Swings of a rhapsodic mind

Some pictures refuse to vacate your mind , they stay etched to your memory and whenever you see something close to them, it triggers back that familiar memory of yours which on the first place never left you. It had stayed layered somewhere in a neat folder within you. As I take my pencil to doodle on a sheet of paper, I can't help but get amused to see the pencil mark transforming itself to something which looks like a bunny. I drop my pencil and my heart flies to that familiar picture, I see it all. It was during my university days when our academic building overlooked a pond which had a little island no bigger than a table top. Well, there were tufts of grass, one or two banana saplings and all those regular things you see growing by the road but it was something else which made the island attractive. It was home to a herd of rabbits. White as snow, they hopped and cuddled around whole day long  under the sun. It had become a ritual on my part to stand by the window during o

The stars have lost a battle with the moon, They shriek with disdain. "We are in millions", they boast as they conspire The moon unaware of it peeks through lover's windows It has been with them blessing their barren hearts. The stars cast a dreamy spell blinding people's gaze. But the moon, it keeps people awake It finds itself in a poet's unsung verse Or in the lover's blotted ink stained letters. The night seems awake in its silvery touch Yet the stars, look how they detest it's gleam! Their envy causing them to blink But does the moon care enough! It has seen stories being born, it has bore the pain of loses But it kept it's gleam alive. For he knew, it healed bruised hearts He knew what he meant to the world He kept his gleam alive as the stars blinked and cursed!

It was a lousy April afternoon, the air back home must have carried the rhythm of dhul and pepa signalling the onset of bihu. He was far away from home but could his heart free itself from memories, bihu was not just a festival, it was an emotion. Flashbacks of home and his childhood came roaring as he cleared his way through a crowd which made him feel even lonelier, it was on such days out of all days when he felt the urge to run back home. The adult in him wanted to have a carefree life like that of a teenager back home. He missed his old dhul, it must have wearied away but the old photo album carried a memory of him hugging his dhul while he innocently flashed a smile showing his gap toothed cuteness. How he wished to bring those days back alive! The thatched kitchen gave away the rich smell of caramelised  jaggery and he would be awe stricken to see mounds of tiny perfectly rounded coconut balls dipped in a pool of jaggery which boasted of his mother's skilled ways. By tha

The dim walls bared no hope, it was all deafening within Did you possibly feel my choked breaths? You must have, for I could feel your muffled sobs. Each time you rained tears over me, Did you not know I felt a hollow creep within my belly. Maybe I wasn't there yet, but I knew how your scars pierced your heart . Each time you were kicked, it lurched hard on me. But the moment you  hugged yourself to sleep, I felt at ease, I wanted you to know I was there for you. That it wasn't your wait alone, I was there all along. All I need is a chance, all I need is a chance to be heard. A chance to set all your wrongs right A chance to be a voice A chance against all odds A chance to be there for you in whatever you do.

" Wear a hizab", came the stern order of her grandmom whom she lovingly called nanijaan. On such days she often wondered, if her grandmom deserved all the love she had for her. But, did she have the time to think and reflect on it, she was getting late for school. For one last time she looked at her mother's eyes pleadingly. Ammi, perhaps had already lived the same story, she saw a faint glare of disdain in her mother's eyes for the hizab as she went to fetch it for her. That piece of clothing was supposed to save Naz's honour, but what she failed to understand was, why wasn't her brother supposed to wear one when he would be walking the same way with her to school. Two decades hence, she now realises that not only the hizab, she was destined to wear a price. A price of being born as a girl. A price which came sealed as her fate. A flashback: As she dresses to attend her classes, she falls in love with the freedom she had discovered after moving out of home

I knew I was wrong, So I thought why not be her Mr right. I kept my wrong at bay To meet your right which lay the other way. I didn't take any leap, it was one step at a time I was forsaking which had long been mine. A shadow in me was learning to be on its own. It staggered, knee bent but it's spirit kept it high. The dark clouds seemed no more darker, The sun rays no more blinding, I was learning to be awake Learning to be alive. Just when I thought I could meet your right, Just when the story could have begun, Just when I was strong enough to be strong, It all snapped. Your right no more seemed right, My wrong no more was wrong. And I walked back, my spirit sunk, My heart barren, My wrong was once again mine.

History she thought, would never peep back. It's faded footprints shouldn't have kept her awake. The damp soil underneath her feet, quivered as she wept She was a free bird, an untameable one, Couldn't they just allow her to soar high? Why were her wings about to be clipped when she dreaded it most? She was born to pay a price, And walk the way that those faded footprints led to. And be a crowd and not a bird "Sweet child, that's the way of the world and there's nothing to reason why", mocked life.

