ScriBBles: oF DreAms & Th'OuGht'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 ...

The three of us were going to the footpath veggie market to restock our fridge for the week. Just before we took the turn, I saw her running towards us, clearly on her jogging path. I irked my trio to walk faster so that she doesn’t catch up to us. Within minutes we reached the veggie footpath. From where she appeared, at that turn, I presumed her to take the left on her track. While we were busy negotiating with the veggie prices, I saw her racing past us from the corner of my eye just to stop a few steps ahead. It was quite a chilly morning with a thin crowd. It was then I noticed what she was wearing. She wore black tight jogging pants with a sleeveless tight top. Her face, her arms and her neck was sticky with sweat. She seemed to be running from quite a time now. The faint sunlight gleamed from her face giving an illusion of divinity. She stopped in her track to work out some stretches. As she flexed her body like an acrobat, she sang to herself, her own stretching-song that...

Indian Cinema recently completed it's 100 years and present day actors paid tribute to all the legendary actors who graced the silver screen. From birth, these actors and actresses are the trend setters. What they wear, the thinking of the characters they portray, the message they give have had a strong impact not only on the youth but has proven as a strong adrenaline for older souls as well. From Mother India to PK , through the lanes of Guide, village of Sholay , fields of DDLJ and The attack of 26/11 ; Indian cinema has captured the change of society way too perfectly. Portrayal of pre-interdependence scenarios somehow tried to show the ones born independently, the so called 'developing' India as a colony. The immortal love stories have been vividly engraved in memories, often phrased along with Shakespeare's Romeo-Juliet in a manner of speaking. Cinemas like Ra-One , which deserves a special mention, brought in the use of VFX to the extent that incorporated ani...

Memories, a thing of the past, the moments once spent that never return but remain as an integral part of someone who has been there. Through the entire span from cradle to pyre, every soul has tonnes of memories, that slowly tend to fade like an old movie yet the thing that helps these memories to be one with the carrier is nothing but the emotions involved. Like every other movie, there are some movies that are evergreen and then there are some which are very forgettable. There are some which brought out the best in us ans there are some that sought out the Satan. Good or bad, light or dark, even or odd; the mind never seem to break away from the crystal chains of memories. There are moments in everyday life when the memories seem to hit back causing momentary concussion that eventually leads to distortion in the on going activity. Few are able to cope up instantly while a lot more than few transit into temporary monk-like stature trying to live out or black out from those recollecti...