Olive Chaudhuri

//  As I sat there, looking down my terrace with a cigarette between my fingers, I felt empty. It felt like all the reasons I loved about being alive, are suddenly my reasons to end my breathing. I was smiling with tears, as smoke exhaled after every drag was vanishing in heavy winds like the 15 stories high building is consuming more cigarettes than my lungs. “Aasra!” Namit said out of breath. “I knew I would find you here” “Hey” I smiled. His presence to me does what charging do to a dying battery. He came and sat with me carefully. “This part of terrace has no railings, you should be very careful here Aasra, especially during nights.” He was right how come I never thought about jumping from here? How will it feel like? Then I can hear my own voice roaring in air like thunder while going down. But, what about the burden of culpability I am carrying? Will it vanish with my breathing? “Aasra” He signalled on the cigarette which was now ignited to the verge of the filter end and abo...

  // Smoking, to her father, came as naturally as breathing. He smoked and breathed and breathed and smoked. And each time he was away, she'd sneak into the ashtray and pick the filter butts. She had a liking for the smell of cigarettes and loved it more when her fingers smelled of them. But, this story isn't about her father, his smoking, or her sniffing - actually, it's about cigarettes and him. She doesn't smoke, was never tempted to. He's been smoking for the last three months now, has been trying to kick the butt. They spend their cigarette breaks together, in the company of one other office colleagues. He shares his cigarette with the colleague who wears a nude gloss. And each time, as their fingers kiss while handing the cigarette to each other, she feels the ash of jealousy being smeared on her insides. She wonders what his cigarette tastes like - him, the colleague, the women he makes love to, rum, leftover tea, half-burnt lips - all this while she catches ...

It started raining. I was in my balcony with a cup of chai. My Bluetooth speaker was belting out 'Ranjish Hee Sahi, Dil dukhane ke liye aa' Every night you come to your balcony for a smoke. Maybe you know I'm here, but you never look to where I'm sitting. Some nights I hear the strains of the guitar coming from your balcony when I'm lying in my room, sleepless. I know that you like your coffee cold with a spoon of sugar in it, pasta for dinner, you like to smoke cigarettes on your balcony every night after work and when it rains you sleep there. I know it sounds stalkerish, but when our Balconies face each other, it's inevitable that I know. I don't know why, but lately I have this desire to talk to you, ask about your day and his. I haven't seen him since the lockdown began, the other day I saw you taking down all his pictures, you were talking angrily on the phone, you took out everything that looked like was his and threw it out. You smoked a cigarett...