Divinity of Love.

Darkness was smeared across the sky. Clouds added just another shade of black. Shrieking lightening, striking with all its might, made thunderous sounds. The rain was pouring like never before and each drop hitting the ground with the intention to break it. Empty roads were glistening due to the combination of street light and spatting raindrops. It was a grim night.
After his night classes got over, it was pouring outside. Everyone was inside the building waiting for the rain to stop but she wasn’t there. He panicked. He started looking for her and found out that she had already left. He picked up his bike and scurried off in the pouring rain, unaware that someone was waiting for him at home.
He paddled hard and after some time he caught up to her. He was still behind as she was with her friend. He waited until her friend left. He was soaking and when he got to her side, she simply smiled and took her turn and went forward. He has to take the other turn so he took that. Now the rain was slowing down but the lightning wasn’t. He reached the road that supposed to take him to his house but was still thinking about that smile, and then suddenly everything was unbearably white. He squinted his eyes but still too bright. Then, he covered his eyes with his forearms. Before he could see any more, he felt a jolting pain in the chest as someone was giving him shocks. Again, he went to the same place but now it was reasonably bright. He couldn’t understand but he was standing in his house. Suddenly, he heard someone crying uncontrollably. He tried to move forward but his legs felt lifeless, he tried again and again but couldn’t move an inch. Again the sobbing was heard. He felt the jolt again. Again, he was in his house but now he can see the figure crying. He rubbed his palms over his eyes. Now he could see her mother. Crying, her legs were shaking and she was trying to reach the curtains to hold onto something. His eyes were wide open, baffled by the peculiarity of the situation. He jerked his legs forward but felt a jolting pain in his thighs. He fell down. He tried to creep towards his mother but the pain was simply too great. Again, he felt a jolting pain in his chest. Again he felt a burning sensation in his eyes, but this time it was real. Someone was showing light in his eyes. He started hearing sounds of sirens wailing, spiralling red lights, the clamour of people was overwhelming. He opened his eyes only to find out, he was lying in the middle of the road. People were all around his head. Someone had his wrist, checking for pulse others packing their tools. He came to the realization that he had an accident. He tried to stand up and was surprised to find out that this time no pain was there. He sighed and looked towards his house just a hundred meters away. He picked up his cycle and started moving towards his house. People were dispersing. He didn’t feel like talking so he moved forward. He was taken aback when he found his father kneeling down sobbing on the road, his back was towards him. He was in a fix for a moment till he saw her mother running towards him; weeping. She went straight to his father, ignoring him. She knelt down with him and started crying, deliriously. He froze for a moment but took a step forward. Too much of his dismay, he found someone lying there. As he sent closer he could see himself lying there, legs shattered from the thighs, neck broken made a frightening twist. He froze in fear, he was shaking, he brain started flooding, thinking of the possibility of never seeing them again, he for the last time wanted to kiss her mother, tell his father that no matter what, he will always love him, although they had their differences it never made the difference. He wanted to tell her mother that she was the only person in his entire universe who meant the most to him. In the midst of all these emotions, he was flashed with a smile. What did that smile mean to him? What does she meant to him? Now that he was thinking he couldn’t even remember her face. And now when he was evaluating what really matters is his and her (his parents’) tears that weighed him down as he couldn’t understand the real meaning of love. So what is love? Is it the illusion that keeps us from emanating into reality? Time passed and all the sorrow left him and all that remained is remorse. Then remained peace of dissolving in the unity or whatever it’s called.


P.S. I Love You.

Am I rails or a shadow? One that is connected from the roots and the other that will never meet. What am I?

One follows its companion intimately while the other has an debilitating distance with overwhelming anxiousness that can never be cured. So tell me what am I?

I find rails more faithful, as they don’t ever leave sight or side while shadows might leave for its fancy. So decide what am I?

One that is tangible but might never reveal it’s presence whereas the other, so frail and frightful at the same time; conditions applied. Once again, what am I?

I don’t want to be a rail as I dread, I might never unite with you and at the same time I don’t want to be the shadow as I couldn’t leave you. Decide, what am I?

Blessed are those who can strike a deal between the two but I do not have time as I am waning in your indecisive abyss. What do you want me to be, rail or a shadow?

Please decide.


