Wednesday, 16 December 2015


The most delicate yet forever of most essence,
Trust, to hold by tight without an ounce of pretence...

For the lightest feather swaying in the gentle breeze,
A beauty to watch and yet harmed by a negligent ease...

The closest to us often taken for granted on this front,
Let that not ever disturb the bond to bear its weary brunt...

Time it takes to build this castle on firmer ground,
Patience for brick, grit for mortar and care abound...

To have the core of the selected few touched upon,
A bond to nurture every moment and every little dawn...

At times a deluded thought is all it takes to scatter,
If its one to last and be there let it not ever matter...

Trusting the one who hangs in there putting up with you, 
With every crazy antic, a partner in crime you always knew..

Fear not for the loss of trust for its not to last by the book,
Move, gather the pieces to solve the biggest puzzle life would cook..

The ones who deserve shall forever stick on this path askew,
Meandering at crossroads at times only to meet again anew...

The bridge of trust brittle as ever shall remain tender as its been,
Yet is needed to cross over and knock  on their hearts yet unseen...

For all relations lie well in peace over this very word,
Trust what the both feel, not what's seen, not what's heard..

Time flies as one rushes deeper in the maze when trying to flee,
Never bother, be alive and trusting, it always helps sure, trust me... :)

Wednesday, 9 December 2015

A guide

    A walk down the road is forever lonely. The road that leads to that ever changing destination. The road different for every individual yet on these roads there are those turns of doubt and deception. The treacherous pitfalls and the wrong turns which might lead you astray. Such times call for a lamp or a board that directs you. A guide in our lives steps into these mighty shoes of direction. The actors essaying this role change over time but the ultimate motive of this character - the guide - remain the same throughout. The guides creed beginning right in the tender days of childhood, with the very first guide being our mother. To take those tentative first steps in this world of hustle and bustle and to supported by the firm of our father. As days tumble into years we learn from the school of life. Every event around us is ready with a lesson for us to perceive and eventually learn at our own pace. The academic front acquaints us with numerous guides in the form of our teachers. The ones who set the pace for a lifetime of acquiring knowledge. The guides though are more often than not restricted to the boundaries of academics at best. Yet at such times we neglect the ones who we learn from on a daily basis . These go uncredited for the influence they have on us and our style of thought.

   A guide is none but who directs us in times of confusion. Their task is to knowingly or unknowingly show us the way which seems to them the better of the choices at hand. They draw in from the lifetime of experiences and judgement to set forth an ideal way. The ideal way is always in fact a relative term than one which can be defined and limited by ethical and moral shortcomings. The fact that experience doesn't always mean the amount of time spent interacting with the variety of events abound is noteworthy. To understand that a guide could be anybody. Ranging from an aged old man to a kid playing by the swing set. The ounce of humility to accept that guides can be found anywhere is lacking at times in many of us. To accept that things can be learnt from the most myriad of sources is great virtue. For knowledge is eternal in its form and hence can be attained from all sources possible. The motto now is to keep our eyes open and be welcoming to the guides life gives us at various junctures.. Keep learning...

Wednesday, 14 October 2015

The Bus Stop..

    The chaos was distracting. The constant chatter of the people around him. The fleeting conversation snippets fell on his weary years. The day had been a tiring one. All said and done, he was here waiting by the bus stop as everyday. The route number plate read 1331. His tie all wrinkled up and hair disheveled. Waiting and waiting for nobody. The routine was  almost monotonous now. But this day had been more draining than ever. Hardly a bus had stopped by. All had rushed by. Almost as if speeding up by the bus stop instead of slowing down. She came silently and sat on the extreme end of the seat of the bus stop and opened up a book - 'The Shining'. "Ohh Stephen King!, strange choice for this time of the night", he thought. Her red scarf was striking enough to distract him even more. He would have went over and started a discussion on any other normal day, but not today. Today had been particularly crushing and yet was far from over.

