Pimple problem

I am home! Disha exclaimed entering her shared apartment.
Response not received.
Disha peeped into Anandi’s room.
Anandi was sitting in front of the mirror. She looked back with despair. Puzzled Disha asked, “Any problem?”
“Yes. I have got a pimple!” with teary eyes.
“Are you insane?! You scared me” Disha disgusted.
“… I have my photo shoot tomorrow and this pimple is a problem.” Anandi answered.
“Indeed” Disha thought “ Pimples are problems or problems are like pimples. People can see it, judge it, and advise on it. But the person who has it knows the pain and consequences.

MAD? YES!

They called me mad; they called me crazy! They said, you’re thinking way too much. But what does the word ‘life’ mean without an inch of insanity? Wouldn’t it be bland and mundane? Where would the room for introspection and growth be? Where else is the origin of new notions? Who were the ones hailed in history? Those who were ‘mad’. If I were to be remembered later for something I was called ‘mad’ for, I’ll rather be it. Madness is the catalyst of thoughts, the catalyst of change and evolution.

Revenge to Peace

In the valleys of Kashmir, a boy collapsed with a father's last breath. The echo of gunfire stole his innocence, leaving behind a thirst for revenge. He wandered into the problem of militancy, his heart pounding with every step, his resolve incises in sorrow. he confronted the perpetrators, his heart pounding with violence. In the clash of gunfire, justice was served, but amidst the smoke and rubble, he found no solace. For in the revolving of revenge, he realized that true peace could never be faked from the fires of hatred.

Gangadhar pays a visit

Since his retirement, I miss him and his unpolished wisdom. Today he is visiting our office for some pending business.
"How are you, Sahib?"
"I am fine, Gangadhar. How are you? How is everyone at home?"
"Everyone is fine. My daughter has got a job. But it is Work from Home", Gangadhar seemed displeased.
"That's great. Why, what's the issue?"
"She projects she is happy. But, as parents, we are worried if she really is."
"Why do you say so?"
"She doesn't even buy new clothes, as she doesn't have to go to the office. The little joys seem lost!"

Shades of Sanyasa

In the timeless embrace of solitude, they find solace.
Amidst the dust of worldly vanities, they seek the essence of existence.
Through ascetic paths, they journey, adorned in saffron hues.
In their eyes, a silent wisdom whispers the secrets of the universe.
Behold the sadhus, guardians of ancient wisdom, seekers of eternal truth.

Sacred Ties

As the wedding procession faded, Arjun and Meera stood, hearts heavy yet filled with joy.
"She carries our love with her," Arjun murmured, his voice a mix of pride and melancholy. Meera nodded, tears gleaming, "And she leaves behind her laughter, her dreams."
They turned their home, now a silent testament to Sia's vibrant presence.
"Our little world will be quieter," Meera whispered. "But our hearts fuller," Arjun added, embracing her. "She's not just ours anymore."
In that embrace, they found strength. Their love had given Sia the wings to start her journey, intertwined with their blessings.

Perplex

"Wow! This is so fun," Shlok and Spriha were elated at the Games World. "Love you, Dad", they hugged Samar. "As promised", he winked.
--------------
"The report cards", said Rashmi ma'am. "The grades are average! Wonder what will happen in Class 3", she continued.
Soma and Samar remained silent.
"If you bring good grades, I will take you to the fun games', said Samar at bedtime. The twins listened quietly and slept.
--------------
The 1st term grades were all shining in the Class 3 report card.
Looking at the playful kids, the parents wondered - childhood innocence or good grades?

Post it now

New Year's Eve. The streets are decorated with imaginative lighting.
"There," the dad said. "Stand in front of this light. You throw up Khushi and catch her."
Mom smiles. "Yeah - it will make a lovely mother-child pic."
After 3 takes on Dad's smartphone, they have one they like.
Mom is eager. "C'mon - post it now."
"But why is Khushi complaining?"
"Oh, she wants us to keep throwing her up. She likes it. But my sari will be spoiled."
They put the reluctant toddler down.
"C'mon Khushi..be a good girl. We did it 3 times, no?"

Eternal Dedication

Amidst thunderous cheers, the councillor proclaimed, "Our beacon of inspiration, Didimoni, shines brightly today!"
Students, staff, and parents surged forward, faces glowing with pride.
Student: "Didimoni stayed after retirement, just for us!"
Another: "Her love for us knows no bounds!"
Tears welled in Didimoni's eyes as she approached the stage, embraced by colleagues.
Colleague: "Your passion fuels us all!"
Didimoni, voice quivering, declared, "For every child's smile, for every dream realized, I'll forever serve".
In that charged moment, the school reverberated with gratitude, united by Didimoni's unwavering dedication to shaping young minds.

