This is your very first post. Click the Edit link to modify or delete it, or start a new post. If you like, use this post to tell readers why you started this blog and what you plan to do with it.
This is your very first post. Click the Edit link to modify or delete it, or start a new post. If you like, use this post to tell readers why you started this blog and what you plan to do with it.
More or less we are apart and together.
We bear kinship with love and bicker.
We are hooked to each other,
From time we are juniors to seniors.
More or less we are friends and foes,
Who need timely anger dozes.
This alliance is unique in many ways,
It’s escorted by hate with milieu of love.
More or less we are convinced and bemused,
Do we love or hate each other ?
Our fights never end so the love gets amused,
By our panache behaviour.
Dinning table a parliament house,
Bed a boxing ring, oh! We scream when we see mouse.
More or less together we laugh and cry,
But at same pace we want to touch the sky.
More or less we greet and ignore.
Our choices never together touch the shore,
Yea, right we are completely unalike souls.
Fasten together to play different roles.
More or less we appreciate and overlook,
Each other’s presence and our love stays at nook.
We scowl when we are spied.
In unison we go for a bicycle ride.
One can’t imagine sister and brother,
Without fights and bickers.
They aren’t made for each other type,
But they will be always there for our tears to wipe.
Sitting on the coiled sheets in,
Milieu of sleeping sun and escorted with chill.
For soreness in heart, this ailment needs pill,
Deep turmoil slaying me in dim.
Empty and void parts all choked,
With agony and distress.
Only the pain I have witnessed,
From the people I have loved.
All they leave me on the way,
Which is gritty and full of potholes.
They fade and abandon my soul,
Like a serpent leaves after stinging in day.
I have fallen for once,
In walking for my life.
Bees too fail in piling hives,
At end they make a lucid craft.
I am all alone in the crowd,
I am my own warrior.
I have to be my own saviour,
I have to be furious and loud.
Mind it; the blooms never nadir it’s scent,
Even after it dies or dries.
I won’t fed up, of my tries,
Though if it is tough sun or bitter snow.
They might have left me,
By espy of my black sand.
They never knew the land,
Jilted and barren, too blossoms sometimes.
But the hope is just four letter word.
While the whole life is despair.
Spring is boon with blooms, autumn faces bare bough.
But these unalike twins smirk and come every year.
I will let them go, who want to.
But will immune my heart,
Fortify my soul with people of worth.
I will learn to smile more, less to rue.
Hi Guys this is the starting on my new work for a fictional book. Please give your views if you like it or not, please!!!
And please tell how the title is.
The weather is sticky, hot and humid. The common trait of Mumbai , in terms of climate the 10th std geography textbook said. The mid-July parade the grey clouds , which dangles in cerulean sky. Rare breeze, toxicating gas makes it searing. Gloaming transpires with hoot and screeching of white long neck waders. Commutators trot in purple-white local trains, with black or blue, leather or rexine bags gibbeted on shoulders, like if lucidly hooked to their upper arms for forever and ever, a needy a needful means. Dame and damsel with dollish features, eyes edged like peacocks with black khol and black eyeliners. Lips dazzling carved in red, pink, rust colours. Hairs long , straight like a mane. Brown and golden. Black and dark, tied and loose, buns and plates, poney tail and curled tucked behind ears. Butts fit in tight stretchable jeans and bossoms in small sized skinny tops. Feet shaped in slim, pointed sneakers. The railway platform, full of people running, ambling, prowling, yomping towards office with their big rock bag, but each one’s ear plugged with earphones. Revealing the breathing of 2 millions in city that was made by joining islands. Cosmopolitan, metropolitan financial capital of the India. Rich and prosperous even under the colonism of British, but only before the cotton boom. Owned by merchandise, home of celebrities and people who are born with silver spoon. This what the Mumbai was, when Reeva commenced to live here not so polluted metropolitan. For her it wasn’t the city of dreams but the city which would be fair with her. Not a biased one!
