Category: Life

  • Interview with Ruskin Bond at The Kolkata Literary Meet

    Interview with Ruskin Bond at The Kolkata Literary Meet

    Ruskin Bond, an Indian author of British descent, is an eminent contemporary writer. He prolifically authored inspiring children’s books and was awarded the Sahitya Akademi Award to honor his work of literature. Born on May 19, 1934, in Kasauli, India, he was the son of Edith Clarke and Aubrey Bond.  He lives with his adopted family in Landour, in Mussoorie, India. The Indian Council for Child Education has recognised his role in the growth of children’s literature in India.

    The Room on the Roof, The Blue Umbrella, A Flight of Pigeons, Rusty the boy from the Hills and A Handful of Nuts are the few of his books that make him a gem in the literary world! Ruskin Bond has also been awarded Padma Shri and Padma Bhushan for his works.

    What catalyzed your interest in writing?

    I was a bookworm since my childhood. I always used to read all my favourite authors’ books, and so, by the time I had finished school, I wanted to be a writer too! (Smiles)

    Is nostalgia a better trigger for you than the reality of today?

    I enjoy writing about the past, but the present is after all fashioned by the past. So, both are important.

    Do you consider writing as the means to escape the harsh reality that life throws at us?

    No not at all, because for me, writing has always been the harsh reality. Though, I never made much money from it! (Laughs)

    How would you describe yourself?

    I’m round, pudgy, gregarious…comfortable with myself. (Laughs)

    Has the Indian literary scene changed over the last few years?

    Yes, it has changed considerably, partly because of these literary meets. Now more young people are wanting to be writers and are writing well. So, now there are far more writers than before , and there are far more publishing companies now. Although, publishing is looking up, book selling is going down for some reasons. Though there are contradictions there.

    What are your views on censorship of books in India?

    Over the years, we did not have many books censored in India. Books are censored for political, religious and various other reasons, where the authorities thought that it could be inflammatory in some regions. The book ‘Nine Hours to Rama’ by Stanley Wolpert portrays Godse’s life shortly before and after he had assassinated Gandhi. The book was turned into a film, but was never released. The book was also banned in India. But later when I got hold of a copy of the book, I thought that the book was perfectly harmless. Although the book is still not available, one can order it online and easily get it.

    In ‘The Room on the Roof’, you portrayed how important friendship is in your life. What inspired you to write it?

    I was only seventeen years old when I wrote ‘The Room on the Roof’, and took a couple of years to get it published too. Of course even then I had a full time intention of being a writer, but, what can you possibly write about at that age? You’ve got only fifteen to sixteen years of life experience. So, I wrote on my life but fictionalized my writing to a certain extent. When I had just gone to England, and was feeling very homesick for India, I started writing a diary. When I wanted to write something, I wrote on the diary, which later became the primary basis of my first novel. I took my story to several publishers out of which three or four had rejected it, until I finally found a sympathetic publisher to publish my story. Even then I had to write two or three drafts, before it finally got published. I worked harder on my first novel than I have done anywhere else. (Laughs).

    Tell us something about your favourite poem and book that has touched you very deeply.

    I like the poems of Walter de la Mare a lot. There is this poem [‘Fare Well’] by him which goes …” Look thy last on all things lovely/ Every hour. Let no night/ Seal thy sense in deathly slumber/ Till to delight / Thou have paid my utmost blessing.” This means that look around and appreciate everything you see, because you might see it for the last time. ‘Fare Well’ will always remain my all time favourite poem.(Smiles)

    My favourite story is ‘Typhoon’ by Joseph Conrad. It is a very thrilling story. The story is about a storm at the sea, and there is a ship that is going from Singapore to Hong Kong in a typhoon. It was an old, rattled ship that could have perished in the storm, but the captain of the ship was single-minded and was determined to get to his destination, irrespective of the hurdles in front of him. But after he safely reaches harbor, he gets no reward or credits for that.

    The captain did not care about awards and was satisfied with whatever he has done. However, I don’t like the long stories by Conrad, but his short stories are very good.

    Some people claim to be Gods and God-men. What is your view on that?

    When you are creating something, you are definitely not God. You can contemplate yourself as God-like, but not God. Humans can never become God.

    In the film ‘Junoon’ (1978),alongside the craftsmanship, the language differed from the book it was originally written in. Do you believe that it affects the essence of the story?

