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.
Collecting guts, again I am pushing myself in thoughts of us.
Here I reveal the truth, every day there is a thought in my meadows and I blush.
But I know in a day or it’s hour or even for a small nano second I must be in your mind.
For more or little, like a blessing or curse you must be amused how in my love you have gone blind.
In black bleeding nights or in bold days you must be missing me and my presence.
You must have gone freak in the dry day. Tired and low in remembering filthy me.
I know the first love. The love and the person is not easily riddance.
The taste of love always stays in heart. This is why I know you must be remembering me.
I am assured that I am in your mind. Maybe not for day or hours but for just a second or a nano second.
(Everyone expect to write something relatable. Something about love, something about pain. But today what I am gonna write will be relatable with you and me. Because I am gonna write about humanity. I am gonna describe The pain which humanity faced after seeing Praduman laying dead in bathroom. I am gonna describe not the Praduaman’s death but the murder of kindness and tenderness of soul. It’s shocking when you hear that Praduaman was just a random boy who was killed by his own school mate just because, that school mate wants his exam to get postponed. This can happen with you and me. Or any random student in the school.)
Here the narrator is humanity herself.
I was paused and frightened. I was reckless and helpless. Again I was going to be killed in small room. Again I was going to get smothre in pieces. I prayed, I begged to the young teen ager to stop and drop that sharp weapon on white tile. I requested him not to paint this floor with blood. I tried showing him the the docile and scandalized eyes of the little boy whom he was holding with tight grip. But he didn’t buy my pleads. He ran the knife through his neck rupturing the toddler’s vocal cords. I was numb and scared. I felt the pain of death once more. I experienced the bleeding of the 6 year old. Toddler breath his last breath and my last hope also left me.
But it wasn’t just the murder of the 6 year old but it was a double murder. I also died with the decent child. His mother didn’t lost only her son but she lost her trust in me and kindness. It was not the question about the teen ager but it was a doubt on his upbringing. It was a slap on his moral values. It was something that can’t be explain in words. The stream of blood from the 6 year old was doubting my existence. Her mother’s screams were vulnerable made me look as the matter of imagination. His Father considered me ghoul.
This what is happening each day to me. I am sometimes killed in flats, in schools and even in hospitals. Everyone on this planet had lost trust in me. Most of them have kicked me out of their souls. Now I hear that world is modernizing. Everyone is singing the song of mordernism. But I know if I would be killed like this everyday the whole human race will come to extinction. Because I am not made from human but humans are made of me. I am their soul ingredient. Which they are throwing out of them daily…
The emotion which comes secretly.
It makes you oblivion, scary and crazy.
With doing nothing you stay busy.
You can trade anything for love.
Feels like the command coming from above.
You loose your six senses in it.
You forget to sleep and eat.
But you loose “ME” in building “US.”
You start cherishing all the disgusts,
With smile and opean heart.
It hurts when your loved one is apart.
Love breaks you in pieces.
Love is only responsible for caprices.
Your own patience get amused.
After seeing you smile, though your heart is bruised.
The love drench you,
It burns you in through.
It will kill you, though you will be living.
It will bring you despair, still you be believing.
Love is tricky,
It feels you with jealousy and insecurity.
The colour of love is different, Boss!!
Everyone’s Love is unique and gross.
Please like and comment and review.
They are astonishing creatures,
With quirky features.
They live doing ding-dong,
With words in illusionary bong.
They let us know the people,
Their mould, legacy and regal.
They let us to drown in them,
They let us to love them.
They create an intimacy,
Its a tryst but not conspiracy.
They come in lives to not to leave,
But to stay and millions things to give.
We can hold them in day,
And love them at night,
Every time they have new tale to say.
From loneliness they rescue us as our Knight.
They travel us to the world,
While we are lazy and curled.
Not moving an inch.
Without tickets or bags to winch.
They admire us as their best folks.
In silent nights they were the one,
With whom we spoke.
They hug us when we are done.
They leave us numb,
Pain stored in them make us mum
They make us smile and let us weep.
In new pages, tight and crisp.
They be with us in our desert.
They heal us when we are hurt.
They pick our soul to love,
They are a bliss in cove.
They win our hearts,
They line us that living is an art.
They mingle with us in our entity,
Giving us an unique identity.
One day. Yeah, one day, maybe in wedding or a busy road, in hospital or in train or somewhere, here and there we will meet. After a decade or two. But assuredly we will meet. When we will be living our dreams or regretting for not living them. When we will have those initial signs of old-age and we might be in distress by feeling the old-age at our doors. Everything will be changed. But through our lost connection we will meet like two correct wires joined together to flicker the bulb.