    No buses had stopped by yet, all rushing by with no thought of stopping by. He was fine by it. At least he had company. Sometimes having a silent stranger for company was perhaps better than a chirpy acquaintance. The stranger girl in the red scarf was still engrossed in her book, blissfully unaware of how disconcerting her sight was for him. The book had gripped him when he had read it. He had to go over and introduce. But then it was weird, and he didn't want to seem creepy discussing a horror fiction book. It was pretty late by now. Finally a bus showed signs of slowing down from the distance and she stood up, so did he. He could not miss this one for sure. The bus stopped on the bus stop and she adjusted her scarf and got ready to get in. He adjusted his tie. The moon light glinted and shimmered on his sleeve as he got in behind her. The bus revved up and made its way.
   The conductor was exasperated as he went up to the rookie driver. It was the driver's first ride on this route... "Why the hell did you stop the bus by that stop? Are you out of your mind.?.. The surprised driver said, "What,.. Why..? What's wrong with it? It was late anyways and the lady in the red scarf was waving for the bus.." The conductor backed away..."Which lady.. What have you done.. Oh Lord... We are dead men now.. Nobody.. simply nobody stops at this bus stop.... Its haunted... It was here a maniac had murdered a girl and then cut himself too.... You have committed a grave mistake... Ever wondered why we newbies  got transferred here or why the previous driver conductor duo stopped coming or rather breathing........ ".. The night was the only witness as the guy in tie brought out his knife... 
       The next days newspaper read a strange news... "Bus driver and conductor found brutally stabbed to death on route 1331.. Police  have no clue yet to the murderer....A red scarf and a Stephen King book found at the crime scene....

Wednesday, 30 September 2015

The Tale of The Two...

     Her sight was divine. As he stood there transfixed the wind blew all around him. Tugging at his senses threatening to tear him from the pages of this dimension. The world around was all but a fickle in the dynamics of his unstable mind. The disarray in his brain was evident. 'Nervousness' should have been the least of his worries right now. How senseless the world seemed to reel and run, not coming for the subtle nuances of being stuck in a moment. Her bicycle stood tenderly propped beside her gently held. A moment where nothing matters. Moments which led to this moment were equally essential. She stood as innocent as ever. But then appearances were meant to be deceptive.
   It was so very easy to talk without apprehensions which such moments brought upon him. To open up to her and at times divulge more than what was meant to be. As she traced her fingers through her hair, subtly being gorgeous tucking them behind, he knew he was done in for once and for ever. She still stood, an image out of a story blissfully unaware of her perpetual beauty and the turmoil that it provoked within him. All this seemed so cheesy when you saw it in the movies. Yet it seemed logical and true enough right now. To open up and talk about chapters hidden within the deep recesses of his memory seemed all but natural with her. Some things were not supposed to be defined and described within the mundane boundaries of words. She was one of them perhaps, beyond the comprehensible realms of moulds and stereotypes. The wind around had increased its random musings, tickling the stray stands that fell loose from her pretty curls. The rustle of leaves was more prominent with all leading to eventide.

    And here was it, his moment to buckle up and approach. To walk the few steps that lay between them in a single breath and let it be known. To let it be spoken. But there was the something which had always been there, the damned tinge of nervousness. It was so unjust for her to be the perfect mix of all there was to be... beauty, brains and bliss. She glanced sideways and their eyes met. It was for a fleeting second at best, but was enough. The smiles, hers ever so graceful and his a sheepish grin. And the distance was no longer there. And he heard her say.. " I thought you would never come over.." So began the conversation.. The one which would last their lives... As she bid adieu and made her way, he waited .. Waited for the cliche..... She walked on in a hurry, her bicycle trudging along and you could sense the air of reluctance. She turned around and bid the real adieu he was waiting for with the same smile he would see for the days to end.. and this was how it ended happily ....the tale of the two...

Saturday, 29 August 2015

On the occasion of Raksha Bandhan.. :)

              The day when your news feed crops up chocolate brands  and videos on the pristine bond of a brother and a sister. The hostel is abuzz with a range of emotions. Some pestering the guard for not notifying them about the postman's visit while some locked in their rooms for the fear of being 'bhai'-zoned. The times when you read a nostalgic post and hear dreamy conversations over the phone. Its wonderful to hear of anecdotes your friends have to share about this very relation. Those well-made videos make you a bit weep on the inside. For its a different day for ones not having had their share of childhood fun with their own sisters. A day when perhaps you are reminded of the blank space against the sibling field. This is post is not to be moppy on this day, but a post of gratitude for those who never let you feel alone on this day.