    ‘A Flight Of Pigeons’ is obviously written in English, whereas the narrator in Junoon speaks in Hindi and a little bit of Urdu. I always write as simply as possible, so that when people read the book, can easily enjoy it. It was a story set in couple of decades back, and I didn’t want to make it too remote or too academic. But since films in Bollywood industry are largely made in Hindi, so the story had to be rendered in Hindi.

    It is a common notion that an author receives great validation and appraisals if his/ her books are turned into films. Do you believe that in today’s time, movies validate an author’s creative work?

    It all depends on the film. There have been some great films based on books and there have been some terrible films based on literary works. But as far as my own story go, ‘A Flight Of Pigeons’ is not one of my most successful books. Although this book was published by Penguin, it barely sold 1000 copies in the last 25 years…whereas some of my children’s books have been sold in lakhs. So, it doesn’t really mean that if a book is turned into a film, that it’s going to make the book a popular one. ‘A Flight Of Pigeons’ still remains one of my lesser known works, though it has always been one of my better ones.

    Do you think that some more of your books could have been turned into movies, but did not happen?

    Two or three of my books were filmed quite successfully, eg. ‘The Blue Umbrella’, ‘7 Khoon Maaf’ etc. Whereas, nobody knows that there were two stories filmed, and they were so bad that they couldn’t get any distributor.(Laughs) One out of those two films were called ‘The Last Tiger’, where they got a circus tiger to play a role in the movie. The tiger was so tamed that every time it got hungry, it ran back to its cage in the zoo. They couldn’t get the tiger to play it’s role. (Laughs)

    Did you really meet the girl whom you have mentioned in ‘The Eyes Have It’?

    (Laughs) I did meet her! Infact, I have met all the girls I write about! But unfortunately, I’ve lost most of them too. (Laughs)

    Your book ‘Susanna’s Seven Husbands’ is very different from all the genre you usually write in. What inspired you to write it?

    The character of Susanna was inspired from a real lady who lived in the outskirts of Chinsura. She was a very rich, wealthy lady, who was reported to have married 7 times. Most of those men who married her were fortune hunters and she claimed to dispose them in various intricate ways, such as by introducing a cobra in her husband’s bed and in similar ingenious ways. She was the female version of ‘Bluebeard’. She got rid of 7 terrible husbands.(Laughs) Although the storyline of the film (‘7 Khoon Maaf’) was changed in various ways. The film was not quite similar to the book.

    You are the classic example of what Picasso had said,” It takes long time to grow young.” What keeps you motivated and gleeful at this age?

    I guess it’s your nature and how you are born in that way, which remains with you even when you grow older. Although, I think that I am certainly more optimistic and cheerful person now than I was in my teenager years. In my twenties and thirties, I took myself very seriously…too seriously. (Laughs) But now I realize that life can be completely ridiculous at times. We become too philosophical as we grow up and start taking ourselves too seriously. When I was a boy in my twenties, everyone used to tell me that I was ‘too old’ for my age. And now they say that I am ‘too young’ for my age! (Laughs)

    Do you believe that with the advent of e-books, the pure essence of physically holding a book and reading it, is somewhat tarnished?

    The selling of books aren’t going down, but the means of selling are changing as more and more people are buying books online, resulting in some of the bookshops to close down. I won’t say that fewer people are reading. But you see, reading has always been in the minority part. Even when I was a schoolboy, only 3 students out of 30 would read books. And even in those days, there were no television or internet, and people still refrained from reading. But since now there has been a tremendous increase in the number of young educated people, so in terms of number, even the ‘small percentage’ of readers are very big now. This resulted the publishers to publish books and sell them, because now there is a larger market.

    What is the one thing that is absolutely essential in order to become a good author?

    Apart from having a creative mind, the primary thing in order to become a good author is that, you should have a good command over the language. Language is always important, because it is the means through which you are going to communicate with your readers. Whatever language you choose to write in, whether it is Hindi, English or Bengali, you should have a good mastery of that language. Once you gain the mastery of the language, you can easily experiment and play with words and create beautiful sentences, or even create an atmosphere and give effects. Mastery of the language is very important in order to create an atmosphere of the story.

    Your advise for aspiring authors.

    I am at no position of advising them. Some are making more money than I am! (Laughs)

  • Junction

    Junction

    [future] –

    Zian – dang that’s so cool!!

    {stranger} – uh … yeah. Haha!

    Zian – so…. how can I go back in my timeline?

    {stranger} – that is what I am thinking from two months

    Zian – TWO MONTHS!!??

