'Always & forever' (a short story)

Miles away, living in a different city, Ajay missed her terribly...sometimes even more than family. His family would often tease him about it; that he spent more time with her than with them. But what was presumed to be puppy love had blossomed into a symbiotic dependency over the years.

Now in a new city, lonliness felt like a visceral pain every time he entered his empty apartment. He had promised he'd come back for her as as soon as he had settled in at his workplace. Until then, they'd have to make do with webcam and phone.

She'd always been a patient girl. Confident of her love, she was sure he'd never leave her in the lurch. Ajay still remembered the look in her beautiful brown eyes when he told her he had to leave for another city. It had pained him as much as it had saddened her...the moment of separation outside the airport.

The silence in his empty apartment made him miss her even more. He missed every moment of the time spent with her---those lovely walks they took together, the wordless understanding they would sometimes share, the comfort of her cozy hugs. Two weeks here and he'd realised why they say absence made the heart grow fonder.

His nostalgic pinings were interrupted by the chime of his computer.  8 pm; it was time for the daily rendezvous with his sweetheart. Enthusiastically, he switched on his webcam.

"Yo bro! Ready for your date?" said his brother, grinning on the other side of the computer screen.

"Dude, don't waste my time. Where is she?" Ajay frowned, straining his neck looking for his beloved.

He could hear her now. Music to his ears. Excited yelps reached their crescendo as the webcam was shifted and an enthusiastic golden retriever came slowly into focus, wagging her soft furry tail in excitement.
Ajay's joy knew no bounds, as his little darling climbed up his brother's lap and smothered the computer screen with wet sloppy kisses.

"I miss you too, old girl," he cried, almost hugging his laptop.  "I miss you too..."

***

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This post is published for #OpenNTalk Blogger's League hosted by Dipika Singh of Gleefulblogger
Ruchie Verma - Wigglingpen in association with SummerBarn, Vedantika Herbals, Nyassa, Explore Kids World.

#OpenNTalk is a bloggers league wherein forty selected bloggers are divided into eight teams. Each team has five members, who will blog on varied topics during the month of June. Each blogger will post a series of four posts, one post every week. 

My team for the Bloggers League is #CrossBorderSisters, and blogging with me are my four other team mates namely
1: Aditi:  Blog| Facebook | Twitter | Instagram

2: Manisha: Blog| Facebook | Twitter | Instagram
3. Anagha: Blog| Facebook | Twitter | Instagram
4: Bhawna: Blog| Facebook | Twitter | Instagram

So do hop on this bandwagon, and cheer us during our journey. Your views on the posts are most welcome.

Cheers and love!

N for 'Nosy neighbors'

Mine is a creative neighborhood
Of well-acquainted strangers,
With faces lit with Cheshire-cat grins
That instantly transform
Into wrinkles and frowns,
And pleasantries to groans and grimaces,
Snapping congeniality at the blink of an eye
Into sharp indifference and oblivion
When someone approaches them
For a helping hand.

Glass-window panes tightly shut down,
Doors lock and peepholes open,
As my neighborhood lurks into troubled homes,
Hoping nobody will catch the bluff
They'd manufacture at the gossip mill
Where they work tirelessly day in and out,
Not knowing that inside every adjacent house,
Behind every curtain shade,
Is another eye watching them spy;
Another mind cooking another story.


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N for 'Nosy neighbors'  is the fourteenth post in the 'A-Z Series' of posts, a chain of scribbles by me on topics starting with each alphabet of the English language. Read back and forth for the other posts, and please feel free to contribute your thoughts on the subject.

'Water Girl'

They called her a child of the sea. Even as a baby, she would love the splashing sound of the waves, the sweeping motion of the water as it washed over her feet. She was happiest when her parents took her to the beach. While most children were busy building sand castles and collecting shells, she would spend hours gazing at the sea, appreciating the setting sun, focusing her sight on distant sailing boats, smiling at the ebb and flow of the tidal current. Her friends would fondly call her 'Water Girl'.

As she grew up, her love for the sea translated into songs. She had a beautiful voice and soon enough her talent, like her beauty, was recognized far and wide. They said she had great potential. That night, her parents held a special beach party.
She wore a gorgeous blue dress, blue like the color of the sea, blue like her innocent eyes which matched it. A tiara of fragrant flowers held back her lovely straight hair. There was food and wine. There was song and dance......and amidst all this, she vanished!

Some call it a suicide. Others say it was a high tide and the strong waves swept her away. But only a few believe in what could have actually been...
She was a child of the sea, and the sea called her home!

