My Handicap

I feel myself arrested by the chains of time. The ones who cross your path once, not necessarily stay forever. No matter how hard you try to steal them from destiny, it will always play its games. And midst these tantrums, stuck my soul. Acquaintance with fate is no more an acquaintance now. Very well do I understand it’s harshness. Somehow, I had always managed to withstand it’s shackles. But this time it feels as if it has arrested my soul once and forever. The heart seems stuck in an electric lift, falling down deep at an exponential pace. My fear is playing- ‘hide-and-seek’ with my innocence.

Does it hide in my mind?

My heart?

My soul?


Which cell to search?


Helpless eyes know nothing, but to shed some tears. This time scarcity found a new place to take a shelter in.

Scarcity in eyes? Strange? Yes!

Even the tears seem to get offended. The very thought of losing them blurs my vision as the leaking of the poison spreads all over my cells. The kid inside me is crying badly, but little does he know that his voice is the slave of his autism. No matter how high he raises the shrillness, the frequency, the pitch or the altitude, it won’t go past the flesh. It seems to have robbed me of my entire strength. A stiffness in muscles and a pain in the limbs refuse to stay away from adding on to the anxiety. Meeting them was a beginning of the magical fantasy indeed.

A fiction I read few days back, spoke exactly what I am going through today. Every word, every sentence, every paragraph then, seems to have joined hands with every single second, minute and hour of  my time today.

Ever heard of a fiction becoming the truth?0c060143131a7738421ed0bf4a4505bd

Well, that happened to me. So I name it a magic, for magic is a synonym for belief and faith as an optimist views it.

And I do believe in magic.

I seriously do!

The span seems to end now and my soul is still stuck there. It refuses to come out. Somewhere fantasy has arrested it.

What do I do?

I find a simile to the clock that struck twelve and the magic spell was no more for Cinderella. The third bell of midnight hears banging my ears at the peak of altitude.




And the magical spell seems shattered into syllables with those few noble and the finest souls I met, going far from me forever. Yes! It’s no less than a fairy tale, as I name it.

And guess what?!

As I recited it to a friend of mine, the reply that came from the other side was-

“It’s life bro! Stop getting upset at such things. People will come and go. It will take time, but worry not, time is the biggest healer as they say it.”

Correct in one way!


How do I ever explain them; they are no people I am losing, but the magic that will be lost, the angels who will be lost, the fantasy I will lose, an era that will be lost.

The particles of a golden sand slip off my fingers.

I know that. I can feel the slip. I can hear the slip. I can see the slip.


What do I do?

I’m handicapped.475a6ce6aef1ba5f72e672ac841dcaa1

The twenty-fourth hour


It was quarter to twelve.

As the elder needle struck nine on the mantle, here struck an idea of a brisk walk.

Twelve steps towards the moon and twelve away, and so I started walking. Everything was at peace with the surroundings and a silent quietude spread in the four directions, save the whistle of a solo breeze that blew past me. With ear drums vibrating on the radio beats and feet following an orbit, eyes wandered from one end to the other past the terrace, gazing the million stars. Obviously not counting them for I was a no kid. I came across a big star. Not sun! The one whom they call the ‘pole star’, which was supposed to be beside the moon as the science books had ever told me. The moon was a crescent, a usual night it was, but only the pole star seemed not to be at rest. It was in a direction somewhat opposite to the moon and somewhat opposite to my learned theories. The few seconds it took and I discovered the real truth behind the theory; pole star does not always stay beside the moon as I had always thought it to be rather moves with a speed not so same as that of the moon. If I say I’m experienced or I’m a no kid, I know I’m lying for still there are secrets that hide in the twenty-fourth hour of the wheel, yet to be discovered. It had been now fifteen minutes that my mind was lost in some so and so theories. The next thing that the sparrow sitting in the nest on an old rack lying in a corner saw was, me sitting down upon the floor scribbling something in the deep darkness, save the silver touch of Aluminum crystal that the moon flaunted over. ‘The twenty-fourth hour’ was what, that was being thought of. My eyes were wide open, still all I could see was the dense shades of black and gray. Neither an ‘A’ was visible nor a ‘full stop’. Once again that unusual hour gave me a close encounter with the plight of blind eyes, for as the tip inked the paper, intellect impressed upon the mind. I lived the life of a blind person for those few seconds. Another, the sparrow whom I use to observe the whole day and wonder if her husband exists, was now accompanied by her mate. A family completed with a mother, father and a new life dwelling inside the white walls. A secret discovered. Isn’t it? I don’t know why, but this hour fascinates me the most for I wander unfolding the secrets when everyone else is ‘busy’ folding themselves in their sweet dreams. As I shuffled through some of my incomplete theories, a thin rain patting over my feet made them follow the way down the twelve stairs. I smoothed in silently and the last thing that I came across was a yellow light burning in the nearby empty house whose walls had neither heard any voices nor seen any glimpses save few echoes for years now.