You will be with a girl approx your age holding your right hand firmly. A girl who will be less beautiful than me, but she will own you and you will own her. On your other side a little girl who will resembles the tiny angel from the heaven. With two ponies. Her hairs like noodles coming out of her rubber-band as a water from fountain. She will be holding your index finger stiffly that your both sweats will be mingling with each others. Standing in between two ladies you couldn’t give me your strong smile once which boosted me more than caffeine. But you will smile, smile a feeble smile.
I will be scandalize after seeing you. My heart will sink in gloom to know that you are a married man, happily we can’t declare just by seeing face na !!!! I will get frozen and curse my fate for having an encounter with you. The encounter in which we both are going to be butchered together emotionally. You, after seeing me in business suit and sour face, you will search for a while to my vanished naiveness. You will look for my soft features and at last you will look for my marriage marks and after not finding any of these things which you expected to be with me as my close companion, will make you confused.
Still then by your expression I can understand about your doom and I will smile at you a bright one after a very long time. As before, my same dimples will emerge like holes on cheeks. Your heart will loose it’s beat and lungs breath, still you will fall once again on those dimples. You will smirk and walk towards me. I will be like a stop video. Can’t move , can’t run. Our breathing will increase and all our memories will get played in our minds in loops, as if all they were the episodes of just yesterday. It will feel like just yesterday we have danced in rain, just yesterday you have proposed me, just yesterday we cooked together. Just yesterday you left me.
I will look in your eyes, can’t resist because they are the same eyes on which I have lost my all the worlds. You will look in mine, still you can’t resist . You will find the love in the sourness. The love for “you” which isn’t rancid with time but it has increased it’s luster like a gold. But something inside you will clench after this. You might don’t know what? Maybe because the love which gave you solace is still alive like a flickering fire on stove. Same heat and same light.
The guilt in your eyes will be visible as a spot in white cloth. I will be able to sense your love and will sigh with satisfaction. We will talk for a while taking an account for each other’s life. Making mental notes in mind. Still we will have infinite topic to talks and also the moments of silence. Just like the decades before it will seem like. You will have urge to hold me in your arms, you will want to stick my head in your chest. You will feel to run away a far somewhere holding my hands. Hush……you will stop yourself. You will ask me about my husband and children and I will smirk and silently show you the same ring which you wore me, by making promises that you never kept.
Astonishment in your eyes and voice will be traceable. You will be moved and cripple with your thoughts. By giving my regards to your wife and your daughter I will zoom out from there.
But on my second step I will overhear your wife asking about me and you will say “We were just friends!!!” You will be also moved by this reply. I will sense you are still looking at me going afar from you, but I won’t turn.
Lost and broken I will come home. Angry, jaded and reckless I will cry myself to sleep. Again there will be no-marks of your yours in my life.
You will be sad and gloomy. You will realize something unknown Alchemy was still with life. Still you misses me everyday, still you need me. But your daughter’s voice will force you to brush away my thoughts. Again I will be the background. Abandon and ignored in your life.
Yea, we will meet to hurt ourselves ONCE MORE!!!
Please tell how it was in comments!!!
A day will come, when eyes will be empty and lips will be reckless to speak something but will be shining with faded smile.
Your memories will be like a print, in an “Old cloth.” Vague and blur. Traceable only for a while.
A day will come when you will be happy in your life and I will be happy for “Yours.”
You will not care for me and I will not care for myself.
A day will come when linings on my temple will get darker and heart will be heavy with our memories getting sharper.
But I will love you anyways and you will love “Yourself” in everyway.
A day will come when my hot cup of tea will loose it’s steam. Getting impatient of my habit to forget.
I can forget the hot tea, the roses, the sky, the titles of book. But I can’t forget you. Yes, you and only you.
A day will come when I will be tired and restless and will start to write about you. About our memories and dreams that didn’t come true.
Roli… Please comment and review
I was confused and bemused.
I was lost and weary in daylight.
My soul was lamented & cold.
My green meadow was out of my sight.
I wished to die and acquire tranquil eternity.
I was alone like a sad & decayed flesh.
My pious spirit and flawless beauty,.
Was forbidden and untraced.
But You reached for my astray soul.
With zeal and verdict of forever’.
You loved my solitary parts in solace.
Together we walked for universe’s savour.
My shambolic hairs, tormented eyes,
wet cheeks and broken heart.
Of all you took charge to guard them with relived sigh.
I raised from my cocoon, took a new birth.
You guarded my tender soul, a very little act.
You gathered shattered pieces of my life.
Rekindled it with love,
Your eyes revealed that you are a naive.
You held me like a crib does to infant.
You loved me like if it’s the last time.
You amused me with your melodious love chants.
You made me inferred that loving someone wasn’t a crime.
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