Ghosting

Rim felt shy seeing him, but Praveen was thrilled.
They caught up on life, sharing stories and laughter effortlessly. Rim found solace in Praveen's company.
Booking a cab, they headed to the theatre, conversation flowing smoothly. By the end, Rim realized she was delighted with them together.
Weeks passed, and Praveen reflected on their fractured relationship, till alone, one evening, clarity struck.
He admitted their relationship was a mistake.

Aur Tum

After a weary wait in summer sun, a cab finally pulled in. Old hindi songs were playing via cabbie's phone bluetooth.

Sensing Rajiv's anxiety, the cabbie turned down the volume. Compassion always helps. Rajiv took the next office call in good mood.

The cabbie's phone rang in speaker. Now Rajiv truncated his call. "You didn't pick up phone since morning!" The cabbie switched off the bluetooth in haste. An unmistakable 'abhimaan' in that voice. "My man is missed," smiled Rajiv.

The call ended soon; bluetooth & music resumed. "Tere bina jiya jayena", followed by " Bade achche .."

The Protector

"Mom I am home!"
"Great Simon. Still on headphones?" she points, knowing he wont hear her.
"I like to listen to dad's songs.."
Rebecca smiles as Simon goes up the stairs to change. A 7-year-old reliving memories of his recently deceased dad.

Memories of their deep loss engulfs her while she cooks Simon's lunch. A moment of carelessness and her apron catches fire. She barely screams once when Simon pours water on her. She's safe.
"How did you know?"
Simon's still on headphones.
"Dad told me to rush down & get to kitchen with a bucket of water."

Not entitled to feel pain

Dad never enquired about her desires. It seemed like he was serving a punishment sentence till he married her off.
She stayed dumb as a plant.
Her husband did not care about her wants. He always decided what should make her happy.
She never uttered a single word. As silent as a plant.
Now her children do her a favour by keeping her at home. So what if they don't spend a single minute with her?
She won't complain. She could not talk. She was not entitled to any pain.
Just like a plant in the world of vegans.

Time and Respect

He was a revered terror in the media house. Only a few could reach the pedestal his juniours put him on. But, always reserved in his demeanour, they would not approach him for guidance.
Then came the day. Pink slips got handed out in bunches. The house wanted was seeking a total overhaul.
I met him again today.
Looking pale. Looking in need. Looking around for respect.
The world has a short memory, even shorter if you are reclusive!

Never Judge by Cover

She had turned up again for her free khullar of tea. Shara recognized her as she mused over her customary mug of coffee. The same rag-tag attire, weather-beaten face, and sunken dull eyes. Wonder why the burly, coarse chaiwallah who counted every penny entertained her.
The old hag looked at her. Expectantly? Shara averted her gaze. Alms had never cut ice with her. A smirking, withered frame passed her. The wrinkled fingers gave a 500 to the chaiwallah. "This is for the past month," the babushka said haltingly.
Shara watched as the chaiwallah returned the balance almost reverently.

Dim and spark

The world was dark
Amongst the spark,
A spark steps in,
Smiles turned laughter,
Brightening the world,
All knew they were
The miracle of fate,
The heal for wound
Was each other.
The world was bright
Amongst the dark,
The spark steps out
Of the sky,
Tears were running
In both
All knew it was
The next right thing,
The heal for wound
Was each other.
The world was shined
Spreading the light,
The dim and spark
Blazing the dark,
Filling the world with
Love and peace.

Toxic Boss

"I have a toxic boss. The way he shouts at me for my errors is offensive and demoralising."
"Switch jobs. You don't need to live with it."
Anand liked the idea. It took less than a month to find a new job.
The new manager was very cordial. Not a single misplaced word.
A couple of months later:
"So, how is the new job? How is the new boss?"
"I got fired last week. Small mistake; much smaller than the kind I made in the old job. But still!!!"
"But the boss didn't shout, isn't that great???"

Family

Lalu. Kali.
The mongrels in our area. For a year, Kali has been getting treatment in a shelter; probably never to recover. While visiting from Chennai every few months, I meet her.
After yesterday, I meet Kali again today. She is unmoved by Lalu's video on my smartphone. I put on the phone sound. Then I see her tears. Kali cries. She misses home; and Lalu.
Lalu trots past me. We meet rarely nowadays; he has forgotten my smell. He turns back; maybe he smelled Kali on me.
"She remembers you," I pat him. She does!

Zombieing

Rim's departure from the office was hurried. Thoughts of work blended with waiting for the weekend. She hailed an auto, unaware of Praveen's quiet resolve to follow her, hoping to meet.
As their vehicles came parallel to each other, Rim was surprised. Contact information swapped. The unexpected reunion promised a new beginning.
Fate had other plans.
A few days later, Praveen left Rim again. The pain of his departure cut deep.

She

She is both poem & a prose,
Her hair the rhythm.
She is both war & a woman,
Her hands the instrument.
She dreams when she bleeds,
Her blood holy water.
She has both said & unsaid thoughts,
Her words the fairytale.
She is both sky & the sun,
Her eyes the witness.
She is a girl & a goddess.