Shatter

She is a million shattered pieces, held together by hope.
Some faint idea that strings up those pieces and keep them together enough to count as a person living through a day.
The make up and the fancy clothes cover the rest like a disguise. The smile is an ornament - just a contraction of muscles exercised to blend in and let the cracks go unnoticed. But in those moments when no one is looking, the eyes fail to keep up with the lie. A soundless cry for hope echoes through those faint corridors into her soul. She's holding on. She's scattering within. And then she sees them see her and that smile comes on again. That corridor is closed again. But the echoes carry on with you. You wonder if you even heard them at all.
Her smile is like a flashlight of happiness. Her look is like she knows it all. But those cries of a shattering soul held together by hope. You wonder.
Was it her?
Was it really her?
Or was it just a reflection...
of you.

- Pushkaraj S Shirke

In silence

The rain poured loud on the asbestos roof above as he rushed her indoors and shut the umbrella to get in. He set the umbrella in a bucket to drain and made place for her to sit in the tiny little rustic cottage. It was years since they had met each other. It was a chance meeting on a vacation near a place she knew was his village. He was now a shadow of what he had been then. His vibrancy reduced to trembles, his confidence now painted in undertones, his outspoken gestures now reduced to whispers. She had never seen him like this. 

He ambled though the little makeshift kitchen in his single room abode that was part home and part attic - piled with creaking cupboards from above which peeked old steel trunks. She wondered what a man of his meager means hoards in trunks so large. Her 8 year old daughter had a room bigger than his entire house. Leaks on the walls reeked of moulds and you could hear the rats squeak beneath the walls. But it didn't seem to deter him. He still managed to smile back when her gaze met his eye as he fumbled to pour the tea into tiny steel cups. This was the quietest conversation they had ever had. All she could feel for him is pity, but still somehow there was something about him she could not piece together. 

10 years of being apart, being a successful artist and being married to the man of her dreams, there was still something about this man she couldn't comprehend. She wasn't his to keep and yet there was this tenderness in his eyes towards her. The warmth in his concern for even her smallest discomfort was still the same it was so long ago - as if time had never passed between them. 

She half expected him to hold her and kiss her, but he kept his distance. 

"How does it feel like to finally be an artist?" He asked. "It's great" she replied as if by reflex. But then pondered a little and answered him with bare honesty "it's good." 

She paused a while and he waited patiently for her to continue. 

"I guess I was never a great artist. But it was a dream I had and I chased it. That is what makes me happy."

He sipped at his tea and reminded her with a gesture that hers wa getting cold too. 

Taking a sip, she continued "I don't know if I would have been able to even chase this dream, let alone live it, if It weren't for my first collection that sold out." 

"I remember that one" he said. A nostalgia soaked smile returning to his face. 

"It gave me faith that I could live this far fetched dream of mine - and that's what drove me all the way to where I am today."

The room retired to silence for a while. The rains had gone silent. The trickling water from the roof slowed down to a drip ticking like a metronome into the steel pot below. 

"The rains have stopped. And it's getting late. I must go now." She said half apolegetically. 

He just nodded softly and took te empty cup from her hands and said "it was nice to see you again."

Silence ensued again as she got ready to leave, tying back her hair and folding up her umbrella. 

"Funnily, I haven't been able to trace a single purchaser of my first set of paintings." She said as she pulled her kurti straight and dusted it, ready to leave. He turned away to put the glasses back on the sink. 

"If someday I do, I will go and personally thank each one of them. But I bet it got them the same kind of luck they brought me." A giggle lit her face . 

"You still look as beautiful as you did back then when you smile. You better take care of that smile." He said glancing at her from the mirror before turning towards her with a smile. 

There it was again. That smile that she could never figure out. "I will." She replied without a word spoken, with a nod that suggested an understanding that had never died. 

As she left, the cottage was swallowed by silence once again as it drowned into the night. Only interrupted by the muffled engine roar of the car that drove away. 

That night, the croaks of frogs and the chirps of insects were accompanied by the creak of an old trunk being opened with shaky hands, moist eyes and that incomprehensible soft smile. 

