Tell-a-Tale.....

Nope, I have never liked holi . Not entirely hated but not really my favorite. Each year I would promise myself that I would lock myself inside my room from dawn to dusk with lots of food and drinks and a hard drive full of movies and series thinking that I won’t open the door even if someone collapses outside, banging it like a maniac. But somehow it always happened, I could never sustain inside the room. 3 hours later I would come back from the streets, all red, black and blue (no, not with the beating.. just with the colour) and keep grinning in the shower thinking how we washed him with colors, or how those girls ran when we threw water balloons at them and how we attacked strangers with gulaal and the “ happy holi ” catch phrase of the day.   This year wasn’t that different either other than some tini-tiny events that were added for the effect. I woke up perfectly alright with a determination that I will eat, read, watch, sleep and repeat. But without going into a...

My eyes moved from the first row and it got stuck to the second last seat by the window in the left. It was empty and it looked cozy and welcoming. The bus I just boarded for home was practically empty with just a few college students and 3-4 elderly people sitting here and there leaving the back of the bus alone..in darkness..    The untimely shower had made some people miserable and had disintegrated their lives leaving the streets deserted and making the city look like a distant, sleepy suburb at 8 PM. But they had to admit, the rains left its beauty behind washing up the unbearable dust and bringing down the temperature for people to take a sigh of a short lived relief. I loved it.    Leaving everyone behind, I reached to the seat that I had already assigned to myself inside my head. As I settled down after folding my 3-fold umbrella messily and trying to dry off the marks of the rain from my soaking head and arms I dunked my head inside my bag...

“For else, young men shall go hooded, and look abroad little. It is a strange thing, that in sea voyages, where there is nothing to be seen, but sky and sea, men should make diaries: but in land-travel, wherein so much is to be observed, for the most part they omit it: as if chance were fitter to be registered, than observation.” ­­- Francis Bacon (Of Travels) How many times does it happen to you? One fine day you suddenly wake up and realize that DARN! I have had enough and I need to take a vacation! NOW!! To me it certainly happens more than often! That feeling of packing your bag overnight, withdrawing an ample amount from ATM for the journeys, charging your phones..mp3s..camera batteries to the fullest gives you a kick, a thrill doesn't it? Charging out of your home the next morning with a huge rucksack and catching the earliest bus to the foothills. Four-five hours of foggy, chilly air brushing your face through that half open bus window, that hot steaming cup o...

No, I am not a corporate bug. Neither am I a desk and chair person. I am a person who likes not to be bound and left to a computer to work on data, numbers and figures. But being in a society that only likes security and stability in all the spheres of their lives I am trying to stick around.    I opted for a course that offered me a platform to pursue my dream of freedom and creativity. But lesser did I know that it is seldom going to come handy in my future.  I had a raging fantasy about being independent and strong, outgoing and free with a mission in my head and lots more to do. To write a book or rather a memoir, travel to unknown lands with just the camera in my hand (oh yes I can click to save myself!), live alone and cook myself, meet or maybe just observe new people as I am not a very talkative one here, collect numerous souvenirs from places I traveled, create a new memory every day.   So, as decided and worked upon, I even got a few chances to ...

It can't come true, so I've put my dreams on hold but i can run through the sheets of grass, icy, cold. I am sleeping but my mind's still awake,  so let's just keep it till tomorrow, You did come here but there's nothing to take,  what's the use of drowning yourself in sorrow.. Now i'm running wild through the lush green meadows, walking and wandering down with the stream. It's like I'm still chasing the shadows, about time i wanna wake up from this dream.. I dug my nails through my heart, to get you out of it, you are already out of my sight, i'm tearing you away now bit by bit.. I drew some lines on the sand,  hoping for it not to be ceased by the waves, the pains given won't be easily mend,  the feeling were but inside the darkest deepest caves.. Spare me with all the gory details for I was killed a thousand times.. Don't try to come back as of now, I'm dealing.. I can't speak of it, don...

I was stuck, stuck for more than a year. It seemed like eons. Writing was one of those things that came to me naturally. Just like breathing. I adored this habit of mine. But it was different now. I struggled, battled with myself every day to come up with just one paragraph. It was as if my brain was unable to decipher the code of words. It was impossible, like a distant dream for me at that moment. And I knew the reason, reason for this catastrophe, this disaster, this block. I started quite early, on my 10 th  birthday my mother had presented me with a beautiful diary with other usual knick-knacks of presents. I was very fascinated with this atypical thing amidst all my wrapped goodies for my special day. Asking her with a zealous tone I was told that it was a book which would be my friend. No questions asked or no doubting games. Too young to grasp the essence of it, I kept it just as a token of love from my mother showing it off to my friends or occasionally doodling in it...

Sun seemed to be having an awfully bad temper today. So was to be the mood of hers. She woke up with a searing headache. The sunny summers were hopefully not going to do any good to her. She wanted it to be dark, cloudy, and rainy even but not all the light! She woke up sweaty and thirsty. Thankfully it was a weekend. She would have hated it even more if she had to drag herself to the office at 9.30 in the morning. Sitting upright on her bed and massaging her forehead she first checked her cell phone. Five missed calls and two texts. Someone must have been trying hard to reach her. She first checked the calls. All were from her friends. Next opening her inbox she found another one from her gal-pal asking her if she had woken up and was she suffering from any hangover from last night. That reminded her of all the wine and weeping yesterday night with her friend. And so the reason of this pain. There was another message, from somebody she used to know. But she left it unread like ever...