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You know what, no matter how hard you commit something to yourself, but you do change for the loved ones.


I hated two things.

One – People calling “baby” in relationships.

Two- People calling loved ones “bacha”.

And when I say I hated them, then believe me, I was a die hard hater.

 But now,

Because of someone, I’ve started loving the word baby like anything. It’s like now I crave them to call me that.

Because of my best friend, I’ve started loving the word “bacha”. She use to call me bacha. I use to kind of hate that. And now the scene is, I call her “bacha”.


I don’t believe at myself. It’s a change that was almost impossible to happen. But I guess you do change in love. And by change, I mean change for the good. Don’t you?


Strange. Isn’t it?


This is no poetry, prose. Just a random thought that I shared straight from my one note.

And also, I am finally back after months of inactivity due to cliché busy rat race life schedules.

Hoping to hear from you people.

Do share you thoughts and memories if any. 😀

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.

I fear my fear. Why is it so?

Why is it so?

When expectations seem to obey and dreams follow the intentions, then an unexpected, an unwelcomed fear develops and takes a corner in the room of happiness.

When someone touches my heart so much so that i get bound to them, then suddenly from somewhere the breeze of separation wipes that smile off.

When heights seem closer, destinations are no more blurred, then the fear of slipping, the fear of falling haunts me.

It feels like a vacuum, with minimal friction and no gravity.

Why is not everything permanent in this universe?

Why isn’t so?

Someone will have to leave one day,

Happy phases will transform someday,

The loneliness, the silence has to retake once again.

Why is it so?

When crowds seem to make me laugh,f94cef5b93f249d6f3baf86ca9b01eb8

When a group of people seem to be a family,

When people are there all around to help me,

To cheer me up;

To console me; to be my hand in solving problems;

To motivate me;

To make me laugh; to be a reason behind my smile;

To keep me occupied;

To make me forget the 24 hours of the day;

To make me love my life;

To make me cherish every moment;

To wipe my tears off;

In essence making me laugh out loud,

And when those people become my habit,

And i get used to them,

When things seem to be sorted out,

Then, why that fear of loosing everything and again being alone runs up my nerves?

Why do I need to teach my pupil every single second to adjust according to the light of life?

Why that fear dries my throat?

Why does that blurs my vision?

Why is it a leach sucking my blood?

Why does that create a hustle in the synced cells of my mind?

I fear those streets of silence!

I fear my fear of losing.34eda8bad40e1dcd2cc9bd7b9ee38ec3

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 .



Let the words be unspoken …

Let the feelings be unshown …

Let the hidden magic be hidden …

Let the hidden magic happen …

Terry a little !

Leave the ends opened …

Don’t Force,

Let the skies shimmer,

Let the mysteries unfold …

Let the magic be untold,

Terry a little !