A call in her cell phone, Riva panic and she tilt her cell phone so that her mummy doesn’t notice who was ringing to her daughter . An air-conditioned waiting room of her nephrologist O.P.D full form Reeva doesn’t know, protected Riva and her mummy from sweating and clamming their underarms , head and frons. Riva’s skinny jeans fitted exquisitely in her thighs and calf. She was ravishing but always considered herself a lean ,dark and dork, it was her personal opinion about her looks. Her phone vibrated with jerk and her warm palms quivered. Unknown number, so she picked up sliding green floating handset symbol. On the other side ‘s why mummy, papa, Nikko mentioned as Riva’s college. So the lady introduced herself, she was Pranali mam and she has called Riva for collecting invitation card for commemoration ceremony. Riva was overwhelmed equally shocked and scandalized, she asked “Really, I mean ok. So I will be honoured, but for what ?.” Trembling voice of Riva, excited her mummy.
“As you secured 2nd in college in 12th boards in arts.” Pranali mam giggled. “Ok, tomorrow I will collect.” And Riva hung the phone. Curious, anxious mummy in her blue kurti and pink leggings. Cheeks shining and reflecting white light of tubelight of the waiting room ,owing to her oil glands, which secreets litters of oil. “Who called?” Riva expected this query from her mom and she was ready with an answer. “Pranali mam called, something like I am gonna honour so have to go to college and collect invitation, Sunday is the ceremony.” The conversation blinded up as it was their turn to get in , in the doctor’s cabin, more air-conditioned ,cooler than waiting room and Riva liked the cabin.
The Sunday was expected as less people on stations and more on roads, with traffic releasing black smoke. Which Riva felt that black thick smoke can smother her someday, she had believed she won’t die of kidney failure but by inhaling poisonous , venomous carbon monoxide which every car releases 20 pounds an hour. She have to inhale spontaneously and that carbon monoxide will block the way of oxygen to her brain, due to lack of oxygen she will be brain dead and eventually die. Even if she will be brain dead her kidneys won’t be useful for anyone, this makes her unhappy. They get down at Vasai station, Reeva and her Papa. Delighted and proud papa , like Reeva sees in advertisement of fairness cream, proud father of beautiful and fair daughter. Indian advertisement never makes any sense. Papa is happy and rapturous, just because someone from his family is being commemorated. Reeva, isn’t happy but mused that, does she really deserve this honour. 81% is not a worthy score to get a special honour. She feels she isn’t a hardworking and can’t be an inspiration to learning aspirants only quality that people can grasp about her is to study in 1 month and hit the result with distinction. This what Reeva was about to. The auto Rikhshaw halted near the main gate of Congress sanskrutik bhavan, the auto have stopped after cavorting through potholes on roads but the heart in Riva’s small chest have started biffing her ribs. She swallowed the lump formed by fluster rising in her mind. She adjusted her rubber pink gown and re-made her hairs. Slowly she descended from black, yellow rikshaw. Waited for her papa to pay, 80₹ as a fare, but fare wasn’t fair according to her. Reeva and her proud papa walked, adjacently to eachother, Reeva hold hand of her Papa . Hard skin but warmth of love made it easy for her to hold the thick palm for long time. But now the grip wasn’t tight, like it was there ,when Reeva feared to cross the Roads alone, when Reeva was scared to get misplace from her family. When Reeva didn’t hold grudges and loved her Papa like there was no end for this affection. But Today, it was her modus operandi that she have come with her guardian.
