tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-91300076119315963672024-02-19T07:50:25.198+05:30Mocking a TaleMy Feeble Attempts at Fictions.Richahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14382252401380787038noreply@blogger.comBlogger69125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9130007611931596367.post-56093125508439465622012-06-27T18:00:00.000+05:302012-06-27T18:06:23.954+05:30The Moment<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I think I've arrived there finally. Probably, more than a decade late. But almost there. Mere presence of someone in my vicinity is stirring me. I try to remember when was the last time I felt like this, if ever. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;">His eyes are playing. More as his body moves with the rhythm. His feet flawless. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;">He holds out his hands, I take them. They are surprisingly cold, for a man sweating so profusely. I pretend to play distracted, while he plays distant (I'd like to think he is playing it) for such small distance between our bodies. The pace of the rhythm increases, so does his, followed by my feet, almost involuntarily. Being led by him, on the dance floor, with my heels producing a sweet melody of their own to match with the Latin music, is intoxicating if I am not understating it. He pulls me in his arms and locks me in. I can feel his rapid breath on my neck. While he motions me in circles to the circumference of the dance floor, I can see our reflections in the huge mirrors. Visible difference in our heights. He is somewhere between six feet 2 and 3 inches while I can see an invisible foot ruler hanging on my head to reach his. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;">He turns me around and I find myself looking into his eyes, feeling those broad shoulders under my fingers. God, he moves so swiftly. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;">The sound of applause breaks my chant and I look around to see people looking appreciatively at us. He is standing beside me, with his arm around my waist. The charge between us, I'd give anything away to be here, at this moment. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;">The instructor approaches us and the next thing I know is he is gone. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I fall back into reality with a thud. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;">The moment has passed. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;">As I collect my things, I see him at the far end of the gym, collecting his hand towel from his bag. He smiles at me. I return the smile. The formal smile. He is again, a person I know from the dance class, not my type, with an expression that clearly tell me that I am not his type either. But then, a question pops in my head 'what exactly is your type?' I decide to put it on halt, for later. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I say bye to almost everyone on my way to the exit. I start to say bye to him (the formal one) he interrupts to ask me if I am joining the new evening class, I say I haven't decided yet. 'It's going to be fun' he is telling me. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;">He persuading me. That's my ego smiling sarcastically. 'I'll think' I say and step out of the exit door.</span></div>
<br />
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54487/46/64EDCBC58A091B594F688DE5B8D979C1.png" style="background: transparent; border: 0 !important;" />
</a></div>
</div>Richahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14382252401380787038noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9130007611931596367.post-90209313047079136472012-03-23T16:57:00.001+05:302012-04-27T20:04:31.032+05:30The Guest- Finale<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Read Part 1 <a href="http://myfeebleattemptsatfiction.blogspot.in/2012/03/guest-pilot.html" target="_blank">here<span id="goog_1557997033"></span><span id="goog_1557997034"></span></a>, and Part 2<a href="http://myfeebleattemptsatfiction.blogspot.in/2012/03/guest-ii.html" target="_blank"> here</a>.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">He is strumming my favorite song on my guitar as I open my eyes. I had napped while talking to him.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Ain't no sunshine, when she's gone.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Some songs have associations attached to them. When you stop getting reminded of a certain person on hearing a song, you're over them.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">He played this tune some 20 yrs ago over the phone. I still clearly remember.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">I sit across him by the fireplace. He is smiling at me. Playing the same tune. Ain't no sunshine, when she's gone.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">This is the moment when I realize the song he used to play for me, is meant for his daughter now.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">'Sing along?' He says.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">'I don't sing.'</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">'You do.'</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">'I did.'</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">_____________________________________________________________</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">I place his laundry on the couch. He is busy reading this book. He turns around and finds his return ticket over the pile of his clothes.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">He looks at me.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">'You realized last night that I was missing my daughter?'</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">'Yes.' I smile.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">'When does the train leave?'</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">'In an hour.'</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">'Are you coming to railway station?'</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">'No.'</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">'Can I come back sometime?'</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">'Don't.'</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">He zips his LV.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">'I'm going to miss you.'</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">'Bye.'</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">I go inside as I hear him strolling out of the front door. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: justify;" trbidi="on"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54487/46/64EDCBC58A091B594F688DE5B8D979C1.png" style="background: none repeat scroll 0% 0% transparent; border: 0pt none ! important;" /> </a></span></div></div>Richahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14382252401380787038noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9130007611931596367.post-74762510010451588242012-03-17T15:05:00.001+05:302012-04-27T20:04:31.027+05:30The Guest- II<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><span style="font-size: large;">Read Part 1 <a href="http://myfeebleattemptsatfiction.blogspot.in/2012/03/guest-pilot.html" target="_blank">here</a>. </span><br />