    {stranger} – (sighs) yes mate.

    [narrator] – pretty confusing, isn’t it? Well let’s clear it. This is an adventurous story of a boy named Zian. He was middle class boy who stays at a rural area, and works in a small company situated in an urban area.

    [present] –

    Zian – man it’s almost 9:45, I am really late. It’s too dark man!

    [narrator] – there was only one light on the railway junction and all Zian saw was darkness and cricket voices. Irony is that train was not late, train already left for next station about 20 mins before Zian arrived at junction. He was informed by a man passing by the junction.

    (Zian) – what the heck!! What shall I do now? maybe I shall wait for next train.

    [narrator] – 5 mins later he saw something strange on the platform. It was like a hole in the air, it was releasing a very big amount of grey smoke and the centre of the hole was blue in colour.

    (Zian) – man I am hallucinating. I need to eat something, I guess.

    or … is this real?

    [narrator] – Zian was scared, he walked towards it. He maintained a safe distance, but the gravitational force of the portal was very strong. Suddenly he felt a strong force at his back, it felt like some big creature pushed him in that.

    (Zian) – what the….

    [narrator] – He was fainted, when he opened his eyes. He saw a strong light; he could not see anything for few seconds. But when he saw something…… he could see himself in more than a million cubes and every cube is different from each other. In every cube Zian’s personality was different. His life was different and, in some cubes, there was just nothingness.

    (Zian) – where am I? is this even real?

    Or am I dead? If I am dead is this what Jannat is? Or is this the afterlife in which Egyptian believed?

    [narrator] – Zian was very confused, in spite of all of these Zian was experiencing an unknown sound like someone is trying to say something but the sound was not clear it was like vibrations. He tried to move in to some cubes but it was not possible for him, but then he heard the vibration coming from a cube in which there was nothingness, he tried to sneak into the cube in which there was nothingness. Suddenly he finally got into it. He entered the timeline and cube in which he was not even born or died in that world, he was finally feeling that he is alive and he could finally touch his body, he can feel his body.

    (Zian) – finally I… I am home?

    It doesn’t look like my home.

    am I really in my room?

    [narrator] – he goes down stairs and sees his house is not in a good condition and it is burnt. He sees the board at front door, it says his parents died due to forest-fire. Because of this incident he was not born and there is no one named Zian Ahmed Shaikh.

    (Zian) – my parents died?

    how is this even possible? They were alive last night and why is my name not mentioned here?

    [narrator] – while Zian was drowning in these questions, an unknown man wearing jacket and mask choked his neck and Zian fainted. When Zian woke, he was on chair with ropes tied all around his body, looks like he is kidnapped but he was wrong.

    The unknown man checked his bag and found his id card. After he saw Zian’s id card, he throwed it and he was cheering and happy for no reason.

    {stranger} – no way this is really youuuu!!!

    [narrator] – Zian was confused, so as you are. Well, your doubts will surely be cleared in next part! Till then stay tuned. 😀

                                                                                                                                                                                                            – Smaartiist 

  • Golden Child

    Golden Child

    I (29m) got rejected by my family when I was 23, it was a traumatic experience for me, I am talking about the day when everyone was at my house. It was amusing because my family was nuclear and all of a sudden everybody including my grandparents (74m & 71f) were at my house. Of course, I have to mention that it was the day of anniversary of my brother and SIL (sister-in-law) (33f), yes, my brother john (34m) was married and it was his wedding anniversary ceremony. He was 28 at that time, even tho my family was nuclear my house was pretty big. We had a big backyard in it, it was where the ceremony was organized.

    I am an Introvert so I was feeling awkward being among my family members, yes according to me ESH (everyone sucks here) but not all are TA (total asshole). It is not going to be so great experience for me since I was not very talkative, I thought. I was wrong about this until the cousin with whom I am very close with came, his name is Michael (30m) he was 24 at that time his bday was also in few months. His younger sibling Laurance (26f) also came, I was getting comfortable with her as we met at a function 20 days ago, she was a psychologist. The moment they came I felt relieved as the weight of the burden on my brain got lighter. Michael was a free minded guy, so I have told him about the thing I was going to do. He did not think twice or hesitated to support me, I was thinking AITA (am i the asshole) but when he supports me, I got some kind of confidence, my brother john also knew about it but he told me that it is a risky task to do but he will support me, we all siblings and cousins started partying. my SIL asked john “what are we hiding?”, yeah, she is TA according to me, and even more of an asshole is my brother who answered it! Yeah, you heard it right he answered it. I was so embarrassed! That day I got to know I was the one who’s an TA. How can I not think of her! I still had faith and I told john to handle it. And for God’s sake he did it!

