Swings of a rhapsodic mind

100 for people has always been a number which speaks of glory, whether it's a perfect score of Mathematics for a friend of mine or a glorious century for Tendulkar, the world has always acknowledged this number. What makes 99 less significant or 101 less prominent is however debatable. My 101 tale is dedicated to the person who turned an introvert geek into a blogger. After 100 blogs, however insignificant they might be, I feel a lot more confident and way more happier as I look back at them. Stories always find a way to reach us, this is one of them. *************************************************** Amina folded her hand to mutter a prayer one last time as she boarded the bus leading to the train station. She had been away for a long span of time for the first time in her life. She had been so used to being within the four walls of her home that it became the world to her. It was some months back when her children had decided to send her for haz, to the holy city of Mecca. A...

There comes a time which you can't claim to be yours. It ticks away making each second weigh. The inner walls of your mind scream in pain but luckily it's all in the mind. You try to run, to leap, to cross oceans at a time but your faltering steps lead you to nowhere. You keep on walking without actually moving forward. It's more of a messy mess: life. There are moments, moments of realisations which shake your core beliefs, which question what have you made out of yourself? Happiness doesn't always have to pay a price, does it? There are yet other times when you meet people who wear your skin, you know you won't be judged and you reveal your inner screaming mind which finally finds his voice. Once you do that, you no longer have anything that weighs you down. You start taking leaps, you finally start moving. And just as you start hoping that your steps won't falter any longer, you experience a fall. A fall that breaks your joints, smashes your heart, that ex...

The dews of floating memories lie threadbare. A spoonful, a handful , a palm full of pixie dust, Can it keep me afloat? The "I" in me has been struggling to breathe, It's been constantly shown what it disbelieves. "Is it so easy to undo memories?", A prudent laughter jerks me out of my photo album. A feeble breath escapes forming loops of realisations, The miniscule laughter of a gap toothed girl stares at me , Her eyes seem to question what have you made out of yourself! I am not alive to undo what has been a part of me. I might have outgrown my sleeves, but haven't yet outgrown what has always been me. The lessons that grandpa vowed by still run in my veins, The aroma of grandma's dishes still linger in the dishes I cook, The cracking sound of my rusty cycle comes alive as I run my finger on my scarred ankle. The warmth of maa's caresses still keep the old knitted muffler warm. This is what makes me sans who I pretend to be. The Sh...

The ribs of sand fight against the grains of time " Who can catch my flow?", a prudent time smirks The sand ribs cry in unison, "We" Time stops for a moment aghast It's breaths fall short weighing each second The ribs of sand spring out of sea shore forming dunes Time gets alarmed, it panics as it fights for motion It knew not it's footprints would be counted It's motives calculated: ounce by ounce. The sand dunes rise higher, higher than those sea waves reaching out to help time Life comes to a stand still as time starts decaying The rotten smell of memories and despair fill the void The fallen leaves of time calculated in years, hours and minutes get a final adieu Not any longer do people get remembered Not any longer do promises collapse Not any longer do time boast of it's glory All in the sand, it does mingle The heavens rattle in unison as the stitch of time lies threadbare. All that remains is life that doesn't tick Memo...

Someone spells me out of scribbled letters, The blotted papers of yellowing memories Cringe in an autumn humid afternoon. I hear my name, I hear the clink of words in abstraction, I nod in despair: Twice. A sea of memories plunge out of those yellowing letters. I pull my scarf out in the wind, It's fragrance makes my heart flutter I tie it in loops over my head Concealed and secure I let loose those blotted papers Those ink stained letters do know Who I am, don't they?

It was one perfectly imperfect monsoon day, the grim clouds hovered around my hostel dorm making it look haunted just like those depicted in Victorian novels. It was dark and the air smelled of parched land drenched in rain water. I was looking out of the window unable to believe that it was not yet evening but how  deceivingly it looked like midnight. I was longing for that hot cup of black tea which was made available to us each evening in the dining area but such weather made it impossible for us to even step outside. Rains for us were always special, first it brought solace in the hot humid afternoons and next, it practically meant a day off from our sports hours which were tedious and tiring. Those were the days when we had no access to cellphones, so such rainy days were spent in reading books, writing letters and having endless conversations with friends. I really loved those days when I could spend longer hours reading gripping Assamese novels which was a new experience ...

Hey, It's been long since I had something to narrate. So, here it is. She is the only child of her parents. I have known her close enough to speak about her like it were my own story. I have seen those parts of her locked up soul which to the world were never exposed. The dust filled corners of her life is what she in actual is. She was in her second standard, those were the days of land phones and people had to depend on that machine to send all sort of information. Her school got over that particular day but she couldn't spot the familiar Bajaj scooter which was both her and her father's favourite. She kept herself busy with her sketchbook but it was almost more than an hour but her father was no where to be seen. She tried to ring home but her land phone perhaps was dead. Her cheeks suddenly became blood red, she was surging in disappointment coupled by embarrassment. How could her father not turn up! She silently pushed open the gates of her school and in o...