An old trunk full of paintings from an artists first work. 

-Pushkaraj S Shirke

Legacy: what will you leave behind?

 
Written and Directed by
Pushkaraj S Shirke
DOP: Haruhico Nishioca
DA: Emir Kahn Bautista
Editor: Rohon Nag
Starring: Ray Martell Moore & John Marcus




Based on a True Incident, this film tells the story of a young, african american boy unwillingly forced into crime by circumstances and his chance encounter with a stranger that will change his life forever.
The film explores the conflict between circumstances and choices as catalyzed by one act of a stranger.

Filmed as a Student Project for New york Film Academy
This has not been made for any commercial purposes.
The film was shot within 2 hours, edited in a day and the music used is stock music. And the shitty sound is owing to a restaurant owner who didn't allow us to switch off the TV for 5 mins. The story, is intact nonetheless.

Special thanks to Tassos Rigopoulos and Piero Basso Aic for their valuable lessons and time.

- Pushkaraj S Shirke

a swan on my window...

a small wound on my leg is bleeding.
its the usual day otherwise. cloudy morning. people too lazy to claim their weekend sleeping in. quiets roads and busy barber shops. but for one motorist who's got some reason to rush back home - who knocks into me as i step across that fateful gate.

"fuck" i mutter "dude... look where you're going"
he almost misses the brown stray who scampers away as soon as the bike halts.

the biker looks more worried than me. don't know the physics of how exactly it happened in that one short screech of a moment but there's a stin on my leg and blood is just beggining to trickle down my denims.
"sorrry sorrry!" he's petrified as people gang up to interfere.

"im ok... its ok" i wave away the people with a light gesture and the guy restarts his bike and hurries on.
i dust off my clothes and walk on towards the place where i'm supposed to meet a friend for brunch. and what lies behind that gate is something i'd never really expected. something i wont be able to explain for a long long time.

as i walk in, i see her. she's just another woman. nothing special - i heuristically judge by the auto-pilot system every man is born with. she's not even my 'type' - if there's such a thing that is.
no black nailpaint. no tattoos. no glares that hide her eyes. not even an athletic figure. she's just sitting there simply in her black embroidered kurti and white denims. like buddha under the tree. only that she's got no halo around her - instead she's got her silky hair in a small bun kept in place with a little wooden pin. she's writing in a little notebook that seems expensive.

A tiny roughly made candy paper origami swan sits beside her.

I 'm used to evaluating people and it's a function of myself that i can't really stop anymore. i size up people and categorize them - no one's special - everyone fits into one of the 24 categories i know. and it's pretty perfect.
i haven't even walked upto the lobby as yet, and she's already a specimen. filed. and placed.

plinkkk. plinkkk.
my cell beeps and i pick up to answer, turning around expecting to see my friend walk in from the gate.

"dude, i'm so sorry. i'll be 10 mins late."
"as usual" i smile as if she can see my smile. "its ok. im already here. buzz me when you reach. come fast."
she mumbles something on the other end - or actually, that's just what i can make out as i passively switch off the call as i turn around again to sit on the stairs. She's right opposite me. still writing something.

a stray walks up to her from nowhere. and she's mildly shocked for a moment. is she that delicate? stupid chick! i speak to myself in my head. but then she sees the dog looking up to her and lays aside the book. she quells her fear and reaches out her hand to the dog who curiously comes up to it and touches it with his snout - touching her fingers with a tiny acknowledging lick. and i think that's the moment it happened. she smiles like she's never had such a moment ever before.
its as if eve touched another living creature for the first time. she's full of surprise and amazement and excitement and all kinds of emotions powerful enough to make her fair cheeks blush up with joy. and over-ride that still existent minute wall of fear.
and she looks up at me with that smile still on her face....

yes, that's the moment.
all those little files in my head are scattered. infact, for that one moment, there's no file drawer itself anymore. its a clean, empty desk. maybe with a candy paper origami swan on it at the most.

