Drabble 2
They discussed movies and books and drank a lot of coffee. She loved him, dreamed about him. He once said he loved her. She wasn’t sure of it now. They never held hands, never sat for hours looking into each other’s eyes. ‘Isn’t that a part of being in love?’ She wondered. She had a million questions- for him, for herself and others about Love. She always tried to make sense of his each move and once asked him, ‘Do you really love me?’ He just smiled. ‘Now, What does a smile mean in love?’ She was back to uncertainty.
Wednesday, December 29, 2010
Monday, December 27, 2010
1
Drabble is a extremely short work of fiction exactly one hundred words in length.
Tried out one. Don't forget to count the words!
She looked at her wedding ring and thought, “It’s all over”. They had no choice but to part their ways. She let out a sigh as memories filled her mind and tears filled her eyes. More tears ran down as she removed the ring from her finger. She walked to the study silently. The door was half open and lights on. She was firm with her decision and felt she was ready to speak to him. She opened the door, stood in silence. She wasn’t ready for what awaited her. All that she saw were feet that hung in silence.
Tried out one. Don't forget to count the words!
She looked at her wedding ring and thought, “It’s all over”. They had no choice but to part their ways. She let out a sigh as memories filled her mind and tears filled her eyes. More tears ran down as she removed the ring from her finger. She walked to the study silently. The door was half open and lights on. She was firm with her decision and felt she was ready to speak to him. She opened the door, stood in silence. She wasn’t ready for what awaited her. All that she saw were feet that hung in silence.
Saturday, December 25, 2010
Who is sHe?
I have been very much influenced by poetry. Mostly shayaris. I have made an effort to write a few as well. To those who do not know what shayaris are, those are mostly Urdu and sometimes Hindi quadruples. The most common themes being love, separation and life.
I came across a blog where the blogger’s identity wasn’t disclosed. The blog had hundreds of shayaris. I was deeply impressed reading the various themes reflected, the language and the gracefulness in which the shayaris were written. I wish I could share with you the link but unfortunately the blog is now open only to selected readers.
There was some kind of a smooth flow and seemed to make things so easy. Like everything was so pleasant in the world and there is nothing beyond hmmm.. ah! I fail to even express my feelings in a mere sentence and that person so carefully and beautifully has knit lovely poems out of his feelings (lovely is an understatement).
I have rarely been influenced by a person to THIS extent!
Anyways, I was overwhelmed by the way it was presented and started liking the anonymous writer and for some reason assuming it to be a HE.
One of my friends thoroughly enjoys poetry. He writes some great stuff and is too humble to consider himself to be good at writing.
I shared the link with him as it was something of his interest too. I glorified the poems to an extent which might have seemed unreal but I had a reason! It WAS that good. My friend enjoyed it very much. (Stress the ‘very’)
We were so swayed by those writings that we spoke to each other in similar tones for a few days. Sounded filmy to be speaking that way on a daily basis.
Coming to the point why I wrote this post was, after reading the poems in the blog my friend texted back to me and said, “Whoever it is, she is a complete person, the most beautiful of them all.”
What struck me was, he assumed it to be a SHE. There was nothing so evident in the blog to have implied by either of us that the writer was a male or female. I asked my friend as to why did he think that it was a ‘she’. A shrug and he said he assumed it to be a lady and it didn't strike to him that there is another possibility. I had a similar explanation. It dint occur to me at any point that it could've been a lady.
I still am in search of an answer. Any inputs?
I came across a blog where the blogger’s identity wasn’t disclosed. The blog had hundreds of shayaris. I was deeply impressed reading the various themes reflected, the language and the gracefulness in which the shayaris were written. I wish I could share with you the link but unfortunately the blog is now open only to selected readers.
There was some kind of a smooth flow and seemed to make things so easy. Like everything was so pleasant in the world and there is nothing beyond hmmm.. ah! I fail to even express my feelings in a mere sentence and that person so carefully and beautifully has knit lovely poems out of his feelings (lovely is an understatement).
I have rarely been influenced by a person to THIS extent!
Anyways, I was overwhelmed by the way it was presented and started liking the anonymous writer and for some reason assuming it to be a HE.
One of my friends thoroughly enjoys poetry. He writes some great stuff and is too humble to consider himself to be good at writing.