City was different, time was different, Reeva was a child with fit and fine kidneys but neurogenic bladder and Nikko was kid, her mummy was slender and attractive, her Papa was with flat belly and black, thick mustache. They four lived for eachother and they lived for themselves less but for eachother more. Laughed , cried, travelled, joked, argued, vexed, and did the things that a normal family in India does. 18 years back on 7th February 1999 Mummy got the pain in her baby bump , Papa Mummy rushed to Hospital of Ramgadh the place where Papa’s elder brother lived, Mummy’s brother in law and yet to arrive Reeva’s Uncle lived. Mummy cried screaming due to pain of labor. But she didn’t had her husband to hold her hands and caresse her hairs, as he was involved in watching India-Pakistan Cricket match in mini Television set in maternity home at the end of heighted wall just below the celing. Indian men are crazy about cricket and their madness evolve into obsession, like lost dear love, when the match is between the country of rival. They even forget their wife is going to deliver and in few hours he is going to be a father for the first time. But the screaming mummy cried in pain, she moaned and groaned. But doctor said the intensity of pain wasn’t the required amount , so Normal dilevery was a difficult and rare. As usual Mummy’s emotional blackmai worked and she was given a vaginal injection to increase the intensity of her labor. And at sharp 4:20 P.m Mummy delivered a girl , who will call her mummy all her life. She got a new and most important role of being a mother . Papa rushed to see his first child, child was a girl and his eyes gleamed seeing a small infant covered with jucies of her mother and little hairs. Closed eyes and pink feet wrapped in white sheet, She was named as Reeva by her Mama. Remembering, India-Pakistan Match papa recalls that India won the loosing match, luckily Reeva is lucky for India.
The time when Reeva became the part of the universe with tiny feet it was the time of growing pervertness and venal. Brothers annihilated eachother for inches of land. Government was bribed and worked for self-interest. Girls were assaulted and raped, lovers were hanged on trees for falling in love. Girls strived for their rights. Women were beaten up by their husbands and burned by their in-laws. Parents get divorced, Children suffered in brutal of custody. Pollution raised its rates , chimneys of factories unhitched black smoke. Traces of forest was lost, world was mordanised, India was mordensing. Humanity was butchered in tall buildings and demons lived in attire of homosapiens, in fragile skin. Kindness and humility astrayed in stardust. Lost was the hope of being flesh and blood again, lips with Simon-pure smile. Eyes with chimera. Hearts with amiability. Souls with yen. Reeva took birth maybe because to suffer the agony of her part, or maybe to flip the world from affliction to felicity. Unaware of her purpose of life baby Reeva blinked to her mother in her arms, nescient about her life.
Reeva hurled her arms and feet in air while mummy cooked chapaties, chopped veggies on stove filled with incinerating red coals. She gets drenched with sweat, jaded and restless. But more than the workout of cooking mummy brooded about Reeva’s abnormality. Reeva excreated her stools from her vagina than anus. First child and with such a problem. Mummy was alone and forlorn. She was living in her brother in law’s home. Papa was in Nandurbar , working on railway station as station- master. Papa trusted his brother and believed that whatever his brother will do for him , his wife and his daughter will be a ethical. He trusted him with closed eyes, like baby trust it’s mother for feeding it right. But, somewhere there is an unwritten rule that trust breaks with course of time. Trust never comes with mortality, it always have an expiration date with it. Reeva’s uncle had broken trust, with a big, heavy iron hammer long back before. But Papa had wore the glasses of brother’s love and he lived in illusion, that his brother was only his guardian after their mother. Papa had asked uncle to find the best doctor for his baby Reeva’s treatment. But Uncle didn’t had any intention to see Reeva alright. He bluffed to mummy about meeting best of best doctors in the state. He bought and gave mummy some local brands calcium powders and asked mummy to feed Reeva. Papa was deluded by his brother and felt blessed to have a guardian like him. On the other hand mummy didn’t have a pinch trust on uncle, her intuition for safety of her child never made her believe in his phoney talks and affection towards Reeva. She wasn’t an ignorant lady draped in saree with long trail of vermilion on her centre of her scalp, she educate, was graduated in history.
One fine day she decided it was enough for her and her daughter to suffer this. Reeva needs urgent medical attention so she took a light yellowish paper and wrote to her dear husband. Reeva was playing beside mummy in her cerulean frock with embroidery of velvet flowers. She looked like a big butterfly heeding through bushes. Her angelic eyes were deep and big, her hairs were soft and black. Her skin sparkled with rays of sun. But she was oily and smelled like muster oil, massaged by the oil for three times a day. Froth leaked from her mouth as she played with a toy. Smell of her mother kept her awake and active. Mummy initiated to write but her hands shook she was mused and terrified will her husband would believe her, will he be understanding that his brother is just a kind of dry well for his family. But, Reeva chuckled and mummy’s grip of pen tighten she was sure she will write. “Mere priyatam” my love. Her salutations was a romantic start but Papa doesn’t know that its not a letter from a wife to her husband or , a letter from lover who is away from her love by 100 miles of distance, but it’s from a woman who is seeking her daughter’s right from him.She was mused from where to start, from their when Reeva cried to pain or when uncle burned Reeva’s report. She began to write from depicting Reeva’s portrait to her father, her big black diamond eyes, her poky nose, her timid feet with pink toes, her wheatish skin, her mustard smell hairs. The way Reeva Chuckled and the way her tears leaked. She wrote about Reeva’s new frock too. Then she wrote in words of anger for Papa’s irresponsible behaviour, about uncle’s game. She wrote and only wrote with shaking hands and inky red eyes.
