...another paradise

there, there he was standing again. i could see only the silhoutte, a figure standing in the alley, his back towards me. not running any more, no words spoken, silent, like the silence after a big explosion but no signs of ruin, not wanting to paint anything else, but, but still carrying a bucket of paint in his one hand, hanging loosely by one side and another hand holding the brush, brush which looked dipped in fresh paint and blank, empty walls, standing tall beside him. a light from the front, which he was blocking. this made anything else not visible. he has walked this long alley, alley of life perhaps. painted many colors on the wall beside him. sometimes whispering to himself, as if he had found some companion and didnt want to loose her, always consoling himself that he got responses. probably another whisper or a brush stroke on the same wall that he had painted. it made him happy. it made him sad. it took him long, long time to realise that he was walking alone, everyone was walking alone, muttering to themselves, keeping themselves talking to the phantom they had imagined, or by now, real perhaps. but he wanted an answer now and all he could get was empty walls ahead. same long and tall standing walls, not listening, not replying, staying dumb, filled with nothing else but his own whispers and, and patches of colors, which sometimes looked lively with bright colors for good times that he had spent with them and darker, darker still for the times he feared that something called truth lies ahead, no one was listening to him, it was all his own whispers. sometimes he looked at the walls with a look which said that some one had just smeared the wall with paint, all patch works, ugly, loathesome. he wanted to rub it all. he wanted to start afresh. this time painting the walls with bright colors only, but he was afraid that he could not do it walking alone in that alley. but he was afraid to listen to his own whispers again, for he will be again standing there as he is standing now, a dark silhoutte, his back towards me, not running any more, no words spoken, silent....empty walls....mocking at himself.

...an old memory

wind was pushing his face, hairs all flying back, he was trying hard to see the road ahead with his half open eyes, trees on the sides were fast vanishing behind, and they were leaving behind one after another milestones, however clouds were still fixated to the same position in the sky, and there he was sitting on the horizontal rod of papa's bycycle, legs crossed, holding the front tightly with his little hands and shouting, "faster papa, faster!".
it takes almost a quarter and an half of an hour to cross village to village and reach, where papa teaches kids like him. it was his special day. he was taking him to the place he works. mom had prepared parathas that morning and wrapped them in old newspaper and then put them in plastic bag, so that oil do not drip out and stain the bag. it was there lying fresh in papa's bag, swinging loosely by the handle, his eyes swinging along with that while he watched it.
he had woken up early for this day. took shower and wore clothes which mom keeps safe only for special occasions. he waited for papa to get ready and asking him all this time to hurry up while he got ready. he had made this an special day for everyone in the hut. to his relief they were ready to depart. he took out the bicycle from the verandah, where it is kept in the night. he dusted it with a rag, then sat himself on the seat and lifted him up to sit in the front. his first reaction was to press that round shaped 'ghanti' fixed on the handle. it gave a sound, trin! trin! and he imitated that with another trin! trin! mom kissed him on his forhead and bid them farewell. she was standing there waving her hand till they disappeared on the next corner. he kept saying something all the way. sometimes asking something. sometimes singing song. and all the while his voice sounded like ba ba ba ba when the bicycle went over from one puddle to another in the village road.
sun had kept himself off for the day, for him to enjoy the day under a cloudy sky. they stopped for tea on the way. more because he was crying that his legs have started paining. they took tea and biscuits, stood on the either side of the bicycle's carrier and he asked many questions while papa finished tea. it was difficult for him to keep up with his questions. they started off again. he remained silent this time. less because papa was not answering him, more because he was tired and feeling sleepy. it was more than half an hour now, they were close to their destination. he could see more vehicles passing them as they reached the town's outskirts, but nothing interested him by now, while he folded his hands and rested them on the handle. and he was lost in some other world of his. where there were no vehicles, no trees, no schools, no puddles on the road, no wind, however there were fruits and chocolates there, which he had seen on the way, and parathas too, wrapped in that newspaper, now unbundling before his eyes. the bicycle stopped and papa said, "we have reached, chimpu.", while he rested his left foot on the ground. he lifted his head up and saw a board which read, "barbigha uchh vidyala".

