The Wordsmith's Blog

(A few days later…)

He was looking out of the window, staring at the dreamy sunset. He couldn’t make up his mind on what to do next. On Tom’s insistence he had stayed back until he had recovered from his bruises completely. The lack of a destination or a goal was what bothered him. Until he had found what he wanted to do, there was no point in pondering over the question. Flashes of his past caught up with him time and again, and he reluctantly shrugged off the urge to go back and fight his devils.

Whilst he stayed with the Wilson’s he helped them in household chores, he thought of himself as the handy-man, working odd jobs, fixing things, helping out on their farm. He did not care about the work that he did, it was a distraction and a pleasant one at that. The Wilson’s did not mind an extra hand but they were wary of his past. So far they had only learnt his name, Gordon.

Tom walked in and saw Gordon gazing out of the window. “Have you decided where you want to go? There is a wagon going to the next town tomorrow and maybe you can hitch a ride with them, if you want.” Gordon nodded, it was time to move on he thought. “I’ll speak to McArthur, he’s driving the wagon and should be able to accommodate you for a small fee”, Tom said. “I am grateful to you and your family for all you have done for me. I hope to be able to repay you for the kindness you have shown”, said Gordon. Tom said nothing. He would have felt a little more compassionate towards Gordon had he known him better, however no such thing had happened over the past few days.

The next day Gordon set out with McArthur toward the next town, Greenville, not knowing where it will lead him. It was important not to let inertia set in, and he did not wish any harm to befall the Wilson’s. It was good this way, him all alone and in his elements! The journey was just over six hours and McArthur was not the chatty kinds, which suited Gordon all the more.



When he woke up, he didn’t know where he was. The events of the past were coming back to him, but they were nothing but a big blur accompanied with a lot of noise. His whole body felt sore, as if he had been put through some hard labor. He looked around him. He was lying in what seemed to be an old broken down barn. The old stained mat that he was sleeping on could have served some other purpose than its current, and he didn’t bother to imagine what it could have been. He suddenly got up and rushed to the door. He could hear some voices, none of which seemed familiar.

Instinct told him it wasn’t safe to go out. After all, he had no idea where he was and who he was with! He heard someone approaching the door, and he ran to find a place to hide. The door opened and in came a young woman. That was strange, he thought, for he hadn’t heard a female voice earlier. The woman called out, “You can come out now, no one’s going to hurt you”. “Who are you? Where am I? What am I doing here?”, he questioned while coming out of his hiding shelter. “Come on out and we’ll tell you everything”, she said reassuringly.

Slowly he walked out of the room following the woman. They entered another room through a narrow passage. This room was bright with large windows and sturdy wooden furniture. In the room he could see another woman with three men sitting around a round table. They stopped talking as he walked into the room. One of the men who was tall and heavy-set got up and walked toward him. “My name’s Tom Wilson, and these are my brothers Nick and Ryan”, he said pointing to other men, “The woman seated is my wife, Jennifer, and the young lady who escorted you out is our sister, Josie”, he continued. “So who are you? And what were you doing in this town?”, he asked.

“My name is.. how does it matter what my name is? I’m a nobody and I’m grateful that you gave me shelter, but I must leave now”, he said. Tom moved across him blocking his way as he sought to walk out the door, “No, you cannot leave! We believe you are in some sort of danger. Do you remember how you reached here? We found you on the street, bruised, battered and left to die! I don’t think going out would be a wise idea”. He looked amused, his eyes were seeking some distant memory that seemed to evade him. “I don’t remember anything that happened in the past few days. I know I was walking through the desert alone, when I hitched a ride and reached a small town. I was having my dinner at a deli and then suddenly everything goes blank. I need to find out what happened, and If I’m in trouble then I wouldn’t want you people to be a part of it”, he said.


It was hot. The sun scorched the earth with relentless perseverance. He stood listless, searching for a sign of life in that arid land. The only tree that could be seen for miles was barren, stripped off its leaves and standing there prone to the harsh tendencies of the sun that reigned supreme. He had to go on nevertheless. The mirages he conjured kept him amused if not disheartened.

He had left everything behind. He was forced rather. Away from home, nowhere to go and no one to meet. He was a loner the last few months, anyway. Bad decisions and bad company had left him desolate. The only thing that kept him going was hope. Hope in the search of a new beginning. He knew that he had to keep going on, for it would not be long when his past caught up with him. And with that knowledge he had set out.

After a few hours in that land, while even hope seemed to give way, he could hear what he thought was a motor-vehicle coming toward him. He smiled to himself, imagining this to be another trick his mind was playing on him. But lo, a vehicle did pull up beside him after a few minutes. It had been so long that he had seen anyone that he had almost forgotten that he had a voice in his throat. It was an old truck with a short stubby man with a large handle bar mustache at the wheel. He hollered, “Hey buddy, where are you going? I’m heading toward the city and I don’t mind some company ‘ere. Care to join?”. He nodded and gingerly got into the truck. (He should have known better!)