Papa never knew what was the scene in Ramgadh. He was in solace working for the Indian Railways. Letter from wife, before reading it was a romantic panorama after reading it was a annihilated bummer. Letters were written, they were received with zealous hearts. They were written to friends and friends, family and family, friends and family. Words were chosen from the most hideous treasures of vocabulary.
Body of the letter
All it was ignored, but the feelings were given the vitality. They were dropped in red letter box with smile and vim of what would be the answers. They were received with ruby cheeks, euphoric hearts. One who gets the letter would be happy like a happy birthday song. This system was a tip-top one. Went Missing when Reeva grown to be a young girl.
Hall is filled with hundreds of faces, old and wrinkled, young and tight and middle-aged and ready to crinkle. The sweaty smell is coming, mixed with various unsure brands of perfumes. Yellow light makes it bright evening hall. While the fans make it hot and warm. The saltiness in air gives the sea shore feeling. Long, rectangular hall floored with more than hundred tiles, with a podium larger than which the Roli’s school had. The podium is large enough to accommodate the bedroom of 1 bhk flat. A white screen smaller than board is standing in one corner of the podium. It is white, white as the saree that Reeva sees in advertisement of washing powders. But there are occasional shadows of Congress Committee on the white screen. 10 chairs are kept back of table which is encrust with white satin cloth . On that soft shiny table clothing few little flower pots of pink and red flowers are garner in equal distance as like we mention coordinates on Y axis. It looks lucid award function or for kudos, which it gets print in local newspaper in black and white on the front page. Like a girl standing in middle of many middle-aged and old age people, having smile from ear to ear, eyes with pride and arrogance taking her bouquet of flowers and momentum, everyone’s chest in picture is swollen up, like the sepoy asked to show it’s chest, a broader and giant one in the picture. Reeva had always envied the girl in the picture, with smile ear to ear and eyes with pride and arrogance. But, today she is getting chance to stand in middle of middle aged and old aged, she can smile from ear to ear and her eyes can have pride and arrogance, she is not ready to be the spotlight for the day.
Today in humidity in air, blends of different brands of perfumes tingling in Reeva’s nostrils. Reeva learnt the life lesson that hitherto be set to handle then only, only then solicit for it. In the hall all over with vivacity, the heart of a kidney failure was a rendering one crying like a widow, a newly form widow. Not ready to accept this new change, it is deplorable for her like a rain in winter.
Papa, rapturous papa walking swiftly passing aisles of red chairs with 3 D check design, he passed by ladies in long pleated hairs and bright sarees, he passed by man with bald head which shone like egg. He passed by a little and pretty girl in purple- pink net frocks with fountain hair bow. He passed by the sinking and throbbing hearts, he passed by smelly armpits and beautiful ugly things. He passed all the rows and choose the first one to sit, after all his daughter was going to be comorated, a proud and swollen chest Papa.
“Why you look so saddish?” Papa asked Reeva. And Reeva felt all her ambiance is trapped in ish net, which is finely woven and in silvery grey colour, which smell like sour steel. Reeva looks saddish and pinkish in rubber pink gown. Papa looks happish while the hall looks yellowish, like if the millions of Jaundice bacterias have attacked it. Reeva
We get disguise behind our pleasant smile. We laugh by concealing our tears. We pretend to be vialent though our hearts have ruptured in pieces. We pose to be confident though we are dieing out of fear. We act to hate, but have fallen deeply in love. We try to be joyous on other’s achievement but inside we are burning with jealousy. We try to appreciate the thorns on rose plant, but secretly we disregard it. Yes, we have camouflaged ourselves in lucidity. We show that the life we live is more than perfect, just perfect. Without tears and grievances.