i smile back out of reflex. definitely not intentionally - coz im way too confused at having my mind behave this way. and then i smile again, this time intentionally as i walk up to her seeing that she's still a little afraid.
"he wont bite. he likes you."
and she says the most unusual response i've ever heard to that statement: "i feel it." she smiled. "i like him too".

my walk almost pauses as i slow down - amused. most people would say 'are you sure?'.. 'oh he's so cute!'.. 'do you know him'... or some similar usual chatter. but not her. she had already established a mutual reciprocation of emotions between them. and the dog seemed to understand that.
he needed to be loved. and she was capable of loving. it was that simple to them both.

and i stood there, still trying to find a file, again.
the origami bird on the table is the same bird she's left behind under the tree with her diary.

"he seems hungry" i say looking at his frail frame.
"come, let's get him some food" she quickly responds.
my mind says - helllo! you don't even know me and now you want me to go with you and get the dog some food? yes i love dogs. but 'let US get him some food?' that's only the second sentence we spoke!
and yet for some strange reason, i find myself complying to that request... maybe coz a hint of that smile still lingers there.

i pet the little brown mutt and he scampers along with us back to the gate side chai-tapri.
"you shouldn't ignore that cut you know" pointing at my leg she speaks in a clear voice that sounds much like genuine concern... looking at me with those eyes that seem to belong to a 5 year old...
and i realise that i'm walking with a limp - and yet had no sense of the pain all this while. what's wrong with me???

"bhaiiyaaaa... ek packet biscuit dena" she squeaks in the tiniest little kitten voice i've ever heard. and that's pain vanished again as she leans over the shelf for the biscuits i notice her again.
yes again. post my heuristic analysis of her. those soft breasts aren't shoved up with any padding - they seem to melt onto the hard wood of the shelf as they graze against them.
her kurti extends right upto the lower line of her not athletically shapely but yet existent buttocks. her white denims hiding her frail legs that taper down into her pink, out of place pumas.
who wears white denims with pink pumas? seriously???

the judgemental bitch in me is on overdrive but i end up saying "sweet shoes!" and smile. why? i don't know. but they do seem very sweet on her. in fact it would be tough to find anything that would not ook sweet/gorgeous/wonderful on her.
why? she isnt something dropdead gorgeous! where are those files??? and what's that stupid origami bird doing on my table?

she hands the shopkeeper a 5 ruppee coin and turns around
"bad bad habit"
i'm taken aback. did she see me check her out? or is she speaking about my files? oh come on - how would she know! stupid me.
"eh???" i ask with a monosyllable.
she sits down, opening the biscuit pack "sit stupid!" she says while feeding the dog. "show me your leg."
am i missing something here? i think as i continue complying, placing myself on the bench while saying "naaah! its alright!"
"shut up and show me"
i like her. do i? i do. i think.
but why? no way. shut up. where are those files gone? i need to look for more clues.
the dog is now munching on the biscuits as i pet him with one hand and pull up my denims with the other.

"do you order around all strangers you meet?" i ask with a laugh
"that depends on what you mean by strangers - or how you define strangers. right?"
something's wrong here. why is she speaking my words? this is what i say.
i want to know her. i need to know her.
i look at her as she cleans my cut with some water and i could have sworn it was a wound a while back.
"its just a cut"
"yeah. silly biker. the world's full of strangers who are friends right?"
she giggles and blinks both eyes like a kid as if she caugh me playfully taunting her.
that smile again. i need to know her better but my friend will be here any moment.
should i get her number? she seems to be nice. very nice. ok, whom am i fooling? - i'm smitten!