I 'text' you

With the advent of WhatsApp, FaceBook, Twitter, and so many other social networking sites, we have started paying extra homage to the written word in communication.
Gone is the era when we used to pick up the phone and yap away endlessly with our besties, meet with them over a cup of coffee to discuss the latest gossip, or cry on their shoulders over our latest heart break while they offered us a box of tissues.
Nowadays, we just text message them. Whatsapping is even better. It's cheaper and there is this whole set of emoji's (one for every emotion) so that you don't really miss out on any reaction, be it the angry 'mad-at-you' face, or that cute little 'beating heart' that makes you wonder whether you could really be half as expressive as that.

If your friends are busy, there is always the broadcast option or social networks that you can resort to. These enable your friends to fuss over you as and when they log in, and you can sit back and feel better on counting their 'likes' and comments. So cool, eh?

This post, however, is about texting styles. There are so many different types and yours truly being a big fan of the written word herself, could not help but observe and admire the variety.
I have shortlisted the eight most common ones here.

1) The text-spread-the-love fanatic:
We all know at least one such a friend who keeps adorning her messages with lots of hearts, kisses, and hugs. No text is devoid of 'sweety', 'sweetheart', 'munchkin', 'cupcake' and other such overtly diabetic vocabulary. You might be her ace rival, but she will never miss out on an opportunity to throw in pleasantry.

2) The frozen-text icicle:
This is a person of very few (written) words. Most of the texts include monosyllabic responses. Be happy if you manage to force out a complete sentence from him/her, this species of 'texters' is the happiest when you ask them direct leading questions.
Please note: They tend to use emoji's and reason that they are being neck deep in work, but trust me, these are simply excuses to keep the one-sided conversation going.

3) The text-novelist:
Contrary to the frozen icicle, the novelist (as the name suggests) will go on and on, regardless of whether you reply or not. Ask them a question and they will be happily answering it for the next ten minutes or so, before they realize that you might have fallen asleep.

4) The laughter-text-club member:
We all know that laughter is the best medicine, but these guys just take insanity a notch higher when they begin or end each text with a 'LOL'. What they don't always realize is that the 'hahaha' and 'hihihi' is way more irritating...especially when the guy on the other side doesn't get the joke!
However, when two laughter-club members tend to text each other................well, no! I'm sure they irritate the hell out of each other as well.

5) The emotional-text player:
These are people who propose or break up over texts...enough said!

6) The happy hours text-philosopher:
This is usually someone who would sell his/her pancreas and liver in exchange for some clarity in life. But all of a sudden, he/she starts sending inspirational and philosophical text messages to everyone he/she knows. Ofcourse, if it wasn't for auto correct, we would have a tough time reading these out aloud  when he/she is sober.

7) The text-devdaas:
As quite evident by the nomenclature, this species resorts to an exaggerated version of drunk texting to emotionally blackmail an ex. Most of the times, the text-devdaas is well aware of this shortcoming and keeps his phone switched off during happy hours. However, self control is not usually a virtue of a broken heart and an inebriated mind.

8) The 24/7 active texter:
I don't know how they do it. But these people seem to be active all the time. Text them at 3 am in the morning, and they'd reply. Whatsapp them at any odd time, and whoosh! They appear 'online' immediately. It's nice to have these kind of friends though...they provide you a sort of a security blanket. So what if it's only on texts. You know they are always just a few alphabets away.

Phew! That quite sums up all the major types of texters and their texting habits.

I know what you must be wondering. What category do I fall in, eh?
Well, there is nothing like a little suspense to get this place up and going. So, that, my dear reader, is best kept a secret...for you to figure and me to keep quiet about. *chuckles to herself*

Cheers!!! 

55 Fiction---'The final goodbye'

The door flung open to his startled face.
He had not expected her to be up this early.

But today, she had decided to put an end to the whole thing.
.
.....
.........
.............
.................
....................
........................
"Kal se doodh nahi chahiye!" she exclaimed coldly at the crestfallen milkman, who knew his diluted milk was no match to her untarnished anger.

Different shades of grey

Aditya had blue eyes, the innocence of his tender age reflecting in them as he spoke.
It was arts class, the period he loved most, especially because of Miss Ashweta, his arts teacher and also his favorite.
He looked around. His best friend Vivek was painting a scenery. He decided to paint one too. He now rehearsed what he had practiced saying aloud at home.
"The sun is yellow,
The sky is blue,
The trees green,
The mountains brown..."

 He picked up a crayon. Staring hard at it, he wondered why there were so many crayons of the same color...different shades, he thought. He passed a glance at Vijay who was sitting with his box of just seven colors. Everyone knew Vijay could not afford a complete crayon set. However, Aditya always liked his box better and always felt his own box contained too many crayons. Vijay's box was simple and a lot more lucid to paint with, as compared to his mega crayon box of 75 assorted crayons, that everyone in his class envied.