If I were ever given a chance to set something from the past right, I always wonder what it would be! Life deceives our designs, we may try to act smart but do we get to change everything which we think we can. As we grow, we grow in terms of experiences which later remain with us in the form of memories and we carefully try to keep the good memories and try to obliterate the bitter ones. But, the rotten stench of bitter events no matter how well layered never completely allow us to be what we think we can be. There are like thousand voices playing and replaying bits of distorted events in our head, you can hush those voices but they always find ways to resurface. As I hug my coffee mug and let it's aroma linger in my memory, I see it all. My life slowly slipping away from my hands in the form of days that gave away to months, months that turned into years and years altogether boasting of a life which has layered my past. There are so many things that I want to set right, if on

One thing that has always intrigued me is the world of stories, this very moment as I am typing these words , I am already getting framed into a story. Isn't it strange, the way we find stories everywhere we go or rather to put it in other way, stories find us no matter where we go. What makes the world of stories intriguing are the never ending possibilities of a make believe world, parallel lives merge and diverge to meet yet other lives. The best part being, we can always give stories an ending no matter sad or happy but we get to write our own story and that is what matters, isn't it? So the story which found me, while I was least expecting to come across it is about someone who only knew to spread happiness but that's where she wen't wrong. So, she was a butterfly, her wings flimsy. She got attracted by the flashy colours that carried sweet fragnances. She couldn't smell the deep dark odour which lay underneath those flashy smiles. She knew to love life and t

She  was shocked and hurt. Where did she go wrong? That question was what kept her awake till midnight. She had never thought that she would regret being the person she was but now she felt lost. Was she wrong to call someone her friend and think that friendship would last till her last breath or was she wrong to never be pessimistic about her faith on her friend? Why was it always that she was supposed to be the understanding self. She had committed a mistake of trusting him with her friendship and she knew she couldn't set it right and she definitely wouldn't wait for time to tell her that. She was wrong to trust people with all her heart and she definitely was wrong to think him as the best of her friends that she ever had for she now realised that people never would understand what friendship is. That friendship was to always suffer the test of time. For once and for all, she had learnt her lesson. She no longer wanted any stories for she knew it was all a matter of conve

The one thing that I always had dreamt of as a kid was to have a caravan that could take me to places.I always wanted a gypsy styled life. The idea itself mesmerized me to the extent that I kept dreaming of it the whole time not even realising how it was time which kept on rolling but I stood exactly at the same place, my dreams could never concretize. What was laughed at as a childish game was so important to me that I keep doodling it in my memory till now. I see a meadow, lush green with those small daffodils growing by, perhaps Wordsworth's daffodils! Then I see a girl, her wild unkept hair sailing in the gentle breeze. She has a smile which speaks of solitude, and her heart , well that's swelling with happiness as he looks at her caravan, after all she finally has a life on wheels. What more could she wish for, what more  can anyone wish for? It's not always that we get to live a life we conceived as a kid, life keeps on deciding our track. From what we liked doing

"Kid, have you seen G od's chosen people on Earth?", he mused. She was probably not at all prepared to answer such question. "Well, umm…well I would want to know it from you, Uncle", came her confused answer which instantaneously sounded dumb to her ears. "Well, for that I would need to tell you a story," he added. She smiled back and he said , " You still have the same smile". The story has its roots some thirty years back which saw a bright boy from a starkly dim area. He was pretty good at this lessons and had no knowledge what it meant to study beyond what his high school could effort. He revered knowledge and he knew he would want to keep on studying till he could. But circumstances gave him a fatal blow. He had a past which was equally shallow as the dried river bank. The deposits could be seen but never could the river regain it's glory. His grandfather was born to a Britisher's mistress, who belonged to the tea tribe. When th

They say, "Birds of a feather flock together", whereas I have come to believe in a concept which exactly says the opposite thing, sometimes it's our not complying to the likes of each other which keeps us flocked together. I was very afraid to even think of leaving the protective shield of my parents and face the world alone. I was a weakling, I would cry for silly reasons, could never defend myself when it came to arguments and in short if I were to surmise, I was a timid soul who wanted to go unnoticed. All that I wanted was to pass my examinations and stay merrily at home. But, life happened.  My mother wanted me to grow bold, to learn the tricks to survive in a world which would be ever ready to trample me. So, one fine day I was given some final bit of advice about do's and dont's and  I left with packed boxes and a heart which had suddenly started  weighing more than those boxes. Thus I entered a world which was a stark opposite to my abode. The first thi