Swings of a rhapsodic mind

Stories hold meaning like no other thing to me. One reason being my unfaltering faith in them which developed at a tender age. As I grew, i found science contradicting the world of stories. I for example found that what was told to me as a weeping sky was actually rain and for that no angels needed to shed their tears. But just like an adamant kid I refused to give away to some of the stories which I held so dear, for whatever came out of grandpa's mouth in the form of stories formed my world. I remember accompanying my grandpa for morning walks, he would keep me updating about the medicinal quality of plants as we walked past them and whenever we would pass a huge peepal tree, he would remark, "Child, this is a magic tree. It takes away our sorrows and fills our heart with hope" , and he would ask me to take deep breaths and would pass on his gentle smile while stroking my hair and would say, "Now you are going to be cheerful, the tree has blessed you". I woul

I find myself in midst of a madding crowd, the air grows dense, it chokes me. I allow my feet to follow directions but my heart cries aloud unable to bear the strife. I feel weary, my heart sinks each time the air carries a pungent city odour and whishes by. I try to calm down, I tell myself, this ain't the place you belong to , it's all gonna pass. I never wished to be a crowd. I always wanted a world where solitude would weigh much more than what the glittery crowded world could hold. The tall buildings decked with pride could never please me more than the faint mountain view which wishes me good morning every day though miles apart. While my friends were busy dreaming of cities, I kept on praying to never drag me into one for I knew, I could never have the calm and quiet which I always cherished. As years went on rolling, I got to see crowds of all kind. Crowds which knew to deceive, which knew the trick to turn you into a living corpse without you even realising it. F

Her life was a bare book, easy to decipher but she had burried layers in each leaf which couldn't be seen. The book went on to become thicker and the layers got merged to form a new leaf which couldn't be read while reading the book. He always asked her why she chose to hide those layers, why couldn't she be like anyone else, why were she always to be that head strong, all questions remained unanswered for she possibly herself hadn't ever tried to find those answers. She simply wanted to glide and go unnoticed. Rather than a showpiece, she preferred to be a crack in the wall. She preferred to never outgrow what she had always been, an untameable spirit. What he couldn't understand was how could he not understand her after these many years of being together, how could she choose to ignore his worth when she knew what she meant for him. But, what possibly he didn't understand was her untameable spirit. He was growing weary of her, she knew it since the very firs

It was Spring. She was cycling her way to reach school. The wind had filled her pockets and her heart, everything was so beautiful. Just then, at that very moment when she was supposed to take a swift turn, she could see a pair of eyes follow her. She was a carefree soul and it was alarming. She kept on hoping for that pair of eyes to lose it's way but no, it kept on following her everywhere she went. So, one day after it had been almost a week of adventure, she stopped on her way to encounter those pair of eyes. She could see a lank boy, no bigger than her sheepishly smirking. But, no she was really offended and wanted an answer. To which he possibly had nothing to say, he only gave her one quick reply , that he wanted to be friends with her. He kept staring at the ground when she flung questions at him. After having a good yell at him, she suddenly felt morose for she could see his ears go red and his heart possibly bruised. This was what she hated about her, her inability to h

As a child I was always asked a question, "Whom do you love the most?", this question though very difficult to answer for others was never that difficult for me, it was and it is still the same, "ba" (grandpa). I feel blessed to have belonged to that time when cable t.v was yet to make intrusion , so the only recluse was  stories from grandpa. I knew anything could happen in the world of stories which he narrated, a happy prince could be robbed of happiness, tezimola could transform into a bird, Ali baba could find hidden treasure. It mesmerized me to the extent that I would keep thinking about these stories whole day long. I wanted to belong to that make believe world where I could think of flaunting my long hair like Rapunzel did, could find ice candy hut like Hansel and Gratel did and have a life like that of Snow White, not to miss Alice's Wonderland though. My father once gifted me a huge story book where the images would pop up as I turned it's l

"My love is enough for both of us", she often felt those words ring in her heart. She finally had understood that life wouldn't always follow her designs. That people are meant to leave but their memories won't. She often had wondered how someone could love her to such an extent when that person had always known that she wouldn't reciprocate those feelings. How could a person stand by her when she always acted as a fleeting shadow. She never had given hope for she knew the pain of dejection but he kept hoping like a hopeless vagabond. How she wished that he would some day hate her enough to let go. She devised ways to free him from this web, she acted cold, turned indifferent, did everything he detested and she finally saw some changes. It was a relief, he finally seemed to take hold of his life. She could see him grow responsible. He finally it seemed was learning to love himself. Phone calls died, meetings subsided, they become known strangers. All this while

The most hated of all activities for her was attending tution classes. She detested Mathematics and the idea of dealing with it every morning made her cringe. She would cycle her way to do those tution classes, morose. She knew the subject was interesting and now she realises that if she had tried, maybe things would have been better but who could make her understand this back then. She was a free bird who found the world of numbers limiting. The only things that pleased her were stories and poems which let her imagination soar high. There was one particular fellow mate who saved her from getting whip lashes. He would secretly provide her with answers and that too in an indirect way. It was on one rarer occasion that she got to interact with him. She being an introvert was expecting him to begin the conversation, little did she know that he was an introvert himself. He kept staring at her and all that she could manage to say was thank you, for what he never asked and she never explai

They were what the world calls more than friends and less than lovers, they were exactly such sweethearts. They wanted to never think about the future which could bring in insecurities, they lived in the present which they could hold on to. Let's see how this story finds them. It's November, one more month for this year to slip away. A month which has signalled the onset of winter in her part of the world but what about his? Where was he till October, her heart rings aloud. She didn't miss him for they say to miss someone one needs to forget that person, and there wasn't a day which hadn't fetched a sweet memory which concerned him. Yet, theirs was no story altogether like that of the fictious world. They began as neighbours, went on to become friends and while their hearts got swayed for each other, they always held onto different people. They weren't deceiving each others, they were deceiving their hearts which bled but refused to heal. She had the charm to