Swings of a rhapsodic mind

She was a meek soul. Her dare list ended even before it began. She wanted no intruders in her life, she was too scared to handle any one else. But life had it's designs, it made her go through a lot many experiences which made her what they call her today, a bold woman. So she was bold, she accepted that but the world seemed to not understand . They almost forgot that she too had dried her tears in her pillow around hopeless hours of nights when she was left to herself. She too knew what pain it took to let go, that behind her smiling face was once a weeping heart. Could the world ever understand what it took on her part to never hurt anyone and get hurt instead every time! They say love is beautiful, so says she but what she couldn't cater to was the idea of loving anyone to the extent that the person could revolutionize her world for good. She wanted to hold the keys to her life. So, she had to make a choice between loving someone or loving herself, the narcissist in her fa

It was spring, spring in the woods and even spring in her heart. There she was sailing between the best of both worlds. What more could she wish for, what more could anyone wish for ! But spring gave away to summer and things mellowed but her heart, a radiant one couldn't catch up with the idea of sailing out of spring. It decided to carry spring in its heart. She only had her heart for herself, her skin was sold off to a stranger for a ring. Autumn gave her a tough time, her heart was young but her skin started withering.She got freckles, wrinkles but could they see her heart, which was yet so green. Came winter, it brought in dismal tidings. She could feel the frost settle in her lips, her chapped skin bore no vigour. But what started bothering her was, the frost had jabbed her heart. It no longer sent forth sparks, it was put under shackles. But she had the greatest gift out of Pandora's box, she had 'hope' and when everything could fail her, she knew &

She kept staring at him , was he the same person whom she had loved! Why were his eyes so disturbing. Did he know that those eyes were ripping her soul? She had fought a fight which gave her jolts enough to let go what she had held dear. Never had she complained or regretted her decision for she had chose to love and loving someone couldn't be a mistake. The universe revealed to her in his eyes. Those eyes were what she couldn't deceive. One glance from him was enough for her ice cold heart to melt. She had begun to feel her heartbeats vibrating in the air whenever he shot her a glance. All in the name for love, she whispered to herself when she had silently packed her bags to be with him. She took the train and as the train moved, it moved her life as well. She was moving out of the reach of her loved ones to be with a person whom she wanted to be her world. She didn't want to ponder over her decision, she didn't want her love to change. All in the name for l

The bright sunlight was his ultimate companion. His eyesight had gone hazy , his hands blunt but his spirit was yet indomitable. He had spent his life toiling to that machine which had been smart enough to carve out dresses out of yards of clothes. People, he knew them by the choice of their dresses. They would bargain for money but whenever they saw the magic that his hands could produce, everyone took home a smile as a gift from the tailor. Yes, he was proud of his skills. He could create magic and get rewarded. His missing tooth talked about the colours of life that he had seen. Life he knew, didn't only come to him in the black and white shades, he had on rarer occasions combined both and made it look beautiful. This was his trick, he knew to play with colours. He could make stuff look beautiful. His office was shabby to the onlookers but this was the place which had inspired him to create his dreams, little did he want it to change. The malls and stores would gla

"What's the toughest task in the world?", asked the teacher to her class. The kids came up with answers, and slowly she could she her turn approaching. What would she say! she didn't want to act like a fool by being dumb. See could see the teacher glancing at her, so she took a deep breath and said, "saying goodbye". She could hear her heart beat aloud, as she stood facing the class. No, she didn't want to give any explanation but the class had demanded to know. She had no means of escaping and to her relief, words started escaping her lips. Why is bidding goodbye so difficult? she asks a rhetoric question to which she waits for a second to let the class absorb the question and then she begins telling a story. The story of a little boy who knew not what separation meant. He had the best of things for himself. A loving family, a bunch of good friends and all the luxuries that the world could afford. He saw failures but his spirit never sank for he kne