Was it a secret?

May be, of the twenty-fourth hour of the wheel!34cbaa483c81f803eac3654c9498db98

Another night passed.


Overwhelmed with emotions, she was finding her pen with utmost restlessness.

I guess, those words of her and the paper that was to be inked was more important than her tears.

She started writing, with a complete silence in her room. The clock struck twelve and she was all alone with her words.

In ears was her Sufi music, which I guess she had played to avoid the silence. In eyes were the tears. The lips were murmuring the emotions and mind was pampering himself, cherishing the cheerful moments which were by now the mere memories. In heart was the fear of facing tomorrow. But still there was a little relaxation because of an idea of killing herself, ending everything hence making things completely easy. However the rate of flowing water from her eyes increased with a very flashback of the dreams she was to accomplish which for now, remained washed away by the very tears and the ultimatum she had set herself to. Tears continued with increasing speed as the heart found a simile with the lyrical piece she was listening to.

In the practice of erasing the very silence, she raised the volume to seventy, hundred being the highest, but stood failed, for, the quietness was carved for her.

A war was set in her mind.

On one hand, she was tired. Tired of thinking, planning, lying and living. On the other, her very dreams stood holding her little finger, pulling her down and not letting her go. Not letting her set herself free from the shackles of emptiness.

Slowly listening to the music, with tears still flowing and mind fighting between the two ways, she fell asleep.

And one another night was spent fighting the tiredness.

Irked she was,

Not of people around, but of herself;

Not of destiny, but of her expectations;

Not of hopelessness, but of impatience,

For, she was very tired, holding the weight of the responsibilities.

For, she was tired of living.

Condition Of A Heart : a mystery unsolved

‘She, who was an old customer of a store named ‘ The Conditions Of The Heart ‘
(Whose sole purpose was to sell the conditions in the form of puzzles to be solved by the freaks). And She being a regular one was like used to these riddles! These were her favorite drink as a chameleon changing color with every new one to solve, with every new condition of love the heart became an intentional victim of.1f474a9b96110a6406c6751ae1170cd6
She shared a special bond with a common character Mr. The heart, who being mischievously notorious became a reason behind the love matters being the riddles!
She a fluent reader of heart was now almost like 10 riddles old and had played cupid solving these matters of heart;Solving these matters of love. Solving these conditions of heart!

Mr. Heart had now become her best friend almost accepting the fact that he would never be able to win in deceiving the mystery of the riddles as long as she was a customer, that too an experienced, old, regular customer. However, he being notorious made his last try and played a game on her!

He painted a riddle on ‘her’ heart.

Now that the game was on her, the riddle seemed extremely interesting. It being her final test if she could solve the love mystery of her own heart! If she could help heal the condition of her own heart! If she could solve the riddle on her own heart!

One who played a cupid in unfolding the mysteries of everyone’s heart, one who was strong enough a sage giving advises for matters of various hearts was now. . . a lame, deaf, blind, sick student who could not actually interpret her own situation. . .
Such the riddle was!
Such her confusion was!9369efbb41d85007d278a450ade5315a
Such the intentional love was!
And such the matter of heart was!
Vise a sage for others, but still a dumb student for herself, she needed someone to aid the very condition of her heart, which by now had drowned itself almost deep inside a dense ocean of love.
Indeed, an intentional love!
She could have,
better say might have,
somehow solved the riddle by gradually overcoming her dumbness
But her love again was caged by the humidity of time!
Limited the time was!
Scarced her wits were!
Do or die scenario it was!
If someone could have helped her confess her love;
Guess what!
Then it was a mystery solved!
It was a heart healed!
It was a test not failed!
But what if her dumbness over-weighed an ally’s help?!
Then it was a mystery uncovered!
It was a riddle unsolved!
It was a riddle unsolved!

