In continuation of Vagabond..
A mystic is a concealer by nature. But, what does a mystic conceal? Answers. Continue reading
A vagabond is a person who has no fixed address.
Hmm, sounds like myself. Continue reading
‘I didn’t mean to tear apart his earlobe!’ I said to my cousin.
‘Oh comeon! You continuously hit him right on his ear!’ He said, reminding me that it was me who was in trouble, yet again.
‘So, what do we do now?’ I asked my cousin who was equally terrified.
‘Let’s go to Nowshera I say, without telling anyone. There would be no way for them to know we are there. Dada doesn’t have a telephone at his home’, he said.
Kya lekar tu aaya tha, kya lekar tu jaayega, Clap. Clap. Clap.
Jis tan mein tu aaya hai, woh bhi yahin jal jaayega Clap. Clap. Clap.
The loud singing of the old man wakes me up every morning before my phone’s alarm goes off. I spend a good half hour lying on my mattress, listening to his thought provoking songs on the rhythm of his clap beats. He invests such power in his tone, it makes no difference that he is singing outside his shop and I am in my room near the balcony of the fourth floor. Ninety minutes later, when I step down to begin my thirty minute walk to office, he is still singing. Continue reading
Many stories begin when we decide to pay attention towards something that is awkward and out of the normal. This one is no different. This is the story of a girl. Or perhaps I should say this is the story of a father. I tend to change my stance because we are, at birth, equal halves of both of our parents. With time, the one parent who inspires us more, takes over the other half part, carves our identity and makes us a certain person for the rest of our lives. The same happened with the girl whose story I am going to tell you now. Her father used to tell her everyday that she is beautiful. Some of the days she believed him. The other days, she was unable to trust the soothing words and wouldn’t react at the love his father poured at her. During those sad days, when nothing could cheer her up, she felt a darkness growing around her. A darkness. Constantly. Growing. Continue reading
It is said that the darkest hour is just before the dawn. It was dark, moonless night, pitch black. One could hear no sound other than the singing of a child. The village was asleep, had been sleeping all night and a child had been singing in his room. The mother of the child was worried because the night was more than half over and the lamp in his room was still burning. She could hear his voice as he sang. She could restrain herself no longer and knocked at his door, “Go to sleep now, my son. The night is almost spent!” Continue reading
People settle very early in their life and the day you settle is the day of death. After that you never live, because life is in exploration – there is no other life. It is in seeking, searching, waiting, dreaming, hoping. The day one thinks ‘Now things are as I wanted them to be’, one relapses into death. People go on living a life which is not really life. To keep living one has to be always on the go, one has to be adventurous. Adventure is a religion in itself. You are always reaching, searching and never really arriving, never really knowing. Continue reading
Live rat race
A blog full of humorous and poignant observations.