I shared the link with him as it was something of his interest too. I glorified the poems to an extent which might have seemed unreal but I had a reason! It WAS that good. My friend enjoyed it very much. (Stress the ‘very’)
We were so swayed by those writings that we spoke to each other in similar tones for a few days. Sounded filmy to be speaking that way on a daily basis.
Coming to the point why I wrote this post was, after reading the poems in the blog my friend texted back to me and said, “Whoever it is, she is a complete person, the most beautiful of them all.”
What struck me was, he assumed it to be a SHE. There was nothing so evident in the blog to have implied by either of us that the writer was a male or female. I asked my friend as to why did he think that it was a ‘she’. A shrug and he said he assumed it to be a lady and it didn't strike to him that there is another possibility. I had a similar explanation. It dint occur to me at any point that it could've been a lady.
I still am in search of an answer. Any inputs?
Thursday, October 14, 2010
Attempt 2
The actual poem i meant to write
I sit in front of the piano and wonder
why does one need colour
when there is black and white and white and black
and they are so musical?
Why does one need colour
when the colour of the eyes
themselves are black and white?
Why does one need colour
when we are all destined to walk,
someday, the lonely path of darkness?
Why do I need colours when I know
you wont be back
and all I wish to see
is your silhouette...far far away?
I sit in front of the piano and wonder
why does one need colour
when there is black and white and white and black
and they are so musical?
Why does one need colour
when the colour of the eyes
themselves are black and white?
Why does one need colour
when we are all destined to walk,
someday, the lonely path of darkness?
Why do I need colours when I know
you wont be back
and all I wish to see
is your silhouette...far far away?
Attempt 1
I started writing this poem, was indeed very serious
I didn’t know how it turned out to be something like that in the end. Here it goes...
I sit in front of the piano and wonder
why does one need to see colour
when there is black and white and white and black
and they are so musical
Just then my soul screamed at me saying
“who is gonna solve this goddamn Rubic’s Cube!?”
I didn’t know how it turned out to be something like that in the end. Here it goes...
I sit in front of the piano and wonder
why does one need to see colour
when there is black and white and white and black
and they are so musical
Just then my soul screamed at me saying
“who is gonna solve this goddamn Rubic’s Cube!?”
Disaster master
I want to write something. I don’t have anything in mind right now. I’m sitting with a cup of lemon tea which my mum just prepared. Smells great and tastes greater as always.
That reminds me of the first time I prepared tea, without mum’s help. Dad had said ‘it tastes like a donkey’s pee.’ I had asked him ‘when did you taste THAT?’. After that I never got such a comment, even if did taste awful.
My latest kitchen calamity was quite recent. I had baked chocolate cookies. I had worked really hard for it. I had even given up my precious afternoon nap for that. In the end, I couldn’t even taste it as it came out of the oven with a melted plastic topping! I swear on god that it was a microwave safe bowl and which was used quite a few times and still intact. I saw the cookies right there in the bin. It hurt me to see it lie in there. Coated with plastic. World can turn out very mean to you sometimes. I wait for a right opportunity to give the meanness back to it in some way.
I could hear mum tell the disaster story every person she came across. Even on the phone and to the guests who visited home even after a decade after that event took place. I don’t know if that gave mum any kind of a pleasure, I never asked her not to do so b’cuz every time she narrated, I thought that would be the last time and that she would forget it forever.
The goddamn microwave ruined my probable masterpiece and mum’s pricey bowl.
I hate technology!
That reminds me of the first time I prepared tea, without mum’s help. Dad had said ‘it tastes like a donkey’s pee.’ I had asked him ‘when did you taste THAT?’. After that I never got such a comment, even if did taste awful.
My latest kitchen calamity was quite recent. I had baked chocolate cookies. I had worked really hard for it. I had even given up my precious afternoon nap for that. In the end, I couldn’t even taste it as it came out of the oven with a melted plastic topping! I swear on god that it was a microwave safe bowl and which was used quite a few times and still intact. I saw the cookies right there in the bin. It hurt me to see it lie in there. Coated with plastic. World can turn out very mean to you sometimes. I wait for a right opportunity to give the meanness back to it in some way.
I could hear mum tell the disaster story every person she came across. Even on the phone and to the guests who visited home even after a decade after that event took place. I don’t know if that gave mum any kind of a pleasure, I never asked her not to do so b’cuz every time she narrated, I thought that would be the last time and that she would forget it forever.