Sun dangling, clouds soggy, I painted.

River flowing, rain drizzling, I painted.

Wooden hut, chimney smoking, I painted.

Spiking grass, bushy trees, I painted.

Happy colors, lucid water, I mixed.

Smile and joy, merry kid; I lived.

Now I live, like a tree, shackled roots.

Now I live like empty cloud, moot.

Live like Sun, don’t burn out, radiate.

World is vibrant, do not fade.

Be like river, merry flowing; iridescent.

Live as kings, who don’t die; crescent.

A dilapidated shack.

A small jungle, very much invaded by the urban jungle had a little broken shack. It had many inhabitants. The shack was like a hostel to every little animal like a cricket, butterfly,  a rabbit, a cat, squirrels, an old tortoise and little birds of every kind because they were afraid of big animals especially humans. It was a very harmonious union. It was harmonious because there is nothing more uniting as the common sense of survival. It was harmonious also because no two were necessarily connected in the food chain, the cat though, was seriously instructed. They let her stay there because of her shrewd skills. All of them were actually helpful in some way or another. The tortoise was an old studious fellow proficient in the social and civil way of living. Birds were the spy. Crickets devised a unique way of communication. Rabbits had an hospitality job like cooking and taking care of the place. Butterflies played their role as messengers.

This shack although dilapidated was deluxe. Every irregularity from human eyes played a role in making it more accommodating for these inhabitants. Every hole and crack became the door, the shattered roof acted as the ventilator as well as the shower on rainy days. These people had a different concept of comfort and luxury. For them, it’s the most lavish and at the same time very natural thing to feel, smell, touch and taste all the elements of nature as they all had a captive past. Confined behind the doors, under air so unnatural, sound so mechanical, the light so unbearable, living with it only the humans have mastered and called them essentials.

Sometimes at the night they all gather together and meditate on: what is so inherently different between them and theirs? Here the use of the wisdom of the old tortoise comes into the game. He had a long life and he has seen the finest humanity has to offer from all generations. First when they(humans) didn’t understand the life they killed. Once they learned that something inherently same working for everyone they worshipped it and sometimes us as well. Then they learned to write and communicate through the language and script they started to discuss the origin and the end of all. Next came the rationality which has plunged us into the hole where we became second to humans. Science had cut us into pieces and skinned us alive, even when we screamed; they continued. When the same happens to the humans by the humans they called it a gross violation of the moral norms and human rights. What about everyone’s right to live willfully as governed by nature.

They all heard these stories myriads of time but every time they feel like a part of themselves who lives across the transparent boundary in those concrete jungles is eluding from them forever. Maybe they are as intelligent of the species they say they are and maybe they don’t need the help. All of them heard humans talking about leaving the planet so they all pray to the mother nature, “may all of them get the same mother as you were to them before they ruined this relationship”.  

THOUGHTS: Mess Or Messenger.

What’ll happen if your thought could run through your fingers? Thoughts, so frail in existence, cornered in some cul-de-sac of the brain. But, when you let them flow through your fingers, it’s nothing less than a miracle. When you write, you’re picking the best your conscience has to offer, so lucid and so streamlined the thoughts start to flow under your supervision. It’s immeasurably satisfying. Our mind has a lot to offer but singling the ones (thoughts) you want is something likes distilling water from milk. Some do meditation for this, I write. Choosing the words with shrewdness and stringing them together is similar to focusing on your thought and letting them go (you’ll understand if you meditate).

Writing a story is the mammoth task if your thought is not organized. Try it. Why it is so beautiful to read a well-constructed story? Why these writers seem so full of wisdom? I think the answer lies in the way they’ve mastered their ability to think.
Thoughts can the vehicle of creation or destruction of one’s own self. It is the choice everyone has at their disposal but only a few could make their mind. I’m not saying I’m one of those few it’s just that I’m still learning to reach them.

But, I must suggest only writing is like holding a tsunami with your bare hands, building your knowledge and increasing the ways in which you can express yourselves will equip you to fight the tsunami of thoughts and maybe one day master them.


Quote of the day: An AFRICAN PROVERB.

“If you want to go fast, go alone. If you want to go far, go together.”