On the teachers table at the far end of the room, there was a vase with a dozen roses. It was the teacher's birthday. How happy she would be if he painted the exact same bunch of flowers on his drawing book. Aditya imagined the blush on her face. Roses, it was.  Easy to paint.
Fifteen minutes later, when everyone handed in their drawing books, Mrs Verma was taken aback. No matter how much she knew, Aditya's paintings would always get her flustered.
There, on Aditya's drawing page was a vase of perfectly sketched roses, the only flaw being they were all painted black. Below in neat calligraphic font, was written 'Happy Birthday Ashweta Miss' within a small black heart.

Aditya saw the world in black and white. Sometimes he would see the world in shades...of gray. Born with total color blindness, he could not differentiate one hue from another. His first painting in Arts class had blue trees, a yellow sky and red mountains. All the students had laughed their heads off. Mrs Ashweta Varma was the only one who had realised that this was not an over imaginative mind at work but an evil destiny at play. She had spoken with Aditya's parents and had her doubt confirmed. Brushing a tear off her cheek, she had preserved that first painting in her locker---the first carefree attempt of the world through Aditya's eyes. She knew that with time, society would make him feel ashamed for a vision he was not even responsible for. But that was how the world was, it had no insight into a persons humiliation.

Today, as Mrs Varma saw the roses Aditya had painted, she felt a twinge of sadness. She looked at Aditya, into his deep blue eyes, at his innocent anticipating face and smiled.
"Thankyou Aditya, this is the best birthday gift anyone could ever have given me," she said wistfully, as she hugged the little boy in a tight embrace.
Then carefully dodging the paper from the strained attempts of all the other students to see it, she folded the piece of paper and placed it in her hand bag, to add to her repository of cherished memories.

"The sun is yellow,
the sky is blue,
the trees green,
the mountains brown,
roses red, " Aditya mumbled as he went back to his desk.

The seventy five different hues in his color box would change shades every now and then.
However, what would always remain was a little bit of longing in those deep blue eyes...a longing to see the world in more than just those different shades of grey.

---

This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.

This post has been picked by BlogAdda as a WOW post for the weekend.

The long kept secret

Atharva Vyas entered the dirty bylanes of the city he once called home.
"Namaste, does Zakira Siddiqui still live here?" he inquired.

"She passed away a year ago, Saheb. That's her son."

A boy of merely ten, sat there polishing shoes, tattered clothes barely covering his emaciated body.
Atharva winced as he recalled his cowardice betrayal, almost a decade ago. He had left silently without an explanation after that night, knowing that he was not yet responsible enough for a commitment like marriage. Soon he had left for the US and built himself a life there.
It had been only after a decade of no communication with the ghosts of his past, that he had felt a pang of guilt for his spineless act, and returned to India. Of course, he had expected she must be married. He had even known there would be a child in the picture. He just thought he owed her an apology,  that was all. He did not expect anything more from her than to forgive him----but she, she had decided to beat him at his own game. A silent departure in exchange for a silent departure. She had left....left this world without his apology...without allowing him a chance to explain.

"Salaam Saab, boot polish?" 

 It was the boy now who broke this reverie of thoughts. There was something familiar about him, Atharva thought. Maybe it was his smile...or was it his cheek bones that rendered him an air of intimacy, even though they were meeting for the first time...or was it the soft crinkly eyes? Zakira, he thought to himself...was there need of any other reason for him to feel so at-home with this child?
But along with the compassion came a rush of anger for the man who allowed this boy to sit on the footpath, staring at the feet of a hundred passer-by's, imploring them to shine their shoes. Who in dreadful hell was the drunk who forced these innocent hands into gleaming these stranger's shoes soiled with muck and mud, to earn a few rupees, while he himself whiled his time, perhaps in the nearby local bar? Atharva wondered how such a man must have treated his delicate Zakira while she was his wife. As he did this, another pang of helplessness and guilt washed over him.
He now tried to console himself with the fact that she must have been happy. After all, the boy's age told him that she had soon married after he left for the United States. In a way, it was a good thing she hadn't waited. Life and maturity had coaxed him to move on...and her hanging on to his coming back, would have only added to his guilt.

The boy was now tugging at his leg, asking him to place his booted foot on the wooden box.
" Beta," Atharva patted him wistfully, "what is your name?" 

Smiling brightly, the boy answered, "Aadil...Aadil Atharva Siddiqui..."

A shell shocked  stared open mouthed at the boy. She had waited...
He was tempted to ask more. But didn't he have enough responsibilities to handle?
His heart cursed him for being so selfish. Then he remembered his wife and children, back in the US. He looked at the boy again. How oblivious he was, his spirit bright and happy. The way he declared his name suggested that Zakira had told their son about Atharva in a way, that would make any father swell with pride.
Disclosing this long kept secret would steal him of the sacrosanct impression he held for his father. Also, what would his family say about this, he shuddered. Sushma would not think twice about filing a divorce and the children would be heartbroken.
"That would be ten rupees, Saab" the cheerful smile again.

