The train chugs on steeply up the slope of the hill. The man, by the window, looks up from his diary. The sweet chill of the hilly gust through the half ajar window makes him wrap his jacket even more tightly. Through the gape, he gazes outside. The mellow rays paint the Bernese landscape in a golden hue. On the right, the ice capped peaks are just visible. As the train takes a turn, he sees an array of such snow clad mountains, glimmering in the aureate tint of the forenoon. The snow keeps melting and a stream or two trickles down from unexpected creeks in the rocks. He sighs at the beauty of it and glances on the other side. By now the train is coming to a halt at Wengen. A ver...
Before wishing a happy women's day to all the women, let's take a moment to laud the wonderful men that created them- their fathers.
Today when I asked my father, "Are you happy?", he replied-
"I didn't have a reason to be unhappy since I've had you."
I then realized that all the brilliant, inspiring women out there could be themselves because their fathers had their backs and because they always found a source of happiness in their daughters.
Happy Women's Day to all the fathers who raised beautiful daughters!
Good VS Evil
"It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way-in short, the period was so far like the present period, that some of its noisiest authorities insisted on its being received, for good or for evil, in the superlative degree of comparison only."
I have never seen a better allusion to the theme, 'Good VS Evil'. Th...
The Mistress in Friendship
Do you know her? She's the mistress; the mistress in friendship. Oh, don't you understand? Let me tell you. She's that friend who will be yours but not for the world to know. You will love her, secretly. She will go all out to prove her love but will be subjected to a blind eye in the fear of social stigma. She will be yours to keep in a safe hidden haven but never to be rendered recognition. And time and again, the poor fool that she is, will keep peeking from the alcove of your heart and tug at your numb strings- to rest in concealment again.
As she leaned against the windowpane watching the first bits of snow flurrying towards the ground, she was reminded of her first winter with him.
They had decided to go out for dinner to celebrate their anniversary, but as they stepped out onto the road, a tiny snowflake landed on her hair. And soon enough a number of those started swirling around them. Left with no choice, they retreated into her house.
As she brushed the snow off her, he quickly lit the hearth. They sat down by the fire and started talking and laughing, reminiscing about the first time they met and how it's been a year.
Gradually, they snuggled under her quilt and spent the whole evening there, enjoying the first snow of th...
Of Autumn, Moths & Strangers:
Your eyes were a deep hazel,
That which reminded me of archways;
Archways lined with maple trees,
And strewn with yellowed leaves;
Your name I not knew, nor did the face allude-
Twas the scent that lingered,
Long after you were gone;
Inebriating me in your philtre,
Like a moth blazed with ardour.
"I see pain in your eyes. What is it about?"
"Pained eyes are what you see except that they reflect the glory of the unsung days."
This letter is dedicated to all those people who relentlessly made me feel like a loser, a failure.
I had my first fit of 'panic attack' in my Second year of college but I was unaware of the nomenclature. It was simply a night of insomnia, unending tears and blurry eyes for me.
The second time was worse. I cried, I wept, I screamed my lungs out and I was a complete mess before my mother had to rush to my hostel and rescue me. I was taken to the 'therapist' and she told me I was suffering from DEPRESSION.
I didn't know what that meant but I surely knew how it felt. Even then, people couldn't stop talking about me, behind me and no, not kind, sympathetic words about me, but how I again became a...
I was 13 when I first read about you and then there was no stopping me from watching you on the big screen. In the first book, you came out as a lonely wizard who was a misfit in the muggle world and I, instantly, empathized with you because a teenager is a misfit everywhere. Just like you grappled through Hogwarts, I was grappling through my adolescence.
And soon enough you became my first crush. I felt pangs of jealousy whenever you were with Cho and secretly discussed with friends that how you deserve better. I also wished to have friends like Ron and Hermione and even though I was nerdy like Hermione, yet I miserably failed to pull off her cool image.
You taught me not to be a...
To the moon and back
He stared above fixedly, entranced with the beauty of the glinting stars dotted across the cloudless sky. The moon in all its glory radiated a silvery sheen across the sky and shone bright enough to cast his silhouette against the sombre background. As I gently leaned in to whisper sweet nothings in his ear, his lopsided smile caught my eye. Behind the big round spectacles, his eyes held dreams of a tomorrow which were untarnished by the despondency of the present and his aura diminished the splendour of the night. And it was the first time I fell in love, slowly yet plummeting into the unfathomable depths of his romance as I heard myself in my soliloquy- "I will always ...
You are like a mirage that draws me to it,
Only to disillusion me;
A momentary bliss do you render,
Before I make my way to thee;
Let me take it all in, lest you disappear-
And shower you with all of me,
So, end my quest and satiate my eyes,
And give me enough of you to last a lifetime.
I don't want to thank you because I can't thank you. If I thank you, I'll have to mention all the things you did for me and this page is not enough to write about 22 years of sacrifice.
