Swings of a rhapsodic mind

Lasts are beautiful, but they don't come with any preconceived information. You don't exactly know that you are with that person for the last time together to feel the pangs later. But, are lasts exactly lasts?, for there is always a probability to reconnect with people at points of time. As long as we hold memories, there ain't any loss. Association leads to disassociations but people remain etched in our memory like the mellowed autumn fragrance that lingers in the wind. We constantly come across people, some become special, some stay as strangers. It's not that we connect with everyone and even when we do sometimes mid way things take twist and turns and disrupt equations. But do we stop communicating? Is that reason enough is what I ask myself. People who made our life beautiful in some point of time  walk the dusty lanes of our memory. In memory we keep them alive. The robust smell of an evening cup of coffee reminds me of the kind Anna who offered me steaming c

It rained last night when I pulled my sheets for the last time together. The ghosts of the night drove me out of my wits. My heart thumped louder than those thunder chills that my skin could sense. It was a heavy downpour and I knew it would thunder any moment. I lay awake looking at the motionless ceiling fan creaking in odd hours. I had never noticed how a spider had woven it's web tactfully over the smooth plaster of my den. My heart went out for the spider whose home gets wiped away every weekend whenever my mother takes charge of cleanliness operation. A sudden flash of lightning brought me back to where I stood, I gathered all the pillows I could find and ducked in them. My heart began to thump like it could go on no longer and my eyes started raining tears. Just then, at that very moment when I had almost given up, I heard a voice. A voice so deep that it vibrated within my skin. I couldn't bear to open my eyes but that voice soothed me of my dread. I gave away

I pulled the fraying edges of the ribbon which held my knotted plaits together as I heard my teacher say, "The universe is made of atoms". I smiled unwilling to believe the fact. What did the atoms know of life, chided a thirteen year old in me? Science classes to the rest of my friends were interesting, with all those atoms and molecules and rays and motion, they found diverse things in their platter. They would jump at the sight of the rays passing through the prism or gasp at the bubbly solutions gurgling in the chemistry lab and there I would stand, failing to take interest in any of those. At best I appreciated things  but my interest was always in those neatly stacked story books with luscious covers which the librarian would always hand over after removing those, he worried I could leave it dog eared. How much I longed for those hours of library class which became rarer as we jumped towards higher classes. Science textbooks became bulkier enough to eat away t