Just b-e-l-i-e-v-e!

I don't know whether the blotches, cut marks, pockmarks and spots were by birth on his face. But his face looked slightly uneven. Though I am not the niggler who would just sit back and pass petty remarks on people's beauty and behavior. But still if you believe me, it was hard to look at him and then look again at him. Since I was the headmistress of this small town's very own small school, I asked his class teacher about him. And what I found was a little sad fact, indeed. When he was very young, about two years, he was running with older kids and accidentally fell over an iron fence in his farm. And, thus he lost all his beauty. Yes, he was born a very beautiful baby. The most beautiful among his relations. And so, it spread in the whole town that there is definitely somebody who did something upon him when he was born. Later, they all said, it was an 'evil eye'. So he was put up with stark black kohl in his eyes and a black thread around his neck always, in ...

These nights, when you go to bed thinking, what if you had another reality. The cozy blanket comforts her memories. Memories of the things that never happened. She repeats her name in half-sleep : Rhea... Rhea. She talks to him in her imagination. A smile makes her lips a crescent moon. She sees him before her closed eyes. He was sitting like a little child, fixing his eyes on his goal and his goal was to troubleshoot. She didn't disturb him, though she put her head on his lap and slept . When she woke up next day, she made lunch for her eight year old boy. Breakfast for everyone. Juice for mother-in-law. Washed dishes in the sink and did a little dusting around the house. It was not a big house and she was relieved that it was not. She liked its small size, coziness and flat-like appearance. On an ordinary day, she would hear birds talk, the shrill voice of horns, vendors howling on the street and servants coming and going out of the house. On such days, her memories are shrou...

Her name was Siyana Jad. She rose to honor by people of her clan during her early twenties. And why not! she had  sacrificed big things in her life for her clan. But if you ask her, what was that? She would mock it off saying, 'may be I was Possessed.' Initially, she laughed off her sacrifices. She did not take them seriously. But the nature of psychology is going from simple to complex. People, in their minds, in their whispers, in their evening meetings regarded her sacrifices as something unusual. Before she knew, she rose to become a Demi-God for her clan. People, actually, worshipped her. Though, it is a different thing, those who respect you, worship you for your sacrifices, expect for even more sacrifices. More discipline. Chastity. More restraints . She went through all drama (leela) unattached. But on the lonesome days, she would feel deep in her heart that unknowingly, she chose heaven, while she was born for hell. If tasting life in all flavors meant Hell, then it...

Harassed. frustrated. bored. Tired. The two brothers left home after a usual homely fight. They planned a short vacation. They looked out for nearby places on internet. They thought about an estimate. They gathered courage to think about going out of the town. The fight was forgotten. They were home. Next day, they were back to work.

I am really tired of attempting to write a story. I wanted to write about you because this is the way we talk, isn't it? I thought of letting you know that I keep thinking about you. Then, I chose to stay quiet. A lot of things find meaning in silence, only if you are eager to listen. So, yes, I tried to write a very silly fiction in the form of letter. I thought instead of addressing it to you, I would address it to a friend. Although, you were also a friend. Here I attach the incomplete fiction. I think, it wasn't even worth sharing. But you know, I could never even throw a worst line without showing it to you. I wish only once I could tell you (even in fiction) what you are to me. Goodbye. --- A Fictional Letter (Flash-fiction) Dear friend, I know you do not expect a letter from me, now when you have estranged yourself from everyone in our group. But I had to write you. I have been thinking about you lately and that how life has cheated on you badly. I k...

No... it does not seem nice... I need to use more concrete imagery and add detailing... "Are you talking to yourself?" "Yes I think so." "This new writing app has made you insane." "I don't think so because playing PUBG hasn't  yet turned you into a schizophrenic." Together our sense of humor turns into a bad joke. We stopped conversing and slept at our different times. The sun was full bright in the morning like a cheerful adolescent kid. My morning begins with basking in the sun, watering plants and making a rough plan of the day in my mind. I feel so complete in the morning. Rest of the day till midnight, I feel like a single mother. The last night's unfinished poem keeps me occupied for the whole day. This kind of incomplete is so fulfilling because at the end I know I can complete it. Rishabh comes late in the night. Not so tired, but he seeks 'me time' too. After dinner he goes for a long walk, when he returns, o...

He looks into the mirror again. He scans every change minutely. He looks at the white strands of his hairs, loosened skin and his eyes. The color of his eyes was changing continuously over past years. It had changed from brown to a light blue color : that of the sky. Looking himself at so close was surreal. Like he met somebody else in the mirror. Somebody who has faced depression to the extent of killing himself in his every thought. That somebody in the mirror cherished the thought of suicide as if it was the only decision one could take freely for one's life. But he did not die. Death is not always an easy choice. January has passed away. Giving way to a hope that new colors will arrive soon and paint our blank eyes. The color of his eyes are changing constantly. His biggest fear now is Death. Which would rather come slowly, making him realize the different shades of the color, life is.