You might do wrong to think that he didn’t read, it’s just that he didn’t want anyone to know. But, library was an beautiful excuse to see her. There was no sign and then suddenly she walked in. He sank deep in his heart as she approached him. Every step that brought her closer made him madly in love with her.

Silence buzzed in his ears brought back his sinking heart, that started pumping again. On the other side, every books she pulled, opened her world and led him in. Summoning all his attention he looked the other way but she traced his image in her eyes.

He knew the cruelty of nature so dragging his fingers along the books he walked forward. He felt heavy as someone was pulling, actually it is something pulling him; his shirt. As he tried to jimmy it, it made tearing sound. She noticed him and smiled. He didn’t saw her looking at him but he could feel her sight like feather brushed on back of his neck. She walked around the stack and reached to help his shirt; she didn’t ask. As she was helping him he couldn’t help but look at mole on her lip. It was free but he wasn’t. Entangled in the thoughts he just stood there. Her suspecting look brought his attention back, he never had so much loss of attention but somehow now it’s just banished him.

She stood there as she expected some conversation. So he gestured “Thank you” with his hands and now she was staring at him, open-mouthed, gasping for air as he turned and left.

Human-Nature vs Nature.

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What is it that makes us humans? Biologically, there is an ostensible recognition but what is so intrinsic that made us so dominant and at the same time so fragile? This question is prevalent in the mind of sceptics of the world and there are various enlightened minds who have given a satisfactory answer. Some say it is our intelligence, some say it is our imagination, some say it is a successful evolution. But, as the science progresses we came to know for the fact that we are not alone, our fellow mammals are also in the possession of these capacities.

It is just that our ignorance that led us to believe that we are superior. It is the illusion of grandeur. Dolphins use more cerebral capacity than humans, how about that? We have an inherent belief that one who conquers others is superior. So we conquered animals, jungles, seas, rivers, lakes and everything tangible to intangible like atoms and made the demons of destruction. But, we failed to recognize the intelligence that sustains it all. In the name of science we are failing the very human nature; compassion. The hidden force that bestowed humans with the more than just the survival instincts unlike our other counterparts, we owe it our mother nature to be human as much as possible and not destroy the very intelligence of this planet. This is the only planet having the intelligence to sustain itself and you might believe it or not but I believe that we are playing with something so beyond that when it gets fed up, it will swat us like flies from the face of this earth.

So again, what is to be human? I hope we understand before it is too late.

SHORT STORY (PART-1/4) : “A Familiar Face”

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……keeping a mirror beside him, he jotted down on his notebook, ideas that sometimes breezed across his jumbled up mind. Mirror was placed at an angle such that his eyes’ periphery could see someone (his own image). Yes, he was alone. The reason was internal actually. He could never cultivate enough social skill to make or even maintain friends.

College was tough, not many people to call friends for and no luck with girls. He wasn’t hideous but for some reasons, he just never felt any chemistry with a girl.

One day, he was travelling in DTC bus where he was sitting behind a couple of girls, one sitting exactly in front of him and the other one was standing. They noticed him because one was supposed to have seen the empty seat first, but, he in his ignorance-is-bliss kind of attitude sat there first. He sensed that she was staring at him and it was proven in a study that if someone is staring at you, your subconscious mind can sense it. So, to pretend he fidgeted with his cell phone, and she went on discussing with her friend. This was an awkward moment for him. So, when his stop came some people stood up to get off and so did he, and while she is going to take some other seat away from her friend, he tapped on her shoulder and said: “it’s vacant.” She shot dagger at him with her eyes as if to tell him “you don’t touch me, bastard.”
He cringed and shuffled his legs to get out of the situation because if some self-righteous social justice warrior has taken over the case; he would have been dead meat. He said sorry and got out of there quickly. But in that brief encounter, he imprinted one of the beautiful pairs of eyes he had ever seen, skin that is so perfect having a milky consistency, hairs so thick that it bounced with every subtle move and the lips that could melt his hardened heart with the slightest of touch. The moment stretched into his mind like an experience. That night he dreamed of meeting her. She asked him to kiss her and said that she’s been waiting for him and then in the next moment they were doing it. He woke up with a boner and a smile smeared all over his face. The next thought suggested that how perverted his brain has become.