<br />
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">He is ruffling his hair dry with a white towel while walking out from the bathroom. My white towel. I see he has made himself comfortable around the house, using my things. This towel is going with him. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">I hand him a plate of fresh pancakes and a large cup of coffee. He smiles while I grab my breakfast from the kitchen slab and take the chair opposite to his.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://t0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcTY37P-3mp-PwI9X9CrWlQu5QhKC8PiBJEEvu3Izot2wl0AiFgGLqVXhAX_" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://t0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcTY37P-3mp-PwI9X9CrWlQu5QhKC8PiBJEEvu3Izot2wl0AiFgGLqVXhAX_" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">'What did you tell your wife, where were you going?' I ask him casually.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">'She knows I am here. In fact, she insisted me to visit you.'</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">'She's that cool? Are you impotent?'</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">'I have two kids.' He is smiling.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">'So, how does that prove you're potent?'</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">'They resemble me.'</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">'I might not let you go back after all.'</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">'Given your past record, that sounds a little not possible.'</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">'I am a changed person.' </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">'I've been missing you a lot lately. The wife told me to visit you. She was the one to find out your hibernation address.'</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">'I'm not hibernating.' I sip my coffee.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">'Your cooking has become tastier.'</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">'Your grammar still sucks.' </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"> He chuckles.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Part 3, soon. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: justify;" trbidi="on"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54487/46/64EDCBC58A091B594F688DE5B8D979C1.png" style="background: none repeat scroll 0% 0% transparent; border: 0pt none ! important;" /> </a></span></div></div></div>Richahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14382252401380787038noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9130007611931596367.post-73597461845552487072012-03-13T19:57:00.001+05:302012-04-27T20:04:31.004+05:30The Guest- Pilot<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Walking the narrow path down the hill to my home, I today think of the day I walked this way the first time. I instantly liked the house and the pavement that led to it. Calm, green and standing lonely. All what I wanted and needed. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSX2u-fif9mRlhovBxrYPphyXqX9rJqRIZpCni8K6xnDA3S0KrjOevU3hzAwbDP83G8krAk6GNfosWQ-IWMm94VQ883erhIMZ9FTij6bRnKAKVlPTRmZ69aVEFss_BGcPGyC0YW7Fkpho/s1600/beautiful-autumn-scenery-723-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSX2u-fif9mRlhovBxrYPphyXqX9rJqRIZpCni8K6xnDA3S0KrjOevU3hzAwbDP83G8krAk6GNfosWQ-IWMm94VQ883erhIMZ9FTij6bRnKAKVlPTRmZ69aVEFss_BGcPGyC0YW7Fkpho/s320/beautiful-autumn-scenery-723-2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">My eyes get stuck on an oak tree. An old, withered tree and I see a burrow underneath that tree. A bunny is sitting cozy. I smile. Taking my eyes of the bunny, I continue walking towards the house. A human figure is visible sitting on the porch. I can't make out who, from the distance. I am not expecting anyone to show up. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Looks like a man, who is looking away. All I can see is his back. A check shirt in blue and white. I continue walking. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">He turns. He must have heard my footstep approaching the house and crushing of the dry leaves. I stop. Not that I am shocked or happy or even sad to see this face in such a long time. A smiling face. A little withered and old than last time I remember setting eyes on this face. The same eyes. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">I stand there for a few minutes looking at that face while he shifts in his sitting position waiting for me to make a move. There is nothing going on in my mind. Probably the mind is adapting to that sight. Very much like the eyes adapt to sudden darkness or sudden light. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">'How long have you been sitting here?' I finally walk towards him. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">'For 2 hours, 48 minutes to be precise' He is looking at this wrist watch.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">I seat myself beside him. None of say anything for a few minutes, looking in no direction in particular. Looks like we are absorbing each others' presence. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">'How long are you going to stay?' I look at his luggage. An expensive Louise Vuitton travel bag that looks stuffed. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">'As long as you let me.' He is looking at me. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">'Got no work?' </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">'Work has been going on since forever and will keep on going.'