The goddamn microwave ruined my probable masterpiece and mum’s pricey bowl.
I hate technology!
I study Marketing but not to be a sales-girl
A family get-together. Dumb as it sounds. Why get together when there is phone, there is internet? Why should I get together when I have no such intention?
I find it of no use. First of all there are these inestimable uncles and aunties whose names you have to remember. Here is the reason. A lady comes to you, ‘You remember me don’t you?’ ‘Yes aunty I do.’ But trust me they don’t trust you when you say that. They want proof. You are asked to name them. If you are fortunate enough and remember their names the talk ends there. If you are star-crossed then the entire ‘aaj kal ke bache’ saga starts off.
Secondly because you need to be ready to answer their everlasting questioning extravaganza.
At one such get-together, an aunt comes up to me and asks her name, my lucky stars were probably had travelled towards the other end of the universe and I couldn’t come up with her name. She introduced herself unbinding her relation with all the possible persons I knew in that room. I wanted to get out of there, as much as expected. She then asked me what I study. I was giving her one word replies when my mum gave me a cold stare. Like one of those ‘be nice to the guests’ kinda stare. The lady asked me ‘what next?’ and a smirk. When old ladies give young girls a smirk, it very specifically means that they have some wedding stuff in mind. I replied saying I will work for a year after masters and probably study after that. I can still-very clearly visualise that shift from a smirk to a shocked expression. ‘Higher studies? How much more higher?’ she asked. I looked up. I don’t know if that crazy gesture was appropriate, it was spontaneous. She was not convinced and threw a few more questions on what I was planning to study and how ‘higher’ I wanted to go. I said, ‘probably will get into some marketing and ad stuff.’ A better quality expression appeared- like there was something churning somewhere deep inside her gut level. She said something which ended the talk abruptly. I dint wish to talk to her anymore, as I found her nowhere in the far vicinity of my intellect. She asked me ‘You are going to abroad to be a sales girl?’
My mum still gets mad at me sometimes for rushing out without replying. Things would have gone too far if I stayed there a moment longer. I would perhaps reply to her saying, ‘No I’m going there to learn if it possible to market some cheap useless commodities like you’. That silences my mum. :P
Yes, very true. Common sense is not so commonly found. WHEW!
I find it of no use. First of all there are these inestimable uncles and aunties whose names you have to remember. Here is the reason. A lady comes to you, ‘You remember me don’t you?’ ‘Yes aunty I do.’ But trust me they don’t trust you when you say that. They want proof. You are asked to name them. If you are fortunate enough and remember their names the talk ends there. If you are star-crossed then the entire ‘aaj kal ke bache’ saga starts off.
Secondly because you need to be ready to answer their everlasting questioning extravaganza.
At one such get-together, an aunt comes up to me and asks her name, my lucky stars were probably had travelled towards the other end of the universe and I couldn’t come up with her name. She introduced herself unbinding her relation with all the possible persons I knew in that room. I wanted to get out of there, as much as expected. She then asked me what I study. I was giving her one word replies when my mum gave me a cold stare. Like one of those ‘be nice to the guests’ kinda stare. The lady asked me ‘what next?’ and a smirk. When old ladies give young girls a smirk, it very specifically means that they have some wedding stuff in mind. I replied saying I will work for a year after masters and probably study after that. I can still-very clearly visualise that shift from a smirk to a shocked expression. ‘Higher studies? How much more higher?’ she asked. I looked up. I don’t know if that crazy gesture was appropriate, it was spontaneous. She was not convinced and threw a few more questions on what I was planning to study and how ‘higher’ I wanted to go. I said, ‘probably will get into some marketing and ad stuff.’ A better quality expression appeared- like there was something churning somewhere deep inside her gut level. She said something which ended the talk abruptly. I dint wish to talk to her anymore, as I found her nowhere in the far vicinity of my intellect. She asked me ‘You are going to abroad to be a sales girl?’
My mum still gets mad at me sometimes for rushing out without replying. Things would have gone too far if I stayed there a moment longer. I would perhaps reply to her saying, ‘No I’m going there to learn if it possible to market some cheap useless commodities like you’. That silences my mum. :P
Yes, very true. Common sense is not so commonly found. WHEW!
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