Atharva contemplated for a moment before professing a fifty rupee note. Heavy hearted, he turned to leave when the boy called out.

"Saabji, here is your change."

"Keep it, beta"

"No Saab. My mother has taught me never to take more than what is due." the boy returned the remaining money to Atharva and continued his shoe-shine ritual with the next customer.
 Atharva felt a heavy load on his chest. That was Zakira's teachings---the boy had taken after his mother.
"God bless you, son..." he said to the smiling boy and went away, with the heart wrenching sadness  that he could never become the man his son was.

 While in the taxi, he cried silently.
 "One rupee for every year that I missed. That is all this wretched father could give his son," he weeped.

He never visited India again...

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This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.

 This post has been picked by BlogAdda as a WOW post for the weekend 6th to 8th September 2013

When 'Smartphone' gets smarter...

"Yes you, I am talking to you. You can stop staring and focus on what I am about to say, please."

It takes time for Rohit to realise that he is still foolishly staring at his cell phone on the table, with his mouth agape in surprise, wondering if someone is playing a mean trick at him. His sister is learning ventriloquism these days. But it is late in the night, and he knows she is too lazy to stay awake just for a practical joke.
As if reading his mind, the phone on the table bounces up straight, and the voice is heard again.
"This is no joke, Sir..We have to talk and its important." The voice has acquired a serious baritone, and Rohit rubs his eyes once more, only to be convinced he isn't dreaming. It is indeed his phone doing the talking.

"B..but how can...you...?"

"That's not important" squeaks the device, "Lets not waste time in useless banter and come straight to the point."

"..and the point being?" He has got a grip on himself by now, and his teenage brain has come to terms with the fact that his phone is perhaps designed with some mysterious vocal quality.
He is making a mental note of the list of problems the phone is causing these days. If anyone has a right to sound angry, it is him. But letting the opponent lay out his cards first has always been his winning strategy. That way, he always got to have the last word.
His thought is disturbed by a whimper. For a moment, Rohit could swear he heard someone blow their nose---the aftermath of a typical girly wail.

"I've had enough. Its not working between us anymore." the phone splutters.

"Whaaaaat??!!!" Rohit exclaims, his voice a mixture of shock and confusion, "What's not working betw..."

"WE...We can't be together any more," the phone chokes up with emotion.

"Oh, for God's sake, you are just a stupid smartphone. How can you decide?"  Rohit is almost laughing now.

Acquiring an indignant brashness in response to Rohit's impudence, the voice continues talking.
"Firstly, I cannot be a 'stupid smart' phone. That, my friend, is an oxymoron. So since I'm an authorised smart phone (and I've got my manufacturing company vouching for it), its not me who is stupid." 
 The comment stings Rohit like a slap on his cheek. He stands there speechless while the phone continues lecturing, "...and secondly, I am surprised you still challenge my capabilities when I have already caused so much mayhem in your life?"

An evil chuckle is followed by the enumeration of incidents over the past few months...
"Remember when you and Shilpa had that major big fight," the mechanical voice continues, though it has now acquired a steely grim quality, "the one in which she blamed you for not answering her grand total of twenty one calls? How you'd thought it was the network at fault, that the calls had never reached you. and that text that Subodh sent informing you of the Chemistry viva..How you blamed him after scoring a duck..Err...you still think I can decide nothing?" it sniggered, mentally hoping its fib wouldn't be caught.

"How did you manage to do all that?" Rohit's naive mind does not challenge the threat. After all, a  talking phone can do anything. He believes.

"Ahh, I have my contacts. A battery of mates who work for me, you know. How else do you explain the waxing and waning of charged up energy that peaks and ebbs in no particular order, even though you religiously fix me up on that stupid date with Mr Charger. every night? You don't really believe its just the few careful downloads that consume so much, do you?"

"What do you want from me?"  A flummoxed Rohit is now totally convinced aware that the situation is deadlier than it seems. It is all a conspiracy headed by his stupid smart phone.

"A break..." it points out blatently, "I need a break. I need some time to myself. Some me-time. I am tired of being man handled by you all the time. Be it a movie hall, a restaurant, amidst family, friends, relatives, you constantly have your hands on me. How would you like to be watched over 24x7...you every move examined...your every action scrutinised? Dude, I feel claustrophobic....smothered...locked up under your gaze...pressured under your touch.I need space."
 it rattles off.
"Drama queen," Rohit muttered under his breath, "So you created all this nuisance for space? You should consider yourself lucky you get so much attention."

