A Dreamer's Destination

Picture Credits: Sheela Pillai She dreamt of the ripples that mirrored every word in her heart, she dreamt of the memories that kindled the past with heavy brushes, she dreamt of love-struck flowers  that yearned for shadows of the sun, she dreamt of all the wreckage the meteors had showered over her soul, she dreamt of the fingers  that burnt the fire, she dreamt of the voices that seeped through the rustic winds. She dreamt of him. She dreamt of her. She dreamt of everything the universe would never understand. She dreamt of you.                                                                    -Vasanthi

Rowing through the spirals of memories that stalk my life, I squish, swirl and stumble as I see myself flipping through the pages  of the million people I remember. One of them was a woman, who grabbed a random kid  running in the corridor  and said “I loved the way you laughed today”. A minute later I saw that kid walk away with a smile on his face. A teacher, she was. Handled none of my classes but taught me something that was way beyond books, chalks and blackboards. There was a young girl the other day who wouldn’t take her eyes off the window. “Is it the chocolate shop that you’re looking at?“ I ask and she says “no, I’m looking at that raindrop that is yet to dry”. and all I could do, was smile. Yet another day  I saw a guy run,  as though he was running a race, all alone. But later I realized  that he had seen an old friend, walk across the road and all he wanted to do was make up for the time he lost. These are just a few among the many w...

www.flickr.com Heavily pre-occupied faces rush in and rush out of varied cemented structures, holding inked papers, that demand answers for  curious questions and one among these interrogative lines is your, Nationality.  A  doctor  delicately places the sheet on the wall,  and holds the pen like an injection  and writes 'I' “I know for a fact that lying beneath you, are a million morals, habits, legends, myths and miracles that you have been fed with by your native society,  after all you were an Indian child” he says to himself and smiles as he writes the very first letter of his nationality.  An artist  blooms colourfully, and holds the pen like a paint brush to write 'N' “Now that you are already grown up and you have seen Muslims, Hindus and Christians mingle,  you are sure that beyond conflicts, your country still upholds unity in diversity” she whispers as she paints the second letter. ...

As I enter a coach packed with busy women, whose hands tightly grip, sandwiches, hand bags, papers, pens and some anxiety. I find an empty seat beside a woman who was intently caressing her mobile screen, so I slipped in, unnoticed. Her thumb swipes through photographs, one after another, slowly, back and forth. And all of them showed three kids, with positions flipped, emotions mirrored, costumes flaunted and all smiles. She smiled along and so did I. ‘She must be going  back to work, a Monday morning ritual’, I thought. But I knew that she wasn’t back from home yet and I know she never will be, for a mother, she must be...                                           - (c) Vasanthi

Picture credits - Google Images All the colours that I'd  ever see, flashed across her face as she spoke about her childhood A childhood that showed her what it meant to be happy and helped  her  find invisible hands, that held  her while she walked. She placed her fingers  against her  stomach, as though to feel those momentary butterflies. And her teenage, blushed. A teenage, that saw  recklessness, curiosity, illusions, vibrant clothes, giggles, gossips and  handsome boys. She smiles instantly and looks into my eyes with rays of experience, as she tells me about her adulthood. An adulthood, that found her soul mate, made her a  master chef, and taught her the A to Z of multitasking. She suddenly shifted her gaze  towards the window and said“you must know that I once, kissed the rain, meddled with wet earth identified flowers, cycled  across...

                                    EY ES                                                                   Picture  Credits: Google Images Those that, shimmer with pride, laugh in agony, doubt with confidence, wander in boredom, shoot questions, hide in fear, lie casually, shower peace, smear love, smirk in sarcasm, dive into the ocean of thoughts, radiate power, narrate  stories, read your minds, reflect, help you find yourself, and there are also some that look beyond. I've  seen them all but I still look for more, because to see the world, through a million different pairs, give me a mi...

I AM THE SON OF THE SUN - RADHEYA My Birth, a childhood mistake, of my innocent mother. An untimely experimentation, Of a well deserved boon. Curse not the sage who granted, Curse not my ashamed mother, Curse not my helpless father, Curse not anyone, it was my destiny, and I had to play ! My life, tactfully coloured, with haunting childhood dreams. with unconditional love from my unfortunate foster parents. With passion for a skill of the kshatriya clan to which I knew not I belonged. With the purest form of loyalty to those who stood by me. with mistakes, unforgivable. With my generosity and courage, well  acclaimed. with battles against my foes who unexpectedly turned to be my brothers. With consistent curiosity and rage to tear up the curtain of illusion and peep into the intentionally buried reality !   My death , On a battle ground. Unlike any other warrior, the result of an unintended lie to my b...