Some random faces that we meet in yet random occasions leave a lasting impression. I am not a keen observer and things escape my notice because most of the times I am too engrossed in my own little world. But, sometimes as it happened one fine day, my eyes captured the sight of a face which still lingers afresh in my memory. My regular routine comprised of paddling my cycle back and forth within the campus. A hundred faces paddled along but never did I mind them. My gaze was always distracted by little things growing by the road or the giant shaped clouds which formed shapes of all kinds. It was a sultry afternoon, I had to hop into the university bus to reach town where I had some task to accomplish. I quickly scanned for the available seats and hurried past a gang of students to grab a seat which was a window seat undoubtedly. Call it the sun or the fondling of the wind or the post effect of lunch, sleep overpowered me. Next, I hear a voice and as I open my eyes ,I see a face. That

She kept looking at the clock at equal intervals. She could no longer keep calm, the lecture wasn't boring and the paper was of her interest but she had some plans for the day. She had intended on escaping from the calm of the campus to the other side of the world where she could escape being noticed. 5.40 p.m panicked her heart , for she had five more minutes to catch the bus which was allotted for the evening slot. What could she do now, did she even have a choice? Her smile gave away to a frown as she could clearly hear the bus whish past her department window and there was her professor unmindful of the whole thing that was being cooked in her head. Finally the class ended, she almost leaped out of her class. Three hours of lecture were tiring at times and she was about to disappear out of the department corridors, there ,she hears a voice. She instantaneously recognises the voice and with a heavy heart she looks up to see her professor waving at her. Doomed, her heart whis

I stand strong doesn't mean I never fell. I see life doesn't hint that I never acknowledge death. You see my smile but not my hidden scars, You hear me laugh but never my wails. You see what eyes can perceive and you end up judging. "Look, how she smiles", you say and twitch your face. The plain white saree I adorn, is the canvas where I plan to paint hues of life. I will paint it pink and even red And let you mock and slay . I will trample your hatred with a fiersome laughter, I will tread on your dreams Never soft, always fierce. You will dread me someday, You will eat your hatred and gulp your venom. That very day you would know what it takes to be a woman. That very day , I shall have one good laugh.

Talks of loss, rejection, broken relationships were what he got to hear day long. It felt strange every time someone spoke their hearts aloud, he felt a lurking fear within. Could they read his thoughts as well! He was a dreamer, all that he knew was to dream. He loved dreams for they always ended however bitter they might seem. But life, it always gave lemons. He hated whenever he was made to make a choice. Why couldn't he be left alone in his little world. He had never aspired for a perfect world, what he failed to understand was why was he asked to fit in whereas he would have loved to stand out. His father like any other father wanted him to be successful and have a vocation of his own but every time his teacher wanted to know what he aspired to be, his prompt reply would always be ,"a dreamer". With time, life took a different turn. Dreams vanished like scary ghosts. Dreams stopped visiting him in his sleep. The one who could dream with open eyes failed to see th

One big dilemma that I faced as a kid was to open up to the world which only recognised people who spoke their hearts aloud. And I chose not to. As an adult, now I know it's perfectly okay to not speak if I am not willing to but as a kid who was made to cater to a race which only recognised the best, the journey has been difficult. I remember sharing dingy classrooms filled with extrovert kids, who always had an answer to whatever the teacher enquired. And there were some of my likes, we knew the answer but we chose not to speak aloud. And then came in punishments which each time made me aware how I lacked the capacity to fit in. Yes, they wanted an introvert kid to fit in. But, little did they know the reason of my unwillingness to give in to their wishes. I detested hypocrisies in the name of friendship, associations, recognitions. I wanted to be left alone, to grow on my own. I didn't want to be a crowd. I was jealous of my friends, their happy ways. They could

I have often heard people say, "what's in a name!". Well, do we ever realise that people associate their sense of identity with their names. Say for example, whenever you call a Puspinder as 'paji', you deny his rights to his name. Don't you? People easily pull jokes out of names, they associate all sort of odd sounding words which in a silly way rhyme with the original name. For every Muslim friend you have a common name 'bhaijan', for every Sikh, 'paji'.  You don't see them cringe under their smile, your joke digs their flesh. It's time you stop doing it, don't you? There are yet other names which never seem to run out of fashion , 'slut', 'whore' being the most commonly heard. If she be a slut, well who made her one . Ever thought of that! Every time the news fetches inhuman deeds of molestation or rape, they cook stories about the victim, but do we ever realise, we need to put a check on the victimiser not the

As I walk past a narrow lane, something catches my attention. My mind says "you can't stop, you will go late!", but my heart, it pleads for a moment and my steps freeze for a second. I see a face, his eyes so hollow that you can almost read his mind. There in the blackened street wall, it reads MISSING beneath his name. I quickly scan his picture in my mind and become a crowd. That day and for many more days, that face keeps surfacing in my memory. I search for it in crowded buses, in markets and also in the streets. I wonder what made me remember his face. I keep on asking myself, where could the person have disappeared to. Is it possible to someday disappear as such and not be found. How would it look like if I were to find my picture beside his poster having the same catch line MISSING.  I again move to the place which held that stranger's poster, the poster has been removed. I see another poster with another face. A moment of revelation dawns. In this transie

One strong belief that I had  as I was growing up, was that I would never lose my dear ones. I had seen deaths, but somehow a child's heart was unwilling to accept the fact that this could happen with her loved ones too. I, first got a major jolt when I lost my 'aama' (grandma) . I had come home for my semester break and that made me devote each second of that one month for her. I would constantly be in her side, helping her to have medicines. I could clearly see her dying bit by bit each passing day. But, I told myself that it is not going to happen. My grandpa would sit beside her and chant slokas which seemed to pacify her. She would close her eyes and try to absorb the rhythm of the slokas. Little did I know, my grandpa was already freeing her from the torments of her ailing body. He finally had made his mind to let her go. I could see her unwillingness to have medicines, she would twitch her face in disdain whenever the doctor came to visit her. She had lost he

Someday,  what it all takes is an unplanned ride to some place which is random as well. We, have been so accustomed to the idea of planning stuff that it seems unusual when we leave time to decide on our behalf. So, one fine weekend, me and my friends decided to escape from the monotony of our daily routine. No class timings to shackle our legs, no assignments to bother and above all no role playing, an idea of just being ourselves. So, we board a random auto rickshaw and ask it's driver to keep plying until we ask him to stop. The cool autumnal breeze fondles our hair, the breeze clinging by our skin makes everything look serene. The lush green paddy fields give away to kohua laden fields which again disappear into tea gardens. There, we decide to stop our vehicle and explore. We keep on walking, tea gardens to our right and left, an azure sky smiles back. We hear the crickets sing, a herd of cows marching towards their home. The idea of Nature returning to its lap se

I hear voices. They constantly occupy my mind. They fight, one trying to assert his voice over other. A fight which knows no end, A fight unheard yet disturbing. They don't let me be at ease I crack blatant lies to cover these voices. I hush them, for I fear the world would not acknowledge them Their subdued, meek echoes linger afresh, "Oh, hear us out", they try saying. I give them a loud banging, enough to drown their gibberish. I try to make them listen to what I have to say Their adamant selves find it difficult to comply. Yet, they somehow seem subdued, For, they disappear at moments. I tell them with great compassion, Voices, please stay by. But, let me be my own voice first. And they suddenly cry in unison. Their task accomplished, they bid me goodbye. A silence, a pin drop silence Keeps vibrating. But, whenever my mind is in chaos, they remember what I had wished for. They come back to me, and together we form a voice.

Someday when the light flickers giving away to dark, When all that you stood by suddenly seems perplexing. When you have more to let go than to hold back, That very moment, that very day Remember it what I have to say: You were not wrong to act strong, But never correct when you thought me a weakling. You had the right to ask me to stay, But, I was not wrong either when I chose to walk away. I want you to know, why I wanted it to happen. What made me nurture what was long forsaken. I knew not or maybe never realised I had stopped loving myself That gave me a jolt, a fatal blow. Each time you yelled, I bit back frozen tears. Each time you said I went wrong, I hated myself. But, the sad part was, I had stopped living. I was surviving with the corpse of a dead hope. So, it wasn't impulsive when I chose to walk away. It was a hundred deaths under the smile I faked. It was a catastrophe which gulped me bit by bit. My ribs cracked, my heart broke But, my soul had st

While I was in my 10th standard, almost everyone I met wanted to know what I wanted to be. This question always perplexed me. From the lens of a fifteen year kid who was not yet sure of the changes which awaited in the near future, this question gave me nightmares. I would constantly sit by the mirror and ask myself, what actually would be my answer. My friends always had fancy answers at their disposal. They would confidently chirp whenever any one asked about it. What amused me most was, my friend who had no inkling to study Biology wanted to be a doctor and another friend who detested the idea of even cooking noodles, wanted to be a chef! But whenever they spoke about their wishes, they would always sound confident. And there I was, fumbling for words which refused to escape my lips. It was not until I entered Jawahar Navodaya Vidyalaya to do my plus two, I found my voice. The teachers there have a different way of viewing life. For the first time, I no longer felt the classroom

Has it ever occurred to you that you partially forget some details of the task which you know was done by you? Or at times you remember a tune, even the song but can't say where it has come from. You remember a lot of things but at the same time you seem to not remember a lot others too. Suppose, my friend asks me about the movie that we had seen back at hostel on some special occasion, I clearly remember that I had seen a movie but would never remember the name of the movie. Even if I consciously try to remember, I fail each time. But, at the same time I remember people. My friends, each one of them and even strangers that I had met on one or two rarer occasions. So, it's amnesia which comes into play. Amnesia, or the act of forgetfulness (in lay man's term), I believe is the most essential thing needed to survive on earth. Can you imagine a life where you keep on remembering every moment the  tragedies that you had to go through! Won't it become suffocating? But, t

I smell Xewali as I silently sneak in the misty evening. October it is, the dusk settling in through timid flakes. The dotted white and saffron streaks brighten the night sky. The smell of xewali pierces the evening gloom And take me in a roller coaster ride. I see a girl with a missing tooth carefully bending to the ground She picks xewalis each morning to adorn her grandma's hair How happy, how carefree her life seems A blackening cloud drip drops out of a weeping sky. I get jolted back. Back to the ground, Back to this October gloom, But, the smell of xewalis linger as I move back.

They say, look! she has mellowed, Wrinkles have marked her glowing skin. I wonder, have I? I place myself before a mirror I meet an odd looking person A sigh escapes my lips which curls in the wind The wind, chokes my wits. So, it's begun. I have aged. But I have wishes still in the cage Which got subdued due to my rage It's time I think, I turn the page. For rhyme, rhyme as I fathom Isn't life alone. Life gives jolts enough to drive wits away, Enough to curb what we used to be. If only, I could go back in time, If only, I knew what it meant to live, If only, I knew what life had in store. This, this is how we let our life pass, Repenting on the deeds which we happily chose to rush. Life, now has bought dismal tidings to its sh ore. Isn't it time, we started living, Isn't it time, we stop repenting, Isn't it time, enough to make us believe If anything that we can do is now alone. We can write each new day, a story called life.

Your legs are shackled but you still yearn for a flight. Your body has been in a battle but your spirits are high, Your steps may falter but your heart knows to leap. You have dreams,hopes, aspirations, and a beautiful life to keep. Your father has saved each penny to get your legs repaired Your mother has, in the dense kitchen dreamt of you coming alive. They have seen you fall, they want you to rise, They want you to be what you always surmised. Today, I hear the sound of ghungrus coming into life, Your feet finally escaped the slings you hugged by. The world froze, as you mastered a step. A step towards life, a step towards light. A step which was as warm as a smile. You finally won the battle which was for long forsaken. For, your legs might have been shackled but your heart knew to leap.

She hears a voice, a voice which isn't a voice alone. The chill of an October evening fades with the warmth that the voice fetches. Seven seas suddenly dry up when she flies back to times, to the world which has been caged in photographs. Photographs, she feels, are the world's greatest treasure. They steal moments out of a transient life. She had chose to travel, to live and not just survive. The girl who always kept to her home had for good decided to be a gypsy. Her rough hair tore the fierce wind apart, Her head strong wishes gave the world reality checks. But, amidst all that was happening, She had lost a part of herself. The one who chased butterflies was now chasing life. The one who loved shimmering lights now preferred to succumb to the night's gloom Everything, she had taught her heart to believe was fine. Until, that voice haunted her. For, she could fight everyone but not her granny Who wanted her butterfly to be home. She had said, "What

His words got lost in silence, But she could read his eyes. For words may deceive but eyes are naive. For each heart beat that he missed, She felt it ringing under her skin. He was dumb, she deaf; their love differently abled.

Are you broken? the world enquires. Their words deceiving their sarcastic self, "No, I am fine", is all that I say For I know, I only can hold the broken pieces together. I only can teach myself to live, I only can fix the broken pieces of my soul. And I wonder, why does it pain each time life slays you. You were the one to deceive yourself, You always knew it would hurt. Now, when it finally did hurt Why cry, why lament! Why act as if you didn't see it coming. The hot cauldron of oil boiling to purge your soul Mocks the broken pieces which lay faltering. It's time you pulled it together, It's time you realise You only can fix the broken pieces of your soul.

Be his 'cup of tea' the world announced, My hena smeared hands decided my fate. I was a butterfly, wild, untamed. Who ran like the wind, even faster than the wind. But, my legs got shackled My run gave away to timid steps My dreams evaporated with the smoke that went curling from the hearth His 'cup of tea' was what I learning to become. I wish someone had said, it's OK to not be anyone's 'cup of tea' I wish someone had said, it's OK to be untamed I wish someone had said, it's OK to live your way But no one did, and I didn't dare I let myself die each day, each night. The veil covered by swollen heart but I felt naked within My wishes got choked in the dense kitchen air My essence got lost in time I became everything that wasn't me. I finally became his 'cup of tea' .

A sagging heart refuses to be happy Let it sag, it won't be for long Just sing a song and clap along. Today is difficult, tomorrow might be worse But, say who cares, and sing a song and clap along. A child lost his tooth, an adult his boots, A home maker her name in a fight with fame, and yet, they sing a song and clap along. Failures, dejection, heartfelt rejection Life in bits, life in fraction Life,  that gets delivered with no list of caution Life is too short to live in regrets Too beautiful to waste in gloom Too bold to be docile So, just sing a song and clap along.

Today when the sun would shine tearing apart the night's gloom, It would peep through my curtains in search of it's friend But, I would be gone. The wind would carry the faint smell of my breath, The creased bedsheets would announce my farewell, The lonely chair in my room would sag in dismay, The yellowing pages would lease life, The blotted stains on those crumpled leaves of my worn out diary would hold my memory,. The hawker by my door would miss a buyer, The ice-cream parlour, would miss a lover. I would no longer hear the honk of a roadside romeo, Nor my mom's familiar clink of bangles, No newspaper would glorify my disappearance, Life would go on, but I would be gone.

I know someday you will return Weary, torn, lost, bewildered. Your eyes deceiving your heart while you would fake a smile For I know or maybe knew what you used to be. The withering skin, the greying hair won't cloak your inner self, For your heart, a radiant one can't age, can it? You would plead, you would moan Tears would brim, words would get lost in silence. A deafening silence, which would choke us. I want you to know, I know it all, I knew it all So, please don't return if you even want to For, no one is waiting for you. For, the road that lead to my heart has long been trampled And I have stopped hurting myself, I want you to know this. For, things change and when they change, they change for good.

I have heard of lofty praises for love Love as eternity, love as nurturer of dreams Ask me and I would tell you what love is, Love is like the sting of a honey bee All powerful for a moment, pain jabbing your heart The next moment, eternity gets replaced by fraility. Ask a honey bee, why does it end it's life by leaving it's sting while it could have other means. You would find a helpless sigh escape your lips For aren't you exactly like a honey bee? The moment you see your love tumbling, you leave your sting A sting enough to rip your love apart A sting enough to jab your heart A sting, a sting enough to kill you ounce by ounce One moment you die, the other moment you live And sing humming songs of despair You drink despair, you breathe despair Hail! Honey bee love.

Why are roots so important? Can't we just be an individual who needs no going back to roots.  Just like any story, which has a beginning to oscillate the course of a story, we have our roots, a feeble link which holds our life together. It was in the year 1816, when a man decided he would carry out an adventure. Risking his life in the hills of Nepal which allowed him little scope altogether, he set on a journey. He had heard of Assam, about its river which made its land opulent. He wanted to try his luck. His dexterity coupled with his indomitable spirit led him to earn a fortune and a family. He had no formal education, but was educated enough to know what it meant to be educated. So, here you meet my great grandfather who has been kept alive among us through stories. My ancestors, if I am to call them so occupy a clustered habitat in a remote village Gamiri, situated at Biswanath district of Assam. The one striking feature of this village is its well knit structure. We have a

The yellowing leaves scattered in the ground Talk of times which made it's way into past The dampened leaves give away a pungent smell A smell of decay, a smell enough to rot memories Memories! Do we ever burry them? One scratch in the wind can bring in memories roaring The more you distance yourself, the more it tears you apart Just like a sore wound, it inflicts despair. The greasy soil underneath your heavy boots Looses hope each time you trample it But, come autumn, the soil gets a makeover Leaves: yellow, brown, withering to its bossom The world looks robbed but the soil leases life. A poet may love spring, but a decaying heart sings for those scattered pieces of leaves mingling in the soil, For what is dead can make things alive.

The tea pot by the hearth fetches the smell of childhood. Those carefree days where I was allowed to dip my cookies in my grandma's cup of tea The lemons in the garden, our new found treasure Spices and chillies would do the wonders. The butterflies in the woods, I felt them in my tummy Fluttering with joy over some slurpy ice candies. Friends, well, I had a whole lot of them A jittery bunch of monkeys always chirping aloud. Then life happened, we drifted apart Somewhere between the creases of our smile, childhood quietly sneaked out not caring to leave even it's faded footsteps. But then, we were told how beautiful life is; All an illusion, a fatal deception. Right now, while I hold my mug of tea, I see it all. The lost bonds, lost innocence, the moments of revelation But, I know I can still dip my cookies and chase butterflies I can still be my own, and breathe freedom For, I have childhood wrapped under my skin.

You hide well, maybe I think you do, I want you to be my skin cloaking my inner world, will you? I know you want a happy ending but I am no princess My skin unable to hide my guilty conscience Now come out of those fairy tales, will you? It's been ages since you acted strong Don't worry prince, you can be yourself around me My grandma speaks about you, she knows you exist But why can't I see you nor seem to believe you do? Oh please, don't come galloping in that wild beast I prefer walks under a moonlit night, not that you would know I am the shore, you the river Whenever we meet, a story would be born Let's take a stroll when the morning is spread across the sky Let conventions await while we gallop away! Prince, I am going to free you from stories where you are caged No Snow white, no Rapunzel can be your fate. Come, be my skin. Will you?