    When all of this is going on suddenly my SIL came told me how I was “The Golden Child of My Family” and how I was everyone’s favorite. I really thought for it and I was now more confused because of this good boy past shit, this was really a pause button for my brain. I was totally blank. Thinking what do choose in this situation, I was not able to find the solution as I was stuck between past and future. Thanks to my cousin Laurance she helped me as she is a psychologist, I underestimated her, she was really a solution finder. Finally, after those few hours of traumatic blankness I was able to decide what I have to do, but it was too late to call her.

    The day was spent well but it ended quickly, the plan was still there and today is the day when I will reveal the truth that I love one girl and I will marry her! It was 9 in the morning when I woke up, man the maddening voice of those spoilt kids. I am damn sure everyone has these kinds of kids in their family. Not only kids but as I said ESH.

    My father (52m) was giving farewell to other family members who lived far away, no worries, he was just lightening my burden although he doesn’t know about that. He is very strict as he was retired from US Navy, furious man with a fat moustache and beard, no doubt, why my siblings and cousins are not so comfortable and friendly with him. Well, I was also frightening about what will happen if I told him, and on the other side I my mother (50f) was with us siblings as my mother is very friendly, we were joking around with my mom. But my life can never be at peace my SIL whispered in something in my mom and her reaction was shocking. Still as she is my mother, she is NTA (not the asshole) unlike my SIL, rather than scolding me she decided to handle things and support me. My mother knew that my SIL is an TA so she in a MIL (mother in law) tone told her not to spread things, as my mother was also on my side, I was very happy and confident, but it was not the end. My father was still remaining, he agreeing on us will be the real win.

    All of the family members except Michael & Laurance were at the house to support me, it was 7:30pm, I called Abigail (29f). yes, she is “HER” whom I mentioned above. “Oh God I have faith in you in and only you, please help this fellow disciple of yours”, I said. She picked the call. “Hello, is everything fine? May I come over? She spoke. I answered say please come ASAP! The doorbell rings, we were confused that is it Abigail or my father? My mother opened the door and it was Abigail. We welcomed her like non other, my mother pampered her very well and we all started to discuss about it. Mother called my name from the kitchen; my mother told me that you’re very lucky but your father is a man of his words he has already said that your marriage will be arrange marriage. “But I also shall have some freedom, I love her and I can’t see any other than her”, I said. You have to say this to your dad dear, mom told.

    And finally, the door bells rings again, everyone saw Abigail as my bestie but now except my father everyone knows the truth. Mom opened the door and my father was there. He was calm and somewhat happy because he was gone to his friend’s promotion party. Little did we know he was drunk also, but we didn’t get any hints of he being drunk. soon we sat at the dining table it was complete silence, “dad I want to tell you that …… I … I love Abigail”, I don’t know what I was thinking but I thought to just say it because the silence was not the answer. “Okay So What?”, my dad told. I was numb, what to do now? but then my mother told my father “He wants to marry her, honey, everyone has rights to do what they want, Miguel is the golden child of our family. “He WAS the golden child of our family!”, father said. “Hey Miguel, leave my house right now!”, I was frightened.

    For few hours my family was arguing, it was the first time someone stood against my father and it was my family. But I guess no one can change the mind of my dad, at last my dad shouted “Miguel leave this house, right now!” it was traumatizing really. Although it was tough but I had to, I LEFT MY HOUSE….  “Will be continued”

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                        – Gaurav soni