</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">'You'll have to sleep on the couch.'</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">'No problem with that.' He is still smiling. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">'Do not expect me to take your luggage inside'. I am unlocking the door.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">He chuckles and follows me inside the house strolling his LV.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Next part, soon.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: justify;" trbidi="on"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54487/46/64EDCBC58A091B594F688DE5B8D979C1.png" style="background: none repeat scroll 0% 0% transparent; border: 0pt none ! important;" /> </a></span></div></div>Richahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14382252401380787038noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9130007611931596367.post-26057769274398997052012-03-11T14:49:00.001+05:302012-03-11T15:09:35.438+05:30Dream Destination<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYNUdMc9E1uQAgoDh2qrcZ1QQi-v3x1Rycxef-Fv69DYYP8lO7xYalpIvWwr67Lq0zcL6S_68dvDcoZ4ywTvhlUE_ooWFruFbuG78hUsiyHWsluHYD04dvyIKJzuyk_qxVPkU6bmlgGes/s1600/images.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYNUdMc9E1uQAgoDh2qrcZ1QQi-v3x1Rycxef-Fv69DYYP8lO7xYalpIvWwr67Lq0zcL6S_68dvDcoZ4ywTvhlUE_ooWFruFbuG78hUsiyHWsluHYD04dvyIKJzuyk_qxVPkU6bmlgGes/s1600/images.jpg" /></a></div><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">He: What is your dream destination?</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">She: I don't know. Anywhere I could be with you. What is yours?</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">He: You.</span></div><br />
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54487/46/64EDCBC58A091B594F688DE5B8D979C1.png" style="background: transparent; border: 0 !important;" /> </a></div></div>Richahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14382252401380787038noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9130007611931596367.post-35619168288532308062011-12-19T19:07:00.001+05:302012-03-14T11:18:05.524+05:30April<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div style="color: #6fa8dc; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Its April. I wait for April all year along. </span></div><div style="color: #6fa8dc; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">I wait for the white, pink, blue, peach color to bloom in my garden. </span></div><div style="color: #6fa8dc; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">The lilies are blooming. </span></div><div style="color: #6fa8dc; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">How I love lilies. The day I knew the first lily in my garden is going to attain her youth, my face had an ear to ear long smile.</span></div><div style="color: #6fa8dc; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; color: #6fa8dc; text-align: center;"><a href="http://t3.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcT3BXhjbkp_DGamWSzZjTlr3n42Z81KjUjB7oDOmJU_XfdovS0HxE7YF_r-" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://t3.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcT3BXhjbkp_DGamWSzZjTlr3n42Z81KjUjB7oDOmJU_XfdovS0HxE7YF_r-" /></a></div><div style="color: #6fa8dc; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="color: #6fa8dc; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">I hardly get to see the blooming lilies in my own house immaterial of how I love them, that too under tight scrutiny. Because, someone else loves them more than me or anyone else in the kingdom.</span></div><div style="color: #6fa8dc; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">The knights of the king are waiting for every lily in the kingdom to bloom, so that they can pick them for the princess's bath. She has the luxury of lily bathe only 30 days in a year.</span></div><div style="color: #6fa8dc; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="color: #6fa8dc; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Prompt for <a href="http://ladynimue.wordpress.com/months-of-the-year-challenge/" target="_blank">Nimue's Months of the year Challenge</a> :) </span></div><div style="color: #6fa8dc;"><br />
</div><div style="color: #6fa8dc;"><br />
</div><div dir="ltr" style="color: #6fa8dc; text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54487/46/64EDCBC58A091B594F688DE5B8D979C1.png" style="background: transparent; border: 0 !important;" /> </a></div></div>Richahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14382252401380787038noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9130007611931596367.post-36182512314337160592011-12-16T17:53:00.004+05:302012-03-14T11:23:26.996+05:30March<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div style="text-align: justify;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">The adolescence was bidding goodbye. Our play dates were changing into secret meetings.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">A whiff of cold March air blew my hair on my face when our lips met behind the oak tree that day.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">He asked me how I felt like. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">I don't know, I said.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">He agreed to keep our kisses secret until I found out how I felt about them. I felt good.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">He wasn't anything like those assholes in school. Kissing someone secretly and moving around with some hot girl for public display.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">He smiled at me every time our eyes met, which happened often during the school hours and after school hours.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Our secret meetings continued, with kisses or without.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">He handed me over my first job contract outside the school that day.</span><br />
<i><br />
</i><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">If you're going to get me a good job, you have to give me a good kiss before that. I said. He smiled. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Our kisses, and our meetings weren't secret anymore.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">P.S. This is reproduction of a dream I had early morning today. :)</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">P.P.S: Written for Nimue's Months of the Year Challenge</span><br />
