Tales from the Neverbeens

A lonely tree stood in the middle of the field, a blanket of mist behind it. It stood twisted, silhouetted against the blanket of cloud behind. This tree has a history. It never broke. Kamini had always looked up at the tree, wondering how the tree had got twisted. As if an invisible hand turned it several times by its top and held it there eternally. Her life had got twisted in the same way, but she hoped life wasn't as adamant as the tree. She had both feared and hated the tree, until she had her first child. Little Sohail seemed to like to play around the tree quite a lot. There was nothing else to play with around anyways. The little boy grew up and had began his education, but he was always attached to the tree. The father had made a swing for him on the tree, and Sohail would spend most of his time swinging. But one day the branch that had bent down by the weight of the boy suddenly pulled up, and the boy, caught among the ropes, was pulled up too. The rope coiled around h...

I was talking with a very good friend at that time.  I was alone in my room, and she was on the other end of the line. It was past midnight and yet we weren't sleepy. We never were when we were talking with each other. She was the best company. It was then that I realized that the clock was still. It wasn't ticking. "My clock has stopped," I said to her with the hint of a laugh. "It never was running," she said, "Did you forget..." I was perplexed. This clock had been running quite fine from the day she had gifted it to me. Yes, it was gifted to me by her, just like every other time piece I have.  She is very particular about time and time pieces. And the ones that she chose were quite well built. It was as if she was connected to them. As if the sharp tickings were her heartbeat. I remember once when I had lost a watch, and she drove me mad asking me where I had dropped it. It seemed as if she couldn't breathe. And now she tells me that the...

That shadow has been following me since the evening. It's one of those shadows I've always seen in the corners. Of tree trunks and leaves, of walls, of poles and of men. But then it was different too. As if it was moving among the still shadows, as if it rustled among the silent shadows. As I walked along the street the shadow seemed to be following, ever getting a fraction of an inch closer. As if it was bound to reach me very soon but not yet. I gathered the most courage I could and led myself forward. Blind to the time past and ahead. Just getting as close to habitation as I could. The shadow somehow seemed to have a great resemblance with loneliness. But this dark thing was alive, and I knew it. And the street seemed to never end. Other shadows of tree leaves seemed to flutter: of climbers seemed to reach out to my ankles to bind my feet. Ever so close. Yet not reaching me yet. It took me the most part of an hour to reach the place where I could see a house.  It was a lo...

Meditation is one of the first things I do in the morning. Everyday. But last night I was particularly disturbed. I felt as if some strange thoughts had taken upon themselves to not let me sleep peacefully. And I decided to meditate late past midnight. I sat down on the bed, crossed my legs, put my hands on the knees and closed my eyes. I began my journey inwards. Stars and galaxies flashed before my eyes. Those were the thoughts I was having in my mind at that time. I tried to find out the ones that were disturbing me. But then there was something else that made me uneasy. I could feel a presence around me that I had never felt before. I opened my eyes, and saw a pair of black eyes staring at me. A broad face of a lady with an expression that was so blank that it made me feel it was born just to stare at me. And the face did not have any body too. It was just suspended on nothingness. In fact, I realized I wasn't in my room anymore. I was in a black sky covered with stars and g...

I board this train daily. It passes though paddy fields, lakes and forests. Quite a scenic route, but a very isolated one. Only a few sporadic stations along the way, and only a few of them appear to be manned. On one of these stations, everyday, I see a man, a woman and a child of ten or so board the train. Over the days, they have caught my attention, for more reasons than one. For one, the man and the child are always the same, but the lady is always different. Never have I seen the same lady board on two consecutive days, or for that matter, on any two days ever. And the lady always looks depressed. I can almost imagine a stream of tears along her cheek from the distance. It was only today that I got a chance to talk to one of them. For the first time they were seated in my berth. We were seated in complete silence for a while. I stole a couple of furtive glances at them, but did not put any query. Yet. At once, the little boy demanded to be taken to the washroom. The man sudden...

I had always been an introvert. I had never really made friends. Those that I call friends are the people I hide my insecurity behind. They protect  me from those who feed upon other's insecurities. But I have this one particular friend who is different. Different in the sense that is the same as me. We meet everyday in the library, and we hide our faces behind the books in the same way, shielding ourselves from the real world and immersing ourselves in the harmless new world at the same time. "I have never had a friend here since Helen," he said one day. It startled me. We never talked to each other much, a confession was a far cry! "Who was she?" I asked plainly. "She was my wife," he said, "We lived here in the library house." Who lives in a library with family, I wondered. "If you don't mind, what happened to her?" I asked. "She got lost in the books. Never found her since. 'been ten years." There was som...

I was reading a novel. The clock ticked. Half past nine. The book said page 300. The story was quite an extraordinary one. I don't have the liberty to share the story, but I can of course give you the gist. Toby was a boy who lived in a small cottage beside the woods. He liked to watch the animals among the trees. And he liked bee-keeping. These two hobbies took up most of his time. But he had another one which he kept secret from his parents. They were not of the type who would like that habit. Reading. Toby's family was one of the forest families that were scattered among the trees, and hardly interacted with each other. As a result he had no friends except for a squirrel, a snake and a crow. Hunting was the prime occupation of the people, and reading was an entire waste of time for them. So what Toby did was build a secret tree house up in the trees and hide the books up there. Once in a while he would climb up, sit on a bower and get lost in a book. Sometimes he even for...