  • The Late-Night Aggression 

    The Late-Night Aggression 

    It was the day of Anant Chaturthi of 2018, I (21m) was 19 y/o at that time. The vibe was very positive at that day, I was attending the Visarjana of the Ganesha of our complex. My friend Raghav (21m) was with me. We were of the same age, it was 1:00 at midnight. The place was bhayandar khadi(gulf), that place is already well known for its crime rate. I and Raghav, we both were going towards our home by walking and it was 1.2km away so it almost takes 1 hour by walk. Raghav got call from his home, his dad was scolding him since we both were outside for 7 hours now. But, instead of normal scolding his dad scolded him very badly, he was mad that’s why he put his phone to silent mode. We were half way there to our complex, suddenly we saw a bottle of wine crashing on the road and it shattered all around the road in a particular region. Phew! Grateful that I was not near that area where pieces of glass were shattered, I said to myself. And then we saw a fully drunk guy, of course we knew it was a signal of threat. Yes, a THREAT!!! And you know what was a bigger threat? Raghav being short tempered and he was also mad at that time. I knew if something happens Raghav will react in a bad way, I was wishing that this doesn’t become a street fight. We started walking again, after few steps the drunk guy was also coming towards us. Maybe his home was at khadi, we were facing towards that drunk man and he asked. How much for that watch? none of your business, I said. Notification popped up, He saw phone’s wallpaper which was my mom and me in the picture. How much for that bitch? He asked. Well, you know what can happen, I pulled my sleeves and fixed my finger-rings. Raghav was staring at his eyes like death. You want to be dead? The drunk guy said. Raghav said, not us, but you. Well, she is a bitch that is why I said bitch, he said. Not even a second and my punch landed on his face, it was brutal because I wore rings at that time. The drunk man was running towards me, he fell. Raghav tackled him, well Raghav was a tank according to me, 6’2 and a 102 kg man. No doubt because the drunk guy fell so hard and far. We thought it was the end, but the drunk guy stood up with a piece of glass in his hand. What will you expect in a street fight, he ran towards Raghav. He scratched the hand of Raghav; Raghav punched him and I kicked him on his head. I am grateful that kick was not brutal or else I was in jail right know for attempt to murder. The drunk man fell due to loss of consciousness and we ran towards our complex. Next day we both again got there to check is he alright and he was not there. Maybe he was okay or…. maybe dead. Well, we did not regret it now because it made us more experienced in street fight. But we don’t do it usually until it is necessary.

  • I BET, YOU KNEW THIS..

    I BET, YOU KNEW THIS..

    When you are getting close to a person,

    You knew, one day you are going to get hurt by that person,

    You knew, it takes a lot of time to better yourself after breakup, 

    You knew, breakups are not only for lovers but also for friends,

    You knew,  everything is in your hands,

    You knew, you were great in taking your own decisions,

    You also knew, no one is ready to believe in your decision making skills,

    You even knew, you yourself should believe in your decision, not others.

    You knew, due to the circumstances you are probably facing now made you to forget that :

     YOU ARE UNIQUE IN YOUR OWN WAY, AND YOU WON’T LET OTHERS  SPOIL YOUR PEACE OF MIND, BY THEIR  ACTIONS.

    I won the bet:)

    thank you

  • Am I supposed to?

    why do we love people whom we aren’t SUPPOSED to love?

  • A broken heart

    A broken heart

    Once upon a time, in a city of Edinburg, there lived a beautiful woman named Gracy. She had a smile that could brighten the gloomiest of days and a heart filled with compassion. But behind her beautiful smile, Gracy carried a burden – a broken heart.

    Gracy was a married woman who loved her husband very much but her husband had cancer and he came to know in the very last stage. But he never told this thing to his wife because he did not wanted to see her sad, so he hid this thing from her.But after his death, his wife came to know from somewhere that her husband had died of cancer. She was sad for many months and used to cry in the memory of her husband and now she has stopped smiling like before.

    Her pain stemmed from a loss she could never truly recover from, leaving her shattered and adrift in a sea of sorrow. Since then, Gracy had tried to piece her life back together, but the weight of her grief seemed hopeless.

    Days turned into years, and the passing of time did little to heal Gracy’s wounds. She had become a mere shadow of her former self, drifting through life like a fragile leaf caught in an eternal breeze. Her once-vibrant spirit had faded, leaving her heart heavy and her smile hollow.

    People in her neighbourhood noticed the transformation in Gracy. They would see her sitting alone on a weathered bench in the park, her eyes distant, lost in memories of a love that was no longer present. Some whispered about her broken soul, wondering if it would ever mend.

    One autumn afternoon, as the leaves painted the streets with hues of gold, a young girl named Rosalie stumbled upon Gracy on her usual bench. Unlike others who passed by without a second glance, Rosalie sensed the depth of Gracy’s pain. Determined to bring a glimmer of hope into the older woman’s life, she decided to reach out.

    Rosalie approached Gracy tentatively, her voice filled with warmth and kindness. “Hello, ma’am. Would you like some company?” she asked, her eyes brimming with empathy.

    Gracy’s weary gaze met the young girl’s, and for a moment, a spark of connection flickered in her eyes. She nodded silently, and Rosalie sat beside her, offering the comfort of her presence.