</div></div></div>Richahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14382252401380787038noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9130007611931596367.post-30727186286645505652011-12-08T13:43:00.000+05:302011-12-08T13:43:16.679+05:30February<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: justify;"><i>'Its never too late to fall in love.</i>' That's what he said while wrapping the bandage around her arm. </div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: justify;">She smiled and looked away, out of the window. </div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: justify;">February, the month of love, she thought as her eyes fell on the shrubs loaded with roses in the garden outside that window. </div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/d/d4/Aarhus_rose_garden.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/d/d4/Aarhus_rose_garden.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: justify;"><i>'Maa, you should meet Dr. Agnihotri. He is very nice. He likes you.</i>' He said as he finished dressing the wound on his mother's arm from brush of thorns of roses shrubs. </div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: justify;">February. She will turn 50 this February. She nodded at her son for the scheduling the meeting. </div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: center;">Prompt for <a href="http://ladynimue.wordpress.com/months-of-the-year-challenge/" target="_blank">Nimue's Months of the Year Challenge</a>. </div><br />
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54487/46/64EDCBC58A091B594F688DE5B8D979C1.png" style="background: transparent; border: 0 !important;" /> </a></div></div>Richahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14382252401380787038noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9130007611931596367.post-9532042922378036902011-12-04T15:35:00.001+05:302011-12-04T15:43:37.276+05:30January<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><i>A new year, new hopes and new agendas with new resolutions and some old ones carried forward.</i><br />
<i>January, you're welcome. I hope you are nice to me, so are the months that follow.</i> <br />
<i>January, you' re cold, but remember to bring me warmth. </i><br />
<i>January, you're dry, don't forget to bring me moisture.</i><br />
<i>January, you're the one I look forward to the most, if you're good, the faith in rest being good gets strong. </i><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://media.smashingmagazine.com/wallpapers/january09/january-09-doodled-calendar-1680x1050.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://media.smashingmagazine.com/wallpapers/january09/january-09-doodled-calendar-1680x1050.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://human3rror.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/12/january_desktop.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br />
</a></div><br />
Dear Januaries of the past, bless the Januaries of the future. <br />
<br />
Prompt for <a href="http://ladynimue.wordpress.com/months-of-the-year-challenge/" target="_blank">Nimue's Months of the Year Challenge</a>! :)<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54487/46/64EDCBC58A091B594F688DE5B8D979C1.png" style="background: none repeat scroll 0% 0% transparent; border: 0pt none ! important;" /> </a></div></div>Richahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14382252401380787038noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9130007611931596367.post-91550437109390313532011-11-30T22:01:00.001+05:302011-11-30T22:03:01.207+05:30जीना इसी का नाम है... #Day30<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div style="text-align: justify;">कुछ ढूंढ रही थी मैं. एक पुरानी डायरी. कुछ पुराने फ़ोन नंबर चाहिए थे. कुछ पुराने दोस्तों की याद आई, कुछ पुराने किस्सों की...</div><div style="text-align: justify;">कुछ पुरानी तसवीरें मिलीं और कुछ पुरानी बातें ज़ेहन में उठीं... </div><div style="text-align: justify;">क्या दिन थे, जब जोश में दुनिया बदलने की बातें किया करते थे. लेक्चर हॉल में बैठ कर अपने महत्वकांक्षाएं साझी किया करते थे. राजनीति बदलने की बातें, सरकार बदलने की बातें...</div><div style="text-align: justify;">बातें तो कॉलेज में ही रह गयीं. कुछ दोस्त सिस्टम में शामिल हो गए, कुछ सिस्टम के ग़ुलाम.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">आज सुबह अखबार देखा तो एक दोस्त की तस्वीर दिखाई पड़ी. गर्व महसूस हुआ जब खबर पढ़ी. दोस्त ने एक नवजात बच्ची को कचरे के ढेर से उठा कर गोद लेने का फैसला किया था. </div><div style="text-align: justify;">बस, कॉलेज के आखिरी दिन, डायरी में उसके लिखे हुए शब्द याद हो आये..</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFZxzM9rmbpBf_Byg2dI4YelQfrg84iJEZq_WJi8k3wX-imdzYQvgL4VDhWbhVYdwEjJt2ubywPU7q92ebxi1AMJiQLSxYQOVGVk1muQsGIgmn6qTEslz6Qx_rJRvIVjj_osQNvOJhadJm/s1600/DSCN0456.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFZxzM9rmbpBf_Byg2dI4YelQfrg84iJEZq_WJi8k3wX-imdzYQvgL4VDhWbhVYdwEjJt2ubywPU7q92ebxi1AMJiQLSxYQOVGVk1muQsGIgmn6qTEslz6Qx_rJRvIVjj_osQNvOJhadJm/s320/DSCN0456.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">एक शायद उसी ने अपने शब्दों को साकार किया था. जीना इसी का तो नाम है...</div><br />
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54487/46/64EDCBC58A091B594F688DE5B8D979C1.png" style="background: transparent; border: 0 !important;" /> </a></div></div>Richahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14382252401380787038noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9130007611931596367.post-21330827670143649102011-11-29T20:24:00.000+05:302011-11-29T20:24:27.522+05:30Home #Day29<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: justify;">Your mother has written to you more than thousand times. Your father has told you over hundred times on the phone. Your siblings have been asking you the same everyday over video conferences. </div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: justify;">But you've been too busy, stuck with work, engaged in earning, making a living. </div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: justify;">Not only your family, but you house misses you too. Come back, my son. You've spent 20 years of your life here, and you can very well spend the rest here too. Like everyone else is. </div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: justify;">Don't you miss being with your family, being in your own house? </div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: justify;"></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: justify;">Minting money was never a priority for this family. Your own country misses you. </div><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Come back. </span><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5PSps9L6EMTgNGZco6ykWgyijpcXDE7SlaRX1WWQfo2ekQTd2HIYgY865FjSHN3sbN-9qW73AqflWsWI8K9lz9yhKHNB-sUT-Ehasw67trMhiSbc_nI-IlD6PGSqKbe4FbLuNWFHgH0I/s1600/DSCN0217.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5PSps9L6EMTgNGZco6ykWgyijpcXDE7SlaRX1WWQfo2ekQTd2HIYgY865FjSHN3sbN-9qW73AqflWsWI8K9lz9yhKHNB-sUT-Ehasw67trMhiSbc_nI-IlD6PGSqKbe4FbLuNWFHgH0I/s320/DSCN0217.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: justify;">P.S. Season Finale tomorrow. :)</div><br />
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54487/46/64EDCBC58A091B594F688DE5B8D979C1.png" style="background: transparent; border: 0 !important;" /> </a></div></div>Richahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14382252401380787038noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9130007611931596367.post-15691656905628564322011-11-28T20:28:00.000+05:302011-11-28T20:28:00.048+05:30The Park #Day28<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: justify;">He stopped walking at the sight of the Karan Park. His feet took him inside on their own. He found himself near the same bench, after about 5 years. He tried to walk away, filled with fury, but couldn't manage. He threw himself on the bench and wept. Wept like he did five years ago. Helpless and feeble.</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: justify;">The past started playing at the back of his mind, like a movie rolls. </div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: justify;">This day, that year. He was here, with his five year old. To get fresh air and to spend some quality time with this son. The kid wanted to climb the tree but he was too afraid to let him. </div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: justify;">He child threw tantrums and he ignored. He picked the kid up and started moving towards the house When his phone rang. It was his boss calling. </div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: justify;">He let his son down on the ground and answered the call, only to turn around to the child's loud scream, finding him bleeding. He had fell off the tree and hurt his head on the bench.</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: justify;">Before he could run to pick his child, the kid had lost his pulse.</div><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-YmDqH_GIacw/TtOJQbjDu-I/AAAAAAAAGUk/B26YrHZ7KpY/s1600/DSCN0239.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="261" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-YmDqH_GIacw/TtOJQbjDu-I/AAAAAAAAGUk/B26YrHZ7KpY/s320/DSCN0239.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: justify;"> </div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: justify;">Work before everything theory killed his son. </div><br />
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54487/46/64EDCBC58A091B594F688DE5B8D979C1.png" style="background: transparent; border: 0 !important;" /> </a></div></div>Richahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14382252401380787038noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9130007611931596367.post-58750018106996830522011-11-27T20:35:00.000+05:302011-11-27T20:35:00.839+05:30The Journey #Day27<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: justify;">She looked out of the door. The train looked beautiful in those lights under the star lit sky. The rail tracks telling thousand of stories of hundreds of trains that make their way to their destinations rolling on them. </div><div style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: justify;">She wasn't sure whether to step down or not. She had pulled the chain a few minutes ago from the aisle so that nobody knew who did it.</div><div style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: justify;">She ran her fingers through her dirty, rough, tangled hair and jumped off the train. She dint know what station was it, what city or town. Her journey had not finished. She had taken up a new journey in the middle of the ongoing one. </div><div style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsLGVRW_cYtXR_OyDlkIoObpnqMPE3jzS9uEHryegyY5g_QKvaf5htFiZnVbnxW3bEOkc5o9LeP7MXtrakU4L84XHPuq0rwU1q3mPvo5GE-ZwjrYZk1uWhFkox83Y1TDU8tyVwLt-jlWA/s1600/DSCN1325.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsLGVRW_cYtXR_OyDlkIoObpnqMPE3jzS9uEHryegyY5g_QKvaf5htFiZnVbnxW3bEOkc5o9LeP7MXtrakU4L84XHPuq0rwU1q3mPvo5GE-ZwjrYZk1uWhFkox83Y1TDU8tyVwLt-jlWA/s320/DSCN1325.JPG" width="267" /></a></div><div style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: justify;">P.S. Another 3 days to go! :)</div><div style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div dir="ltr" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54487/46/64EDCBC58A091B594F688DE5B8D979C1.png" style="background: transparent; border: 0 !important;" /> </a></div></div>Richahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14382252401380787038noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9130007611931596367.post-68926512600511524822011-11-26T20:36:00.000+05:302011-11-26T20:36:00.233+05:30Mounts #Day26<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div style="text-align: justify;"><i>'</i><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><i>Why don't you visit me more often? I like having you here?'</i> My uncle said as we put down our tea cups after drowning the beverage down our throats.</span></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: justify;"><i>'I am scared of all these animal heads and mounts that adorn your walls, uncle'</i> I replied. </div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: justify;"><i>'Nothing to be scared of son! They are dead already. Moreover, they are more scared of human beings even when alive. I see the fear in their eyes and I know when to shoot them.'</i> The uncle consoled me.</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: justify;"><i>'I don't know uncle, I feel their souls are still wandering in this room of yours'</i> I found myself blabbering.</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: justify;"><i>'You talk rubbish.'</i> He was laughing aloud. </div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: justify;"><i>'I'd take your leave uncle now.'</i> I got up moving towards the door as I noticed a dead fox's eyes following me. </div><br />