               For those who give you means to brag over the number of 'rakhis' on your wrist. A different view when you think of, for you do not have many memories to tap into. Yet a heartfelt thank you to those for whom you would roll up your sleeves and be protective about. For those lovely sisters whose tears would hurt harder than a blow. For times when you have a shoulder to cry upon. For times to trouble and have a never ending conversation. A token of love and a basketful of blessings for those wonder women who are forever there. For there are things beyond the friend-zone. For those who you willingly and proudly step into the bro-zone.. A day when you think of days past and times sheepishly guilty for having troubled them a lot.. Its a great blessing to have had an equal share of dotting elder sisters and adorable younger ones.. For some bonds are thicker than blood deemed them to be. This post is also for the 'n' minus 1 sisters we pledged for in schools. For the childish fear of your crush waiting for you with a rakhi. This is for the unending love they have in store for you.. The confessions and pranks equally forgiven. A day to stop and reach out to all those amazing sisters and have a word or two.. For you hardly realise how fortunate you are.. For there's hardly a bond purer than that of a brother and a sister. A big thank you to all of them for being there and loads and loads of wishes and love..A Happy Rakshabandhan...

Friday, 28 August 2015


All eyes stare blank and hard,
Efforts just to decorate life in a shard.

Taking care not to cross paths drawn,
Blurry eyes shunned, stifled many a yawn.

Square boundaries drawn in union here,
Break neck speed and competing with a leer.

Circles of society to enter against will,
Clashes and alliances become a dreary drill.

Decisions made in the blink of an eye,
Words but futile hurled, for want of a try.

Safe and secure your next day ought to be,
Farces valued and not the dreams you often see.

Shepherded over the hill of mediocrity,
Discarded in ruins below lie the genuinely witty.

And through these ashes rise the worthy few,
Climbing, trekking the slopes waiting to start anew.

Life's more subtle perhaps than some make,
Live through the downs and the ups are then to take.

Sunday, 16 August 2015


    A state where nobody wishes to be. All fuzzy and dizzy. A time where you are required to decide. To decide what you need to do with life. Life gives you a plethora of options. A string of roads lay wide open ahead of you. Ones walking along leave you at crossroads and keep walking on ways of their own. Every road with its own perks and pitfalls. Tempted to follow any one of the horde down any one of those paths, you stay back. The 'society' expects you decide added to the pressure your brain imposes, imperceptible yet relevant. 
     How do you decide? Confused and a tinge of nervous fear is how you could be described as. Assumptions and baseless predictions on each of the crossroads add to the furore. Lazing away and not daring to take risks and think beyond the realms of predefined pastures of being successful. One of the paths tugs deeply at your heart. Calling you, but most risky of all. Requiring you to abandon all your current pursuits. To shun the security of what is mundane and guaranteed to plunge into the unknown. Time is of essence, Forcing you to decide and decide as soon as possible. You need help. And as they say - "Help shall always be given at Hogwarts to those who ask for it". All you need to do is ask..

Saturday, 13 June 2015

Musings.. :)

   Isn't it a bit cruel? The truth at times seems to hit hard home. Some things are better kept untouched. But then is ignore pure bliss? The unconscious contentment that lies buried in not knowing the entire situation is quite evident. Life goes on, they say. It doesn't wait for you. To ponder and try to analyse, is perhaps a waste. If only things could be as you willed them to be. Yes, agreed that they do ultimately are as you will them to be. But then not every moment is pleasing for the heart. Somewhere your instincts tell you to stay away from going down a particular path. They try to save you, shield you from potential heartache. Sadly it's only through self-realisation that one learns. It's tough when you pour all your thoughts and emotions for a cause which shall never be. One could crib and be morose about it all the time and in the process. The world seems a bit on the dopey side, yet life goes on. These are the low times perhaps. There comes a time when one expects more from life, when the going is good. It is rare to be grateful about what we have in hand. The time when all seems wonderful and glossy. Too much of negativity at times. Life’s such. To be happy and positive during such times is the bigger task.
People affect us in ways myriad to us. Their thoughts, smallest of acts make a difference. You make them an important part of your life. No one’s at fault here, but you can never help it - human nature. It is then when the truth hits harder. It's easy to boast of being mentally strong and mature. But within the hardest of exteriors lies a gentle, soft heart smothered by the tests of time. It crumbles and waits to be put together again. Melodramatic? perhaps.