We can’t cry in the middle of road though we are going through the phase which is even hard to imagine in dreams, like if our worst of worst nightmare had come true. We can’t cry!! This is the truth. We cover our salty tears, red eyes, reckless soul with a sublime smile. No one would give a thought from by just seeing us and get what we are going through. Isn’t it astonishing?? How we hide our, the worst phase in the best face. Whether our most beloved person had ditched us, our parents died or if our family doctor tells us that you have only few days left to live. Then too We have to display our macho heart to the world. We have to camouflage our pain, in bravery.
Unseen faces are not always sad one, but it’s evil too. Doctors hide their evil intentions in white coat, judges in black coat, while cops in khaki dress. These people are expected to be honest, generous and kind just because they are dressed in such special uniforms, to keep dignity of their attire they are expected to be honest!! Isn’t it cheesy?? The dress can’t change someone’s character. The right persona only deserve these dress-code. Then only the dignity of these attire will be maintained. Or like now, the wolves will be camouflaged in these attire forever, with sheepish smile but inside they will be ready standing at our door to stab in our backs.
Can we live without camouflage, not fully. But unnecessarily disguising ourselves we can avoid. Let’s not camouflage our feelings. Tell what our heart feels. Let’s not camouflage our tears and cries with smile. Let’s not camouflage ourselves from the world.
She cried million tears, she wished to die. She was broken and reckless, lost and unloved. Her every scream in calm night was a voice of her isolation. Her adrift ecstasy kept haunting her. But when the world asked her ” How are you??” She smiled feebly and said” I am okay.” Again She camouflaged her agony in that flawless feeble smile…..
He brings me flowers, but doesn’t know which one I admire.
He brings me gifts, but oblivious about what I like.
He kisses me, wetting my frons. But my heart feels it’s a conspire.
He brings me chocolates, calls me love. But in my mind it’s you who strikes.
How better you perceived me, giving my soul final touch of love.
How keenely you loved me, detaching me from the world.
You took me to the paradise, my infinite insecurities you hove.
You promised me to stay forever, wrapped in my arms curled.
I try to find you in him, in his eyes and in his kiss. But fail to espy you in anything.
I look for us, in dusk and dawn. In his jokes and hugs & in his intimacy.
I wish for you, and my prayers are for you, in my dreams you are only my King.
I miss you in silent of the moon, I miss you in first ray of the sun. I try to see you in toddler’s innocency.
I say white lies that I am over you. That I have let you to surpass from my heart.
Truth says, I miss you everyday. It’s unbearable to breath in solace in absence of you.
I try to fall in love, make my cheeks blush. I try to be a valiant to begin a new start.
I rise and then fall. But aspire for your hands to hold me. My soul tear apart in rue for loosing you.
He is like a shadow in light. Present but like absent.
His love is impotent to calm my havoc. He is out of range to my turmoil.
He is not you, you ain’t with me. I am shattered in parts but act like a lady who is pretty decent.
Our untamed love is left incomplete. I can’t be flesh and blood again with simon pure smile.
I yen we haven’t split so effortlessly. I wished I stopped you from leaving me alone.
I feel to live those promises,made in an open sky. I yearn for episode your breath on my chin.
Our Alchemy was a fairy tale. We never hurt in knowing, we were the best pair known.
Why didn’t you belay us from drifting apart? Why didn’t you tell me that this partition was a sin.
Dear lost love..
Hey, I am writing to you. Umm. Quite late but though only 4 years later just after I left you or you left me or we both left eachother or our destiny left us. But after these many years and these many days ie 1,460 days your thoughts and memories are fresh in my mind just like the orchids which you love in the garden of the school. You were my first love, an old school love.
