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...

When the thoughts go in circles, but refrain coming out of the mouth, when the desire to whisper is lost, replaced by a scream and shout, When the cause to survive life, is itself bound in chains, what can i do but lament, over my self-imposed pain? Questions are there but, the answer is one, Let time heal the wound, boy, soon the pain will be gone!

It was dark.... and moist... The air was heavy.. and the lungs tried hard to breathe.. The heart was pounding in the rib-cage... And in the stomach, there was fire... It was not anger. It was hunger. The man with the mic announced... "Now, ladies and gentlemen, I am going to introduce among you, our very own.. Shivcharan Sharma..." There was a thunderous applause. Someone whistled. It was darkness. Dad could not see anything, either because of his hunger, or because it was too dark.. Why was he there? He couldn't know... He looked around. His son was nowhere.. "Mr. Sharma, all our audience out there wants to know how you attained such a success in your business.... could you oblige us by a few words.."? Dad looked at himself. His clothes were rags. His skin was dirty. His nails were uncut. He didn't know what to say. Was it a joke? he thought. "Mr. Sharma.. your wife has been a vital support to you. She played an important role in your progress. Could...

It was cold, the sun risen, Respectably high in the sky; White clouds spread around, And some late birds passing by; Carrying him in her arms; There she was, on the bed; She stared at him and then the dad, What a nice gift they had had! His face was bright as the sun, So sugar-sweet was his smile; Starry bright were his eyes, Happiness flowed like the Nile! At last, mom and dad looked at each other, and then their baby. "Wow..", dad whispered ".. now we are mummy and daddy.." "Not just two of us, dear!" mom replied, plucking his nose "It's mummy, daddy, and our sweetu sweetu baby.." "Well.." dad wondered, "We can't call him a baby all the life..!" "????" "He must have a name...!" "He HAS a name... !" "Well, you didn't tell me..." "I did... remember the night at the riverside? That shooting star...??" "Yes, I remember.... it was a cool summer night.. and suddenl...

Why do you tease me, By staring in my eyes? Your mind’s still elsewhere, What you’re saying is lies! While I lack the strength, To say it in your face; You know what I’m thinking, Cause you can see the trace; Of the question building, From nothing in my mind, Still, for answering that, A proper time you don’t find; And you let me drown, In the ocean of confusions; As I try to breath and float, By making out conclusions; Of the language that your, Eyes speak when they stare; Why do you play such games? This will lead us to nowhere!

How nice it would be, If all earth was ice! Even a brief appearance, Of the sun would feel nice! But now that it burns, On the top our head; Its existence is forgotten, As if it was dead. No one really cares for, What one really has got; It is for what we don’t have, That big battles are fought…

What is love? Can you define love? If you think that love is a magical feeling that takes us in a new world, you are surely mistaken. The fact is that love itself drags us into a world of pain and agony. We become selfish in love because we don't remember anyone except the one whom we love. Isn't it selfish? There may be many people who would have played an important role in finding you love, but once you get it, you forget them. Another fact is that love makes us possessive and jealous. We want to stay all day with whom we love, and we hold to them so close that sometimes it is a bit suffocating for them too. We rob them of their personal space, and keep demanding things from them. Yes, we give and then take, but what if what we give is unnecessary? We become jealous of all others with whom our loved one is involved. We wish we were there in everyone's place. We wish we could do all that they are doing for him/her. We wish there was no one around. And thus, starts the dark...