        And then it dawns upon you. It's not worth it. There is so much more to life. life which you might live just once. Every second you mourn, every second you weep rushes past you. To never have the moment again to live is a terrifying realisation you have to deal with. The earlier you realise that there is always somebody who cares, who trusts and wishes the best for you out there. It simply isn’t worth if you keep frowning. A smile is all it takes. A deep breath to clear your mind and a smile to follow would be the perfect recipe en-route to redemption. Be happy for you are much more fortunate than you would ever dream of. Life is all about moving on. To accept and discover the best in you. To live, love and lose yourself in this world. The canvas is empty, waiting forever for you to dare to ditch the brushes and paint with your thoughts of pure happiness. Buck up move for all it takes is a smile..

Sunday, 10 May 2015

The flute by the sea...

       The tune of the flute was enticing. She could feel it beckoning her. The quiet melody tugging at her senses. Tempting them to break down. She had to let go, free from the daily nuances of life. The hectic schedule, college, classes, peer pressure and the pressure to excel everywhere. It was daunting at times. The often over hyped college life was worth the wait. It was fun but with its own demands. Friends, the so called friends, the way you had to be sure and carry yourself at all times, the facade was tiring. It was time to let go. The melody was letting her do the same. For once to stop thinking of false pretenses and be her real self. The flute made its way over the chaos of the city. The constant honking and hawking of the busy city was nothing new. But amidst this chaos was the one striking tune that came in clear and sharp. She made her way following the melody, her ears were there to lead on. Somewhere she was aware of the classes she had to attend, of the time by which she had to be back home. Of all those deadlines she had to meet. All seemed a waste this very moment.
    The seaface in the distance was becoming distinct by the passing second. The ever crowded seaface was quite empty today. The ledge stood out sharply on the seashore. There was the source. The source of the sweet melody. A silhouette sat on the edge of the ledge  playing the flute. The setting sun in the background painted a picture of perfect concentration. The boy was immersed completely. The flute was but a medium. She could sense the purity of emotion flowing through the flute. It was all one could ask for. She let her bag drop unknowingly by her side and closed her eyes. It was sharper now. This moment had comprised of just her and the lilting melody. Her feet tensed and taught by the day of travel seemed relaxed now. She let them dangle and sat down on the warm sand.

   The notes rose higher and she fell deeper in love with the melody. The notes plucked at strings hitherto unknown to her, emitting purest of bliss. It was all she could do to stop herself from running towards the silhouette. It was getting darker and yet she could feel the gentle breeze play through her locks. The roar of the hustling city did not matter to her now. If only this moment would linger. The constant pressure of outperforming her peers was non-existent for this moment. Life was beautifully simple yet conveniently complicated. In the distance the sun finally kissed the horizon and bade adieu to all. With the setting sun the tune dissolved into the nothingness that lay ahead. She smiled and brushed away the lazy strand of hair that fell across her now content face. The dark was soothing. The flute had taught her what the horde of classes and hundreds friends couldn't. Life was simple, as simple as you made it out to be. She knew she would be here again tomorrow, waiting for the flute player. And she also knew it somewhere deep down that he would not be there, yet she would come, to feel the lingering tune in the air somewhere waiting for her to catch it. She stood up straightened and picked up her bag to start her dreary trudge back home.
   In the distance the silhouette turned, the slender reed of a flute playfully twirling on his lithe fingers. Those fingers sad for he had never found the courage to look back. He knew she was there all the time.. watching him play. If only he could tell her, the flute, the melody, all was for her..He knew he would be here again tomorrow, waiting for her. And He also knew it somewhere deep down that she would not be there, yet He would come, to feel the lingering tune in the air somewhere waiting for her to catch it..

