Knock, Knock

By K. Singh

Knock, Knock
A few words for you
She Wrote to Me
Knocking
Girls
Time Changes
Shambles
Ran Away
Tears
Waiting
My Home
Life Wasted
I was Shocked
One More Departed
I Disagreed
Reflection
Changed Time
Fearless Love
Please Forgive Me
Property
Back to Earth
One More Chance
She Should be Happy
Justice
Insult
We Talked
Her Tale
Saint and Prostitute
She was Only a Robot
Whispers
The Thief
Grandmother's Love
Daughter and that Boy
Last Wish
Good Life
His Mother
Sky is Yours
My Beloved

A few words for you

There are millions of stories in this world, some told, some untold! The truth is that there are many stories in the lives of every human being, but it is not necessary that all the stories have been converted into words and conveyed to the readers or listeners!

The stories we are presenting in this book have never been heard or read by you! We can be sure that these stories will stay with you in some corner of your mind for the rest of your life, and maybe some of these stories will change your life completely!

There are many colors, many fragrances, many themes, and infinite expressions in these stories of ours that will surely touch the bottom of your heart!

So just start reading these and get to know the aspects of life that you know nothing about!

Good luck

T. Singh

• Language: English
• Publisher: Raja Sharma
• Release date: May 10, 2022
• ISBN: 9781005153243

Book preview

Knock, Knock

K. Singh

www.smashwords.com

Copyright@2022 T. Singh

Knock, Knock

K. Singh

Smashwords Edition

All rights reserved

Knock, Knock

A few words for you

She Wrote to Me

Knocking

Girls

Time Changes

Shambles

Ran Away

Tears

Waiting

My Home

Life Wasted

I was Shocked

One More Departed

I Disagreed

Reflection

Changed Time

Fearless Love

Please Forgive Me

Property

Back to Earth

One More Chance

She should be Happy

Justice

Insult

We Talked

Her Tale

Saint and Prostitute

She was Only a Robot

Whispers

The Thief

Grandmother's Love

Daughter and that Boy

Last Wish

Good Life

His Mother

Sky is Yours

My Beloved

A few words for you

There are millions of stories in this world, some told, some untold! The truth is that there are many stories in the lives of every human being, but it is not necessary that all the stories have been converted into words and conveyed to the readers or listeners!

The stories we are presenting in this book have never been heard or read by you! We can be sure that these stories will stay with you in some corner of your mind for the rest of your life, and maybe some of these stories will change your life completely!

There are many colors, many fragrances, many themes, and infinite expressions in these stories of ours that will surely touch the bottom of your heart!

So just start reading these and get to know the aspects of life that you know nothing about!

Good luck

K. Singh

She Wrote to Me

It was Sunday. That day was a holiday for all men. That's why I used to go to Shabbo in the brothel.

One day, it was Shabbo who told me, You come here on Sunday because there are not many people here on Sunday.

I asked, What do you mean by not having many people?

You are not married right now. That's why you do not understand my point. When you get married, then you will understand! Shabbo said, after taking a sip from the glass kept in front of him.

She paused for a while and said again, Married men stay in the house on Sundays with their wives, and on that day they cannot cheat on the wife! You understand, don't you?

I just shook my head and indicated that I understood her point.

The bell of Dharavi's bell tower rang. It was four o'clock. But inside that brothel, the voice of that middle-aged prostitute was so loud that the bell could not be heard.

A prostitute while grooming her hair, standing in front of the mirror, said, That young man has come! That prostitute was very naive, impolite, and blunt. Although most of the customers used to come to her, she could not attract me.

Her body was so beautiful that the customers did not even look at the other prostitutes. Well, I didn't know the name of the woman sitting on the bed in front of my chair, but I didn't care about that.

To me, she was just a prostitute. She was middle-aged and was also very strong.

Most of the prostitutes did not speak a good language to most of the customers, but the middle-aged woman, seeing me, used to tell her prostitutes, Keep talking with this man with love! This poor man is a poet!

That day, when I went to that brothel, I looked here and there and started looking for Shabbo. I asked, Where is Shabbo?

The middle-aged woman simply said, Shabbo died three days ago. She had AIDS!

I was just stunned because I used to go to that brothel only for the sake of Shabbo.

Then the middle-aged woman placed a piece of paper in front of me and said, Shabbo left this letter for you!

The writing in that letter was very bad and could be read with great difficulty. But after some hard work, I was successful in reading it.

The letter read: "My journalist friend, I will die today or tomorrow. I request you to never come to this brothel after my death.

No one used to say anything when I was alive, but the girls here criticize your poems in a suppressed manner.

The girls here say that ever since you started writing poetry about this place and us prostitutes, people's sympathy and feelings towards us have increased.

Business has come down because now girls spend more time reading books late at night. And then they fall asleep during the day.

Their customers are no longer happy with our brothel girls because you have made everyone adopt the habit of reading.

Many girls don't even do their makeup anymore. I myself stayed up all night reading the works of your favorite poet, Keats, not caring about getting more brokerage for more customers.

You once asked why the idols of God in our brothel face the ceiling.

In fact, our beds used to be in front of these idols till I came. But one night when I was with a man, I felt that the idols had rolled their eyes. Since then, these idols have been looking towards the ceiling.

I liked your poems because you tried to show man and God their status. And the day I was gathering the courage to tell you that I had become selfish, I was told that I had AIDS.

I survived a crime, and you survived a litmus test. The emancipation of prostitutes your poems talk about would have been in the context of that.

Although I believed that you would honor my faith, I was also prepared for the risks. Anyway, dying with faith is much better than dying as an unbeliever.

I am giving you an address with great anticipation. My younger sister lives at this address; I hope she will like your poems too. And not only will she like them, but she is also in dire need of your poems at this time. "

Your Shabbo.

Just after closing the letter, my eyes became moist and I started walking down the stairs of the brothel with very tired steps. The address she gave me was her sister's address to another brothel in the same city!

Knocking

There was a very slight knock on my bathroom door. 

That knock could hardly be heard. Even so, that knock had shattered the peace!

I was inside the bathroom. There was complete peace. To call it silence would not be an exaggeration.

But then I started wondering whether that knock had really happened or if it was just my imagination!

Then that knock happened again! This time there was a knock on the door of the room connected to the bathroom.

But this time the sound of the knock was very loud and I felt it was coming from very close!

I closed my eyes and held my breath, waiting for the next knock. I was sure that the knock was going to happen again.

Every night, I'd listen to that knock on the door again and again, convinced that it was just my imagination.

I thought that the knock was inside my mind. I wish that was true!

Hearing the knock two or three times that night, I would probably have forgotten after a while.

But as soon as I came out of the bathroom, it was written on the floor of the corridor in front of the door, Let me in!

My husband's slippers were lying some distance from that writing. I was blown away.

Because I had kept those slippers from my husband three years ago after his death in a warehouse built in a room below the house!

My senses were blown away. I ran into the bedroom and closed the door from inside. Then there was the knock.

I did not respond. I felt bad that night. 

When the knocking started happening again and again, I started shouting loudly, You are dead! I killed you! You can't do anything to me now!

I killed you by mixing poison in your food. There was a reason.

You used to celebrate every night with that girl, and I used to cry alone in the house.

You're no longer alive, and even your soul can't hurt me now.

Yes, you can just knock and move the slippers around! Go away and let me sleep! "

Then suddenly, there were three