Birthday on the Wheelchair

 I could see five faces, all lost, all of them resembled those walls which have been torn down.

All of them had sockets for eyes, black sockets, dark and hollow but shy and a little bit malevolent.

Heads were swaying in a scared-pendulum-ly fashion. They took extra seconds in coming back to the normal center position.

I could feel the bubbles in me reaching up-till my neck, bubbles of some feeling which was looking for some emergency exit inside me.

I closed my eyes and tried to look for words, I was fool enough to trust the words.

I started making some parable in my liver, tried to keep up with the train of the mental thought, which was a little bit slower than this train, in which I was in.

I closed my eyes to add some dramatic effects, from outside I am sure I was looking handsome with that abject face.

Eyes closed, lips pursed, disheveled hair, three vertical lines on my forehead danced and I filled my lungs with extra air.

My concentration got broken when I heard nervous giggles from two girls, they were standing five feet away from me.

They were not there when I had closed my eyes, now they were there.

One girl seemed like a Norwegian, broad shoulders, burnt light brown shoulder-length hair, sore lips, life-less eyes.

The other one seemed like an Indian girl, an Indian who had never lived in India , crew cut hair, pierced ears and almost-no lips.

They were looking in each other’s eyes while talking, they were in love with each other.

I tried to over-hear their conversation which kind of scared me.

They were discussing about some unknown breed of Penguins in the Northern Antarctic region, who could fly with their flaps, thrice as big as normal penguins and ate humans.

Pseudo-Indian said that her Professor’s brother used to work for some people who went to make a documentary on this breed.

And those penguins ate the whole shooting crew, they didn’t even leave their bones.

Those penguins , they claimed, had the potential to eat whole of the human race.

At that very moment I realized what I wanted to do.

In my head, I had written one poem which I wanted to recite to them.

I didn’t know them, of course, but still I wanted them to hear my poem which was about green bubbles.

But their love for each other made me jealous and I changed my decision.

Their love was contagious, I just wanted to look at them talking to each other, I got enamored.

They were holding each other’s hands and I could see their thumbs rubbing the back of the hand.

I was touched by their uncorrupted love and I felt like crying in front of them.

It was so pure that I couldn’t look away and I forgot about my poem.

They got off on some station whose name I didn’t want to know, that idea didn’t amuse me much.

Love in pure form was shining like a stain-less steel knife on that station.

The glow of it pinched my eyes and I closed my eyes again.

I had not forgotten that it was my birthday and I was going to some place where I had planned a drunken gathering.

I had invited some people whom I really didn’t know and I was already getting late but I still wanted someone to hear my poem.

I got off on a random station and I started walking in the street full of hazy fog.

I tasted fog from my eyes and it was sweet; unlike sugar, more like honey.

I saw an old man waiting for someone on the street, he was in his tweed jacket and he was sitting on his wheelchair.

I stood on the opposite side of the road and waited for the same thing which he was waiting for.

I had a paperback book of some dark short stories and I started reading them in the dark.

After nine minutes, a car full of old people arrived and that old man got off from his wheelchair  and hopped inside the car, leaving his wheelchair on the side-walk.

His wheelchair was shining like a newly bought aluminium bicycle, it reminded me of my first bike which got stolen from outside my school.

I sidled up to the  wheelchair and sat on it.

After sitting on it, I started moving the tyres and I felt good.

I must have driven the wheelchair for almost sixty minutes when I started feeling tired and bored.

I didn’t want to walk or run so I waved my hand for lift from an ugly purple car.

Some newly married couple was in it and the wifey was on the driving seat, she was pissed drunk.

The hubby held my hand from his window and we covered some seven kilometer distance like that.

Me, sitting on my birthday gift wheelchair, zooming away to glory, holding some random married guy’s hand.

On the way he told me about his younger brother’s story who was specially challenged.

His brother had a disability where he couldn’t stand or walk on his feet in winters.

And somehow his family had to shift to a city where it was cold through out the year.

He told me that his brother looked exactly like me, except I was bald and his brother had long red hair.

He told me that his brother committed suicide. He ate a lot of marmalade which had rat poison in it, which actually didn’t kill him but after eating it he tripped over and slipped in his bathroom and knocked his head on the toilet seat.

They dropped me off to the place where all the people were drinking alcohol and the occasion was my birthday.

I invited the couple but the wifey was sleepy and they told me that they didn’t fancy me that much.

I waved them goodbye, they reminded me of my parents but they were almost my age.

Before climbing the stairs I folded the wheelchair and started reciting my poem to it.

When I was through I realized that the Wheelchair started moving and it made some kind of metallic sound.

I took it as critical appreciation and round of applause and bowed.

I left the wheelchair there on the sidewalk and climbed up the stairs.



Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , ,

2 thoughts on “Birthday on the Wheelchair

  1. Purnimodo says:

    Yay Yay Yay!!! Another Talib… or as Smeagol would say.. my precious, we wants it!!

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s


humming and hawing with words

culture monks

interdiciplinary arts praxis

Bartholomew The Novella

Bite the apple. Take a risk.

Drew Iaconis

Everything on Mindset, Affiliate Marketing & Blogging


A great site

ray shannon spicer



Only selected advertising


Woh kare baat toh har lafz se khushboo aaye, Aisi boli wohi bole jise Urdu aaye. -Poet Ahmed Wasi-

Museum Nerd (>140)

This is where I post when it won't fit in a tweet.

Driven to Verse

Poetry and Prose, by Mark Scherz

Covered in Beer

by Thomas Cochran, Known Moron

Eli Glasman

Site of author Eli Glasman

Gotta Find a Home

Conversations with Street People

Sick and Sick of It

But Still Living The Life

The Indian Express

Latest News, Breaking News India, Today Headlines, Election Results 2018 Live News


There are no foxes here

The life of almost every 20 something

This site is the cat’s pajamas

%d bloggers like this: