Pens and Pages

My stories of sheer stupidity needs documenting. This one needs to be a blog post for when my memory wouldn’t remind me of the glorious night that kept from an epic trip to an epic failure within minutes, this post would always be there to remind me of my experience. It was all going well – as planned. I met Vibhor (Dhote) in the Zagreb Bus Terminal on an early morning to reach Plitvice by noon. Of course we had some trouble finding each other in the terminal because I had no internet connection and I went to the wrong shop at first, but my memory doesn’t aid me with those details for what entailed in the evening was far more chaotic. In a nutshell, we met each other just in time to catch the bus Dhote had booked. Yes, the credits of planning the trip goes to Dhote for I love it to just show up and go with the flow. I remember the previous evening at Zagreb, all I did was ask the hostel receptionist to tell me about the important spots, take a map from him and just walk whereve...

On some nights When no one else is awake She sits on my chest. She walks in and out of the door Till I recognize her face. And when he falls asleep In my arms, She gently cuts his throat And lets him bleed till dawn. She is named As she should be - The ugliness of glee. And the corpse That lie beside me now Was no one but a memory...

I took a step And it dragged my body along. I don't wanna go, For I know what's behind that red door. I fear I may ruin, What has already been torn. They say Fear is nothing But your future in your nightmares. When I sleep these days, I see that red door. The door bleeds And the cave, it guards, Shrieks at midnight. I don't wanna go. But on some dark nights, When the moon disappears, I find myself caged Behind that red door.

Dreary and Tired, Eyes of the night. Words too worn out To yell, to fight. Drained out of The hope for tomorrow, They look at each other, At each other's sorrow. Eyes too used to cry; They are shut now. A dark sky, Another starless night, 3:00 am And the tale called life. - Sanhita Baruah

Ever tried dreaming of those broken shards again? Nay, I dare not. Not now, now that I dwell in this forest Of that what cannot be found, Of the pieces she picked up And stubbed on each branch Of the tree I so loved. Ever found those pieces? They say they're gone now, Lost in the forest of memories. They say, love still remains; I see fire, I see destruction And a dark night of vengeance. To dream again of those shards I dare not, I dare not.

At midnight, I lie on my bed, All soaked, all drenched, In the tears of the past I lay awake and contemplate I wonder and regret About the deeds of the past She sits by my side While my tears, I hide And we talk about the past We weep and we cry Until the tears go dry  Cognizing the past She pats my back As our pains slack And we learn from the past We soak no more Our ships set ashore And we leave behind the past.

This entry is written for a contest of Indiblogger  http://www.indiblogger.in/getpublished/ I was just wandering on the corridors of the school after my geography class with my fellow IXth grade classmates. And there was he, crossing our aisle smiling at one of my friends. Awestruck, I took a moment to regain my consciousness. ;) Clever me, I did not waste a minute and asked my friend who was he. And within seconds I gathered as much information about him as possible. "Teddy bear" was the first word that came to my mind (and also to my lips) after recalling him once more. A silly name it was to give to a handsome and yet cute guy christened Rahul. But for the next two years he spent at our school, this became his nickname. Ovations to me :). But he was not someone who would sit quietly after learning that I gave him a nickname just after a few days of him joining class XIth. Just the day after we got introduced to each other by our mutual friend priyanka, he star...

If I have to narrate the story of my marriage, the entire story, well, then it might take a week or two for you to read. So making the long story short let me take you directly to its climax. It all began with a phone call; A phone call that was the root of all our differences. “so.. wanna go out tomorrow?” it was the first thing he said after I picked up his call on the landline (In those days cellular phone was a luxury for only those who were willing to pay bills for their incoming calls too). Mother was waiting nearby so I could not say anything that might seem “bad” to her prying ears. As suspicious as ever she sat by my side pretending to look at one of the fashionable fountain pens I had between my fingers. “ Yes, I was just doing the homework, it will be done by midnight.. I will hand it over to you tomorrow at college.” I answered him something totally irrelevant to what his question was. “Huh? Oh.. ok.. see ya.” He hung up. After answering...