Posted in Fiction, Personal, Poetry, Thoughts, Uncategorized, Writing


Door locked


I don’t believe this happened,
Can’t accept it’s over,
There’s a lot I’ve left to do,
Still haven’t got closure.

Countless doors to shut,
I’ve people yet to meet;
Untold places I must visit,
Many fond memories to greet.

Please let me go back
Just one last time,
I’ve unfinished work to do,
Lose ends left to tie.

There wasn’t an opportunity,
It happened too fast;
I’m here in the future now
But not done with my past.

The present won’t make sense –
Not until I return;
I miss where I come from,
I’m waiting for my turn.

This place is beautiful,
The people nice and sweet
But my restless heart dedicates
To home, its every beat.

Take me back to my city,
The city of love and joy!
So I can see it one last time,
So I can say good bye.

Posted in Entertainment, Fiction, Thoughts, Uncategorized

A Tribute To Sir Alan Rickman


With due respect to any celebrity I’ve ever liked, no one’s demise has left me feeling this sad. My heart sank the instant I read the news. A sense of emptiness lurks in the air; as though I knew him. I feel like I’ve lost a relative. Perhaps, I have. All of us, in fact. We, who are bound to each other with an invisible thread of unfaltering loyalty to a phenomenon called Harry Potter, lost one of our own today. There are people, yet awaiting their Hogwarts letter; I believe I received mine in the form of the first book in the series. The day I turned the first page was my first step into a world that would be brought to life in films – where my beloved character would be portrayed by my most favourite actor – Sir Alan Rickman. A versatile actor with stellar performances to his credit and I will still remember him as Professor Severus Snape. The Half-Blood Prince. No other actor could’ve done justice to the role, like Alan Rickman. I loved Professor Snape for the enigmatic ‘villain’ he was, for I’m predisposed to favouring dark characters. I admired him for the hero he turned out to be. I shall continue to respect him for his loyalty in love, life and death. I cried once when Snape died. And then again today. My heart hasn’t stopped grieving, my mind cannot accept it, nor can I wrap my head around this loss. I can only pray for my childhood idol’s soul. May the good Lord bless and keep you, Sir.
We lost a legendary actor and a man of exceptional character and poise. Hogwarts lost one of its Headmasters, who in Harry’s words was “probably the bravest man (he) ever knew.” We lost our Potions Master. We will miss you every time we turn to page 394 and raise our wands in salute. You will live on as a part of us. After all the years. Always.



Posted in Fiction, Musing, Writing

It’s Too Late


It–It can’t be… But it is! I can see myself! I’m 5 years old. Dad’s performing the Diwali puja rituals. An innocent smile spreads across my baby-face as I hear fire crackers burst outside. Phantom-like, I observe my (once) happy family and a tear rolls down.

A momentary flash of white light and there I am again; only this time, 16 years old, receiving my ‘Prefect’ badge in school. I watch my proud, confident self read out a note of thanks.

*Flash* Scene 3 – Me, from around a year back, sitting on a rock facing the sea and laughing, carefree. Through this strange, hollow darkness, I observe my younger self, wishing I could reverse time.

Yet another flash. But I can’t see myself anymore. I can’t see anything, actually. A thick black pall engulfs me. I can’t move either but I hear voices. It’s all coming back to me. I realise what’s happening but it’s too late.

‘Whatever you do, don’t drink and drive beta,’ – mum’s voice. ‘Ek aur shot pee le kuch nahi hoga,’ – Karan’s voice. ‘At least I’m more sober than all you drunkards put together. I’ll drive,’ – my voice. I can’t breathe properly but sounds I hear; wheels screeching, friends screaming, a cyclist whimpering, a windshield smashing to smithereens and a horn that won’t stop.

Strangely the excruciating pain is now easing out. I can feel my wounded body slump and my spirit rise to look at my lifeless form. My head rests on the steering wheel. That’s why the horn won’t stop. Noooo! I don’t want to go. I want to live, please.

