ScriBBles: oF DreAms & Th'OuGht's

It was, is and always will be the most tiresome yet self satisfacting job, moving into a new house. Never more delightful when you move in an area where you spent all of your childhood. You can just breathe in the air and get overwhelmed with nostalgia. How you wish, you were back in your shorts playing cricket in the ground, coming home covered up in dust, drinking up ₹3 soda after the match like a cowboy from the wild west. I was moving into a new house and the movers had just dropped off the entire lot. So many people, I knew when I lived here, not anymore. Most of them have moved on to different lives, different worlds or different passions; renting their houses to tennants. I had hired a bunch of daily weager men to help me set up the house. It was a two floor house and I had rented both. The ground floor was planned to be modified into a work place while I lived upstairs. (OK! Google, remind me to look up an interior designer, may be call Aru.) The work place was supposed t...

Much has had been made of the bizarre state of Equality. While most of the democrat nations contain Equality with-a-capital-E as a part of their propaganda while forming the constitutions; of them all, a very few truly hand out equality to its citizens on a platter. They fight to crumble and the rest, strong enough to bear the hilt of the sword, are put through the infinite ridicules of the smaller minds. There are sexual preferences beyond being straight yet the significant part of our society that explores its sexuality to its own preference is shamed and mortified. The Lesbian, Gay, Bi-sexual and Transgender; mostly referred as LGBT, are forced to hide behind the drapes of Straightness so as to be accepted in the social order. But the times are changing. Not much can be done to change the acceptance of people who prefer to live in the tube, yet the people who demand change, not just for the sake of change, stand witness to the growing number of people who accept their s...

The sun screamed through the pane, subsiding his mental pain to engulf him in the pace of life. He still slept on his bed, still in a illusion of the night, still in the mirage of his love, still in a reflection of his beautifully disastrous past. The clock stuck 9, and his mom came barging in to wake him up from his slumber,little did she know that her dear son had not been to dreams since last 3 new moons. He pledged to start the day as a new beginning to his life, but deep inside he knew that it was farce like every other morning. But today was a bit different; this day marked end of 3 months of that plaqued evening when his life slipped from his heart and broke into a million un-repairable pieces. The distinct images of the night never cease to haunt every second of the clock. Deep black ovals  from below his eyes speak of his tired soul and his crawling walk reminded him of the pain that someone close suffered. Did the incident that took place that evening still haunt him in...

For the past 3 years, I've been through numerous turmoil and have been slapped by concrete resilience so ruthlessly that somehow these groin-pains have resulted in making me the person I am. There was a person in my life who stayed with me for a long time; as of today, she's far off with my image been drowned with loath. I can never risk to depict anywhere what *actually* went wrong, but as far as she's concerned, I was not strong enough. Sometimes partial knowledge can provide a make-shift anchor that, with time, irons up to hold the ship at the harbor. While a dead truth does nothing better than breaking the ship's high mast. Even though the ship stays intact, its barely a ship anymore. After all, what good is a ship if it can't set sail. The thing that has bothered me ever since my decision is that somewhere a friendship died at the hands of an unyielding love. I had always believed friendship to be higher than love. But some sort of actions, turn of events and ...

It's nearly 4 years since I stepped on this grass. This time I came here to bid my final adieu of the man who loved me the most in the world-my maternal grandfather. He passed away due to cerebral haemorrhage. I came back here nearly 4 years later. Last time I came, my life was much different. much simple and a lot more cheerful. Since then I have changed and so has my life. I went to the football ground and searched for a particular spot that I liked, the tree hides the light from the high mast and also makes me invisible to anyone passing by. I remember a particular incident from those days at this very spot. I don't remember the reason but I was crying that evening, probably thinking about how lonely I am. And just like that she was with me with all her light, she called me, heard me crying. I may have forgotten what she spoke but I can never forget the way she consoled me, the sincerity in her words and the love filled voice that never ever seem to leave me alone. I can...

My name is Asha. It means Hope. Ironically neither my name nor my story can stand guard to my name. It has been 3 years since I used alphabets for anything other than scratching a name on the walls over and over again. I have never received any letter at my new address in Janakpuri. Years ago, at my old thatched cottage, I used to get letters of love every week. Although eventually I came to know that most of those letters were from Prema. One day I received a letter saying he wants to know my story. Even after ignoring the request for 10 weeks, he kept pressing on with reasons and promises of the power of a so called social something. So this letter is a reply to the young fellow's request. I was born in a small village. Even after so many years of development, or pseudo-talks as I prefer to refer, we never saw a pole with cables, even till the day I left my village. May be in these 3 years I'm at Janakpuri, they would have received the fortune. I was born in the dark of ...