..in the habit of saying hello

It was 8 am in the morning. Quite an unusual day for me, as I had woken up early that day and went for a cup of ginger tea and smoke. By my face anyone could have told that I had not got fresh before coming to the shop, but no one could tell that I didn’t brush my teeth. Anyways, I asked for a cup of tea and lit my cigarette standing beside a tree stained with beetle spits. There was dog lying there on the other corner of the shop, his sleep disturbed by early morning traffic and was itching his ears. I was so much lost in watching that dog that I forgot that I had ordered for tea. I was shaken by my hand to hand me the cup.

Minutes later a man in his late thirties came there for tea or something. I didn’t notice that. But I saw that he was nicely dressed and well trimmed hair and mustache. He might have taken bath as it looked from his appearance. Who knows he might have applied simply water on his hair. He had a matching pair of brown shoes with the color of his belt. And like the most Bangaloreans was carrying a identity badge in his front pocket. As a part of my habit I was so lost in analyzing his appearance that I almost missed him staring at me too. Probably because of smoke. Pollution is really a big problem in Bangalore and now this nasty smoke. Forget it, I wont leave this habit I guess. Oh, where was I. Ahan, the young man staring at me. I said hello. He said hello and smiled. After a minute of silence he asked which place do I belong to. I said Bihar. Now as usual, I was expecting that I wont have to say a word to carry on the talk. He stood there speaking for another fifteen minutes about his experiences in Bihar. And like most of these stories, his story too started from his train experience(no pun intended). After he finished his talking he said not to mind his words, that was what happened with them. I sympathized with him ‘as usual’, saying that these things are quite common place in Bihar, there is nothing he should be ashamed of talking about. He nodded in affirmation. He shook my hand and left in a hurry. I was watching the dog. He was still itching his ears. He was still trying hard to sleep.

caged

locked in a cage i was thinking of getting out as soon as possible. time was running out and death was taking me over. i held the bars tightly and tried to pull apart to make room to come out. only to find that it was too strong and i failed. i was sweating and fear of death made me cry. i can not die now. i can not simply sit locked up in this cage. i have to come out no matter what. the familiar faces started appearing before me. i don't know whether they were making me panic even more or giving me strength. i sat down and leaned my head against the bars and started breathing heavily. i had never breathed so heavily.how did i land up in this cage? who put me in here? was it my foolishness? was somebody conspiring against me? i could think of nobody. i was not crying anymore. i was not even breathing heavily. everything seemed normal. it seems i had accepted that cage.

...an old one...thankfully it was saved too from my habit of deleting everything....i guess one day i ll delete the blog too :D

_she_sells_sea_shells_

her face was all yellow by the light of candles burning all around. the dim lights of candle made it hard for me to guess the colour of her gown like dress. but it surely made it even more beatiful than it wud have really been. she was carefully polishing the sea shells that she was selling. and to her distress there were no buyers that evening.

i guess it was neither the moon nor sea waves that was making that beach beautiful. it was all her solitary presence. it of course was her solitude but it was filling that evening on the beach with life and colours.

..an empty thought

one last mile...one last yard...one last step...stretching myself to the possibility of covering some distance more..my fatigued muscles were crying out in pain. was the pain beautiful as some term it? i dont know. i came to a halt and bent forward, with my hands on hip. i was panting for breathe. a tiny droplet of sweat trickled down my nose giving me a cold feeling. a few more trickled down and settled near my eyelids, a minute before i was thinking about stetching myself to one last step and now i was left with an empty feeling. i turned back and looked straight. i had come too far. was everything blinding before my eyes? i didnt have any answers. all i had was a numb cold feeling. feeling of being lost. feeling of left alone. feeling of something unknown. i didnt know how to term it. i didnt know what to think of it. but it was an unsettling feeling. a feeling to haunt me for the times to come. it has left me a hollow self and i dont even know about it.

no..not about anyone specific...had written it randomly..i think in my freshmen year....

you dont make me smile any more
you dont make my heart cry any more
laying back with my pillow on my back
i still think about you sometimes...
i wonder those memories are good or bad...
it all just passed by...
you dont make me smile any more
but your thoughts still make me sleepless
when it all just passes by...
probably it does not just pass by...
it just stays and stays a little longer
i sit back and light a ciggarette
in the hope that old memories just
come and go by
only to find that it stays and stays a little longer..
you dont make me smile anymore
you dont make my heart cry anymore