My soul weeps terribly but it’s just too late. Words reverberate, shattering the deathly silence – Whatever you do beta, don’t drink and drive.

Posted in Fiction, Musing, Nature, Personal, Thoughts

All Is Calm, All Is Bright

‘I can’t do this,’ I sigh to myself as I rest the side of my warm, worried forehead on the cool metal rim and stare out of the window. Silhouettes of trees – sometimes huts, sometimes just the bare, undulating landscape but mostly trees – whizz past. ‘They’re all going away from me, even the trees’, I reflect as the train speeds on in the opposite direction.
I look around inside, everyone on board is asleep. I return my gaze to the scenery. ‘It’s dark.’ Both literally and figuratively. ‘I really don’t see anyone on my side. It’s a lone battle I must fight. And win. I have to do this on my own, for I’m at the point of no return. It’s all my fault.’
The barely-lit countryside has me rapt. It reflects my state of mind; brooding, quiet, morose. (At least someone is like me.) Yet, there’s a certain charm about it. The view is alluring.
I see a flicker somewhere afar. ‘I think we just passed a village. Distant lamps light up my vision momentarily, only to disappear,’ I ruminate.
‘I’m not surprised though,’ continues my soliloquy, ‘the lamps vanished just like those fair-weather friends of mine.’
‘Ah look! A light twinkles in the distance again. But this isn’t one to fade away. It isn’t transient like those village lights. It’s luminous! It isn’t like the trees, waving as I journey past. Instead, it moves along with me. It’s constant.’
‘Oh! It’s a star!’ With this realisation an immediate calm descends on me. I feel at peace, almost. Its silent communication is spell-binding. I wonder what it’s trying to say. I feel a surge of hope after so very long. The star travels alongside, lighting not the landscape but a fire in the cold hearth of my heart.
Maybe I’m not alone; maybe I have a companion somewhere in the skies. Maybe someone, somewhere is looking out for me after all. ‘I can do this.’

Posted in Fiction, Musing, Thoughts, Writing

Who’s The Boss?

Today has to be the worst day ever! Who does my boss think he is anyway? Let me see HIM meet the deadline with the cart-load of work we have to finish. He needs to get a grip and stop yelling at me as though it’s his birth right. The old man is off his rocker, I tell you! If only he cared to take note of the trouble his employees go through to keep this place running. If it wasn’t for our round-the-clock slogging, he would’ve been out of business ages ago. Kaput!
Oh, how I wish this day does a somersault and turns things around in my favour for a change. This dungeon of an office needs some freshness, both literally and figuratively. However, for that to happen, I’ll have to hope for a miracle! I really need a break. Maybe I should take a stroll for a while to divert my mind. Just some me-time and then I can get back to the grind.
Hey, wait a minute. I hear some music playing outside. It’s a peppy song and the voice is entrancing. The singer must indeed be a superstar with that kind of talent! I can hear a cheering crowd as well. Sounds like people are having a good time. What do not go hand in hand, are FUN and this sorry excuse for a ‘work environment’. It’s surprising that I hear sounds of merriment coming from anywhere near this depressing place. Wonder what’s happening downstairs. Wait, let me check and fill you in on the goings-on.
Hi, I’m back and you won’t believe what I’m about to tell you! Oh my God, I’m over the moon. So, I walked out to see what the hubbub was about and guess what! There I saw them – Anushka Manchanda, singing a catchy number in her enthralling voice and the immensely gifted actor, Allu Arjun, dancing to the beats in perfect sync. Doing what they do best, they had the mob rapt. How should people not be mesmerized, when they have the singing sensation and dancing king performing live! I struggled to make my way to the front and saw them up close. Stood there enjoying the performance and for once, did not mind being jostled by a swooning mob.
Artists of such stature performing on the street right outside my office! I could pinch myself and still not believe it! It’s like they were sent as an answer to my prayers. My day is made! So, I guess my #MaxFreshMove was making a move out of office. Taking time off to do what I want, instead of what I have to, seemed like the need of the hour. After all, the real boss of my life is ME. A million thanks to them for bringing a much needed whiff of freshness into my stifling work life. God is good. *All hail* May magic like this happen more often!