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRbIrk6iluMnpxy-Gr_BshyphenhyphenKmXmyyP4pFGqiq-T0siZLS12Mz-nJgTb82zCz4QVvDl1Es1hPkqEzMfnt0fS94YpbuUJu5_wdAFbo7lUlRPakYGMH0Pmic4_MVHhH-hhM2oAQEYl7hGrXU/s1600/DSCN0442.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRbIrk6iluMnpxy-Gr_BshyphenhyphenKmXmyyP4pFGqiq-T0siZLS12Mz-nJgTb82zCz4QVvDl1Es1hPkqEzMfnt0fS94YpbuUJu5_wdAFbo7lUlRPakYGMH0Pmic4_MVHhH-hhM2oAQEYl7hGrXU/s320/DSCN0442.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54487/46/64EDCBC58A091B594F688DE5B8D979C1.png" style="background: transparent; border: 0 !important;" /> </a></div></div></div>Richahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14382252401380787038noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9130007611931596367.post-50939131270890708512011-11-25T21:24:00.001+05:302011-11-25T21:24:23.731+05:30Rainbow #Day25<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: justify;">He was screaming in pain. She kicked him in the nuts and ran for her life. It was a stormy night. The sky had decided to fall completely that night. There was nowhere she could go. She took shelter in the bus stand nearby and hid herself in the dark as much she could. She covered her infant with the swatch of the cloth she had in the name of saree.</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: justify;">A shake on her shoulder woke her up. The shoulder shake came from a woman with a nice face and smile. First thing she was a rainbow and then, a bus of certain NGO.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuADYfAWfjNzyXhryQLWeDaJU7FJp6fmImZ7G_9Kc49Yj1CHWzr3HAhhaDrQ2hVaWGZ3vlSyFY_WQlEEGnYDz3fF5Hz1pe6YugcJgwAAM-_MCrSB-YxqTjN2PIB7k15nmC611J5lpb3Cc/s1600/DSC01893.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuADYfAWfjNzyXhryQLWeDaJU7FJp6fmImZ7G_9Kc49Yj1CHWzr3HAhhaDrQ2hVaWGZ3vlSyFY_WQlEEGnYDz3fF5Hz1pe6YugcJgwAAM-_MCrSB-YxqTjN2PIB7k15nmC611J5lpb3Cc/s320/DSC01893.JPG" width="320" /> </a></div><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">It is another morning, after a dark, stormy, rainy night.</span><br />
<br />
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54487/46/64EDCBC58A091B594F688DE5B8D979C1.png" style="background: transparent; border: 0 !important;" /> </a></div></div></div>Richahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14382252401380787038noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9130007611931596367.post-53911935981038325982011-11-24T21:38:00.000+05:302011-11-24T21:38:30.271+05:30Expressions #Day24<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: justify;">The air was heavy. They became conscious of each others' physical presence more than anytime before. He held her hand tighter than ever before. </div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: justify;">She just smiled. He wrapped his arms around her. She wasn't diffident. Just shy. He planted a kiss on her cheek. She closed her eyes. </div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: justify;">He stopped. He dint want it to be one side effort. She opened her eyes. He smiled. She smiled back and pecked him on the nose. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Their lips found each other. Everything else ceased to exist. </span></div><br />
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnY4sc9rQirDoKA1WFi_uSkH9M8dumTDXNDOhTd3DU9Wj9MhR8CQo0-zIOu7NMYVppYdXVw4IcS0fbHYfms98d2n_rg0kSutVCdrKBzFw72Jlsbr83OVr0OZuXoGuc3nySl8EaawVOY0g/s1600/DSCN0120+%25282%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnY4sc9rQirDoKA1WFi_uSkH9M8dumTDXNDOhTd3DU9Wj9MhR8CQo0-zIOu7NMYVppYdXVw4IcS0fbHYfms98d2n_rg0kSutVCdrKBzFw72Jlsbr83OVr0OZuXoGuc3nySl8EaawVOY0g/s320/DSCN0120+%25282%2529.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<br />
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54487/46/64EDCBC58A091B594F688DE5B8D979C1.png" style="background: transparent; border: 0 !important;" /> </a></div></div></div>Richahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14382252401380787038noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9130007611931596367.post-68696638234495066092011-11-23T20:00:00.000+05:302011-11-23T20:00:18.918+05:30Answers #Day23<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: justify;">I've been doing a lot of thinking lately. The usual quarter life crisis. Where is my life heading, whatever happened to my passion, and the job I chose over my dreams is giving me nothing but money, which I don't even get to spend. </div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: justify;">I took a day off, just to ponder. I took off to a near by garden, sitting on the bench, I noticed this insect. Crawling on the plant. Struggling its way through the stems, leaves, thorns, flowers of the plant. </div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: justify;">This is what I am doing with my life. Struggling. To live. Live the way as life is coming to me. </div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: justify;">The crisis is over. I have my answer. I got up and started towards my office. </div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div dir="ltr" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsnMLMeg_p1ubivZMb63gclULNyUKYxbJK8r7up2OzWS4X6ctJWsqDyXL48YHkJcRTOI22wXH3Bu7UE27LnUAH8H9RhyGt3oV5rIQVqUlasW58WGafUcyXV9EiHHqwcNJMGDh__pghe0k/s1600/DSCN0354.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsnMLMeg_p1ubivZMb63gclULNyUKYxbJK8r7up2OzWS4X6ctJWsqDyXL48YHkJcRTOI22wXH3Bu7UE27LnUAH8H9RhyGt3oV5rIQVqUlasW58WGafUcyXV9EiHHqwcNJMGDh__pghe0k/s320/DSCN0354.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">P.S. This is dedicated to <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5vg9D2wQ9pA">Khule da Rab by Rabbi Shergil and Papon (The Dewarists)</a>. There is one line in the lyrics, which means, no matter whatever huge entity I think I am, at the end of it all, I am but only one small insect of your existence, mother nature. </div><br />
