Why do we write? Is it to satiate our soul, to express the inexpressible, or to present some stories that we know can resonate with if not all, but definitely a few of the readers.
I remember vaguely, the day when holding my dad’s fingers, I visited this local bookstore and grabbed a comic book, which, if my memory serves me right, was the beginning of my journey to the wonderful world of books. And then it kept expanding through various writers and is still expanding.
Publishing a book isn't something that I expected to be accomplished so soon, but…
The mobile network bars disappeared all of a sudden. And here I am amidst the chaos. Of a covid vaccination drive. Where somehow I was able to get a slot. There seems to be a sea of people chatting in front of me as I try to make sense of where the inception of it lies. Pretty sure it shall take at least three hours before I reach the light outside the tunnel. An unknown bird laughs from a secret bush. Is it mocking me?
A little movement. Did I also see a snail smiling at the vaccination line as…
His mind keeps replaying those emotions,
of that excited shout and the generous hug,
those little fingers caressing his face, lovingly,
holding his hard hands firmly, knowing,
they are her only support, her only joy perhaps,
and his heart melted, as his soul lapped in those moments,
wishing the hug, those fingers, her smell to stay intermingled,
Thousands of miles away from his little daughter,
whose face kept appearing in front of him, every moment,
his hands tried to hold her soft little finger,
while she slept peacefully,
and she involuntarily clasping it, holding it tight,
and together they slept, peacefully,
The raindrops kept drumming on the tree leaves,
the tipper-tapper creating some sleep-inducing lullabies,
putting every restless soul to sleep.
Early in the morning when the rain had stopped,
the sparrow shook the raindrop off its feathers,
ready to fly in search of food.
The dog peeped from below the shade,
ready to wait for the friendly hand to appear,
with biscuits and bread to munch on.
The little wildflower, awoken by the sun-rays,
tried to shake off the pearly raindrops,
from itself, looking around at the spectacular morning.
The little mountain stream seemed in a lot of hurry,
The little girl looked out, her chin perched on the train window. She was tensed. Tensed about what would happen. It was raining heavily. She looked at her beautiful dress that she was given to wear today, a new dress, after such a long, long time! She looked sideways towards some other children who were sitting nearby, some ecstatic, some gloomy, some too young to show any other emotion other than crying! …
Adichi kept walking through the corridor, hearing the similar cacophony of students emanating from the classrooms that she crossed. She was sad! And she wanted Miss Atasi to know about it. She peeked into the teacher’s room, but could not see her teacher. As she was about to turn around, she saw her coming from the teacher’s room. She ran towards her.
Atasi was surprised to see Adichi outside of her class, loitering in the corridors. She decided to follow her, and here she was. Why does she look so dull? Did anything happen to her? She waved at her…
On the twinkling universe, like those puppets controlled by a puppeteer,
were two stars that fell in love,
they were far away with the entire sky, numerous planets, suns, moons,
the entire milky way wall blocking their way,
they still managed to love through those silent nights and chaotic days,
Years rolled on and on, they kept glowing, twinkling, wishing, hoping,
the wait seemingly making them desperate,
but what could they do, how could they move closer?
One star grew restless, and off it went springing from its place,
what was the trigger, he never knew,
a wonderful shower, tiny…
There was a child. She loved trees. You may ask, why? Well, a reason may be because her parents were nature lovers themselves. They had this huge space in front of their countryside house, blooming with lovely flowers. A little farm overlooked them, where they grew their own vegetables. The boundary of their property overlooked a forest of fir trees, big and small.
Most of her time was spent sitting by the bark of a fir tree. It was relatively shorter in height and probably seemed more approachable than the looming ones, almost touching the sky. She felt at ease…
Theseus, the legendary Greek hero owned a ship, which he kept in a harbour as a museum piece, and as years rolled by, the wooden parts began to rot and had to be replaced. Every time a piece of the ship needed replacing it was replaced with a metal part. This went on for a few years until eventually it was entirely made of metal.
Is the metal ship of Theseus the same ship as the wooden ship of Theseus?
This formed the topic of discussion for so many eminent philosophers starting from Plato to Plutarch to Heraclitus.
Loves mountains, sea waves, old buildings, petrichor, sound of night crickets, haiku, kintsukuroi , books, dogs, silences and also cacophonies!:)