"it'll heal ok?" she prescribes her care in those words. bleeeep bleeeeep. she looks at her silver plated cell.
and as i smile in acknowledgement of her mothering. that's when she drops those words : "i need to go now. you take care."
i'm taken aback again - she was right here this instant. what happened now. "why?" i ask
but without an answer she scurries away like the dog after the accident. before i can put my denim down n follow her out, she's almost into her yellow little car.

as she turns to sit inside, the kurti gets caught on the door and peels away with a small tear at the seams.
small enough to allow a glimpse of her white waist, with small brown circular patches. and a streak running up towards her breast.
is that a tattooo????? that's strange! who is she? and what happened?
she shrugs it off and sits in. shuts the door and the engine revs to life. and she drives away.
the cut dosent hurt anymore. where did she go? did we even have that bizzare encounter? and how could i forget to even ask her name???

wait. should i even bother. this is stupid.

plinkkk. plinkkk.
my cell goes off again. "im at the gate, where are you?"
"just coming!"
i shrug it off. i go hug my friend at the gate.
we walk towards the stairs and im walking without a limp.
"sorry i got late. lets go eat, im hungry...."
im listening as we are walking in and those words fade away as i look at that paper swan still under the tree. the diary was gone. i wonder who took it? she was gone. i wonder why?

"just a minute." i walk down the stairs back to the tree, pick up the little swan, smile, shrug my head and walk back to the stairs.
"what's that?"
"... just a swan" i say as we rush up the stairs together.


at night i sleep. without a limp. just a bruise. the files are back on my desk. but there's no file for her. there's just a swan for that. and a lot of questions... a lot of questions that make me smile.

actually, the swan's not really on my desk. the swan's on my window.... and i'm falling asleep.




- Pushkaraj Shirke

Runaway Stray

It's late in the night. A yellow glow of halogens envelopes the dark roads in a mocking golden sheen. He sits by the roadside. Alone. It's a place he's known too well all his life. Not the roadside, the other place.

It confuses him still of why it feels this way. He still dosent understand how he feels. His tail still wags in happiness, he still rolls over when pet, he still struts on all four feet - but how does he explain himself what the emptiness is that he feels. The emptiness that he himself traded for, to see her happy. Wasn't the happiness supposed to fill in that emptiness? Or was that just something he had hoped for to give him the courage to do what he did?

He had run away from the one home he had found in a long long time. And run, run and run he did till his paws hurt. His white fur was white no more, all dusty and greased, he was hardly the pet he'd come to be. He was again the stray he always had been. But this time atleast it didn't hurt so much. Coz he knew it would help her stay happy. Would she cry? Of course she would. But he believes her tears would heal in a few days and then she'll be happy forver and after. She'll find the happiness she deserves. And a pet who can be more appropriate for her home. And one that wouldn't make as many troubles as him. Or bark as much. Or behave like a street dog - a mongrel - an untamed, waywardly mannered cur like him. Or that is atleast what he believed. He had to.

He still quitely watches her sometimes, from a distance. Knowing that she won't recognize him anymore. He's torn away the collar, but buried it in a place where only he knows where. He still digs it up sometimes - he can smell her on it. And he keeps it close. He watches her smile now and then, without wagging his tail. not to give away the happiness he still feels just to watch her smile. It's what makes the emptiness he still feels a little more bearable. It's what gives him the strength to still keep running on those throbbing paws of his.
Running away from his happiness, and towards her happily ever after.

As he sits in the far away place he has come to know so well. He's still fighting a war with all that he feels. But he dosen't care what the world thinks of him. They may call him a stray all they want. But he knows he's diferent. He's a runaway stray.

tomorrow

Her hair on the pillow... eyes closed... fingers clutching my fingertips. she lay there like an angel. asleep. silent. peaceful. a few hours ago, my mind would have been a maze of questions and thoughts. but now, it was just a stream. a slow and calm one. the kind of calm i always wished existed. The pain was gone. At least for that moment it was.

I looked at the clock half lit by the shadow of the window. Sooner or later it would be time. but for all the while it wasn't, i wanted to be there. just staring at her. would it be worth it? was there any other way? it didn't matter anymore. it didn't matter what lay ahead. i had just lived my perfect life. in the chaos i had come to call a living, i had found my morsel of life.

As for her, i don't know even if she would think of me tomorrow. or the day after that. after all, she would have so much else to think about. Do many things around, so many things to discover, so many things to come. her life is just beginning. As for mine, i don't really know.