"At what cost, buddy? You are missing out on important memories in the process..Mmemories that are being created with you around and yet without you in them. Why? Because you were too busy staring at some stupid app on your cell screen or you were too caught up group texting someone miles away or because you are too engrossed watching some video that is doing the rounds these days or too caught up clicking bizarre pictures of your animated face to send to your latest crush. Do you realise how many times your parents and friends have wished you never had me in your life? Dude, this is not good for my image," the phone is on the verge of throwing yet another fit.

"Ok ok. I know you are trying to drive home a point and I get it," Rohit frowns.

"Wow!!! Praise the lord..." taunts the phone.

"You might be smart, but I am not stupid." he chuckles at his own joke.

The phone cringes at Rohit's sense of humor. It is midnight. The clock strikes twelve interrupting the silence in the apparently sleeping household.
"Happy Birthday, Dude! It is time for me to get back into my mechanical mode. I will now meet you for your next birthday. Until then, think about what I've told you."
"But why on my next birthday? Why can't I speak to you more often?" argues Rohit, a little wistfully.
" Because that will defeat the whole purpose of the lecture, you dunce. Now go enjoy your birthday. You have missed three calls already." There is a kind of sardonicism in its voice.


Just then Rohit's parents and sister enter his room with a huge cake. His mom lights up sixteen small candles on it, a reminder of the wonderous age he is about to enter. Rohit's sister begins to sing the birthday song and his dad joins in the chorus. Rohit puffs his cheeks and is all set to extinguish the candles on the cake, when the phone rings.
Rohit is distracted. He looks at the phone, then at his family. A look of disappointment crosses the faces that were glowing with excitement just a minute ago.
Rohit remembers what the smart phone had told him. This moment with his loved ones---the memory of his 16th birthday, was more important than the phone call.
He smiles at his parents and blows out the candles on the cake. The call goes ignored. He would call back later.
Rohit spends the entire day with his family and friends, smothered with hugs, love, blessings....and loads of memories. All thanks to the conversation with his cell, he has learned how to live every moment and cherish every memory.

The smart phone lies neglected,  yet happy...

 

This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda. 

This post makes it to the WOW list at BlogAdda for the weekend August 30th to September 1st . *takes a bow*

The lamb and the wolf

Once upon an equal time, 

there lived a lamb in its prime. 

Young and naive and frail was she, 

like a delicate harmony. 

And in the forest not so far, 

lived a wolf as black as tar. 

Conniving, cold and smart was he, 

lived his life both loose and free. 

Once while wandering here and there, 

the innocent lamb entered his lair. 

The wolf surprised at the lamb so brave, 

was impressed when she reached his cave. 

Staring into his demonic eye, 

the little lamb didn't flinch nor cry. 

Unlike all creatures she wasn't scared, 

to befriend the wolf she had dared. 

The forest animals were perplexed, 

at the friendship so complex. 

They shuddered and gossiped without a sound, 

while the wolf and lamb would strut around. 

They groaned and moaned it wouldn't last, 

but the kinship proved them wrong and fast. 

Until one day, the grapevine spoke, 

"We cannot allow this blasphemous stroke. 

Something needs to be done to part, 

and drive these two friends apart. 

Its against nature don't you see, 

a lamb and wolf are no company." 

Packs of wolves schemed and plotted, 

to save their brethren from being spotted. 

The lamb in question so demure and mild, 

couldn't be mate to a creature of the wild. 

Never has it happened as of date, 

that a meal like her had escaped their plate. 

Together got the squirrels, butterflies and birds, 

the sambars, elks and gazelles in herds, 

went up to the lamb in an assembly neat, 

to snatch the ground from beneath her feet... 

 'Oh stupid creature, dont you know?

It's all a plan---evil and slow... 

That's just an act the wolf is playing, 

while in his dream, its you he's slaying." 

The lamb let out an angry bleat, 

her friendship no one could defeat. 

She refused to budge, her trust undeterred, 

while the exhausted others felt patience frittered. 

The wolf too wouldn't hear a word, 

his scheming friends went all unheard. 

And as the wolf and lamb stood strong, 

the forest felt a gloom so wrong. 

As time flew by with great elan, 

Ms Busy Bee came up with a plan... 

She whispered to the lamb anew, 

"I think the wolf is in love with you..." 

Shell shocked the lamb in silence stared, 

while the wise old bee further bared... 

"We knew it was futile from the very start, 

wicked creature, you are breaking his heart..." 

The lamb denied with tear filled eyes, 

but she found her heart believing these lies... 

"Some rules, my dear can never bend, 

no one can ever on just love depend..." 

The bee then whispered the same news flash, 

to the wolf whose heart it crashed. 

The lamb, his friend she had always been, 

could her love have gone so unseen? 

Both lamb and wolf drowned in despair, 

each wondering whether it wasn't fair, 

to cause such heart break to the other,

they stopped talking any further... 