I never realized the importance of your role. But now, when I'm on the verge of starting my professional career, I understand that it's not easy for a professionally qualified woman to give up her job, her career, her everything. I commend you for all the years of your life that you gave up for me and for making sure that I go out for my work without even thinking of what is happening back home.
I hope I could make you proud, Maa and I can't tell you how much I love you.
From your best friend,
When a person leaves, he takes away a part of you and years after he's gone, you stop missing him. But you don't stop missing the feelings, the times you shared.
When it's late in the night and you want to share your thoughts, your fears or just how the day turned out, you don't miss that person; you miss the late night calls.
When you want to discuss about common interests, it's not the conversations you miss, it's the comfort zone.
And all this ultimately makes you so habituated to yourself, that it's difficult to share the same things with another person because in the end, all it does is remind you of him.
People have an unconscious tendency of leaving indelible impressions on other people they come across. The time, the mode are insignificant. Some people come into the life like a gush of wind and fill it with light, like the bright sunshine of a new day that stings the eyes at first but then radiates positivity all around. Such people do not share a relationship and they are not addressed by any endearment. Yet they manage to fill the gaping hole in the life. Though their presence is short lived but they stay deeply etched in the memories.
If you ask me the one thing that tops my wishlist, I would have to say, "Time-travelling to one regular summer evening of 2004,maybe."
I can picturize a common April evening with me sitting our bed with books scattered all around me. Our bedroom had three big windows all of which would be open. While I tried reading half a page at a stretch, the April breeze would keep turning the page, luring me outside.
As the sky darkened and wind howled, I'd yearn to go the balcony to witness the approaching Nor'wester. My grandmothers would be busy chatting about old times, while taking in the exemplary natural beauty and I'd rather be a part of that than pore over boring History.
During my adolescence, I used to hear my mother and grandmothers discuss that life for a divorced or a widowed woman was tough. She has so many struggles to fight and hurdles to overcome before she could live a life of dignity. She has to sell her dreams and give up all comforts to preserve her respect. This always struck me as strange and I asked my mom that why is it so? And she always answered that, life is never easy for a single woman. I wondered why, till I came to college.
I realized that it is so difficult for a single woman to survive in this world because the men of the society make it harder for them at each step and find it convenient to label her as 'available', as if it's a woma...
To the bygone year,
I was eagerly waiting for 2018 to come and 2017 to finally take off. The last year was one hell of a ride with me mostly swooshing downwards. But yesterday at midnight when 2017 actually bade farewell, I realized that every end is hard, however agonizing it might have seemed before. I, more than anyone, wished to wipe out 2017 as fast as possible. But, the nostalgic person that I am, in my core, I tend to cling on to the past. And so, yesterday when I embraced 2018 with open arms, somewhere I smiled at 2017, not with relief, but with a slight tinge of melancholy, because it too had left me with some sweet memories, however few they maybe.
I always thought of myself as a romantic person who craved for candle light dinners, evening walks and ball dances. But when I heard Harvey casually say, "You know I love you Donna" and saw his pained eyes, I realized that I'd rather be the Donna to a Harvey, than having the perfect love story I had always dreamed of.
What is it like to lie wide awake on a lonely night while vista of memories come crashing to you, overwhelming you? What would you do when you realize that the reminiscence is merely intangible remnants of your soul which you had gifted to the past? Can you really do anything about it? Only your welling eyes mark the truth there once was. Is this how nostalgia feels?
Things are complicated. Everything is clouded. Nothing feels right. She is so confused. It is like she's so near to solving the puzzle, but the last piece is always missing. It's this endless, solitary maze she is walking through. She hates it, yet she's drawn towards it. She knows that she might never see the sun again, but she keeps entering it. Maybe this is her elixir. This is what keeps her going. This uncertainty keeps her hooked. Maybe, that is why, this little unknown, unanswered part of her life is her most treasured possession!
It was Durga Pujo, the time of exuberance. Kolkata was drowning in the festivities. The streets were thronging with people even in the dead of the night. The day was Nabami and Pujo was coming to a close, so Kolkatans had come out on the streets to hop all the remaining pandals on the last day of Pujo.
He had also come to pick her up from her home. They had planned to visit all the nearby pandals. As she settled on his bike, he threw a sudden question at her, asking her if she would like to skip the pandal hopping and go to the Lake with him. She had never been to the Lake before that and knowing it to be one of the love dens of Kolkata, she recoiled instantly. Since they were not officiall...
It was one of those many moments again. The moments she dreaded. The moments she longed. It was a moment of chaos, a chaos that forever goes on in her heart. It's like the crashing waves which recede after sometime. One moment there's this searing pain, the next moment it's gone and a soothing numbness sets in. It's like the emotions are coloring their own shades on her, all at once. It is that moment when she wishes to scream her lungs out, cry her heart out but all she does is don that calm facade of hers without letting the world know the rantings of her anguished soul. And that is when the ink spills out, her chain of muddled thoughts form a coherence which gives rise to her oeuvre...