Just thoughts...

                                         In the town of Velpan yet another day dragged on. The tranquil that entombed was dreadening. The birds weren't their chirpy best. But the wind was considerably vociferous. The wind blew shrilling whistles and engorged all other sounds. The towners had limited themselves to their boundaries of the so called safe havens. This day was a bit unusual even for Velpan. In the mansion of  'Viranis', Vidyuta just another girl in her mid teens sat beside a rickety window. Her flint black eyes stared into the distance. The gaze was impeccable. You could see her sitting still but her mind had already played game of catch. It was whirling rapidly with an array of thoughts. The tumultuous wind had made her parents stay back at her aunt's place, she thought so lonely. Her hand automatically moved towards the window latch but is was open as she proceede...

Deja- vu read this word about a few years back. Didn't know what it is untill one of my sirs' explained me. That spooky feeling when u think an event has occurred and it is repeating again in front of you. Really very spooky at times. Even when I write this I think i have already written this blog. The feeling of deja vu makes us realize in very small measures the power that our mind holds. The slightest taste of something supernatural is brought upon us. 

  Atharva the same boy from the town of Velpan was sitting in his swing. This swing held a very special place for him. His entire childhood had been woven around this very swing. As usual he had a book propped in his arms. The other world did not exist for him now. This consciousness was long lost in the engrossing pages of the book. This particular book intrigued him a lot. The librarian was very reluctant to lend this book. Even the book was not bound by Atharva in the library shelves.      It was just a matter of chance that Atharva could find this book. After a tirade of arguments Atharva could finally borrow the book. The librarian had though warned him. "Beware" was the word the librarian had uttered. Presently Atharva couldn't take off his eyes from the mysterious pages of the book, it wasn't unusual but a bit strange. The book didn't have a story. It wasn't that Atharva was reading the book. It was SURELY THE OTHER WAY ROUND. The book was reading Ath...

sometimes everyone must have experienced it that we cannot pour out our thoughts or even bind them to rational values set by the ethics. We feel muddled and lost. In crowd yet secluded far away from all, all alone. When you don't have anyone to share your thoughts with, it is frustrating at times and then we take out our anger on somebody else which we dont mean to do. Then it is followed by repentance which is even more frustrating. Wish I could garner more control on my speech and hold my tongue, but it will take time. Nevertheless there is an improvement, whenever i now get angry i take a deep breath and then bless the person towards whom our anger is directed.     The results are immediate and awesome, slowly I don't feel like talking a lot. Like being alone. It may be a bit wrongly classified by some but it is right for me and works.

                              In the same town of Velpan was a boy called Atharva. He was about fifteen years of age. Being a lone child he had a subdued childhood. He never usually liked to mingle with children of his own age. Not his fault though because it was his nature and one cannot change a person's nature no matter how hard one tries. This loneliness had another effect on Atharva. He found peace and tranquil in books and his imagination flourished. He literally lived in a world of his own where harry potter co existed with Sherlock Holmes.                      Once Atharva was returning from his school. As usual he enjoyed school, not so much because it was fun but because there in school he could lose himself in the myriad world of books. On his way home on the school bus he was gazing through the windows at the real world that was not very signifi...

As mentioned time and again I am a great fan of books. But when I saw a little deeper into my book lists and the authors that I have read I was surprised to find a majority of the authors to be European. My favourite being J.K. Rowling, then comes Sir Arthur conan Doyle, Agatha Christie, Michael scott, Rick riordion (not european), Dan brown, and the list is always varying except for the first name. Why do I feel drawn towards the west authors and when there is quite a legacy of Great authors in my country India. When I think a bit more I do understand that may be I have not yet come in contact of any Indian book which could truly touch me except of course my all time favourite by Mrs. Sudha Murthy. It feels sometimes guilty to not have read a lot of Indian books. Truly its is a bit reddening but fact is a fact and I hardly try to deviate from the facts.  I got the answer finally, quoting a proverb " the grass is always greener on the other side ". May be this is the only re...

             A sunny morning in the town of Velpan. Kshitij was up early as usual. His best friend Ric the dog was following him, sometimes jumping, sometimes sprinting, all the time wagging its tail, full of happiness. Kshitij had taken his small box of snacks and his favourite water bottle. Daily he would go to the meadows a little distance from Velpan.              The birds chirped as they woke up from a deep slumber of the day before. The clouds were fluffy like cotton candy and the sun a bright yellow ball smiling down on Kshitij and Ric. After walking for a little while Kshitij decided to camp out on the small puny hillock ahead of him. A huge Banyan tree stood there wide and mighty like a grandfather guarding his grandson.Kshitij spread out his favourite sheet and unpacked the snacks. Ric was leaping around and barking with joy. A little while later Kshitij felt drowsy and sleepy, having filled his tummy. Th...