Poems & Short Stories

  To my space, It has been a long time since we met. The quiet and the bliss we used to have in the arms of each other, I missed that. And hence, I wanted to step in and make up for it. For the shared times that crept by, in the thunderclaps of daily routine. Here the winter has started slowly settling in, slowly raising its glorious visage to rule over the sun. Sun takes a downy rest and catches its feverish fervour a little late nowadays. It feels good to sip coffee and soak in the balmy weather before the wild routine waylaid us. The holiday mood has set in everywhere. Christmas naivety, cribs, barns and star-crowned Christmas tree glimmers brightly on almost every shop window, enveloping the city with a warm, crushing hug. It is like the universe coming together to chase the worldliness and folly, by smiling a little longer and listening to the harmony a little deeper. With the new year just casting its glance to get embraced by us, it is a nice time to get reflective a...

   Unputdownable thriller and nail-biting mystery. Author just reels you into this masterfully told story. A premise that promises a great experience but at the same time shakes your inner core. A perfect whodunit murder mystery that will set you sailing with a detective hat searching for clues and doubting every character that orbits around the saga. A larger-than-life painter married to a photographer, lives in a palatial house. One evening, the photographer husband is shot. And not just that, his painter wife who held him last refuses to utter a word. What ensues further makes the people engaged in the search as wild goose chase. Beautifully spun, the tale just pulls you into its labyrinth and Poirot’s ghost just takes over you. Many a times, I stopped to work out the conflict, revisit all that had been said by some characters and draw out some discrepancies in their dialogues or behaviour. But not to get overwrought but just move with the words, I pulled myself together,...

Anne of Green Gables - A masterpiece in literature.  Engrossing, amusing and a read that promises to keep you transported for hours. L M Montgomery has penned an absorbing body of imagination and created a character who gives substance, value and meaning to her literature form. Anne is a gem of sorts, an embodiment of imagination or maybe the word imagination finds a true meaning when it attaches itself to Anne. Anne with an E, ofcourse! That you won’t forget if you have read this novel because Anne won’t let you. A simple, ordinary story told with simple characters whom you will cherish for lifetime. They will outgrow their simplicity and become extraordinary as you flip the pages. Montgomery has given every character a rope wherein the scope of growth is meticulously chalked out. Take for example, Marilla, a head strong woman who doesn’t feel right to let go her emotion and is strong enough to hold her tongue and not fritter the praises on Anne transforms into a mellowed woman to...

  Maya gave an involuntary shake as that memory flashed in front of her. She remembered every small detail of that everyday ritual. How could she not! She used to get restless to see Satish and desperately wait for those magnolias he gave her. Jaya always envied her and she went all green-eyed looking at those magnolias in her hair. That was so childish of them, she thought. Nevertheless the memory gave a reason to put a smile on her face. That face which lost the path of smiles and embraced a perennial frown. With the letter on one hand, she got up to examine those magnolias that they planted it together. They were given by Satish’s aunt on his birthday and what did he do with that. He urged Maya to take it with her and when she gently rebuked him for giving his own birthday gift, he came along with her post school hours and planted it on his own. Robbed off all plausible excuses, she had to submit to him and his childlike requests. The bright little magnolias winked at her, s...

  Once upon a time a frog Croaked away in Bingle Bog Every night from dusk to dawn He croaked awn and awn and awn Other creatures loathed his voice, But, alas, they had no choice, And the crass cacophony Blared out from the sumac tree At whose foot the frog each night Minstrelled on till morning night Neither stones nor prayers nor sticks. Insults or complaints or bricks Stilled the frogs determination To display his heart's elation. But one night a nightingale In the moonlight cold and pale Perched upon the sumac tree Casting forth her melody Dumbstruck sat the gaping frog And the whole admiring bog Stared towards the sumac, rapt, And, when she had ended, clapped, Ducks had swum and herons waded To her as she serenaded And a solitary loon Wept, beneath the summer moon. Toads and teals and tiddlers, captured By her voice, cheered on, enraptured: "Bravo! " "Too divine! " "Encore! " So the nightingale once more, Quite unus...

  William Blake brought in usual naturalness (which was also one of the themes of that era) in this poem. A boy dons the hat of first-person and exhibits his boredom in the structured format of schooling. He prefers to explore in the wilderness, with the fragrance of the blooms, and with the chirping raga of feathered creatures or in the mountain wastelands.   He finds joy and comfort in the routine undertakings of the morning when he says in the first stanza   “I love to rise in the summer morning, the distant huntsman winding the horn and the skylark sings with me”.   The second stanza drives the joy away from the boy’s mood when he thinks about how he, along with his mates, will be forced to be observed under the cruel eye (which can mean a teacher in this parlance). And he doesn’t want that to happen. The boy stresses on the problems of formal learning and thinks that there is nothing that he cannot learn in the natural world. Schooling stifles innate imagi...

  I recently heard someone tell that people should not be told what to read. They should not be looked down upon if they pick up anything which falls under run of the mill genre or anything which doesn’t fall under the roof of classic or profound reads.   After all, it is just a hobby which is carried out for FUN. This is true because we do have a choice in holding a book. We do have a choice to read what we like. Like we have a choice in music, television shows and food we eat. Moreover, there are so many genres and sub-genres to choose from the vast expanse of bound volumes. I have myself encountered many people who try to impose their liking or choice in others’ lives. They extend this quality of theirs in the arena of books too. They will not waste any opportunity that comes their way to throw their unsolicited advice. Be it what to wear, what music to listen, or what books should one read. They have their own regimented method or rules and they want everyone to follow...