I still remember the day when I first got the glimpse of you. Laughing like if suffering from hysteria or like a witch laughing in moonless dark night. Sitting in most dormant corner of the class, I would see you, a girl with Wheatish complexion diagonally sitting on the other end of the class. Your closed eyes and wide open mouth with horrendous laugh wasn’t goodly for the rest of the students but it was the best ever moment that I have captured with my eyes, where my heart was excitedly beating and I was smiling without reason, that was the time my adrenaline was poured in my blood stream. Making me to fall in love with you. Hey, let me remind you , you wasn’t looking a bit of attractive by laughing in ogre manner. Though it was the most exciting time of my life. I became your fan for not real reason.
I remember how I followed you to the library, a bad boy like me , in library it was again the topic of gossip for others but my only purpose was you. From the tiny space of books I would steal the glances of you. Your strands of hair lying unevenly on your face. And your lips always holding a winsome smile. I knew your code word for asking your best friend to accompany you to washroom. I loved your those big, deep black eyes which revealing the inner you.
You looked cute when you were nervous , at the time when you was asked to answer the toughest of question. Those wrinkles on your temples were astonishing. I always felt to ask you to share your bench with me or write a short poetry like you have written for your friends. Only ,I would know the pain of requesting boys to adjust with the places so that I would seat at the nearest bench to you. It was foolish to wait for you to keep your notebook for correction so that I would keep mine notebook on yours. You know what I always withdraw my name from the competition in which you had taken part because I never wanted to compete with my sweetheart. Teasing you, giving you nicknames was my way to love you.
Staring at you instead of board, listening to you inspite teacher dictating notes. All I miss it so much. I was happy without reason. I was more lively and it felt like my lost and slumbered part had waked up. I tried to fathom your personality. I got the most genuine reason to attend school. And let me acknowledge you that those three years have got my highest attendance.
But I still get confused that why did I fall only for you?? Why my heart didn’t pound as like it would break my ribs and come out bleeding after seeing all other beautiful faces. Why I amble up and down and waited for your bus to enter school premise ?? Why all thses unusual things happened for only you?? Why on the day of farewell I cried for you but not for the school?? Why I prayed to almighty getting you as my dance partner?? Just because I love you, and it is the enough answer for all the questions.
But today its being four years and still I am crazy about you. Still cheeks go warm Scarlet, ruby red when I hear your name and whenever I am asked about love I would think only about you. This old school love isn’t helping anymore.. So please suggest what should I do??
“No,….” “No I won’t, I won’t call him.” “But what about love?” Sonali was battling with her thoughts. Her mind was adjuring her to call her love, her better-half , her boyfriend. But she was not getting guts and permission from her intuition to call him. Isolated from the domain ,in her small pinky room with walls covered in posters and fly-posters of seven wonders of world, from the Taj Mahal to Colosseum in Rome. Fly-posters were of the interior designs of the air plane, which she have hung outlaw from her family rules and regulations. The wall forefront of her single bed with stinky bed sheet have the white chart paper, which was turned to brown with mini dust sitting making it to look unpleasant, corners of the white paper had red, maroon stains of blood, which was O+ belonged to Sonali. Hardly that bloody chart paper gained attention from Sonali now. She didn’t bother to memorize the hospitality rules for hosting in aircraft. Beside the chart paper had an oak shelves, designed by Sonali herself, which was filled with romance, thrill, fiction, fairytale, mystery, biographies and many more, Sonali loved her little world in her pinky room. But in few days, it feels like Sonali’s world was only that mini pink room. She never opened her pale grey wooden door for anyone, not for her Ammu not for her little angelic sister. She stayed on her bed laying on her stomach with shambolic hairs, dark moon under her eyes and uneven dirty black long nails and same yellow t-shirt with her printed favourite quote ” Quitters never win and Winners never quit.” And lowers with blood stains due to her menses. She was transformed from hot, beautiful, graceful,sexy and intelligent girl to ugly, dark, mad girl. Last week physiatrist have written in her file as “Clinically depressed.” And prescribed her anti- depressing tablets.
