A Bit of the Real

The birds were flying to gather food in v-shaped patterns; chirping, singing, diving in the golden sun. The sun was feeble today, and it's rays could not make an effect on the shivering earth. It had been less than ten degrees these days, giving just a reason to snuggle in the bed exceeding the sleeping time limits. Amidst all, there was this school, with pupils yawning in the first lecture, and the workers relishing hot tea. A cold wave tore through the sweat shirt his mother knit for him as KC looked at Nick. Beside him was Joy. "I doubt if that keeps him warm for long...", he thought as he admired his thick fur jacket his dad sent from Canada. They were, in all, four of them. Soon, they would be asked to remove their sweaters and then run all around the school at least five times. Then, they would have to empty the dustbins of every class into the main bin. By the time it would be over, it would be time for the first break, and their classmates would laugh

Where was the wind When the sails were down? And the sun on the horizon, Like a divine crown; What I have come for? I don't want any fame! I just want a chance to, Give a meaning to my name! "phat...!" Joy slapped the back of the KC, aka Krishnacharan. "Bholu.. where are you lost?" He said. KC was rubbing his eyes, as if woken from a deep dream. He looked at Joy in disbelief, rubbing the back of his neck, trying to sense the place where he had hit him. Joy: "Did you do the drawing home-work?" KC: "Yes.." "Show..." KC produced a sheet of paper from his back. It was painted in the shades of blue, red and yellow. "Aw.. what is this?" A thick voice came from behind. Soon, the sheet was ruthlessly snatched. "Hey!!" KC startled, "Nick! Give it back!" A well-built Nikhil Arora was all giggles when he heard KC plead like a baby. "What do you think you've drawn in this piece of shit?" Nick was dem

The afternoon was hot. It seemed like the sun was eternally thirsty, because the lips, throat turned dry as quickly as she drank. Periodically, a wave of warm breeze blew about her, which she felt like a boon of the wind god, for it made her clothes almost wet with perspiration cold. Her palms were perspiring, too, and the handle of the cloth bag was trying to slip from the grip, as it was heavy. It would seem like a curse, with the bulky bag and perspiring clothes, that one has to board a crowded public transport bus, where people stick so close to each other that lungs refuse to breathe. While she was wishing that all would end soon, and that finally she would be at her home, having a glass of water under the new fan, the woman left for home. "Sarala!?" came an anxious, familiar, tiny voice. She looked behind, amidst the mass of perspiring faces. From within the crowd, a fair face was on her toe-tips, eagerly looking at her. "Kusum! Hey.... how are you??" Sarala e