We have shifted to another flat. It is almost as big as the last one. The only difference is that the bedroom is comparatively smaller and living room is spacious. When we shifted everything was easily arranged by the guys who helped us with shifting except my corner table. A small white wooden table which used to be in my bedroom. It had only three things on it : a handmade pen stand, a vase for fresh flowers and a pile of four-five books. This space was my escape in the house. The day we shifted, my corner table was being tossed from one room to another. And I kept pleading : please let me have my table in my bedroom. " Mom you don't have any spare corner in your new bedroom." said my elder son. "Yes, you can have it in your kitchen." interrupted my husband. "Why don't you have it in the balcony? We can also use it for study after school." suggested my elder son again. "Mom can I have it in my room? I will make it a super human spacecra...

My mother had bought a set of three suitcases for me but she gave only one  on my Bidai. I never asked her, why didn't you give me those two suitcases. Like, I never asked, why didn't she give me many more things when I left her house. She might have forgotten. Or perhaps she never supposed to give. And that's okay. All I want to tell you is, a girl subconsciously thinks about how she left her house and what she left behind. I think about what I brought with me : A broken suitcase. One among two suitcases which I brought with me was slightly broken. I didn't notice at first. But somehow I realized there is something terribly wrong with this ritual of 'Giving'. I tried to care less about what they gave. They cared less too. And therefore that suitcase was neither repaired nor exchanged and was always ignored. Oh did I tell you, I have a lovely daughter who will be getting married soon. I have already begun to  pack things for her. One box is already full...

She had left house. It was a long reared dream to live a secluded life in Himalayas. Was it a calling? How else it would be, if it wasn't. She knew one day she would have to leave. And then came a day when nothing mattered. One by one all the ties got loose. She drifted away from everyone - her parents, her siblings, her in-laws, her husband, her daughter - this was the most difficult part, though. But didn't Siddhartha left his wife and child to the the darkness of eternal night. She forgave him. He was Called. Lost in meditation, she forgets who she was and where she came from. But as soon as she opens her eyes, she hears the voice of Yashi, her daughter. As she lives the macro- seconds, seconds, minutes, hours, days of her dream in the enchanting serenity of nature, she misses the smiles, laughter and tears of her daughter more and more. One day, sitting under that grand tree, she is enlightened to the fact, "I am a mother, prior to 'who am I really'." And...

"Call me Nadia" "Nadia... Hmm Carefree!" he says with a playful smile. "Careful", corrects Nadia with an impressive confidence that penetrated his heart deeply. Nadia seemed to him like a radiant sun. Whenever she smiled, he lost his breath. He was captivated by her daring confidence and 'carefree' laugh. ---- I am sorry. I will have to stop since there is no Nadia here. I love this name. And I was just imagining about her. Here is another part which I wrote and it seemed to be a more authentic part although which is not so romantic like her name. ---- Call me Nadia in this story. Do not over do the story. He never ill treated me or called me names. We always remained on the verge of being good friends. Though I urge you to write in the end : She dies of hunger, a hunger for simple and deep conversations. Yours, .... I found this mail today. I have been thinking about her lately. An impressive intellect who eventually reduced ...

Expectations were filled in with air so the balloons did not raise high enough. But kids shrieking with joy, women excited to buy everything in exchange of their frustration, men trying to escape the  cacophony of busy mall and their mind, everything looked so unmistakably perfect on new year's eve. She refused to wake up from this day dream. A voice still rang in her ears, " Don't play with Relationships." I am not, I am not... She closed her ears as if to shun all voices away. She checked her mobile. There was no New Year message. Surprised? She was not. She exhaled with utmost effort. Emptiness.  "I am going away ", She typed. Erased. She could not say Goodbye. Even though, she did not intend to go anywhere.

"Here is that photo", and he showed me the grand family photo of my parents and their son and daughter-in-law, in the middle of the decorated wall of living room. I felt a sudden suffocation in my throat. It was my absence from that photo, I thought at first. And then I suddenly realized I was not even informed of my brother's wedding. My parents had made an excuse that it was a very private affair and we left everything on the wish of couple. "Didn't you like it?" my brother interrupted my thoughts and I swallowed a lot more like cough, which you try hard to throw out but then suddenly you swallow it inside. I forced a quick smile and muttered, "Oh! I absolutely loved it."  And I had really loved the minute details it portrayed : the proud look of dad, the always-overwhelming look of mom, the stubborn look of brother and the not-really-so-submissive look of my sister-in-law. After a penetrated look at the photo, now I was relieved that I was abse...

"How Farhan and Mom met?" "I told you Kyra, people always meet you through destiny. It is always the soul-connection that some people happen to come as if from nowhere and remain always close to your heart." "OKAY! And what happened next, tell me everything." The curious daughter of Sejal wanted to know everything right away. After all she was amazed to know that her mother is a friend of famous business tycoon Farhan Aziz. " " Well... They met through a common friend but they grew so fond of each other that our Sejal who would not open up to anyone would talk to Farhan for hours and hours. One day Farhan proposed her. But she chose another guy over him. They remained best friends as ever. Eventually they got married and had beautiful kids... See yourself. " And Namrita kissed Kyra on cheeks. "But mausi why mom refused him?" "I had asked her same question and she told me that...let me put it in her words. She said, '...