I am blogging for #MaxFreshMove activity Are you?

Posted in Fiction, Musing, Thoughts, Writing

Dream Team

It was snowing and the view from atop the mountain peak was spectacular. Cupping my hands around my mouth, I shouted my name. The echo responded. Then I heard it again, and again, and again. Louder each time. Err, isn’t the sound of an echo supposed to fade?
Then I felt myself fall off the cliff, as my chin slipped off my palm and my face slammed into the desk in front. I woke with a start. Oh great, I was daydreaming again. I do that a lot. Like, all the time.
It had not been an echo but my class mates trying to get me to join them for a game of Dumb Charades. I raised my hurt nose a little and peered at the teacher from my seat in the last row. She was droning on without the slightest inkling of how deathly boring she always is. Well, time to wake up, I thought as I muffled a yawn.
I heard music playing in the school grounds. Sounded like a concert. I strolled to the window and saw a large crowd of my school mates gathered in the basketball court. That’s strange. Our school fest was over last month and the stage had been dismantled, right?
I walked out of class without the teacher even bothering to look at me and made my way to the grounds. I had to investigate for myself, to know whether I was seeing right or losing my sanity to the History lesson.
I couldn’t believe my eyes! There was Anushka Manchanda, singing an incredibly melodious song. By her side was superstar Allu Arjun, regaling star-struck students with his impeccable dance moves. They had the crowd spellbound. Their fans were screaming themselves hoarse. What a wave of freshness they’ve brought to this utterly boring day, I thought to myself. That’s when I heard the two of them call my name. Huh, what? Me? Really? They want ME on stage with them? By the time I could absorb the feeling of this unbelievable moment, someone stepped on my big toe. Ouch, look where you’re going, I screamed.
Oh! Oh, God, no! Not again! I was pulled out of reverie-mode by my friend who had stepped on my foot, on purpose, to wake me. The teacher was yelling at the class in general and me in particular. She was going on about how I could have the cheek to sleep in her class and how she would have to write a note to my parents. Her scolding though, was having no effect on me. I was replaying and savoring every moment of my dream. I mean, it isn’t every day that celebrities with enviable talent call you to join them on stage! So what if it’s only in fantasy land?! They sure make a ‘dream’ team (pun intended). I was energized all right, and wide awake, mind you. You could say my #MaxFreshMove involved no movement at all. I did sleep my way to freshness after all! Ironic, isn’t it?

I am blogging for #MaxFreshMove activity Are you?