2 Wheeler Observation- way back to home


While my two wheeler was waiting for the green color, my eyes started their all time favorite work and began looking the things from a writer’s perspective, gazing the things as the fictional characters of an old era typical fictional story line. The first thing that attracted them was a poor man, shabbily dressed up in rags holding an old linen utility bag and crossing the busy road. Since the road being busy, his sudden run while crossing rescued him of an accident off a speeding bus. Eyes relaxed! Then again, were focused up upon by an ambulance awakening not only my eyes, but also my next sense the ears! The fishy thing was the two ambulances, one followed by the other! However, since the two wheeler was on the wait of the green color, I couldn’t help the curious mind finding the reason behind the two simultaneous ambulances. Finally, as soon as the red left and green arrived, all the 2 wheelers and the four wheelers (majorly) again got into the race as 120 seconds earlier. Those 120 seconds were a little break from an unconscious race of wheels. Next came an old beggar wrapped up in a quilt sitting on the footpath,

india-beggars-home-2010-8-21-7-40-56 with his needy eyes giving a quick glance here and there  as if they were waiting for someone to come and change his life, as if they were in search of a hope someone may come and give him changing his world. However, those two seconds into that beggar’s eyes touched my heart deep inside. Another was a man whom I was trying to make aside by applying the horn, but he being so busy amused me . Busy with his earphones! And why not?!  The music he was listening to would have definitely been more soothing than the noisy horn. It was then when I entered the lean, that I saw a typical cultural folk of Rajasthanrajasthani-folk-dance which gave me a feel of being in the place and urged one of my old desires of visiting the city of kings.

By the time I could come out of the city in my dreams, an amazing aroma of Jalebi and Kachori (typical street food in India) triggered my nose such that I could not resist from having one!1 Those two wheels moving round and round took me to the miles. . . The miles towards my way back to home. The miles towards my way of life. children-flying-kites_20101008083609Flying kites in the clear sky with the setting sun and the evening orange clouds, made me feel heaven!

And last was a new life, that touched my heart few days back. The puppies! Who lived near my house! Their encircling me, on reaching home made feel the essence of the beginning of a new life.   street-puppies

Beautiful was the 15 minutes ride !

Beautiful was that 15 minutes 2 wheeler observation – way back to home .

Agony Of Betrayal

Game of the deceiving life is such,299d5b25cf5f94a47fd6016fd4ff59f0

A man walking all alone on a deserted footpath into a dark lane, keeps walking, walks a distance, walks few steps more and gradually covers a mile.

He walks absolutely alone, all about himself with none to hold his hand. He puts his hand in the  pocket and continues walking.

On covering miles, accidentally he comes across another man of his kind. He finds a similarity, as finally he found someone just like him.

Calls him his friend!

Now there was someone to hold his hand. The walk continued…

Continued. . .550f325b4daf47370211dd4c6da80d92

Peace. . .

Friendship. . .

That loudness of the joint laugh, those dishes with a shared food in them, two feet on the footpath doubled to four gave a lonesome a partner.

But life never stops playing. . . The deceiving life is such that a man can’t bear the change. Unexpectedly destiny turns the tables all over. . .

Holded hand again went into the air and now even the pocket felt helpless.

Weight of lifting the hand towards pocket felt extremely heavy.

An unbearable pain it was. Pain of a betrayal and that too because of  a dear one. . .

The hand left in the air, struggling to reach the very pocket made the heart cry.

Heart cries. . .

. . . .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

” If a spark begins to flare, then rain douse it out,c717f05ebb46bc38367551d1452b6b31

But if the rain is the one setting fire, who shall douse it?

When autumn uproots a garden, spring  makes that garden bloom

But the garden that withers in spring, who shall make it bloom?

Don’t ask me how the temple of (my) dreams crumbled,

This doesn’t concern the public, it’s the tale of ones dear to heart.

When some enemy causes a wound, then a friend heals it,

But if the close friend is the one inflicting a wound,

Who shall help heal?

There’s no saying what would have happened,

Or what would have I done.

I drink  so I’m alive,

If I didn’t drink. . . I’d die.

When the world makes you thirsty,

Wine quenches the thirst.

The thirst wine awakens,

Who shall douse it?

I admit,

There’s a little one can do against the storm,

But this is not the fault of waves,

It’s the fault of someone else.

A boat caught midseas is steered to safety by oarsman,

But the boat that oarsman sinks,

Who shall save it? ”

(A translation to bollywood song- Chingari koi bhadke)