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A letter of Past Love.

As much crazy and stupid you are, My love for you grows by each passing minute and the process of it varies from extremities. Sometimes it’s your words that make me love you more, sometimes it’s your laugh that swipe away my carpet of senses below from the feet and makes me go gala over you. Sometimes it’s also my anger towards you which makes me realise how important you are for the life to be happily lived. An amalgamation of all my emotions are the witness of what you are to me! I don’t know yet why I am writing this to you, for you, maybe because I don’t have much to do right now or maybe because I am missing you right now. So much kilometres apart from you I can still smell the fragrance you have, the smell of you when your eyes shine, when your hands work or when your lips touch a cigarette. As much as I hate you when you smoke a cigarette it does turn me on when you do so.  Amongst the hate, love, urge to meet you, the respect, appreciation, understanding, tryin...

Do spirits talk to their bodies when they are dead?

Father loved me a lot, he is crying, there is blank spaces in his life now. All he wanted was me and I am not there. Mother is lifeless, she doesn’t know what to do next. She is blaming everyone that I died but not me, she loves me. She loves me dearly. All I could think was of my Family. The person I claimed to love didn’t cross my thoughts. Why? I am dead! And I don’t think about him. I didn’t wanted to be with him when I knew it was my last breath. All I could remember was, the family, their grief and how they would survive without me. Relatives would think I was a nice person, they cry too. I am lying just there, lifeless and I am no more. All the thoughts, pain and emptiness has come to an end. The body I have been fighting for since a child is gone. Nobody is there to listen, nobody is there to see. I am alone and of no existence to people; to the ones who gave me birth, to the ones who gave me Love. All these years the people I have been thinking about, they didn’t cross my m...

Barbie Dolls

Back in the days what ten year olds used to do was eat, play, climb the trees, run while having no sense of what to wear and how. What then was appreciable was a smile decorated on their souls. The simpler times, the “us” times.. not just “me or you” times. Why am I saying like that? A few days ago I was alone and bored at the Airport and desired to jog around the gate numbers solely for the entertainment purpose. I witnessed many brands side lined that costs you a bomb. While crossing a jewel shop I saw a bunch of small girls standing near the newspaper stand and whispering something to each other. I gave a quick smile to them, thought to myself “ kids, what an amazing life they have!..” and moved forward . Or should I say tried to move on because I was keen to know what childish talks they were clinging onto. And luck supported me as whole heartedly as the tassel of my stole got stuck among the jarring lines of the same stand. 5 Minutes or Close Later… I am moving ...

The Muscles in Disguise.

As a doctor, she had to deal with a varied variety of homo sapiens. Some ill, some terminally ill and rest of them who treated it as a reward of their daily morning walks from their house to the clinic. In the practice of 8 years, Dr. Sonal Jha had seen impeccable people around her and was very much ‘not too shocked ‘ with any kind of adversities her patients exhibit now. Until one day, she sees a man, a big man with a height of 6’2, well built broad structure and biceps nearly equivalent to the doctors meek thighs. He had an old and frail-looking lady in his arms and was very hastily walking towards Jha. Her heart skipped a beat for a second. Na..na..not love, just horror. She was overwhelmed by his speed. The next moment, he entered the clinic said a hie and asked for permission if he should lay her ailing mother to the bed behind the doctor’s chair. To which Jha shyly nodded. She checked on the old woman, was back to her seat and signalled the boys associated for the work t...

The Black Woman in the rain.

She is a facsimile of me, The black woman in the rain.              I see her struggling through the way, but all go by in vain. The lump in her leg makes it tough to move, Like the wound I have which shoves me in a cocoon. The shadow of the woman is so formidable and dark, The dogs around her greet her with the barks . she sees the on goers with an umbrella, raincoat or Car, and wonders to herself if she is left out because of a scar. Deciding for herself which way to go, she laid out a step, Looking at me she smiled as if to sympathize with what all I had wept. She is a facsimile of me… Of all the things she had about herself which cornered me into murk, She did give me the pleasure of guilt that too with a jerk. What was so certain about my resemblance to hers? The tenebrosity which she had in equal amounts as me,   or the grapple she had with the water while everyone...

The Kajal in her eyes.

Struggling with her long hair, stuck in the hairbrush she managed to pull out close to 20 hair strands each time she swirled her brush on her hair with pure irritation. Seeing herself with bald patches on her hair line her tears knew no boundaries, she cried till the sunset. That’s when her 4 year old woke up, seeing her mother weeping she was utterly confused. With the brains of a 4 year old she could only see the hair strands loitering near the dressing table and wonder why is her mother crying? In a matter of 30 seconds, she ran like the “flash” to the table where her school bag was kept neatly on the side with the frozen princess’s print embarked on it. She unzipped one of the pockets, took out something, quenched it in her hands and then the bag saw her running towards her mother as she even forgot to zip up its chain. She looked at her mother with sympathetic eyes and held her left hand into her right one. She put a tiny tube of fevicol into her hand and the little angel s...

Who is at fault really?

“Paneer tikka!” she said in pure excitement. Nivedita was a foodie and loved our great Indian cuisine,she was asked by her husband about what she would want to eat on a Sunday. 20 mintues later she came up with this reply.Her husband asked her to order the same from the app present in her mobile phone. After a disappointed look and a brush through her hair,she picked up the phone and opened a online food app. The order was placed for two. The couple was hungry at first,but became “Hangry“ which is apparently a new slag for Angry plus Hungry,when they were handed the package by the delivery boy. Nivedita went furious and shouted on the delivery boy quite brutally. Though she was not a person who would do that but seeing her Paneer tikka’s in this condition made her fuming in anger for the same. The parcel was not in a good condition,she picked up the phone and dialled the number of the restaurant. She told them she wanted the refund,they asked her if she would accep...