It was modest day, as of habit Ammu knocked the pale frey door or the truth is she banged Sonali’s pinky room door. She also called pappa to succour her in opening her elder daughter’s room. Who was sitting on her plastic woven purple chair with holding and clutching her knees deaf towards her door, as if she can’t hear those bangs but those bangs would exasperate anyone even the born deaf would hear, but she was unaffected with this. Busy in her all gloomy thoughts of her boyfriend’s ill behaviour. So at last Jaded parents sat on their chairs, after no response from their daughter. Once the ambitious girl, with eyes full of dreams , moves and works were brimful of passion and ardour. Was now lost in melancholy of lost, green and red love. Insecurity due to grapevine and fear of rejection of society. She have rehearsal her funeral in her pinky room, where she stayed only to herself. She planned her death and endeavour it many times. Along with it she have written a numerous letter to her boyfriend but not posting them in red letter box, maybe she had forgotten that without posting you can’t get reply. Once, this same girl panicked for getting just single pimple on her chin and today she is reckless about her glamour beauty. She shed silent tears at night and spend her day thinking why haven’t he replied to her letters which she hasn’t post.
She didn’t curse herself for loving a wrong person, but she punished herself by traumatizing her mind and body. She didn’t blame him ,who ditched her, betrayed her, who have slapped her in public who have made her porn video, who have cuffed her in his Orthodox norms . Who have declined her marriage proposal. His personality was a humble example of a paradox on hers. Sonali a splendid , rebel hearted wasn’t ready to give up on that ogre. A kind of barbarian which she has always found evil in greek tales. According to her peeps he was a ghoul in human civilization. Who have made the best girl to the worst. Her letters to her boyfriend, lay neetly in cotton pocket in her wardrobe, those letters have words describing their days of togetherness. Everyone have lost hope on Sonali, her Ammu, her angelic eyes sister , her bald father, her lean but food obsessed best friend.
It was a regular morning. Azure sky with tiny cotton billows floating. Sun in light yellow. Radient pinky room, stinky bedsheets and plates with untouched but rancid food, vermilion, ruby red stained chart paper was on its place moving and wobbling with little breeze of mud February. But, Sonali Gibbeted herself on celing fan which was printed with orchids. She hung herself and finished the tantrum which her mind gave her. She was done with waiting for him. She was tired and lost all her hopes , she found easy to end life than starting a new start. With her their was an end of an ambitious future air hostess, along with her, the dreams of her Ammu of her being the most beautiful bride died . Angelic sister’s role model and her best companion died. Now her bald father’s pride was just corpse. Her lean best friend lost her favourite person in the world. No more the cotton pocket would be filled with beautiful letters, no one will visit those seven wonders of the world.
Hanging on her orchid fan, with wide open eyes and blue feet and hands ,Sonali’s pale, parched lips had smile maybe she was right, this life hadn’t given her pleasure to live but it was much of the pain she suffered.
What if she would had decided the either way?? What if she would shown the world that she can survive along with those permanent scars in life… What if she would decide to live for her dreams, for her Ammu, for her angelic sister, for her bald father or lean but food obsessed friend. What if she have tried to be as winner than quitter.
I am tired of this racial gulf between us.
We are Indians but oftentimes mistaken as Chinese.
I am victim of racism, in this era it’s disgust.
You all have bought me to crisis.
I am blonde, with almond eyes.
Straight hairs and short stature.
But sexually we are harassed on high.
I am not open for you to use me, I never makes such gestures.
You have killed my brothers and sisters,
By sticks and rods till they breath last.
But though our news doesn’t become block blusters,
I am left out from federation, but all these news don’t get cast..
I agree we have different names,
Different cultures and rituals.
But we are Indians and patriotism in our hearts flames
We respect martyrs as well as tricolour.
I am bullied and tortured. In offices ,at schools and colleges.
You get enraged by seeing me, in malls , theatres and parks.
You all think I might be a prostitute who doesn’t hold grudges.
But, I am a human being, Who is pushed forcibly in dark.
Playing in laps of green valleys I have grown.
I have quirk of first sun rise with orangey shades in sky.
I have lost in shivaliks and felt piercing of thorns.
For that splendor nature, million times I can die.
I am also an Indian,living in development deprived states.
My Mongolian feature doesn’t mean I should be discriminated.
