The Wind

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I like the wind.
That blows in hope and melancholy.
That does not care about caste;
Or is not a perverted soul.
Sometimes it’s the wind of love,
On others, it’s one of adieu.
The wind that is powerful,
To uproot men and god-men alike.
It discerns my loneliness and
Is happy at the friends I make.
It makes you forget for a moment;
The memories you wish to erase forever.
Sometimes it thrills you,
With the sweetest reminiscences you ever had.
It’s the respire of people who walked before;
Or the invisible hand that pats on your back,
And says – Never be a quitter, ever.
But I think the wind may also be lonely;
Be that as it may, it has me for comradeship,
Yesterday, Today and perhaps tomorrow.

Participating in #MondayMusings at Everyday Gyaan

The Need

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The bald man looked at Anjali who returned his gaze with a barren stare.

Her mother goaded Anjali.

“No, please don’t compel her. She shouldn’t be selling her body but should go to school and get educated,” the man, a prospective customer, said.

Smiling, Anjali took out her box of colour pencils and began sketching on her drawing book.

This post is in response to the Saturday Short Story prompt on the Write Tribe WhatsApp group. The prompt is:

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The Exception

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Abbas hoped he was not late. Zoya had sounded depressing on the phone. A delayed flight and a longer than expected layover had frayed his nerves.

The door was open. Strange, he thought. The house was eerily silent. As he climbed the stairs, he felt uneasy. He could hear his stomach grumbling.

When he entered Zoya’s room, he couldn’t find her. He looked around and saw a note on her writing desk. Abbas read it, but absent-mindedly aloud.

“When my spirit sags, I look around and see no one. It’s like being abandoned in a big ground and you don’t know where the exit is. Friends are just green lights on social media. Their lights don’t reach you when you want it. Except there’s one…”

“Happy Birthday, Abbas!” a loud cheer sent him off-balance. “I had you fooled there for a moment, didn’t I?” Zoya was beside herself with joy.

Abbas was immensely relieved. Zoya had managed to fox him to come down to India for his birthday, yet again.

Written as part of Writing Wednesdays on Write Tribe.

A Friendship’s Wail

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I thought we would never break up;
But destiny had other plans.
I still wonder what came between us,
To scuttle a beautiful camaraderie.
My heart did a somersault,
As I came to grips with the present.
There were tears at the memories we made.
A rueful smile at what could have been.
The days were suddenly a barren pot;
A parched earth beseeching an oasis.
The died conversations struggled,
To redeem and rise like a phoenix.
I thought it was all a bad dream,
Soon disappearing into the recesses of time.
Our friendship has only gone to slumber;
One day it will wake up and show us,
A beautiful morning of rainbowed rapport!
Until then, I wait with prayers on my lips.

It has been two months since I broke up with a very dear friend. She had been a source of encouragement and a lot of fun too. It has been hard, but I hope that I will wake up from this bad dream and take our friendship forward. I hope she also feels the same.

Participating in #MondayMusings at Everyday Gyaan

Expectations

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“No one remembers,” thought Liz, when she opened the door and saw the gifts.

There were three meticulously wrapped boxes and she wondered who had sent those. When she looked around hopefully, she saw no one.

She began to unwrap the boxes and smiled at each thoughtful gift. Three gifts from three lovers, but none from her husband, she pondered sadly.

This post is in response to the Saturday fiction prompt on the Write Tribe WhatsApp group. The prompt is:

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Independence

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The rains were bountiful that summer. Every part of the city was flooded. 8-year-old Aman looked out of his window and was happy at the sight. He soon set about making some paper boats.

Pleased with what he made, he opened the door. The floods hadn’t entered their home. He knew if the rains continued unabated, then they would need to move upstairs.

Aman kneeled and put one of his boats in the water. It soon set sail. He beamed as he watched it and set the next one in.

“Can I play with you?” he heard a voice behind him. Looking back, he saw it was their new neighbor who had moved in a couple of days before. His shorts were wet – he had waded through the water to reach Aman.

“Sure. It’ll be fun!” Aman gladly extended a couple of boats to his new friend.

The boy hesitated. Aman stretched his hands again.

“Can you put the boats down?” the boy asked.

Aman was confused but placed the boats down. He watched the boy use the fingers on his feet to put the boats in the water. Aman was awed by this skill and a grin formed in his mouth.

The grin vanished when he noticed that the boy didn’t have both hands. Aman vacantly looked at the happy and contented face of the boy.

“Why did you stop? Come, let’s race our boats!” the boy said excitedly.

The Nest of Songbirds

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When she moved from the orphanage to her new home, Deborah liked it instantly courtesy the songbirds and their nest on a tree overlooking the window of her room. But it was the rainy season and she worried for the safety of the birds.

A couple of days after she had moved, Deborah heard a thud outside the window. The nest had fallen on the road because the tree was being felled remorselessly.

Her helpless gaze was met by a cold stare from the contractor.

