Source: The Swing
If you will ask me what I was doing in that train compartment last night, the explanation will be a hard one. You better please don’t. It was late, later than the supposed time. The short hand had already struck eleven, chances of it hitting twelve or even one until I would have reached home. Even my father’s bothersome calls were all over my phone. Continue reading “The Bald Man”
“What’s your type of girl?” Her fingers curled around her hairs(or hair?) as she asked me this question.
“Is there something wrong with your hairs?” I tried to get close and take a little advantage. Her hairs(or hair?) were gorgeous, and never would I leave a chance to feel them.
“NO! I think it’s just hair, you don’t put the s there.” She pushed me away, more engrossed in her questions than a romantic moment between us. “Tell me na, what’s your type of girl?” Continue reading “The Artists!”
As i woke up this morning, WordPress notified me of having 160+ followers. And yes, I already have a thanking post for 100 followers (And i know i am not supposed to write one for every 50 addition) then why this? Because I hardly know any one more than 10 from all you amazing people. Continue reading “HELLO BLOGGERS!!!”
Water from the head, nourishing parts of my soul, moved down my naked.
“Give me the link to your blog, I want my mom to read your posts.”
It had been ten years since I was writing, giving words to the fantasies in my head, creating cheesy poems for school crushes, and nothing had ever made me feel better than the text on my screen at that moment. Though I was in seven heavens when my first crush liked the poem I wrote for her. But sadly, two days later her boyfriend praised me for that as well. #StayAwayFromMyGirlAlert. Continue reading “The Kind Words…”
I do not want to die.
“That’s silly. We all will die one day.” Someone from you would point me out here.
But NO, I do not want to die, neither today nor tomorrow, not in any day to come. Yet every morning when I wake up I am afraid. Afraid of dying, afraid that I will be forgotten after I am gone or worse, I would not be remembered at the first place. Continue reading “Me and Words!”
‘Once upon a time…’
I would sit in a corner of my room for hours and hours and go on scribbling across the pages of my notebook, giving words to the fantasies and imaginations that lived in my head. Aligned to the small chair, I created a world of mine in that corner, where I had my own numerous knights, my enormous dragons and a lot of tricky wizards. Across my small desk, they went for wars against each others. The stack of my notebooks turned to their high mountains, and my pens became their deadliest weapons. The small battleground of theirs became larger than the playground outside.
‘What if his voice was like him as well?’ I thought, as I kept looking at the driver of the car I was sitting in. We never owned a car, and I hardly ever got much chances to sit in one and that too on the front seat, but still my eyes were focused on the driver. After all, he looked exactly like Amitabh Bachchan to me. He even sported that very French beard of his, maybe just to look more like him, except this man in front of me was thin and his voice too indifferent to sound like Amitabh’s.
I hadnt been much into an attachment with my grandmother. I was her sixth grandson, not including any child of her daughters. I loved being awoken by her though, the chant of her morning songs and the besan chakkis made by her are still my favorite. At that little age i was willing to go lengths to have it, like convincing myself to stay inside during the day hours; sneaking into her room while she slept; and even gulping in the aam ras which i never liked. She had to hold up my arms and legs to make me drink it.