There's a frenzy here,
emotions run raw,
Soon it'll all ebb into silence.
a certain stillness.
murmurs, whispers and nostalgia.
and when memories are relived,
your presence, missed.
THE UNTITLED ALOK-EVANGELINE PROJECT.
And as the memories engulfed him, tears welled in his eyes. He knew too much. He remembered too much. The length of her stride, her smell, the taste of her tongue in the morning, the sound of her moans. For the rest of the evening he sat in the balcony and stared at everything and yet nothing in particular, lost in the memories of a time long ago, reliving them, wondering how different would be his world if she was still in it.
His wife knew that he wasn't thinking of her. She knew him too much. Loved him too much. She loved his smile, his hair, the way he slept, how he would drop a compliment when she least expected it. St...
THE UNTITLED ALOK-EVANGELINE PROJECT.
He lived in a flat near the Institute where the rent rates weren't high, and the locality wasn’t really posh, but who was he to grumble – most of his colleagues and friends were still struggling to find a place to stay at. He was only a mediocre cook, thus settling to have his meals at the local eatery when he didn't have anyone over. He was a lone wolf, for the most part, but he got by with a little help from his friends. So, when a friend who worked at the Institute invited him to the event, he didn't say no.
The event was uninteresting. It didn't help that he barely knew anything about the topic that the old men in ov...
THE UNTITLED ALOK-EVANGELINE PROJECT.
They had moved in quite recently.
The unpacked boxes still lay in a corner of the other room, requiring attention. Every day, he cited his busy job - his boss had promised him a raise soon and thus he was forced to work overtime. Or at least, that was the excuse he gave. They needed the money now, more than ever, to ease the burden of the loans they had taken for the house and the car. He often wondered if she was convinced, but he didn't question her about it. But today, he knew he had to do it. She was down with a mild cold; it was an allergy he knew, and she would recover by the end of the day, but when she hugged him...
She woke up drenched in sweat.
Wiping the beads of sweat that covered her face, she looked at the table clock; the luminous display read 2:10 AM. The sweat had nothing to do with the fact that it was a hot summer night or with the fact that the air conditioning was faulty - it was one of those 'envy' appliances, appliances that were bought in a hurry only to keep up with the neighbours and the people around; nor was it the frequent power cuts that occurred in the area. She felt thirsty, nightmares always did this to her. She walked to the kitchen, passing the mirror on the way. She never liked the way the mirror was placed - in the middle of the central corridor - she had cont...
Wrote this comma abused bit a long time back. Stay away if your granny doesn't want you reading about sex.
They sat near the balcony, staring, observing, each contemplating the other and the moments that had just passed between them. It was the beginning of the monsoons. Then as Zeus's bolts flashed by, they both stared at the cloudy skies that were so eager to shake off their burden, which was now pouring down in a drizzle. Soon the drizzle turned into a heavy shower, spraying them with its mist, the droplets making their way to the dark recesses of their souls. They both feared to breach the confortable silence that lay between them almost like an epilogue to their act, the a...
"Is anyone sitting here?"
I was at Raju's dhaba. If it were not for the large banner advertising for a local aerated beverage, it would have been like any of the non-descript dhabas that exist on the edges of the colleges; maggi, chai and sutta were always a hit among the college going crowd – the menu didn’t really matter much if you sold those three, you had a nice business up and running. But it was the proximity to the college and the hostels, the cheap tasty food and perhaps Raju himself, that kept this one full of interesting people, streaming in and out each of them in their own little worlds.
I was about to respond when she pulled the rickety plastic chair and sat on it. The ...
People of Lettrs Challenge #2 | PoLC #2
What words mean to me
There she was,
The envy of all.
Yet the philosopher scoffed,
“What use is a beautiful sword,
that doesn’t strike terror in enemies' heart?”
Firstly a shout out to Priyanka (#167419), Aakanksha (#62651) and Ravi (#49250) for nominating me. I further nominate Prak (#230638), Divyaa (#232506), Amrita (#158415) and Ashley (#115801) and DeliberatelyDreaming (#345219)
Secondly, the stuff above may seem a bit weird and irrelevant, but a layer down it connects.
Or that's what I hope. :P
What do we do when a thread breaks? We tie a knot to hold the two frayed ends together (I haven't met someone who glues the two ends together yet). The now fixed thread is exactly similar to the thread before, if not for the knot.
The knot is a reminder of the things that happened, a reminder that the once strong thread broke. When someone, no anyone looks at the big picture, they will not see it. But the both of us will know.
The more I spend time thinking about it, it appears that it was entirely of my own doing. I was snappy and I was pretty irritated that day. And the moment you said that, something snapped. In the torrential downpour of sarcasm and curses and everything ...
It was New Year's eve and it felt sad.