Posted in Fiction, Thoughts, Writing

A Missed Call, A Discovery & A Hero

Samar didn’t realize when his mobile phone screen lit up. An unknown number flashed as it vibrated on silent mode. He had to finish off a truckload of work and couldn’t afford to look beyond his desktop monitor. He had mentally convinced himself to pull an all-nighter in the office itself, so as to not get into trouble with his awful boss again.
He tore himself away from the computer after what seemed like ages and walked towards the cafeteria for a breather. The office was semi-dark and deserted. He felt a chill run down his spine. A picture of his office team hung above the coffee machine. Vinay’s bright face smiled back at him. Vinay Sharma, his colleague and buddy. Samar missed him and wished he’d just come back; wished he hadn’t left them so soon; wished that terrible accident had never happened.
Just as he sat himself down to work again, he noticed the cell phone. It displayed 40 missed calls, all from the same number. “Who is it and what could be so urgent?” he mumbled. It was then that his office landline rang. Startled nearly to death at first and extremely confused consequently, he ignored it. No way was he taking a random call at 2.20 A.M, that too on the office telephone.
Barely had he resumed punching figures into the MS Excel Sheet, when his mobile screen glowed again. Apprehensive and trembling slightly, he received the call – which would’ve registered as the 67th missed call if he hadn’t. “Hello?” He hesitated into the receiver. *Scratch-scratch-scratch*, a lot of static, and *click* it disconnected. No one spoke from the other end. This continued for the next hour, at once every 15 minutes. Sweaty now, even though the AC was blowing chilled, he stood up and staggered to the window. “This is creepy,” he stuttered, “so creepy.”
Frightened and walking swiftly away from the phone that rang for the nth time, Samar stumbled into his boss’ dark chamber. ‘That’s odd,’ he thought. ‘This place is supposed to be locked, isn’t it?’ Switching on a light, he decided to snoop around a bit. ‘Might help clear my mind,’ he figured. He had no choice but to stick on in the office anyway. Mr. J. Patel, a little golden plate glinted on the table. ‘What a horrid man!’ To Samar, it had always seemed that his boss hated Vinay and it was because of this that Samar had despised Mr. Patel in turn. ‘A monster in human skin! Yes, that’s what Patel is.’
Vinay’s worried voice drifted into his mind. It had only been 2 days. He’d frantically tried to say something about Patel. What, Samar shall never know, as the call had been interrupted by loud, beeping sounds and disconnected before he could finish. It was Vinay’s last call on that fateful day, about an hour before the accident. A puzzling accident no one knew much about. Neither Samar, nor Vinay’s family and surprisingly, not even Mister-nosey-Patel (though Samar really doubted it).
Rudely jolted back into reality, when the landline on Patel’s table rang, Samar was scared out of his wits. Quivering, he answered it. A whisper and *click* it disconnected. Drawer. Yes, it sounded like the voice had said ‘drawer’. Looking down, Samar noticed the desk drawer ajar. His jaw dropped. Patel’s desk drawer, which was always locked, had somehow slid open.
Managing to pull himself together, he began rummaging through it. A note fell out onto his lap. The words Samar read and the name signed at the bottom, brought tears to his weary eyes.
He called the police immediately. Patel was arrested. Next day, the news read, ‘Boss accused in suicide note…’ Turns out, Vinay’s ‘accident’ hadn’t been one at all. Samar’s suspicion held true; Patel not only knew (and concealed) what others didn’t but was responsible for it too.
Patel is under trial for psychological torture, ever since. Samar has faith in the judiciary. He believes justice will be served. Samar’s colleagues celebrate him as a hero in the office, even today. He in fact does feel like a hero to his late best friend, though he isn’t sure how it all happened.
How a chance discovery (or was it?) of the note led to the path of truth. Strange, how a missed call led to the discovery in the first place. And mysterious still, Samar was never able to find out who had been trying to call him. For, when he dialled the number, a voice amid loud static whispered, ‘Please check the number you have dialled.’ *scratch-scratch-scratch * ‘This number does not exist,’ *click*.

This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.

Posted in Fiction, Relationships, Thoughts, Writing

A Never Ending Summer

The little hand plucked a vibrant purple flower. A smile spread across her pretty baby face. With winter gone, summer had taken over in all its glory. Her favourite season. The warmth of the sunshine made her feel happy.
Simaya was going home today and was overjoyed. She sat outside on the grass, wondering what it would be like. “They seemed like wonderful people. I’ll call him baba,” she thought aloud, “and the lovely lady who came to visit me yesterday, asked me to call her maa. Yes, so that’s settled, maa and baba.”
Just then, Miss Rose came out to see her. They had finally come to take her. Maa and baba. Formalities completed, it was time Simaya bid adieu to the place that had kept her for the first 7 years of her life; most of which she had no memory.
No longer would she have to live in the orphanage. No more rebukes from Miss Rose. No more going to bed hungry. Above all, no more sorrow, no more winter.
The beautiful radiant face of that gentle natured woman, who she’d call maa from today, gave her a sense of assurance. The surety she had been longing for. Baba called out to her and Simaya went skipping away with them. The sun smiled down upon her, as though blessing the child with a guarantee of a bright future, like a never ending summer.

This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.