    Days turned into weeks, and Rosalie continued to visit Gracy on that park bench, sharing stories and laughter. She reminded Gracy of the beauty that still existed in the world—the laughter of children, the comforting touch of a friend, and the healing power of love.

    Gradually, the cracks in Gracy’s broken heart began to mend. Through Rosalie’s unwavering friendship, Gracy discovered that her heart had the capacity to heal and find solace in the simplest of joys. The pain would never completely disappear, but she learned to carry it with grace, like a delicate flower cradled in her hands.

    Years later, as her neighbors passed by that same park bench, they saw a transformed Gracy—her smile no longer hollow, her eyes sparkling with a newfound radiance. She had become a beacon of hope for those who knew the depths of despair.

    Gracy’s broken heart had found solace through the kindness of a young girl, teaching her that even shattered pieces could be woven back together with love and compassion. And in that city, where whispers of sorrow had once filled the air, the tale of Gracy’s journey became a testament to the resilience of the human spirit.

  • The Surprise

    The Surprise

    It was a cloudy day. Not too gloomy; the clouds were just the perfect shade of grey. I was getting ready to spend my day off laying on my couch, reading ‘Hold Still’ for the umpteenth time. It was Sunday, the beloved day for all to go hang out with their friends and family. But I had none, at least not where I lived.

    I lived in Bengaluru then, working my new job. It was a great offer; so, even though I had to leave my family back in Odisha, I decided to take the job. The first few weeks were manageable; I was busy with shifting and putting things in order in my tiny new apartment. But after everything was settled, I started feeling the initial pangs of homesickness. I started missing my mom’s cooking, my sister’s annoying giggles, and even our street dogs’ unending howling. In short, I missed even the most annoying things about my hometown.

    Work was good, though it was tiring. We had to work continuously for five hours before getting a one-hour break, and then again work for four long hours. The compensation we got wasn’t bad either; uninterrupted weekends at home, and a decent salary along with social benefits. The toil was worth the fruit.

    I sat down with my breakfast tray, the T.V. remote in hand. I surfed channels until I reached the news channel. Just when I was about to take a bite out of the aloo paratha, I got a call. A smile spread on my lips as I saw the name on the screen, ‘Rashmi Aunty’. I picked up the call after pressing ‘Mute’ on the remote.

    “Hello, Aunty! Namaste!”

    “Yes, beti. Namaste. How are you?”

    “I’m good, Aunty. How about you?”

    “Yes, dear. I’m all fit. By the way, I have a favour to ask.”

    “Sure, Aunty. What is it?”

    “Can you call Priyal to check where she’s reached? That brat isn’t picking up my call. She left home yesterday to give you a surprise visit.”

    “What- O-Okay aunty. I’ll call her right away. Bye!”

    “Bye, beti.”

    Priyal is my best friend. We’ve been friends since kindergarten. And yes, she lived back in Odisha. I really had no idea that she was visiting. I was happy and, at the same time, was a bit disappointed that Aunty spoilt the surprise. I smiled and picked up the phone, hiding my excitement even though I lived alone. I turned my back to the T.V. as I walked into the kitchen, ignoring the news playing on the channel.

    I scrolled through my contacts and pressed Priyal’s name. The call rang for a few moments, but it was unanswered. I tried her other number; that too was unanswered.

    “My girl is so dedicated to surprise me. Poor child! I’m just gonna act surprised,” I said aloud.

    “Ah, dumb me forgot to ask Aunty how she’s getting here,” I said with a facepalm.

    After another call with Rashmi Aunty, I got to know that Priyal had boarded a train to Bengaluru which was to arrive that day at 10.30 a.m. I looked at my watch, it read 9.55 a.m. I decided to go pick her up from the station myself, intending to surprise her instead.

    I changed into a pair of denim jeans and a black oversized hoodie before hopping on my scooty and starting for the station. On reaching the station, I saw that the entrance was unnaturally crowded. People were screaming, yelling, and rushing in and out of the station. There were multiple ambulances with sirens on, the medical staff were rushing into the station with stretchers. Many people were pouring out with bloodied clothes. I began panicking.

    I parked my scooty hastily and ran over to an ambulance. I went up to a nurse and asked, “Sister, what is this situation?” The maiden, who had just finished writing something in a register, looked up at me with distressed eyes and replied, “There has been a severe train accident a few metres from the station, ma’am. There have been many casualties. Please move out of the way and make way for the patients!”

