to the ordinary. Life's short, shallow and even shit. Everyone's being heard, but only heard and not listened to. Its like Inception. A paradox. A dream within a dream. And you'd just keep waking up and realise that its still not the reality. Its still just a dream. But one day, one day you'll get that kick which would bring you back, to the real world. No more projections. Thats when life would really start. You were never born before. See you till then.
Eyes open and I am gazing out that window and still not seeing. Mind is empty of all thoughts, it’s a bliss rarely found now. Soul vacant of all expectations, a wave of happiness spreads through. Which I yet am unable to feel. And then someone along the way, points at a drop that fell from the skies. How long was the distance that it had to travel from up there, I wonder? How much did it change, from what it was when born? You think too much, I remind myself. That moment where all was forgotten; lost. The drops form a trail on the windscreen. Pitter patter. Stubbornly, it drums down with more force, thrashing on mother earth. What is it trying to prove? Ssshh. I roll down the windows and let the cool wind in. It didn’t come alone; a few raindrops unable to stay tied to the gravity and pushed inside by the breeze did too. A slight shower the entire way as I watch the roads bathe, small bubbles burst as fast as they were formed, lights reflect off the street, rain falling again...
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