It has been five years after that day and now the memory is faded into a dull one but every now-n-then he still found pieces of that face in every random beautiful one. He is now a professional, grilling his youth to make a safety net like every next person albeit it’s totally against his unpredictable and effervescent nature. There is a girl that he likes in his office, but he couldn’t help but notice that she is very high maintenance. So, all he could do is to watch her being with some of his seniors and enjoy them crashing out of competition one by one. Every evening a concerned call from his mother asking him of his future and after a couple of years of avoiding he succumbed to her mother’s undeterred resolution. Thence started the unfailing search of an Indian mother to find a suitable mate for her son. He felt as though he had failed yet another test but it’s just a bit too embarrassing.

In this eclectic mix of emotions there still somewhere lies that girl from the bus continuously mixing a subtle flavour in his insipid life. Some part of his sub-conscience is still attracting the part of the world in which she exists.

PART 2/4: https://me2248.wordpress.com/?p=890

(Please let me know what you think of this in comments.)

A Letter Dedicated to the Lost Self.

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I’m trying to talk back the conversations we had in my head, but I couldn’t recollect how you sound anymore. Your voice is fading inside my head. Your face is like a dream, so beautiful but a haze. I am clawing to save even a drizzle of the torrent you bestowed upon me. I ache. I know it’s selfish, but do you feel the same?

I remember how you feel. First time I held your hand. I had shivers ran across my body. I remember the first time I said I love you, I have never been so honest to myself my whole life as I’ve been in that moment.

You are the spring of my life that has never come around the same twice. It’s the agony, not that of you leaving me but for the fact that I have never came around even with you. Love for you is still buried deep in my heart only I wish that I could return it to you; its rightful owner. All I wish no evil befall you. I wish no misfortune come past you. All the happiness have you given me may come to you a hundred folds. I wish, the road you tread brings you all the best world beholds. May the glimmer in your eyes never fade. And I wish you find it in your heart to forgive me.

If fate brings us together again sometime, I promise you I’ll be a changed man.
Yours loved.

Man in the Shadows.

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No one could remember his face; all they could summon was only but his plebeian attributes. They say though he was not from around here but talked like he had been living here for decades. Only thing separated him from the others was his complexion, but asking from the other regulars from the bar they say they never saw a man befitting this description. Asking the ones who talked to him said they had the most natural talk, what they usually talk about, but the inquisitiveness died down from first when they saw him. They never even got his name. Among seekers, he was famous as the Nameless and the Faceless. All of them were following the same legend with little different tweaks.

The legend goes like this: “he walks among the legions, dine amongst myriads. He has the knowledge of the world, but the world knows of him none.”

The story behind the this legend is the man collects the deepest and darkest secrets of the dying, no one knows how but somehow command their soul after their death.

Some say that he can mend the hurting soul. Some say he’s the evil with all power at his disposal. Some say he brings solace to those hurting of bereavement, but all these stories are the pile each seeker carries. Ask one for his face and all of them have different opinions. Some describe their Gods in his reverence. Some recite the evil of him. It is not the face that matters it’s the stories that matter and only those that have a definite origin. Among the seekers, he’s famous as the “man with shadows”. Many have died seeking for him, leaving all that they could become and all they have been. It’s just the stories that tore them from their roots to follow the unknown. For them, it’s the same lust as finding for God. You don’t know what the frustration can do to the dying minds of these seekers who spent their life generously looking for someone but couldn’t say if they find even the wind that touched that mythical. No one understands the insatiable thrust of humans that if not quenched can create disasters. So they write their ending and die with the fact that they were the last ones who heard of him and known him. Their immense imagination and vivid memories created memoirs so intoxicating that the next generation is following the same doom. They are following the same corrupt notion that they could find someone who is said to walk with the first of humans and have elements that they themselves carry. They have invested so heavily in him that they forgot about themselves and became the same stories they were heavily amassing.

No one knows if he’s actually a myth or mystical but have survived to remain ever-elusive. I am also a seeker but I am the “seeker of thyself” and this is my memoir for those who seek the ever mystical within themselves.


In the room full of people, she stood out to him but the clank and clatter of the sumptuous cutlery and the wandering stares almost made him invisible. She, huddled by the people looked around the room devouring his presence and almost insulting his longing eyes that were eager to look into hers and mine the thoughts that have even the hint of his existence. Invited by his concerned friends who were just minor employees of this gigantic company added  little weight to his presence, people seems to be looking past him. He was an caricature artist in a daily, so despite always having his name around in people’s life; no one seems to care.