    I stumbled aside as I saw a severely wounded person being brought on a stretcher into the ambulance.

    My mind went blank for a few moments. The only image that came to my mind was that of Priyal; she had boarded a train to visit me.

    She had boarded a train to visit me.

    I rushed into the station and started screaming out Priyal’s name like a mad woman. I collided with many people, some desperately searching for a loved one, some desperately wanting a loved one to find them. Everyone was in hysterics; the atmosphere was one of pure chaos. The air was heavy with dust and the pungent smell of blood. As I neared the edge of the platform, I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket. A great relief washed over me as I saw the name ‘Piyaaa’ flashing on the screen.

    “Hello, Piya?! Are you fine? Where are you right now?” I yelled into the phone the moment I picked up the call.

    “Hello? Am I speaking to Miss Nayani?” came an unfamiliar voice from the other side.

    “Yes? Who is this and where is Priyal?” I screamed into the phone, my voice getting louder with each word.

    “I am very sorry to inform you this, Miss, but your friend Priyal…”

    ———————————————–

    I ran to the reception and asked for the whereabouts of Priyal. The receptionist gave me a room number and a floor number which I blindly jabbed into the elevator. My legs seemed to have a brain of their own as they carried me to a large crowded room. There were around 30 beds in that room. Each bed was occupied by a patient, maimed and still. And beside almost every bed was that loved one who was waiting for their surprise visit. I scanned the room for the face I was looking for; I found it in a corner. I rushed over to her side. A doctor had just finished examining Priyal and was moving on to the next patient with a disheartened look.

    “Doctor, doctor! What is wrong with her? She will survive, right?” I asked desperately, grabbing the doctor’s arm. She held my hand gently and said, “I’m afraid, Miss. You don’t have much time together. We tried all we could. Her spine is badly damaged and 20 of her vertebrae have been crushed. I’m really sorry.”

    These words fell on my ears like lightning bolts. I felt my phone vibrate in my hand. ‘Rashmi Aunty’ was the name on the screen. The phone dropped from my hand. I slowly walked up to Priyal’s bed. She had the same face twinkling with mischief, only it was covered with dried blood and hastily wrapped with bandages. Her whole body was bloodied; her arms and legs were covered with bandages. Her purple tee was discoloured with blood and was torn in many places. The doctors probably shifted her to this room after examining her condition, and ascertaining that there was no hope of saving her.

    There was a drip attached to Priyal, but there was no oxygen mask. The doctors probably didn’t want to waste the precious gas on a lost cause. There was a heart monitor, however, with a feeble reading. I kneeled beside her and took her hand gently.

    “Piya?” I called quietly. She slowly opened her eyes and stared at me blankly. After a few seconds, a light of recognition flashed in her eyes as she squeezed my hand. Tears started blurring my vision as I squeezed her hand back.

    “Why… Why didn’t you wait for a few more days… Why you…?” I muttered in between sobs. Priyal’s pale lips curled into a weak smile.

    “Surprise, honey!” She whispered using all her strength. I could say nothing; all I could do was hold her hand and cry my heart out.

    “Heiii! Now don’t send me off all messy like that,” I heard Priyal’s feeble voice again. I looked up at her. Her eyes were filled with the same innocence that she had when we were kids. I made a shaky attempt to wipe my tears. Putting on a smile as best as I could, I said, “Shut up, dummy. You’re getting back on your feet within days and we’re celebrating my birthday at my place. No excuses now!”

    She chuckled, and I giggled. Tears spilt out of our eyes without us realising. She tightened her grip on my hand.

    “Nayani yaar… Tell maa and baba that I’m sorry for not being able to see them for the last time,” Priyal said, sniffing while smiling.

    “Don’t talk rubbish, Piya! You’re walking out of this horrid place,” I said as if I was consoling myself.

    She smiled wider as I felt her grip loosen.

    “I love you, Nayani. I’m really happy to have you here with me now. I’m at rest and remember, I’ll be watching over you always…” said my best friend on her deathbed.

    “I love you more, Piya. I always will…” I muttered. Priyal’s smile never faltered, but the heart monitor did. It showed a flat line.

    ——————————–

    It’s a cloudy day, even after 10 years. The clouds are the perfect shade of grey, yet it feels too gloomy. It’s Sunday, and I’m on my couch, reading ‘Hold Still’ for the umpteenth time. I’m still in Bengaluru, with no family or friends to visit me, except for the bright jolly girl in a purple tee who still watches over me.