I will belong to this ethnic land,as it is in my trait.
All these I wanted to say, treat me with love not hatred…
Meeting you was an accident. Being friend with me was your choice. We were chalk and cheese but we were eminent chums who can’t sit devoice.
You were girl with long curly hairs, I was with short one. Both were pretty in their own way. Checking each and every boy, and asking each other “what say?”
We were partners in crime, backers in each other’s void. We laughed enormously and frequently had cried.
I know your darkest secrets keeping them lock inside me. You know who I am, more than anyone would ever perceive me.
But, suddenly time changed and we grew apart. You went your own way, leaving me a far. This was the first time our appartitions were at bizarre.
I tried to stop you, remembering all old times. “Friends never ditch”, you told me once upon a time. But, something we have always done out of the box, this what you was doing this time.
You ignored me today as the way we used to ignore the people who were bane. My soul crashed from knowing that the best friend have become stranger again……
I set on a journey, without any destination. Just to observe and sink in stranger’s lives,without their acknowledgement. I walked straight on my path, which led somewhere and I haven’t any idea where did it end. I walked slowly under innumerable constellations, with moon walking steadily ahead of me.
The place wasn’t meant for meditation, it was full of concoction of different sounds, of different worldly things. Path was bustling with bikes and cars. The dark night seemed as brighter than day due to fluorescents ligted in huge buildings. Smoke of vehicles had formed clouds in clear sky, but I was walking in such unrealistic world. But it was fun to see different characters around me.
The aunties in sarres with large butts and tummies expanded till eternity bargaining to the vegetables seller. It seemed that one single penny can make big differences in life. An old slender uncle with small cap on his head walking swiftly, it felt like something he had left to take with him and so he is partially running to get home. A small toddler crying, yelling to his loudest voice possible. His stubbornness for getting favorite toy, is remarkable and shows we shouldn’t be settling for less. A young man with thick mustache dressed in formals and bag on shoulder, his face was tired but his eyes showed the happiness, which he gained from doing hardwork. He was in hurry to reach home and embrace his daughter tightly. One of the couple arguing for which of the product was best, it showed that both have their point of view and it was clear that both had equal rights among them. Few eve teasers were on, with their gangs, staring at each and every girl passing by. I felt pity for them as there was actually something wrong with them. Few young people talking softly on phone, with blushing cheeks and their smile stretched to its extinct. This Showed that the love and romance can be done even on 7 to 6 cm handset. I was moving in my own thoughts of different people around me, it was fun and totally a learning session. An old woman with hump on her back was walking with the help of stick. She wasn’t in distress about her abnormality she walked with confidence and guts in crowded street. Few groups of teens, laughing and making gesture of high five, walking and enjoying in their peers company. Eating ice cream and bullying their one of the friend. It was so beautiful to watch a relation of friendship. Which shows fights, love, care and compassion. One of the girl in heavy makeup and overly dressed, walked by doing cat walks. Just to gain attention. While one of the middle aged man was seeking for the address, by asking each and everyone on the street.
But in all these somethings we fail to notice, like a beggar begging on the signals. A poor lady asking for money with a little child in her arms. We even don’t notice the cobblers sitting side of the roads. I think they do most appreciable job. They save us from embarrassment of sudden breaking of sandal on the way, it’s obvious we will not rush in shops for getting new pairs immediately. Or small stalls of ice cream, bhelpuris or gol gappes. They not only sell their vends but also happiness.
It was a great experience to observe different personalities and walk on the road. Many were there with me, some where pedestrian, some bicyclist, some in their bullets while some in cars and rickshaws. Everyone was walking with different perspectives, different goals. Some where walking towards home from tiring day at work. Few women walked in hurry to meet her child. Few where going to work, in night shift, some running to hospitals, while some going to fancy restaurants to have dinners. Everyone was beaming more or less. They were wearing the mask of lucidity. Like if the problem is kind of nothing in there life, they lived something irrational perfect life. But no one knows what they are going through, we never know the person who is walking, having little smile may have cried hard at his home, or had lost his child few days ago…..
Stay kind, but alert!!!
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