Hours have passed and people started to thin out around her but now she doesn’t attract much of his attention, one can blame it on the lowered cognitive ability due to his inebriated condition. He started to doodle on a piece of napkin lying around. He drew himself regorging in a toilet bowl with his thought boxed as: “God, why am I so sexy?”

What he hadn’t noticed that the girl across the room happen to be the one of the friends of his friend and when they finally came to meet him he was passed out. She saw his doodle laying and started to laugh incessantly. She laughed till the brink of tears and belly’s ache. His friend tried to wake him but failed to do so.

Next morning when he opened up his mobile was bustling with notifications about the story he was tagged in. When he opened up the post he saw a close up of a doodle and a girl holding that napkin and a passed out fella. Few moment later memories started flooding in and he held his head when he realized that the girl holding the napkin was the same girl from the party.

Between all those notifications he found a friend request from the same girl who swept him off his feet.  Same dewy eyed girl who he thought as a blazing star that one can only marvel at but always a distant dream.

Why do we call a child pure? Does it have to with the fact that they lack the much celebrated cognitive ability to “judge”? They dont see beauty nor they see repulsive. All they do is, what’s coherent to their nature and of course mood. But, people weigh them with God, so what’s more?

SHORT STORY (PART-4/4) : “A Familiar Face”


“Hello, Navya?” He said.
“Hi, you must be Rajat.” She replied.
(he pulled the chair for he)
“Thank you.”
“Would you like something—Coffee maybe.” He asked.
“No, the water’s fine.”
“Sure? I mean, coffee is good here”—he looked towards the waiter—“right?”
(waiter nodded.)
“Don’t you think is quite hot today.”
“Oh, yes—yes, then a cold coffee maybe?” he asked again.
“You sure like coffee, don’t you.”
“Bad habit, I reckon.”
“Okay then, but get mine in a to-go cup, please.”
“Same for me please, thank you.” He ordered.
“Open concept is beautiful, don’t you think—terrace garden, I mean. I’ve been here a couple of times—I mean on business, but never been in this part.”
“Yes, it’s good.” She said nodding.
“Actually my company handles the account for the owner of this restaurant—very rich guy,”—he bent forward towards the table and whispered—“but quite, stingy with his money.”
(she laughed.)
“Really?” she said.
“Yes—but he’s a good natured fella. Quite a conversationalist—I think that’s why he’s so successful.”
“Yeah, I guess so.” She said.
“So, let me guess you’re an…”
“…Accountant. Yes.” He answered.
“Boring right, I know I also share the popular belief.”
“No, I didn’t say that. I don’t believe all accountants are boring.” She answered.
“Then, I think you mustn’t have met enough.”
“So, you’re saying that you are boring?” she insinuated.
“I don’t know, maybe. Never had enough opportunity to explore my entertaining side, I guess. ” He said.
(Both smiling)
(Coffee came)
“So, what boring job you’re in?” he asked.
“My job isn’t boring—I mean, I do Interior designing—freelance.” She replied.
“Sounds interesting enough.” He said.
“Can I ask you something?” he said.
“Yes.” She replied.
“Did you come to know about me the same way as I did about you? I mean, my parent flew in yesterday and said that I have to meet someone—I mean you.”
“No, no—my briefing was elaborate enough.”
“So, you knew about me before coming here— like photos and all?”
“No, not exactly. I found you on Instagram—you know, had to check what I am getting into.”
“My Instagram! God, I left it like years ago, most of those pictures were from my college— I’m embarrassed.”
“No, they were fine,” she bent towards the coffee to take a sip, “they were good, great captions by the way.”
“Oh no, no no no,” holding his face with his hand, “please tell me you didn’t read all of them.”
“What, they were very interesting!” she laughed.
“Oh my god, please,” he smiled awkwardly.
“Come on it’s not so bad, we all felt low,” she said looking up at him.
“You did not!” he said covering his eyes.
“Let me think—I almost pierced my ears with my sister’s lost earrings…’ you were looking exuberant in that photo by the way,” Navya said.
“You know what let me look through your Instagram, bet we can find something funny there too.”
“By all means, wait let me send you the request,” pulling out her phone, “yeah, there you go, knock yourself out.”
His phone pinged with notification, “Okay let’s see,” he opened her account, “get out of here, seriously, thirty-k! Thirty-thousand followers.”
“Perks of fancy job I guess,” she smirked.
“All your pictures are just beautiful—um… I mean very well captured.” Rajat sipped from his coffee.
“Thank you,” she said, stroking hair behind her ears.
“So we are officially friends now—I mean by the grace of Instagram… haha,” he said.
“Well, mutual followers, actually,” looking down at her coffee, “friends sounds good though.”
“Touché,” he whispered.
(Both looked at each other and smiled.)