This post is in response to the Saturday fiction prompt on the Write Tribe WhatsApp group. The prompt is:

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If we were having coffee…

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If we were having coffee – dear coffee,
I would just look at you longingly,
And then talk about what you and I talk;
Of my dark passenger and the not so dark.

In the company of cakes or biscuits,
I’ll open my heart for you.
We’ll discuss days and nights,
Of good tidings and bad ones.

We will also talk about you, dear coffee;
How you taste and how you should;
How the biscuits go well with you;
How you make love in my mouth.

The biscuits and cakes now done;
Just a little sip of you left.
Lightly stirring, you wish me well,
Until we meet again another evening.

I am taking part in The Write Tribe Festival of Words #6. The theme for Day 7 is ‘If we were  having coffee…….’

The Blue Butterfly – An Interview

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He is a blogger extraordinaire, writes stories with twists that leave you spellbound and pens poetry weaving an imagery that is truly beautiful. He is a published author – he has been part of two anthologies. His review of Ruskin Bond’s Book of Verse was picked up by Narrow Road in their latest edition. He is a great person to be with, though I have spent only a couple of hours with him. He is a good friend, very down-to-earth and is also a passionate Manchester United fan.

Many of you know him. Presenting Vinay Leo as part of the prompt to feature a guest on the Write Tribe Festival of Words. Vinay was gracious to accede to an interview. Here is what he had to say:

Can you tell us about the first ever story/poem you wrote?

My first poem was borne of boredom. A free period in class, and I was doodling. A butterfly came into the classroom, and settled down near my desk. I wrote a verse about that blue butterfly, and my co-ordinator, who came in just then, took the sheet from my hand. She read it, she loved it, and she encouraged me to write more poems for inter-school contests. Thus began a love for verse.

Your blog is titled ‘I Rhyme Without Reason’- where did you get the inspiration for this title?

I don’t remember, to be honest. I would rhyme often back in those days. I was part of a group blog of writers. We had poetry contests, and we’d post random verses we wrote. At times, we would even reply to each other’s poems with a poem. I didn’t need a reason to write or to rhyme. So I concocted the title. Since then, I have tried changing the title, but somehow, this has stuck.

Do people and things around you inspire the characters/events in your stories/poems?

Of course they do. Life can be a muse. Things around me, or events that happen in my life, observing people and relationships… these inadvertently lend a touch to my stories or poems. Nuances make a difference. The stories may not be theirs directly though.

What is more difficult – writing a story or a poem, and why?

Both are equally difficult. A verse should be simple enough to charm the reader and yet, it could have some depth in that simplicity too. A fiction should be engaging, be it 55 words, or 5555 words. I don’t think there’s anything such as a perfect story, but it’s good to try and find “near perfection”.

You have been blogging for 11 years now – which year has been the best and why?

Ah. I don’t know. Each have had their moments, each have had their lows. How can they be compared? Thankfully, with each post, or with each year, my writing seems to improve. I’ve felt so, and some of my friends and readers have felt so too. I think, in the end, that’s what matters.

Here’s wishing Vinay all the very best not just for his future writing endeavors but also generally. It has been a pleasure to feature you on my blog. Thank you, Vinay!

I am taking part in The Write Tribe Festival of Words #6. The theme for Day 6 is ‘Feature a guest – a guest post / an interview’

A Father’s Letter

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Dearest Kichu & Kunju,

When you read this letter one day, I’m sure you will understand what I’m trying to say.

The two of you are undoubtedly passionate. I’ve seen it when you are playing with toys, engaging in fights with each other or listening to the stories I tell you. I want you to sustain this passion for as long as you can. You will be living in an era where technology will rule the roost. Amidst all the hullabaloo of the future, be good human beings. There’s only so much technology can do; it cannot, however, be compassionate. Help people when they need it and help selflessly. I feel that being helping and humane is going to be a great asset as we move forward in world. Have passion in compassion!

Both of you are ambitious – do reach for the stars. But don’t forget that life is not about the marks you secure or the grades you attain or the designation of your job. Life is about contributing to the world. Don’t think your contributions are zero – everyone does bits and pieces to make this world a better place. It’s the little drops of water that make the mighty ocean. So, whatever you turn out to be, always believe that you are contributing.

I know both of you like elephants a lot. I want you to understand that life is like an elephant. You feel intimidated by it sometimes. You feel it’s gentle at others. The important thing is not to be afraid of it. Adore it, embrace it, but be always in control of what you are trying to do. There may be stages when you feel life is unkind – that’s where you need to cultivate patience and bide those times. Treat the good times and bad times alike – nothing’s going to be permanent. Be happy always. And when you do feel down, you will always have your mother and me to talk to.

The famous German writer and poet, Johann Wolfgang von Goethe once remarked:

“There are only two lasting bequests we can hope to give our children. One of these is roots, the other, wings.”

Never forget your roots even as you soar high with your wings. Stay blessed, my sons!

Love
Achan

I am taking part in The Write Tribe Festival of Words #6. The theme for Day 5 is ‘Write a letter’