Saturday, November 29, 2014

Bubble bursts

The silence hurts.
Her silence hurts.
It is in silence that her absence becomes more acute.
It is in silence that her not being around is sealed.
For a year now, I have gone by the thought that she is visiting Ludhiana.
Hence the absence.
Hence the silence.
Hence the not being there.
The trick works. Often it does.
But some days, the reality is overpowering.
On those days, the reality bites and stings.
On those days, I cannot silence the thought that she is gone. Forever.
Try as hard as we might, she is not coming back.
And her silence is all we have got now.
I haven't gathered the courage to enter her room. Not yet.
And when I do, I am still not able to look up at her picture. I barely steal a glance and I have to look away.
I look up at unknown faces, complete strangers, who are probably grandmothers to unknown kids, and my eyes moisten.
Tears well up and dry.
In some unseen depths, I cry and roar.
Muffle screams that I miss her.
Outwards, I throw a pretence of composure and walk on.
Praying all the while.
Gran, rest in peace, return if possible.

Thursday, November 27, 2014


Once upon a time,
We used to talk in jumbles,
And stumble on our tiny little feet,
Listen with rapt attention,
The unbelievable tales
Of fairies and ghosts,
Imagine, believe and dream.
And then we grew up.
And the summer of childhood
Became a misty haze,
Blanketed by
Worries of earning and eating.
The dreams turned to dust.
Feet found their place.
Slowly the labyrinth of life
Consumed us,
And devoid of our spirit,
We march towards oblivion.
The undammed rivers,
Controlled and constricted.
Bare feet hop-skipping,
Consume me.
As do the
Christmas expectations
In hushed whispers,
And interspersed giggles.

This is a blog hop:

Saturday, November 22, 2014

Racing against ... ?

The rubbers gripping
The steel grey
Hands clenched at
The steering wheels,
Humming motors
Queued up
Till the horizon,
Horns blaring,
Jarring the
Tattered remnants of
Shredded peace.
And amidst this pandemonium,
Another set of claws
Slows, screeches;
The vernal biker
By the power of his beast-ride,
To define his domain,
Discounting the
Decrees of road,
Crisscrosses the embrangle;
The grey labyrinth soon
Devours him.
And while
The ominous siren
Of ambulance clangors callously,
Enduring the
Congestion dutifully,
The crimson splashes dry out.
Undeterred bedlam
The dusk.
The subtraction
Compulsory obituary
Wilts in some scrapbook.

 This is a blog hop:

Saturday, November 8, 2014

Scramblings : Turn

Avli, I am standing near the JLN metro station. Trying to read the google navigator’s rights and lefts.  I realize that I am either directionally or technologically challenged. So, I am about to leave myself to the mercy of a rickety auto rickshaw. It is some 3 minutes drive to the place and I promise, all my senses will be working overtime. After all, safety saves.

Remember our little sojourn to the Advanced Studies, Avli. When the grandeur had come in full view, I had literally drooled over it with open mouth. Savoured the splendor with eyes. You, Avli, had laughed so hard.
Well, you could reply the laugh today for I am standing exactly in same pose.

And now that I realize how utterly ridiculous and wildly ludicrous I look, I try to reign in my greedy side. Like I have never been to some place like this ever before.

Alright, excitement checked. I move on. Exploring the ruins. Relishing the surrounding greens. The evening sun and early November air doing full justice to the aura and ambience of place. A photo here, a selfie there. I am totally engrossed.

History is a symphony of echoes heard and unheard. It is a poem with events as verses.
Charles Angoff

With the evening growing, it is getting a little inconvenient for me to tread these brick red trails.
However, the curiosity gets better of me. I still want to explore the remnants.
I don’t feel like leaving the place.
There is an inexplicable gravity. Some force that makes me stay.
I should but I can’t get myself moving back. The sun has set on the place, and the hush is falling on the place with intensity.
The guards have started to come in now. They are hustling the people out. It is time now for the sanctum to retreat to its privacy.
Why am I hesitating, Avli?
Why am I not moving?
What is it?

Will you be kind enough to take the exit to your right, Mam?
Wait, I know this voice.
Avli, I know this voice.
I turn back but it is so dark, I can barely see things.
It takes a time to adjust to the blindness.
I hear the voice again.
Gentle but urgent. Insistent with a force. Hypnotizing.
I am lured to it. Mesmerized.
I make out his silhouette. Talking to tourists.

The man has an imposing presence for a guard.

Linking with Five Minute Friday : Turn
Excerpts from NaNoWriMo Challenge : Sombre Sojourn

Wednesday, November 5, 2014

Monday's measly minutes #3


The cockcrow has brought good tidings.

And it is surprising how small things make a huge difference to the otherwise mundane and routine life.

Yes, it has been a most ordinary life. Like anybody else’s or perhaps everybody else’s. But we do not stop living it because it is ordinary. We try to find meaning in littlest of joys and we want to do away with tiniest of sorrows. Everybody strives to live. And same goes for me too.

To sum it all up, I was born a few years ago to the most loving family. I grew up, went to school and then to college. From a nestling to a bird – right before your eyes. I did what every child, teenager and young adult did at relevant times.

Routine life. Family. Eight-to-three friendships. Growing up. Job. And that's just about it.
Awesome so far.

There’s pleasure in being reminded of the value of ordinary life.
Karen Thompson Walker

But sometimes extraordinary does happen. And that transforms the taste of living. Like a dash of pepper and salt to the bland curd.

Something of the sorts has happened.

Avli … Avli … O Avli …

I wrote this on Monday ... yes, I did fit in my 10 measly minutes but never got time to update it.
Anyways, I am experimenting with NaNoWriMo challenge and this is a part of the story, if there is one.

Scramblings : Dewy

Dewy grass tickles underneath my feet. Morning silence is interspersed with chirping of birds. The misty curtains are rising. Living begins again.
While the night had bathed the place in regal attires, the morning intensifies the imperial splendor.
The night was cold. Or maybe I was numb. Perhaps sweating. Possibly shivering. But, definitely disquieting.
The visions from the late evening kept replaying. Like a video on “repeat current” mode. The stop button was stuck.
What had happened there, Avli? And where on the earth, was my phone?
I am sure that guard knew about it. Liar.

Correction read, stately guard.

Excerpt from the NaNoWriMo challenge : Sombre Sojourn