Friday, 8 May 2015

The Window.. a story

      The monotonous rut of the daily routine had been broken. The often trodden path seemed unfamiliar to him. The lowly life of a labourer was now insignificant. He would now return to the land he belonged to. All had chosen to stay  behind and remain a part of this lowly life. He had dared to break free. It was scary even at his age to find a way to the bus stop. The one which was his very own key to freedom. The bus stop was deserted, but for a hawker or so. In the distance he heard of the familiar rumble of the bus, which graced the town once a week. Every week he would simply stare at it, just wishing to break free and catch the ride. It had taken him quite long to muster the false courage, he had tucked in somewhere deep to make the decision finally. The bus came to a halt in front of him. He had it all chalked out to finest detail, after all he had been planning for this all his life. He picked up his ragged bundle of belongings and clambered up the rickety bus steps. He glanced around and found a window seat. A blessing. Now he could sit and be as nostalgic as he wanted. This was where he had spent all his living years and now yearned to visit that place before he died. The place of his ancestors. Eyes closed and the gentle breeze was all what it took to doze off.

        The monstrous hum of the engine starting, brought him back to sense. The bus had revved up for the journey that lay. The window seat would surely be of help, had his stomach dared to rumble. His mother had told him of the place of his ancestors. His mighty ancestors who were once a name to be feared. The gentle lullabies he had never heard came beckoning today only to be thwarted. The bed time stories, his little head on his mother's lap and the hut of a house they lived in. All came beckoning. The vivid picture his mind had painted of the sprawling mansion of his ancestors The way his father boasted of the lush green gardens that surrounded it brought goosebumps. His ancestors had been great people. The ancestral land where all were fed and slept hungry. It was one of those days when his father couldn't bring home a penny, his mind feasted on the lavish luxuries of his ancestral mansion. The river that flowed by and its crystal clear water were alive in his heart. It was a sight to behold when his mother described him of the paradise they had to leave before his birth. He knew he would one day get to see it all. To own it and bring fame to the name of his ancestors once again. All of his 84 years, he had painted the exuberant picture over and again in his heart. It was now, that finally he could and would touch and feel his dream. Soon, he thought. The window of the bus gave him glimpses of dusty roads and rundown buildings as it made its way to the promised paradise. It was not what was supposed to surround the paradise of his ancestors. But no matter, it would come in time. The heavenly abode. He closed his eyes  with a smile on his face.

     The bus came to screeching halt as the conductor threw a cursory glance over the empty seats. All but one were vacant. The old man's destination was here yet the man had not stirred. The conductor made his way to the window seat and nudged the old man. And it was the end. The man was no more. Dead with a smile on his lips. As the conductor signalled the driver to drive on to the nearest morgue, the window slammed shut. The last thing one would have seen through the window was a ruin of a rundown building which once could have passed for a mansion, surrounded by a river of filth. This was it. His ancestral home.. Still in its former glory, permanently etched in the dead man's smile...

Sunday, 8 March 2015

The Complete Woman

   Amid the latest uproar of "the documentry"(rather not name it, its banned you know) here's wishing the entire world a happy women's day. A day supposed to be a amalgam of Mother's day and the Valentine's day (that's what wiki says). Finally a time when the MBA recruits mastermind advertisements of brands and sell out to the crowd manipulating the emotional upheaval associated with this day. Take a moment to ponder over it. 8th of March made available of a celebration of womanhood. Not trying to be a chauvinist when one quotes the hype created around this day. Neither being judgmental when the so called torch bearers of woman propaganda unmute their tongues. Is this the level we shall now resort to. When every passing moment of your lives should be sprinkled in a sense of subconscious respect for the fairer sex. 
  " A man who treats his lady like a princess is the proof that he has been raised in the arms of a queen. " 