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54487/46/64EDCBC58A091B594F688DE5B8D979C1.png" style="background: transparent; border: 0 !important;" /> </a></div></div></div>Richahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14382252401380787038noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9130007611931596367.post-17594601992101602382011-11-22T20:23:00.001+05:302011-11-22T20:23:00.218+05:30The Window #Day22<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: justify;">I dragged the side of the curtain a little bit to let some light sieve into the room. The grills on this window are made of wrought iron. They not only don't let people and animals pass through these windows but also preserve bleakness escape from this dull room and let happiness come in. </div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: justify;">It has been 20 years I haven't seen the world outside of this room. They say I am insane, I need to stay in. I say, these walls protect me from insanity of the world. </div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: justify;">The only peek-a-boo, being this window which encourages me to stay inside.</div><br />
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglFmJmog2c6Zv0HfIdlFr8EiV9XifyZupzDzuvEBfcksyG__R1I3OrhVqoR5cRm5jDEG6KO9ATNunPZKjuyVpPps3mi80i41U17GK7nqLJb9g4FIcxqIURo-SzYDbirPX9g-WoafCgSCQ/s1600/DSCN0410.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglFmJmog2c6Zv0HfIdlFr8EiV9XifyZupzDzuvEBfcksyG__R1I3OrhVqoR5cRm5jDEG6KO9ATNunPZKjuyVpPps3mi80i41U17GK7nqLJb9g4FIcxqIURo-SzYDbirPX9g-WoafCgSCQ/s320/DSCN0410.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<br />
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54487/46/64EDCBC58A091B594F688DE5B8D979C1.png" style="background: transparent; border: 0 !important;" /> </a></div></div></div>Richahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14382252401380787038noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9130007611931596367.post-77706396055961644452011-11-21T20:24:00.000+05:302011-11-21T20:24:58.179+05:30Sunday #Day21<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: justify;">The otherwise murky neighborhood was busy in their everyday dull routine. They walked down the road, chatting lazily. It was Sunday. The day off. The day when getting drunk with Sun up was a tradition. The day of making some extra money or even losing their whole week's earnings in card games. They discussed women of the colony, categorizing them into convenient and not accessible.</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: justify;">It was turning out a lazy Sunday. Only, if they got lucky today, they can feast tonight on some chicken. Thought of chicken made them salivate. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">It was when a speeding truck hit them from behind. There was blood on the road.</span></div><br />
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhorazckvaCkA5CnTr92pNQTfyCMIEeQd8m6-qZks2uRTZeHCzSSxpEd1EVYElhAjYL4TczHx4EnQCwN9BD2q-jSIaGgdyv-ZvWgTa_S3aQCzJxZOmT2-qSGrAA_gmGhm2-W024EN_6A-c/s1600/DSCN0404.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhorazckvaCkA5CnTr92pNQTfyCMIEeQd8m6-qZks2uRTZeHCzSSxpEd1EVYElhAjYL4TczHx4EnQCwN9BD2q-jSIaGgdyv-ZvWgTa_S3aQCzJxZOmT2-qSGrAA_gmGhm2-W024EN_6A-c/s320/DSCN0404.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54487/46/64EDCBC58A091B594F688DE5B8D979C1.png" style="background: transparent; border: 0 !important;" /> </a></div></div></div>Richahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14382252401380787038noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9130007611931596367.post-61934212257186840782011-11-20T20:32:00.001+05:302011-11-20T20:32:00.783+05:30The Valley #Day20<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: justify;">He applied brakes, dragged a little and frictioned his feet to stop. He unmounted his Royal Enfield and parked it on the edge of the road. Then, he took off his helmet. He turned towards the valley and spread his arms like he wanted to hug the entire valley. He breathed in the pine trees and the beautiful purple sky line. </div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: justify;">He was home. This was his home. He could die right away without any regrets.</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: justify;">He smiled at random tourists around and exchanged a few chit chats with them for a few minutes. </div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: justify;">He, then, sat on a rock on the edge and took out his drawing book and pencil. A pretty face sketched itself on the blank page in the matter of minutes.</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div dir="ltr" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilkmyq68P_Eiq1eMh0ZqozKPIz99DREuZ6238Hp7QPb6EiCQOWkv0FunnUEnDEM2UHyXqWbQ2hHBxqqSh3CEQNobF7HVv8-LFFSktDkuh2yko2dW15mvL_9GOeUKtwitQQ9F-N0v9-0iI/s1600/DSCN0717.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilkmyq68P_Eiq1eMh0ZqozKPIz99DREuZ6238Hp7QPb6EiCQOWkv0FunnUEnDEM2UHyXqWbQ2hHBxqqSh3CEQNobF7HVv8-LFFSktDkuh2yko2dW15mvL_9GOeUKtwitQQ9F-N0v9-0iI/s320/DSCN0717.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">This face was familiar. The face from the drawing book actualized itself into a human figure and smiled at him. She looked so serene. Before he could get up and approach that woman from the drawing book, she jumped off the road and faded away into the valley. </div><br />
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54487/46/64EDCBC58A091B594F688DE5B8D979C1.png" style="background: transparent; border: 0 !important;" /> </a></div></div></div>Richahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14382252401380787038noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9130007611931596367.post-60012132356222631572011-11-19T20:36:00.002+05:302011-11-19T20:36:00.706+05:30The Light #Day19<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: justify;">This place looks serene. The day was calm otherwise, except for when a cat caught a crow and the whole crow community mourned over their loss for about an hour. There are too many cats around, but far less than crows.</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: justify;">This house has no power.</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: justify;">The watchman dint want to stay past sunset. I let him leave.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">I have lit a candle. It looks beautiful. Only, it goes out every few minutes. Strangely, there is no wind. </span></div><br />
