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Tuesday, November 20

Poor Old Dmitri

“Pitter Patter…”


Dmitri cursed under his breath for the first time the entire day, long after the sun had set, after the city had plunged into eternal dark gloom and the overcast sky had finally given in to everyone’s expectations.

‘What kind of a ridiculous phrase is pitter-patter?’ he thought.
How could anything this morose and depressing be associated with something that sounds quaint, and pleasant!

Dmitri peered past the blinds and shooed away the birds taking shelter on his ledge.
‘MY Ledge!’ said Dmitri, just for emphasis, to noone in particular.

There was no pitter or patter about the rain tonight.
Just a conglomerate of loud noises, each trying to out-muffle the other. Be it the metallic clink of the rain on tin cans, or the thud of fat drops on concrete, nothing could be heard distinctly.
It was a competitive orchestra of chaos, ridiculing the entity it had set out to create – Music…

Dmitri cursed again, a little louder this time, as he looked wistfully at the roses below. He had taken so much care to grow them, and they were being hammered down to submission by the relentless fat drops of rain.
They’d be dead by morning… He knew it. He would have, on any other day raced down like any protective father would have, but he had already undressed for bed tonight.

He moved away from the window and back into the musty one room apartment.
He breathed in familiar sounds. Like the creak of the floor-board, the rhythmic sound of the leaky tap on a rusty pail, Frank Sinatra’s melancholic voice, and the occasional thunder that dared steal past the environment he’d gotten used to – which was his to cherish.

Dmitri cursed a third time, just for the sheer heck of it, only this time he was loud enough to wake up Lord Barkus, Ms. Gretchen’s 10 year old Retriever.
Dmitri was both glad and angry at himself for that. He was happy to hear the familiar sound of life, but he didn’t really want to get in Ms. Gretchen’s bad books, not with her being the best chef in the world.

Dmitri sat pondering for a long while. He really wasn’t sure if he wanted to write his diary tonight. He hadn’t been around much, and there was nothing that had caught his attention. As his gnarled nails scratched away the few remnants of thin grey hair on his head, he figured he’d save the pages for something really grand. Although there wasn’t much going on in his life, he was positive he’d witness something worthy of mention. Who knows? Tomorrow might turn out luckier.

‘Oh! Who am I kidding!’, he thought aloud and he slowly hoisted himself out of his wheelchair and onto his bed.

The bed shook and the coils creaked as he flailed around trying to find a comfortable spot. As he lay there, haunted by the still sounds of dead things making their presence felt around the room, he couldn’t stop thinking of his roses. He had saved them for something special although he didn’t quite know what it was yet.

Still, he felt that something had changed around him. He drew up the window by his bed and peered into the still darkness, faintly lit by the glow of a city fuelled by crack-whores, late night cab drivers and a flowing stream of alcohol.

The rain was no more. Dmitri felt tomorrow arriving even before he knew it.
And it was going to be a great day!
Dmitri finally fell asleep with a smile on his lips.


Ms. Gretchen plucked every one of the 23 dead roses the next morning with a solemn face.
Lord Barkus was the only other, to say goodbye…



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11 Comments:

Blogger Advitiya said...

A good read, must say...
Liked the ending a lot. Puts life in perspective

Wed Nov 21, 11:11:00 AM  
Blogger Karthik Murali said...

Awesome blog dude .

Wed Nov 21, 10:24:00 PM  
Blogger Pixie said...

dimitri sounds a lot like you...shuffling old incospicuous git who might have died without knowing it himself....

you are alive..i must say i am surprised..or perhaps not..not really sure whether i want to know or not..
anyways you wierd guy whose wit went incognito along with unmentionables...when you do decide you want to turn unhermit like and make human contact..do so..
until then i shall leave a huge hug..shameless and all

Sat Nov 24, 01:16:00 PM  
Blogger Da Rodent said...

There you go. Yet again.. :D

Tue Nov 27, 12:12:00 AM  
Blogger liam said...

the saving grace is dead roses can serve a purpose, too.

the pitter patter of dmitri in his room reminded me of a poe story. cool stuff!

Fri Nov 30, 11:13:00 AM  
Blogger Faithful 2 U said...

Awsome Pics & Sweet Blog!

Drop By Mine Anytime!
http://bitternewspaperlady.blogspot.com/

Sat Dec 01, 01:03:00 AM  
Blogger Sups said...

i have heard that name Dmitri somewhere..
cannt figure out where!!

Sat Dec 01, 04:56:00 PM  
Blogger Pixie said...

welcome to my "crib"...the "whine" is free...;)

besides i still am loyal to spaces..unlike you sniggering sniggerer

Tue Dec 04, 06:56:00 PM  
Blogger cocaine jesus said...

bloody hell mate, this is good. real good. a thouroughly fine read.

Fri Dec 07, 02:37:00 AM  
Blogger Mrinal said...

Well, like I've said before. You're in the wrong place buddy. A stupid management degree doesn't do justice to your kind of talent. When will you ever realise?

Fri Dec 07, 07:52:00 PM  
Blogger farustar said...

nice article wendy! awesome actually :D i'd agree with mrinal


thank you for d comment abt my poem! some how only dark stuff has been churning out...weird wierd...how's the agency scene?

Wed Dec 12, 12:15:00 PM  

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