Started avoiding each other they, 

neither would any reason say, 

while the forest animals danced with glee, 

and clinked their glasses with the bumblebee. 

Now when the lamb and wolf crossed paths, 

to the jungle market or river bath, 

each merely offered a cursory glance, 

a guilty betrayal that stood no chance... 

Thus the wolf and the lamb met a sorry plight, 

but to everyone's delight, 

life would follow the same old trends, 

A wolf and a lamb would never be friends!!! 

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Writer's note: This was a satirical take on society and how it is perfectly capable of manipulating the most unadulterated relationships so that we never manage to emerge out of the rigid cast of stereotypes it has created. I hope you enjoyed reading it!

Romancing With The Moon...

I steal a glance,
he peeps at me,
and both of us light up with glee...
ohh how easy it can sometimes be,
romancing with the moon...

a tired soul,
a weary mind,
a better friend i couldn't find...
so unique and one of its kind,
is my romance with the moon...

counting hours,
until its night,
the world watches a lover's plight...
but nothing ever could feel so right
as romancing with the moon...

the soothing calmness,
the tranquil skies,
a million dreams in twinkling eyes,
all shared with no surprise,
while romancing with the moon...

no love affair,
has a trust so fine,
he knows I'm his and I know he is mine...
despite a million odds in line,
is my romance with the moon

an unspoken promise,
that we always keep,
to meet before we go to sleep...
as fate takes a boundless leap,
while romancing with the moon...

dancing in the rain,
singing with the stars,
makes me forget life's painful scars...
and I'm swept away in a world that's our's,
while romancing with the moon...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Writers note---
We as humans, all feel the need of solitude sometimes---the need to stay away from the crowd...the need to spend time alone..the need to protect ourselves from the hurt which we fear would eventually stem, from all things transient.
this piece is written in one such a frame of mind.

'Romancing with the moon' is symbolic of believing in the small gleam of hope which is capable of lighting up the darkest of nights..the tiny glitter of permanency which promises to never leave our side---the connection with our selves, the rendezvous with our soul..the whisper of our heartbeats...the conversations with our inner voice.

Even though the metaphorical ‘moon' is light years away from us, he still manages to evoke in us a guarantee that there is someone who will always be willing to listen to our side of the story, the one link capable of bridging the distance between soulmates separated over space and time---‘OUR CONSCIENCE’!!

This work of mine has been published in 'THE VIEWSPAPER' an online paper for the youth...to view the poem, click here :) :)

In wax and stone lies a story known...

"I cannot take it anymore.You are selfish and cold and will never understand my love," cried the wax statue as it melted into a hot pool of droplets.

Its stone counterpart stared in silence as the world around mocked at it being so unyielding to emotions. As it was kicked around with scornful words and hurtful taunts, nobody noticed it was slowly getting chipped---the heartless one was made of stone after all, they thought.

As time went by, the winds of change blew again. The wax statue was remodeled into an exquisite design once again, by the artistic hands of a talented craftsman. Being made of wax, it molded itsself smoothly to the flame of love and passion, and soon enough the world was captivated by its breath taking beauty.

The stone sculpture that once was, however refused to adapt to the breeze of love---for it had already known its brunt.
Being made of stone, it had silently stepped into remorse and self destruction---neither uttering a cry nor offering any explanation, the grief gnawed its way to reach its core. So disintegrated became its personality, that no artist in the world could change it into anything akin to its original self, leave alone something better. The flame of love and passion could only make it hold its self for a while---always until old memories swept in and then it would crumble again to bits, taking down unexpressed hopes and hearts along with it.

The hurtful words of a loved one had slowly chipped it off its strength and splendor.The isolation from someone it considered no different than its own self had eaten away the very essence of its existence, which was once the very reason it stood proud and tall.
The misunderstanding had chiseled out an abyss of pain beneath its tough exterior.

While the wax statue was surrounded by applause and accolades, its stone counterpart had transmogrified into a good-for-nothing pile of grit confined to one end of a dilapidated construction site.
Soon the quarry workers would decide its future.But either way it was doomed.

However, there lied a strange kind of solace.
At least now, no one was complaining...

A million brilliant lies...

You had a million brilliant lies,
when I asked if you missed me...
You had a million brilliant lies,
when I asked if you cared...
You had a million brilliant lies,
for every time you kissed me...
You had a million brilliant lies,
and at last, the truth to speak you dared...

You tell me now that you love another,
and that things are not the same...
You tell me you see a bit of heaven,
whenever she calls out your name...

You tell me she means something,
but think i am the one for you...
You tell me that you love her,
but say you love me too...

I have a million brilliant lies,
when you ask me if i will stay...
I have a million brilliant lies,
to promise to 'share' you this way...
I have a million brilliant lies,
to keep this wedding band...
I have a million brilliant lies,
to vow and hold your hand...