    My phone rings, and a smile spreads on my lips as I see the name on the screen, ‘Rashmi Aunty’.

    “Hello, Aunty. Namaste!”

    “Yes, beti. How are you?”

    “I’m good, Aunty. How about you?”

    “Yes, dear. I’m all fit… I have a favour to ask, by the way.”

    “Sure, Aunty. What is it?”

    “Please live well, my child, and be happy.”

    “I will, Aunty. I definitely will…”  

  • Slumber 

    Slumber 

    It is sheer nothingness. As I look around, I realise I am trying to inspect darkness, for I see nothing but black eerie air, swirling around as if trying to grasp me tight. This has to be a dream- not escapable or fathomable. The blackness knows no level, and stretches beyond my vision. 

    As I try to handle this farrago of emotions, I feel a jolt-the hardest jolt I have ever felt. The darkness with no end, was just the beginning. I can sense no God, as I have been taken away from Him and served to the demon, the closest I have ever felt to him. It is Hell, where no mercy or goodwill prevails. I continue to float in air, with no human soul around. What did I do to land up here? 

    I feel an invisible force trying to pull me down, as I helplessly motion my hands and feet through thin black air. My body falls numb and all my efforts to open my eyes go in vain. The nothingness only deepens, and I surrender to it. Not a soul comes to my rescue, as I muster all my strength to shout for help. No loved one comes for help, not one that I know of. I am crying, but no tear rolls down my cheeks. I lose all my strength, as death befalls. 

    I find myself in the court of the  Grim Reaper himself. Realisation hits me, as I look at the flashback of my own journey of life. I look at the countless sins I committed, the mistakes I made, the lives I shattered. I suddenly recall being in jail , breathing my last, apologising to all those souls I murdered with my own hands. A seriel killer like me deserves hell, if not worse. The experience begins to make sense now, and I am finally at peace. I received what I deserved. 

    As I am put to the pyre in front of Satan, I figure out that life is just a collection of acts. One will harvest what one sows, and karma will spare none,  irrespective of life or death. 

  • “The Enchanted Clearing: Amara’s Journey of Nature and Magic”

    Once upon a time in a small village nestled deep within a dense forest, there lived a young girl named Amara. She had always felt a special connection to nature and spent most of her days exploring the enchanting woods that surrounded her home. Amara’s village was known for its vibrant culture and traditional festivities. Every year, they celebrated the Festival of Lights, a grand event where the villagers adorned their houses with beautiful lanterns and lit up the entire village. It was a magical sight to behold. One evening, as Amara was wandering through the forest, she stumbled upon a hidden pathway she had never seen before. Curiosity overwhelmed her, and she decided to venture down the mysterious path. It led her deeper into the heart of the forest, where she discovered a hidden clearing filled with the most extraordinary creatures she had ever seen. There were mystical beings with shimmering wings, mischievous sprites dancing in the moonlight, and talking animals conversing with one another. They welcomed Amara with open arms, sensing the pureness of her heart and her deep love for nature. Amara spent days and nights in the enchanted clearing, learning from the magical creatures. They taught her the secrets of the forest, the healing powers of plants, and the ancient rituals to communicate with animals. Amara’s bond with nature grew stronger, and she realized her purpose was to protect and preserve the beauty of the forest. Word of Amara’s extraordinary encounters spread throughout the village, sparking curiosity and excitement among the villagers. They began to visit the hidden clearing, witnessing the wonders themselves. The Festival of Lights took on a new meaning as the villagers incorporated elements from the enchanted forest into their celebrations. As time passed, the village and the enchanted forest became interconnected. The villagers recognized the importance of living in harmony with nature and adopted sustainable practices. They established a sanctuary to protect the creatures and the forest, ensuring its preservation for generations to come. Amara’s story was passed down through the generations, becoming a tale of hope, unity, and the power of nature. It inspired many to reconnect with the natural world and appreciate the wonders that surrounded them. Although Amara’s story remained unpublished and unheard of beyond the village, its essence spread far and wide. People who encountered the forest, whether by chance or destiny, felt a sense of awe and wonder. They experienced the magic of the hidden clearing, a place where the boundaries between the human and mystical world blurred. And so, the story of Amara and the enchanted forest lived on, a timeless tale of a young girl who discovered her purpose and brought light to the lives of those she touched. It remained a secret, shared only by those who believed in the power of magic and the profound connection between humanity and nature.