He wasn't going out tonight. His friends would drink themselves senseless. He had no problem with that of course, on the contrary he loved to see his friends do that - they would get high and start acting funny. But he would not go tonight.
Was it the girl he was texting hadn't replied yet? Could be, but he dismissed it. He never cried at the farewell when all his classmates had cried their hearts out forming little salty pools. Neither had he felt anything when his grandpa passed away or his girlfriend broke up with him. He was never attached to people, he blamed his brains for that. Emotionless, he called himself. He hated all those mushy things...
2014 Year in Review
I'm on the rooftop of a skyscraper.
It's nine and a chilly breeze caresses our cheeks, more chilly than the breeze that blows in my hometown at least. A city stands before us, or at least a part of; an assortment of lights that stare back - the yellow of the street lamps, the bright red neon of the restaurant nearby, the bright yellow of the headlamps of the vehicles, the dim glow of all those florescent tube lights of the apartments in the neighbouring building. All this is alternated by a patches of darkness - an empty apartment, a non functioning street lamp and unofficial garbage dumps with no lamps.
From our vantage point, evrything appears cramped. The buildings built close to each ...
She, a grammar nazi.
He couldn't spell 'what'.
Life brings people together in inscrutable ways.
The above is a submission for the "16 words story challenge." Thank you Rushil, for starting this. It really got me thinking. :D
A just texted me today. Apparently he thought my profile picture was amazing and decided to give his good old friend a hi. And then he asked if you had seen it.
I was halfway done telling him that we aren't that close any more as we used to be but then I had that feeling that it'by,ll end up him telling me to ask you out or teasing me with you and I telling him that you have a boyfriend yada yada yada. Too much of a headache if you ask me. I reply with some nonsensical smiley.
It did take me back to those good old days. I still feel like it was yesterday when you first joined the class and were made to sit next to me. I don't know about you but I never fancied the idea of sitt...
The world of your unforgiving art,
honed in the silent night,
labouring tirelessly under a flickering light.
But not for the glorified words of honey,
Nay, nor for the limitless gold,
only to soothe the troubled soul,
Fret not, troubled wanderer,
there will be light.
In the world of written art,
your words may go out of sight,
And yet you write under the unsteady light.
You write not for the roof over your head,
Nay, nor for the daily bread,
but to be free from this caged world,
Fret not, unknown traveller,
there will be light.
In the world of the written craft,
when your works will see the day of light,
when the fruits of labour will be a delicious delight,
Its funny indeed that people write letters to their future and never to their past selves. What if, finally one day someone indeed managed to build a time machine or a realisable wormhole and your past could receive messages from the future. So, younger Alok if you find this letter as you are trawling across the world wide web for flash games to play or liking that stupid status and you come across this letter, do not ignore it.
Alok, I have spent nearly two decades circling the sun and now when I look back its nothing, but garbage. Garbage is a relative term and it's a definitely good thought to think that you are not alone in your woes but what's done is done and it won't chan...
Up next, was the science lecture.
The heat was intolerable as it is usually in this part of the world. The break had just got over and everyone in the class, both boys and girls alike were drenched in sweat. The creaky ceiling fans wouldn't move faster and the girls had soon began to blame the boys for the odour of stale sweat that hung over place. It was only after a lot of prodding from the girl sitting beside him that the class monitor decided to do his job. The class monitor, lazy as he was went up near the blackboard; they still used to use the huge black boards then - the ones where the lecturers used to write on with chalk; and shouted, his voice already hoarse with all the yelling du...
When he returned, she had already left.
Now, the looked exactly as it did before she entered and took his life by storm. The falling plaster, which she had so cleverly covered up, was visible again. And so were impressions of a budding young artist, the son of the previous tenant. The room despite all its furnishings looked empty. He sighed. For the first time, he felt a strange emptiness - something unusual for a person who rarely felt for anyone, someone who never gave even a dying person on the road a second look.
In a fit of desperation, he began rummaging through the now empty cupboards for something to hold on to, a memory of the time they spent together. The cupboards were empt...
life is about getting WiFi.
life is about discounts
life is about unlimited buffet.
life is about that extra sweet.
life is about sprinkles on the ice cream.
life is about asking for talktime and getting data
life is about the two marks that get you an average.
life is about the extra leads in the mechanical pencil.
life is.. those small things that make you happy in your heart :)
life is also a friend who inspires you to go out with chai xD (hint: you)
It's been a while since I thought of you. More than a while actually. It's surprising you know, how once you are as close as you could possibly dream of and the next moment everything's a puff of smoke.
I hope you are doing well. Joseph told me that you finally got a Whatsapp the last time I met him. He hasn't changed much, Joseph. No, he got a new fancy beard and a bike, but I guess that's about it. He thought you were the one who changed the most and yet in a weird way didn't change at all. I simply smiled.