Six months have breezed through like a whim. Both got married. For their honeymoon, they decided on all the clichéd places. It’s not like they have never done it before marriage but it’s called honeymoon for a reason and doing it there is like consummating the marriage, it’s more like the law is on their side. Mussoorie in India is like the consummation point for newlyweds.

Between the lofty mountains, Velvet Lake spread over the distance, selfish ferns never holding any snow over their pointy heads but claiming the beauty everywhere and anywhere your eyes can wander. Roads look like a serpent coiling to attack, bustling with vehicles transporting the exulting hearts. Walking the lane in midst of night were these two exuberated hearts, her left hand was wrapped around his back and head resting on the most comfortable shoulders. She was sleepy and he was thinking of the dream he had been having of this girl even before they were married. He stopped.
She opened her eyes and asked, “what happened?”
And then he finally said “You know we’ve met long before our marriage. Don’t know if you remember but one day I was coming from college and on the bus was the first time when I saw you. I thought you hated me,” he continued, “I hadn’t known you then but it’s yours were the most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen, and I had never forgotten them. When we met at your father’s restaurant some strange feeling crept in my heart but I shrugged it off. More we met but that feeling never left my heart and whenever you looked at me with your dreamy eyes it sent shivers down my spine like it was the nature telling me that you are the one”—cupping his hand around her face—“even the feeling of losing you make me feel like drowning. I couldn’t imagine my life without you, it is like you are the centre and my whole world is woven around you. I love you.”
“I love you too. But you know we’ve already done it three times today,” she said gently kissing on his lips continuously.
“You know—just leave it,” he gently shrugged her arm and started walking, when he felt her hand holding his arms, stopping him.
“I remember,” she said, “I remember.”
When he turned tears were rolling down her cheeks. He caressed her chin and then gently wiped the tears with the back of his hands, almost on the verge of tears he passionately wrapped his arms around her as he would never let go of this moment.
“I love you.” He said.
“Touché,” she said.
(Both started laughing)

PART 1/4: https://me2248.wordpress.com/?p=887

SHORT STORY (PART-3/4) : “A Familiar Face”

Her perspective.

She was taking the tickets for herself and her friend when she saw a couple of hasty legs taking the seat she saw first. Her friend sat in front of him, couldn’t save the seat for her. She simply sighed and walked towards her and stood besides her hugging the stanchion for the support. She carefully looked at him and saw that he was looking nervous. Then suddenly he looked up and looked straight into her eyes. She calmly looked away but noticed that he was fidgeting with his cell phone. She resumed talking with her garrulous friend who always had always something to talk about.  She was talking to her friend but couldn’t help stealing a look or two towards him. She found him unusually handsome. His hairs that were grown long formed a sort of waves on either side of his head where he keeps brushing it behind his ears with his left hand. A strand or two dangling on his forehead floated with the gush of wind entering the windows. His strange personality somehow spoke to her. Next stop was about to come so she moved towards next seat when she felt a tap on her shoulder. She was startled, and when she turned, he was wearing his bag on his shoulders and said “it’s vacant,” pointing at the seat he was sitting in. She looked at him and then he turned back and got off the bus. Her eyes followed him until the bus moved forward. She came home sat her bag aside took out her diary and started describing the whole strangeness of her heart, she felt moments ago. All she could muster from her brief encounter was his hair, his wandering eyes, and his curious face. That’s all she could gather, and now when she was trying to recall what she and her friend were talking about, but failed. Only his face remained in her mind, like the faint traces of fragrance brought by passing wind.

PART 4/4: https://me2248.wordpress.com/?p=898