Don't even know if all the names she called me by are for real. but they felt nice. warm, somehow. Somewhere in me, I still want to hold on to them. But I also know I can't. Wish to give her the life she deserves, but is it even mine to give? The clock is still striking.

As i stroke her head, the clock comes alive with the glow of headlights. It is time. My bags are already packed. My wife waits for me at the door. The tears in the eyes are wiped clean but the moist skin gives it away. As i take my arm away from the angel in my arms, i think again if it is worth it. This ideal of the greater good that i had come to believe in. The war i'm going for. Is it really worth it? I don't know. But if today was anything to judge by, I'd like to believe I'm going... only so that her tomorrow could be even better.
After all, she's all that matters. My morsel of life.... My daughter.

10 grams

"Whoa fucker!"
the flutter of cards filled the dingy room as they were thrown at my face from the table.
"thats the tenth game in a row man!" he said. guzzling down his whisky.
"fair and sqaure man. fair and square."

"thats it boy! i aint layin anymore bets today. Jesus is taking his vengeance against me today!"

The clutter of now empty bottles on the floor tinkled as the drunk gun-man heaved his grisly frame against the couch. The smoke of cigarettes coughed out of his lungs as i picked him up.
"Good thing i dont drink Bob. i get to kick ur ass to bed everytime u slosh!"

he grinned as he fell onto the creaky large bed and filled it with his snores
zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

I stood in the darkness. at the window alone. staring at the cold rain caressing the fading skyline amidst the darkness. It felt different that day. As if it wanted to tell me something. I should have known.

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"With the destruction of the family, family order (dharma) and eternal order (dharma) are lost. The whole family transforms itself into adharma (disorder or irreligiousness)."
[Chapter 1 Verse 40]
- THE BHAGWAD GITA

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To be contd.....

*This is purely a work of fiction and unlike other works on my blog, does not have any resemblace to my life or anyone else's life that i know of.

Bleed

SMACK! He felt the salty floor cold against his bleeding face. The glow burned down on his eyes that were half shut with the pain. The blurs, the chatters, the shouts.. all seem to fade away.

"Bleed. we all bleed. They say you reach a point in your existence, that tells you your time has come. You recollect your life. Your rights and your wrongs. Your days - happy and bad...watch them right before your eyes and it seems to take away the pain... just moments before you take away that pain... and embrace the silence of the dead. and sometimes you think... MAYBE life could have been someother way."

an hour ago.
The night was silent as he made his way down the dusty road. The yellow lit up the roads standing dead where they had been standing for ages. The winds did not cross his path that day. His dry skin was beginning to work up a sweat around those half dark cirles that hid his eyes. He made his way towards the abandoned mill at end of the road. There were cheering sounds, thuds and claps and a dim golden glow sneaking outof the edges of the large wodden door. He closed his eyes as he reached the door, held a while, took a few slow breaths of air as he knew its may not be that easy once he crossed that door. KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK.
It had been 5 years now.

5 years since that night where the end had begun. He had watched his friend. He had watched a fist smack down a victory to the ground as the crowds fell silent. Held his friends bloody, regret filled face in his hands. "tell mom i'm sorry man... im sorry" he frothed in blood through his mouth. DEAD.
The court case. BANKRUPTCY. The true colours of people. BETRAYAL. Bidding goodbye to the bloodring. A broken new beginning. The struggle. The compromises. HOPE. A new relationship. GLORY. A new circle. LIFE.
and the cirlce goes round again. RELATIONSHIPS OF LIES. The end of ignorance. The broken promises. The knowledge of MATERIALISM. The backstabbers. The fairweathers. The rejections. The firing. The drugs. The booze. The smoke. The dead high. The END OF A DREAM. The completion of a circle. The end of those 5 years. The beginning of today.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK.
"The door opened to a blare of cheers, a golden burning glow and the stink of bloody sweat. Cheering blood crazy bastads filled the room with their filth. The richer dogs hid their scrawny eyes behind dark glasses as they laid their bets on the table. The moron in the 'ring' was getting the flame of life kicked right out of his ass in a way he probably never thought was posible."
The crate came crashing across as the defeated slammed through it, falling right at his feet.
He just stood and stared.
"did i pity him? maybe i did. but then maybe i didnt. maybe he had found what he was looking for. we never know what people come to find in places like these."
The 'matchmaker', as they called him, came up to him with a look that recognised him from a long way back. "am i dreaming or am i mad. look who we have here." he just stood and forced a little smile. "please tell me u r gonna fight again man! i miss the money!... oh and your fighting."
The people around had noticed too. Whispers went around the room like it were on fire. There stood in front of them a face most of them had known a long ago. The silence had killed the victory celebrations of the bearded bastard who now jsut stared at him from the 'ring'.