Anyway, the past is the past. Tomorrow is your birthday. Happy birthday
With warm regards,
I really never told many about this. That's something unusual considering that I try to make a joke of the most serious of things that happen to me and narrate it over a bowl of soup or after dinner or after those few pegs when one tends to sing like a bird. Frankly, there's no better subject to poke fun at than yourself.
When I was probably fourteen or fifteen, I had an appointment with the dentist and my dad told me he'd drop me off on his way. I was feeling pretty lazy then and I said fine. We were halfway past when we entered this fork on the road. I was fiddling with the radio controls on the stereo when I saw two girls on a bike attempting to turn in the same direction we were hea...
Something hit me today, while I was having a shower. We always seem to have the best ideas whilst we are doing something insignificant and ordinary and mostly while having a shower. Case in point, Archimedies. If you can't recollect how he is, he is the chap who ran around nude shouting "Eureka" after he figured out something quite revolutionary.
Now I'm rambling. And no, I didn't go running nude around the hostel corridors nor did I shout Eureka. What hit me was that I knew I hated this particular thing and I just couldn't recollect why. When I was still younger I was into quizzing and loved trivia. Trivia led me to a whole lot of stuff. Whole lot of stuff to opinions. And...
Interstellar. That one word summed up my weekend. All that excessive fan-boying (if such a word even exists) over the past months, all those google searches for possible storylines and all the speculative debates gave way to bliss. And when I entered the hall before the movie actually started, the excitement I felt was felt was probably something I felt when I saw a movie in the multiplex for the first time.
I guess Titanic was the first Hollywood movie I saw in the theatres. In those days, the cinemas usually consisted of single screens with those classy chairs without any cusions. I still remember the crowds milling around waiting for the gates to the hall to open up. Th...
I have been a bit busy for the past couple of days or so and couldn't write much. Truth is, I felt lazy. Regardless, here I am speed typing my way out. (It's actualy slower than one can imagine - every sentence goes through a very harsh check and I abuse the backspace a lot but you needn't need to know that).
Recently I was browsing through the lettrs on the global page and something hit me. Most of the lettrs were a line or two and at most a paragraph. Which made me wonder about what lettrs are actually? Aren't they a digital imitation of the real world letters? And if yes, aren't they supposed to a bit longer than a few sentences? I know some here might be writing letters/...
The hostel is strangely silent. It has been around half an hour since anyone barged into the room and interrupted either me or my roomie, and that does fall into the unusual category. Not that my room is the centre of discussion but there is always someone who pops in from time to time, some come for a stapler or some other stationary, some for a movie to spend the night, some to borrow the photocopied notes which will never find find its way back to the owner and some just to talk and fill the hours with interesting gossip and meaningless discussions on everything including the page 3 stuff that appears on the local daily and more.
In such a world of gossip and pirated movi...
I have fallen back into a sort of an evil procrastination cycle.
These days I never seem to complete anything. I start something usually huge and then end up realising how time consuming the task is and drop out. And I wish it were a one time thing. So I decided to write at least a 'lettr' daily, be it private or open - a letter daily. Going to tag it with #aletteraday.
Something easy, yet equally difficult.
PS - I'm new to the web interface. Can we or can we not sign as we do on the Android app?
Unlike most, I do live a normal life. A life without any surprises. So normal that when I wake up in the morning, I find my battered android, and not some fancy phone. So normal that I know I won’t get a call from the skies to save the world from evil corporations. So normal that I don’t win trophies everyday. It just drones on. Almost monotonous. Non- exciting. A mundane life.
But then, once in a while, it turns exciting. Something philosophical over a cup of coffee. An occasional game of football. A morning jog. Getting wet in the first rains. Laughing, with friends at a joke that the world would probably never get. Watching the lame joke that you just cracked put a smile o...
I know I should write to you on a regular piece of paper rather than typing on the phones keypad but you of all people know how illegible my handwriting is and there is no (physical) keyboard in sight.
I'm afraid, X. I'm as afraid as I am of exams. Perhaps even more. For the first time in my life, i'm afraid of technology.
You remember how we joked about the fact that one day people will talk via their computers even when they are in the same room? It was a joke then. Something I never thought would happen so soon. And yet here I am. It all started off when my brother started a Hangouts group long back in May. And today with my cousins, my brothers and me in the same room we were...
Changing the name to X doesn't help that much. Wherever you may be, if do get internet access up there and you are reading this, you will know that its addressed to you.
That was sudden. That was the first thought that popped in my head when I read those words. You talked to me so many times about leaving but you never had left. I had begun to think that you had finally begun to fall in love with the place but I was wrong. I thought I had talked you out of it but I was so wrong. You liked to prove me wrong, didn't you?
After you left, I started to look around. Found something I could follow up on. Enquire about your health. But what if you wanted to distance yourself from everyone...