   This quote sums it all. Isn't this prejudice in gender being propagated by the narrow minded enthusiasts hiding under the farce of feminism. True and accepted that the situation we live in is terrifying. Any parent thinks twice before letting his/her daughter go on any sojourn. Its a scary picture to think of when you see the news marque full of the inhuman atrocities prevalent on the large. Disgusting is the only word you think of. But then generalizing the entire breed is unfair. Agreed that there is a need for actual action to be taken rather than hollow promises being thrown during the polls. Objectifying women has rather become a pass time of movie makers. An obvious interpretation is that the silver screen is nothing but a mere reflection of the mindset that prevails over the society. With educated ones too disappointing on accounts of common sense, there is a dire thirst for a change. A solution preferred by the majority is running away from this adversity and that is where you lose. Ignoring is  never the solution. Theoretically one may find infinite logically sound solutions. But the only one which could is stand out is not a quick fix one. It will for sure take time, but yes it will work. All along the only ones who have made a difference are the ones who mould you. The ones who bring you up. Parents, the modern day parents. Running behind the 7 and 8 figure salaries its a rarity to find ones who actually give time to their kids. All it takes a slice out of your busy schedules. Time is all kids crave for. A heart to heart talk goes a long way. Its words which make the difference in the end. Give em time not dime.

Saturday, 3 January 2015

Sensed : A story.

                  The lake lay quiet and still. The water calm. He by its edge deep in some thought. The legs of his corduroys filled up, right to the knees. The breeze swished passed his naked feet, making its presence felt. The geese were unusually quiet. He could hear the distant rustle of shrubs, swaying. Swaying in accord with the breeze. The cool breeze would gather pace once in a while, sending a shiver down his spine. Somewhere far off a murder of crows cawed their way back home. The rocky surface of the edge wasn't particularly comfortable. Yet it was worth the compromise. To sit by the edge dangling his legs over the edge. The subtle warmth of the setting sun on his face. There was some time before the annoying lady would come. Peace, yes peace was what he found here. The smell of dinner being cooked waffled in from somewhere. Perhaps the hut which stood nearby. But dinner could wait. For this was the time he cherished. A bee buzzed by his ear, interrupting the chain of thoughts. The incessant buzz was irritating as he tried in vain to swat away the bee and gave up. He sat still again and loo the buzzing stopped. The bee flew away 
perhaps losing interest in a calm target. The lake was eerily calm.
 Somehow the calm was inviting. He felt a unnecessary urge to take a dip. But he dared not risk it, for

Friday, 2 January 2015

A take on Romeo and Juliet

           Been long since words found a way again. But a spark is all it takes to give it a vent. Romeo and Juliet the eternal story of romance. William Shakespeare, perhaps one of the greatest playwrights ever, would have hardly imagined this tragedy of his to live beyond generations. Such is the following that this magnum opus has inspired hundreds of other works. The time has long gone by when one would call any "inspired" love story to be copied from this epic tale. The tale of two star crossed lovers. The quintessential lover of the Montagues ('rajadis' for the ramleela sync) Romeo and the pretty young lady of the Capulets ('saneras' for the same) Juliet have created the chemistry which has enticed literature buffs alike. And where there is love there has to be a creep of hate. Somewhere it springs and ends with the death of the two lovers. A death which perhaps could have been avoided or maybe not. The debate over this minuscule detail has lingered on in fiction. Had this been a drama for the masses, it would have ended otherwise. With the lovers settling down in a villa in Italy with a horde of kids to follow on later. But then what would be the charm of this enticing story. The charm, I say. This sounds morbid to some. To find charm in the death of two lovers never meant to be for each other.  Which might even be true to an extent. But then the bigger picture says otherwise. For in the words of Mr.Dumbledore, it would be for the greater good. 

     Aren't stories meant to be flawed? As flawed as man is. This perhaps was and will always be the beauty of this tragedy. The modern day adaptations have stuck true the basic recipe of romeo and juliet, and added perhaps a few touches to this masterpiece. Some say its over rated, but is it?. The real pain that words would convey has a strange calm beneath them. The happy go lucky