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmfc5ApGL7RDK_vTCsbW50IZo04kW2QO8niO00v-8oXl3d-dj2MpfvAMKBLz3dWDhFR3-hVJEKMoVc3bXKyZeQrhD-rQyMjbtBbRcIJviPwVPRoWKTTGCNfH5itBkrWOrjf5Km1VFk2VE/s1600/DSCN0394.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="270" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmfc5ApGL7RDK_vTCsbW50IZo04kW2QO8niO00v-8oXl3d-dj2MpfvAMKBLz3dWDhFR3-hVJEKMoVc3bXKyZeQrhD-rQyMjbtBbRcIJviPwVPRoWKTTGCNfH5itBkrWOrjf5Km1VFk2VE/s320/DSCN0394.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: justify;">If I am found dead tomorrow morning, treat this as my last testament against the candle. It is creepy indeed.</div><br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54487/46/64EDCBC58A091B594F688DE5B8D979C1.png" style="background: transparent; border: 0 !important;" /> </a></div></div>Richahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14382252401380787038noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9130007611931596367.post-32315568113644039532011-11-18T20:15:00.000+05:302011-11-18T20:15:00.787+05:30Sands of Time #Day18<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: justify;">Meet me when the time stands still. Meet me when there is no barrier of life, birth or death. Meet me where we can be two souls, together, beyond the considerations of morning, noon or evening.</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: justify;">Meet me where there is no right and no wrong.</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: justify;">Meet me at the horizon.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Meet me when we have a handful of sands of time, which do not slip through our hands. </span></div><br />
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR9aiBVtndpByjkl7sZgBK6ucXX7ObpwE13B4l1tV9jfZEszrdCtoWOK-Mu-0tmdo_xjD_xB8cvjUkIc5O28vHmQuzGEvkOxy3aLyWw93Nl7pn_WKeSWZQBAIbGOkBy9sIESzLPOZniyk/s1600/DSCN0524.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR9aiBVtndpByjkl7sZgBK6ucXX7ObpwE13B4l1tV9jfZEszrdCtoWOK-Mu-0tmdo_xjD_xB8cvjUkIc5O28vHmQuzGEvkOxy3aLyWw93Nl7pn_WKeSWZQBAIbGOkBy9sIESzLPOZniyk/s320/DSCN0524.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54487/46/64EDCBC58A091B594F688DE5B8D979C1.png" style="background: transparent; border: 0 !important;" /> </a></div></div></div>Richahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14382252401380787038noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9130007611931596367.post-55520195239044344972011-11-17T20:04:00.000+05:302011-11-17T20:04:00.141+05:30Rains #Day17<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">I look out of the window. It is drizzling. Rains give me pleasure. Pleasure is a rare commodity these days. Magical how a few drops pouring from the sky quenches thirst of the nature. Nature's way to take care of everything. bringing peace to everything. I wish someday this rain exhausts the fire of a loss burning inside many people like me. </span></div><br />
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZbTjMAauVvj22yHGf_4lTGwY-Zb_lHzmDqqDw_lwpT9S7acYvvaxMrlX8NRjVNPhoQVlQMksmXtULl4RbnITCRZoKGvcmP4UYepKFjdT62tquG1A9XqII_QXRUtv4un2KjT6x7JNCb8U/s1600/DSCN1166.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZbTjMAauVvj22yHGf_4lTGwY-Zb_lHzmDqqDw_lwpT9S7acYvvaxMrlX8NRjVNPhoQVlQMksmXtULl4RbnITCRZoKGvcmP4UYepKFjdT62tquG1A9XqII_QXRUtv4un2KjT6x7JNCb8U/s320/DSCN1166.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54487/46/64EDCBC58A091B594F688DE5B8D979C1.png" style="background: transparent; border: 0 !important;" /> </a></div></div></div>Richahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14382252401380787038noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9130007611931596367.post-8207138400023111902011-11-16T20:00:00.001+05:302011-11-16T20:02:10.916+05:30एक पुरानी कहानी #Day16<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div style="text-align: justify;">कहानी है एक छोटे शहर की. एक बचपन की. </div><div style="text-align: justify;">छोटे से घर के छोटे से बगीचे की. एक नीम्बू के पेड़ की और नानी माँ की कहानियों की.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">नीम्बू के अचार के साथ ठंडे परांठों की. आम की गुठलियों की, घड़े के ठंडे पानी की. </div><div style="text-align: justify;">दूध का गिलास हाथ में ले कर माँ जब पीछे भागती थी, तब की. </div><div style="text-align: justify;">पेड़ों पर चढ़ने की, पड़ोस के दोस्तों के साथ पकड़ा पकड़ी खेलने की.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">घर के पास के बाग़ में जा कर मछलियाँ देखने की. मौसेरे फुफेरे भाई बहनों को चिढ़ाने की, उनके साथ हंसने खेलने की. </div><br />
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgWlblh9uKZOEG68cJ66QSlE4ncEJc_EkMXuxY1B6U5sMKzVZF6xQwuxSHj4p3b_7PUyjNRIWGc3bpbg5Ms5ziDut5ulgpXhXqxLK9Ao-RwZ91tckkOlS1nK7-LyzvpP3pF0MUFhasakw/s1600/DSCN0004.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgWlblh9uKZOEG68cJ66QSlE4ncEJc_EkMXuxY1B6U5sMKzVZF6xQwuxSHj4p3b_7PUyjNRIWGc3bpbg5Ms5ziDut5ulgpXhXqxLK9Ao-RwZ91tckkOlS1nK7-LyzvpP3pF0MUFhasakw/s320/DSCN0004.jpg" width="283" /></a></div><br />
बस कहानियां ही तो रह गयीं हैं अब वो सब बातें...<br />
<br />
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54487/46/64EDCBC58A091B594F688DE5B8D979C1.png" style="background: transparent; border: 0 !important;" /> </a></div></div></div>Richahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14382252401380787038noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9130007611931596367.post-86725085125704988872011-11-15T20:34:00.002+05:302011-11-15T21:02:04.034+05:30Bangles #Day15<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: justify;">Red, green, yellow, orange, pink and many other. These are the colors every Indian woman feels connected with. Ever since early childhood until death. </div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: justify;">Rings made of glass. These rings symbolize happiness, prosperity and blessings. They adorn wrists of women. Girls my age get so excited on the sight of them. </div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: justify;">My hands are weary. I don't even know if I ever will be able to wear them.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">To me, they earn me bread of the day. To me, they are the source of feeding my little siblings. </span></div><br />
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQHDLCnAqZ5OSWzWpr32yh5pTIBHmvLmMPXazNr2uzU_6dqJUH9u5rDlZNx_jNdlsvHHHcCIp3n6uAtwOVpLDdrqCpo5ssP2pvxTYIsLuisLOQU5Qg6fUa7uUeiNT_tLKt-SR518cWPZc/s1600/DSCN0218.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQHDLCnAqZ5OSWzWpr32yh5pTIBHmvLmMPXazNr2uzU_6dqJUH9u5rDlZNx_jNdlsvHHHcCIp3n6uAtwOVpLDdrqCpo5ssP2pvxTYIsLuisLOQU5Qg6fUa7uUeiNT_tLKt-SR518cWPZc/s400/DSCN0218.JPG" width="277" /></a></div><br />
<br />
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54487/46/64EDCBC58A091B594F688DE5B8D979C1.png" style="background: transparent; border: 0 !important;" /> </a></div></div></div>Richahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14382252401380787038noreply@blogger.com3