Saran Rai's Poetry

  Final Conclusion By Saran Rai There is a Kirati folklore about a quarrelsome, sharp-tongued woman who, unable to find pallbearers for her deceased husband, covered his body with a bamboo basket. Later, mushrooms sprouted from the corpse. Truly, how many pallbearers does one have? Thinking about one's own death reveals the extent of one's popularity, as Dale Carnegie once suggested. But even then, after death... I recall a forgotten death. My wife was in the ICU, caught between life and death. There was also a 77-year-old man in critical condition nearby. The doctors recommended dialysis to save him. But his sons refused. Instead, they put him on a ventilator, where he eventually passed away. Dialysis! Twice a week, four hours each session. If conditions worsen, it could be thrice a week! Taking the patient for dialysis, caring for them, and managing the burden while they lived—it’s all an enormous hassle. Waste of time and money! Dialysis—a borrowed life! As lon...

  Dissolution Saran Rai I exist till today. No, I still exist. Will I live until tomorrow, or even just for the next few moments—will I still be breathing or not? As these thoughts linger, I cross the road. They call it modern invention! Vehicles that adapt—driving, flying, floating—spanning the roads, skies, and seas! A young woman, wearing a golden half-mask like a fairy from the movies, suddenly collides into me with a thud. The moment she crashes into me, I dissolve into her. The surrender of the body! Perhaps it was really her? I didn’t even get the chance to think.

  The Nose Stud Saran Rai Among the jewelry stored in the locker, seeing the nose stud pierces my heart. The nose stud had adorned my wife’s nose throughout her life—before our marriage, after it, and even until her final moments. Other pieces of jewelry were pawned when times were hard. Some were even lost because we couldn’t repay the loans. But the nose stud always stayed on her nose. When she was critically ill and admitted to the ICU, a feeding tube was inserted through the hole beneath the nose ring. Even in her unconscious state, she tugged at the tube and pulled it out. At that time, an attempt was made to remove the nose stud to place the tube properly, but it couldn’t be taken off. And until her death, the nose stud  stayed on her nose. I had promised her that I would replace that nose stud with a diamond one. But I couldn’t fulfill that promise. She never asked for it either. And that nose stud always stayed on her nose. The nose stud! Just as i...

  Short Story: Home Author: Saran Rai After attending a grand event, carrying a bundle of joy in my heart, I am returning home late in the evening. Whom should I give this bundle of joy? Whom should I share it with? It is beginning to rot and wither, trapped within my heart. A habit of forty-one years pulls me towards home—the habit of rushing back. But now, there is no wife at home to share the joys and sorrows of the day. A solitary life... In my haste to reach home, my steps falter unexpectedly. Something stirs and swells within me. My late wife’s desire was always: “I want you to remain happy and joyful forever.” Resolving to fulfill that wish, I had set out this morning—dressed neatly in new clothes, making an effort to look cheerful and happy. All day, amidst people, I appeared joyful and content. But now, I don’t feel like going home. The house, where my wife no longer exists but her memories linger... My steps and heart falter—where should I go? Wherever I go, t...