"I'll fight."
"dont know what i myself was looking for. maybe... for an end to the misery that life had come to be. A pain to kill the pain. An end. yeah,... maybe thats all i was looking for... my Baptism by PAIN."

The dark room seemed to be a part of him – cold. Hard. Flickering. And closed. Memories ran past his eyes in the darkness as he wound the straps around his arms. The training days. The fighting days. Strap by strap. The days of friendship. The day his friend died. The pain on his face. Wound around him. His silhouette stood smothered in the dark. Fists clenched for a battle that seemed like one he had wanted to lose for a long, long time. The battle of life.

SUICIDE.
“It began like just any other fight.”
- “No rounds. No rules. 1 winner” signaling him with his eyes, the matchmaker was ready for his money even as the fight began.
“I was to lose the fight. The matchmaker was to make money. I was to get a percentage.” Knocked fists. 5 steps back. The room full of blood thirsty eyes gleamed with anticipation as they screamed out their lungs for their bets. Money was flying around the golden glow while 2 sweaty bodies stood steady, poised to strike; breathing in puffs, taking in all the air they could for they knew that later on, the same breath of air might just be way too much harder.
- “FIGHT!”
Whhhmmmmmmmmmp! He looked at the grisly fist zip past him as he swerved away. Stumbling a few steps backward. Dodging punch after punch he moved around the circle. Parrying punches. Rallying kicks like kids playing catch. Fooling around the ring. Till it came. CRACK. Right in the ribs. He could feel the aggravated beast knock right into him like a 2 ton bloody dinosaur that was hungry for his ribs. The sounds faded. The crowds blurred. GASP. He pulled in for all the air he could.
Back to his senses in a whipping flash of pain he grabbed at the beasts hair and slapped across his face almost helplessly. Thrashing. Breathing beggar’s morsels of air. Desperate. THUD. The beast’s head banged the floor as he set himself free. And onto his feet as fast as he could.

“I had just tasted the penalty of a mistake. The beast was like a bull-dog, he held on – once in his grasp, there would be no easy way out. But why was I worrying? I somehow… wanted the pain to crush me out.”

The beast shook his head. Turning it with his hands in bursts. The crackling tense muscles freed – he was ready to lash again.
The beast thrashed in. From the corner of his eye he could see the match maker signaling him to put up a little fight to raise the stakes.
The beast was heavy. Movied stong, but slow.
DODGE ….. DODGE. DODGE…… DODGE. DODGESMASH! SMASHSMASHSMASH! SMASHHHHHHH! DOWN.

The beast was down. Spuuuuurt! It had been a few flashes. The beast’s blood was sprayed across the golden glowing dust as he leaned over the floor. Aggravated… and now sworn to brutality. Charged into him. Jumping with both legs into his ribs again. Right across the ring and into the crowd!
BLUR .

“Life flashed by like a scratched up old film on a patched up screen. Memories of times that had put a smile to my face. I could see myself running around my father doing the ‘airplane’ at the park at age 5. my family. my first kiss. my bunch of friends. The pranks we played. The campfires. The day i proposed. the day I graduated. The day I was with her. It all came as if life wanted me to see those few ‘happy’ moments before i finally gave up to the silence.”

BLOOD.
He could see it fly across the glow as his body gave in to the punishment it was being gifted.

to be continued...