Un lamhon ko kya yaad karna
Jinki yaad bana deti hai aankhon ko nam
Un baaton ko kya yaad karna
Woh jo beet gaye dete hue gham
Ae dil bas muskuraate rehna
Kabhi na kabhi mushkiley honge kam

Intezaar karna bhi koi khel hi hai
Bas khel mein na haar na jeet hai
Gar mil jaaye jiska ho intezaar
Thodi si hogi khushi phir naya legi aakar

Alag alag raston ko dekha parakhkar
Chalte rehna hi zindagi ne hamein sikhaya
Kabhi gehrai toh kabhi bulandi ko dekha chakhkar
Manzil ko paana nahi aasaan yeh dikhlaya
Manzilein badlengi har padaav par
Chalte rehna bejizhak hai zindagi ne batlaya

We were waiting for the sun to rise
A ray of hope, waiting for the hopelessness to demise
A draft of wind to blow away the darkness within
Or just a piece of paper thin

It had been a wait so long, so forlorn
Time stood still while we hobbled on
Want had turned into a gruesome need
As is our wont, inaction gave way to deed

Every act burdensome
Every body lonesome
Every move instilled dread
Every word inspired hatred

It started slowly, a buzz all around
First one knew, soon it was abound
The light that shone in the distance
Radiant, shorn of all askance

It engulfed us one at a time
Freeing us of the shame, freeing us from the crime
And while we now wait for the drops of dew
Hail to thee, it’s a beginning new

Dear Diary,

Do you know what is the worst thing for someone like me? There is so much time on my hands, that I don’t know what to do with it! I wish I had so much time when I was alive, however, I’m not sure what I’d have done with all that time even then.

It’s not like I’ve led a very busy life, you know? I’ve had a nice lazy life – not much pressure, nothing to be tense about. Even at work, I was lucky enough to have a few days in a week without much work at all. Oh yea! It sucks at times – particularly if its the third day in succession that you don’t have a lot to do. But then you get paid at the end of the month, and I guess I made peace with that thought!

I wonder sometimes now, if I could have changed all that. Yes, a career might not have defined me – but – and this is a BIG but – I might have done something I actually enjoyed doing! Martin Luther King Jr. said “A man who has not found something he is willing to die for, is not fit to live.” And woe is me, that I am dead and yet I haven’t found something like that. Does it mean I am not fit to be dead either?

Well, then, what would I have done? Pursued a hobby, maybe? A collection, a musical instrument, or simply written a book? The choices were many, inclination – that was scarce. And not only am I talking about doing something aside from my day job, but also something that I would have liked doing for a living. I wonder what stopped me!

Maybe, it was the lack of a conviction of what I really wanted to do. Maybe, it was just the lack of guts and resolve required to give up what I was doing, and plunge headlong into the unknown. Or a combination of both! But hey, I died young and never got the time to think about all that. You see dear diary, this is the greatest irony of all the people – while they are alive they don’t have the time to think about what they want to do, and while dead they have all the time and don’t have the ability to do. The rat race keeps us occupied and we keep ploughing on and on until the end!

Dear Diary,

Today is a day of recollecting a few things I miss the most from when I was alive. First and foremost – all the five senses – touch, smell, taste, see and hear. Well, see and hear I don’t miss a lot – because those I still surprisingly retain, else I wouldn’t have been able to write the earlier two pages in this diary! I dearly miss touch, smell and taste!

This feeling of missing the senses was brought about after I came across a restaurant review on a blog –

While watching movies makes one feel that there is a way to retrieve some of the lost senses, I doubt that that is the case in reality!

I miss riding! I was an avid rider and owned the prince of bikes – the Royal Enfield Classic 350! ‘Prince’, because it was the smaller cousin of the more dynamic and royal – Classic 500. I remember having first had the taste of the 500 as a pillion to a friend. By the end of the ride, I had tears in my eyes – not because of the beauty of the beast I had just ridden, but the wind which made my eyes water travelling at 80 kmph and at times touching 110 kmph. I was both happy and relieved that it was only my eyes that were wet and not my pants! However, that ride did invoke multitude feelings of rebellion, ecstasy and an over-powering sense of freedom! And I ended up buying the aforementioned 350!

From then on, it was just a love story between metal, fuel, tarmac and my flesh, sweat and blood! Add to it the heightening of all the senses while riding – seeing the villages flash by, tasting the bees and insects that cannot but avoid getting into your mouth, touching the accelerator and pushing the engine to its limits, smelling the fields as they pass by and lastly hearing the thumpa-thump of the beast in unison with the rhythm of your heart beats! Sigh!

I miss coffee! The early morning starter that had me up and running almost everyday. It was the fuel to my engine. I did not really get into the technicalities – decaf, latte, espresso, filter, fresh ground, heck even vending machine – all worked. It was the aroma more than anything else that had me in good spirits. I think, I was even slightly intoxicated once on having a rather large mug of black coffee!

I miss dancing! All inhibitions, all pain, all sorrows kept aside, the movement, the rhythms, the feeling of being one with the music, the steps, the hips, the hands – and eventually drowning in the music!

And although the list doesn’t end there, I guess it is enough for today! For there will be days when I come back to you, O Dear Diary, and barrage you with another such tirade! Until then, so long.

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The Past