You chose to speak the truth at last,
and now I should do that too...
I have to let you know today,
that i am no more in love with you...

When i asked you if you missed me,
I could never believe your lie...
Everytime that you kissed me,
I would whisper a silent goodbye...

I had a million brilliant lies,
to think our love hadn't faded...
I had a million brilliant lies,
to tell myself we were fine...
I had a million brilliant lies,
to keep my heart from getting jaded...
I had a million brilliant lies,
to say that you were all mine...

But creeps in reality-through slits and cracks,
and paints the whole world blue...
And as she entered into your heart,
I fell out of love with you...

For a heart that loves always knows,
when someone else arrives...
and love is just a matter of trust,
not a million brilliant lies...

Moody 'water' colors...

Whispering clouds and thundering skies,
lightening dazzles the night so shy,
as I wander lonely on the street,
I notice people around me scurrying by...

The pitter-patter of these drops of rain
The scent of the earth much divine
The musical sway of leaves on trees
Wild flowers with a freshness that shines...

I meet a girl with olive skin,
with a smile that does not meet the eye,
a deep sadness she must harbour there,
her heart seems burdened by a lie...

In silence as I watch her restrain,
I wonder how she hides her pain,
and then it dawns on me--she is trying,
but in the rain, who can see her crying?

Next, I meet a man complaining,
who frets and sulks because its raining,
talks about the muck and mud,
like an angry cow chews cud...

I notice his shirt---its dirty now,
a car has splashed a puddle somehow,
his mood is foul, his anger fair,
it's raining, but he does not care...

As I walk by another lane,
I see a man with his lady love,
sheltering her from the lashing wind,
a match made by the heavens above...

Dancing and jumping mad with glee,
soaking wet and drenched insane,
I greet them, children of innocent age,
oblivious to worry or worldy gain...

Someone trying to hide his pain,
someone revealing his disdain,
sometimes a blessing, for some a bane,
it's a wave of magic---this January rain!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Writers note: There was a sudden downpour in my head, and as Henry Wadsworth Longfellow rightfully said, "The best thing one can do when its raining is to let it rain" ;)

cheers!!!

Two extra hours...

Two extra hours of much needed time;
To help at home, to bond with kin,
To smile, to hug, to share a laugh,
To apologise for the ass ive been...
 
To catch up with that angry friend,
To go ahead and speak my part,
To drop in and say hello,
To prove the 'tinman' has a heart...

Two extra hours of much needed time;
To read, to dance, to sing, to write,
To hang on to these little joys,
To fasten my grip and hold on tight...
 
To help that old man cross the road,
To invite him in for a cup of tea,
To read street kids a fairytale,
To show them a world they'd love to see...

Two extra hours of much needed time;
To say 'i love you' to my dad,
To hug my mom and speak my heart,
To open up like i never had...
 
To thank the almighty for his grace;
To seek his care and blessings divine,
To pray to him to show the way,
To hope he makes it all go fine...
 
To pause and play the times gone by,
To introspect and talk to life,
To forgive, forget and make ammends,
To try and resolve every strife...

Two extra hours of much needed time;
though much trouble it might not save,
but help carry it would for sure,
a lot less regrets to my grave...

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If you are an Indivine user and you like what you read, you can vote for me here

Writer's note: This started off as a topic for a Indiblogger Surf Excel Matic #GetSmart Contest.
but somewhere along the way, as i scribbled along---I don't know when and how, it turned out to be something a lot more than just that.

I wont say much---but there are delicate times when life goes off balance and we know that it's only with constant attention and persistent behaviour that it can fall back in place.
It's times like these that we realise our helplessness and wish we had a little extra time to try and fix things from falling apart, within and around us.

As for me, I guess I'm just thankful that this topic gave way to a lot of pent up feelings---writing this has been quite an emotional journey.

Untitled

A silent sombre symphony...
A piece of shattered dream...
A wish gone unfulfilled...
A whole life to redeem...
 
A visiting-vanishing hope...
A tactfully repressed story...
A cherished memory so dear...
A past of wounded glory...

A crumbling sand castle...
A melting drop of snow...
A directionless wind...
A colorless rainbow...

An old unfinished conversation...
A listless solemn thought...
A confused speck of truth...
An invincible dirty blot...

A happy impromptu journey...
A relentless haunting pause...
An unstirred undying passion...
An unknown abandoned cause...

These fragments of my soul...
These splinters in my heart...
Piercing me through and through,
tearing me apart...

Silent conversations...

They were lying beside each other underneath the cool night sky.

"Do you see the moon?" he asked, a little distracted. "It's so in love with the sky---that is the reason all the stars in the sky fall weak in its glory---because its love for the sky is so indescribable, immeasurable, infinite..."

"Hmmm..." she mumbled as if in deep thought. After a pregnant pause, she continued, "Actually, I think it's the other way around."

He had been waiting for this.
Contradict him she always did.

"I think its the sky who loves the moon more," she said."Don't you see how it gets swept away in gloomy darkness on a moonless night?"

He smiled...
She blushed...

They were lying beside each other underneath the cool night sky.

Talking about love...
Speaking of the moon and the sky...
Understanding the unspoken!!!

Against all odds...

My body trembled against yours,
skin to skin you held me close...
as our breaths sang in perfect unison,
to create a beautiful symphony of souls,
that day when we fought against all odds...
and got it even...

Better friends or bitter lovers,
sans knowing we had made amends...
you clasped my shivering hand in yours,
as I melted in your trusting arms,
that day when we fought against all odds,
and got it even...

A thousand arguments left half finished,
were put to rest in pent up passion...
the air was tense-our love at ease,
as I gazed into your longing eyes,
that day when we fought against all odds,
and got it even...

A bond of commitment it had changed into,
and nothing more I could have asked...
you carved your initials in my heart,
as I fiddled with my wedding ring,
that day when we fought against all odds,
and got it even...

Reflections

All around you searched in vain,
in every cranny, corner and nook,
in golden fields and sparkling creeks,
in each rivulet, stream and brook...

in thunder clouds and rainy skies,
in rainbows and stars galore,
in fairy tales and fable crowds,
in acts pleading encore...

in ballads and in soulful songs,
in a beloved's doting eyes,
in words spilled from a poets quill,
in blood thick bonds and ties...

in the morning sun at the crack of dawn,
in the moonlight shimmering bright,
in the guilt of those who knew had wronged,
in the virtue of who were right...

The worry of an unknown tomorrow,
the hunger for lasting cheer,
the search for constant jubilation,
had filled your mind with fear...

The rainbows and stars you noticed not,
were blessings from the skies above...
the silent goodbyes with tear filled eyes,
were cues to have found true love...

But all around you searched in vain,
for something that was never there...
trying to make some sense of life,
you quite lost out your share...

You'd met contentment in every sight,
but were far too busy to see,
It was never the journey that mattered, friend,
it was how you chose it to be!!!


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Writer's note---most of the above write is written metaphorically.Just thought i'd mention :)

A fragmented reality

A lot of stories were brought to a halt that day...half finished.

That coffee that never happened...
The hands we never held...
That lunch that remained just a plan...
That first meeting of two interdependent souls that got postponed indefinitely...
That long awaited face to face conversation which suddenly changed course....
The hope of breathing the same familiar air that eventually brought about nothing but a solitary claustrophobia...
The resting of my head onto your shoulder which lasted only until the dream ended...
The gazing together at the setting sun that heralded the end of a relationship before it could even see the real light of day...
The half-apologetic-half-bitter promise to meet--very soon...knowing deep in our hearts that it was just another contorted truth...
A lot of stories were brought to a halt that day...half finished.

Even today, I sometimes wonder---could things have gone any different?

Confessions of a 'High Maintenence' woman...

I don't need a plush apartment,
in Manhatten or Times Square...
But I need you to be beside me,
to remind me that you care...
to tell me you think I'm beautiful,
even when I'm old and fat...
And mean every word that's said,
I'm 'High Maintenence' like that.

I'm not crazy about diamonds,
no gifts you'd need to buy,
But I ask of trust and honesty,
and a promise that you'd never lie...
No Gucci, Versace or Armani,
nor Poodle or Persian cat...
only love that lasts forever,
I'm 'High maintenence' like that...

I ask not a Porsche or Ferrari,
nor demand a foreign twirl,
But I might sulk and pout and brood all day,
if you flirt with another girl...
I may not always tell you,
the reason I'm feeling ignored,
or I may throw a childish tantrum,
assuming you are bored...
Ask not any questions then,
just tell me you love me so,
hold me close and calm me down,
please know I'm feeling low...
There'd be days like these I guarantee,
when you'd stare and wonder at,
this cranky woman you thought you knew,
I'm 'High Maintenence' like that.

For I don't need your money and riches,
to keep me feeling proud...
I just need to be beside you,
in life's ever so maddening crowd...
For these memories are timeless,
and love, a priceless affair,
So lets keep it worth remembering,
and precious for both to share...
Some days, I'd be all understanding,
at times, I'd play the 'brat'...
So please handle me with utmost care,
I'm 'High Maintenence' like that.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Writer's Note: This poem is purely triggered off by a conversation I had with a friend today morning.
I, on the other hand, need to have my Gucci, Prada, Burberry, Cadillac, and of course, needless to mention, all the attention, trust, patience and time in the world.
So please DO NOT fall in love with me!