DREAM

This piece is a NONET.

Quoting writetribe:

"A nonet is a nine line poem. A nonet can be written on any subject. The poem starts with a line that has 9 syllables in it. The second line contains 8 syllables, the third line has 7 syllables and it continues to count down to one syllable in the final line (ninth line)... You can also write two stanzas by joining nonet and reverse nonet form."

A bunch of roses, stardust sprinkled

Luminous stars shining brightly

The moon peeps out through the clouds

The blue sea roars aloud

Peace dwells everywhere

Nights are silent

It's not real

I know

Sigh!

It's dream

Let me sleep

Don't wake me up

I don't want to live

In real world anymore

I bid farewell to this world

Let me sleep and dream forever

Of bunch of roses, stardust sprinkled

A DESIRE TO BURN

This is a post for write tribe 100 words on Saturday.  The following piece contains 100 words exact.


***

I knew it was my last day there but I wasn't sad. I was burning with a desire to perish. My heart was melting but deep down there, I was content that I have helped to cure the darkness. I have been able to enlighten. I was able to achieve my goal. I have helped them to see the truth. I am dying for them. They might forget my sacrifice but I won't complain. I will burn proudly with a desire to perish.

***

In a moment, the last drop of candle wax fell on the table and the flame died.

____________________________________________________________
Linking to write tribe 100 words on Saturday

First Love !

This is my first take on a Haiku. Thank you Write Tribe for introducing me to this genre of beautiful poetry.

courtesy : www.writetribe.com

red cherry peeps through

leaves blush in the falling rain;

is it the first love?

This is an entry for the "write tribe" where a Haiku has to be written based on the given picture prompt. 

http://writetribe.com/write-tribe-contest-2/

To know more about a HAIKU, click here.

BLACK

This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 42; the forty-second edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton. The theme for the month is "COLOR"

*this is a 55 fiction. .. 55 words exactly*

Courtesy: http://armaanokidoli.blogspot.in/2011/05/1.html

___________________________________

SHE: Where you going?
HE: Dadar
SHE: Virar. I have a date. I am so nervous. Do you like my black dress?
HE: Black is my favourite color.

The train stopped.

He got up, pulled out a white cane and stumbled his way out. His words echoed in her ears "Black is my favourite color."
_____________________________________

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INDEPENDENCE (AAZADI)

Image courtesy : http://325pixels.blogspot.in/2012/08/awesome-indian-flag.html

Aaj itna azaad hoon main ki raahein to bahut hai par manzil ka thikana na raha. 

Udta chala ja raha hai man apni hi dhun mein. 

Kadam tikte nahi zameen pe, na zehen mein rehta koi khyal naya.

Bus azaadi ki lat mein choor hoon, madhosh hoon. 

Na bandhan hai, na bediyaa jo roke mujhe. 

Dekho chala main kis ore khabar nahi mujhe. 

Par kya aisi azadi chahi thi maine? 

Kya aisi azaadi chahi thi ki manzilon ka thikaana na rahe? 

Kya aisa josh manga tha ki phir mujhe hosh na rahe?

Aaj phir ghulami chahta hoon pehna do bediyaan mujhe. 

Baandh do is kadar ki bhatku na in raahon mein. 

Is kadar ho bandishe ki josh mein to rahun magar hosh kam na ho. 

Itni bandishe phir rahein mujh par ki khyal rahe gairo ka bhi aur sochu na mehez zehen se; dil ka bhi istemaal karu.

Ghulami zaroori hai azaadi ke baad. 

Nahi to us udte gubbare ki tarah uche to ud jaaenge magar manzil ka thikana maalom na hoga. 

Ghulami zaroori hai insaaniyat ki, nahi to bhatka krenege galiyon mein aur sukoon na hoga kabhi. 

Ghulami zaroori hai mohabbat ki nahi to nafrat ki aag mein dil phir sulag jaega.

Dua hai, rahe azaadi hardum phir bhi aaj ek khwahish hai ki us azaadi ke saath mil jaae thodi ghulami mujhe jo in behekte kadamo ko sahi raah, sahi manzil dikha sake.

© Shreyansh Chouradia

FOR THE LOVE OF GOD ! : By Deeptha Rao

http://www.behance.net/gallery/Anantadrishti/3523835

Once upon a time, very long ago, like very very long long ago, king Daksh had a daughter called  Dakshayini, who happened to be a reincarnation of Parvati. Unsurprisingly, she fell for our favourite God (Shiva) and married him, much to the disappointment of the good king, who did not fancy him to be a suitable son-in-law. Did they live happily ever after? I fear not. 

<despite the sarcasm oozing out of the author's every word, it is to be noted that she really likes this story>

One day, the king decided to perform a homam, and when kings decide to do anything, they do it with a BANG! Ergo, he invited every living being in the world to bear witness to his awesomeness except Lord Shiva. Needless to say, his daughter was more than a bit peeved at not receiving an invite. Despite her husband's warning, she left their mountainous abode to make her presence felt at her father's grand pooja.

On arriving there, her father, in one of his many fatherly overbearing speeches, insulted her beloved before all those present. Maddened with grief at finding her own dad so beside himself with hatred, she did what Indian women always did, she jumped into the pooja's sacred fire. 

<Hence, she was called Sati and millions of Hindus for generations to come used her act of extreme devotion to conveniently dispose of their womenfolk>

Lord Shiva, as we all know, is a hard man to irk, but irked he was when he found out his wife was dead. He arrived at the scene, beside himself with rage and after pulling out his wife's half burnt body from the sacred fire, he beheaded the now not so good king, opened his third eye, in general made quite a scene and set out to destroy everything in his path starting with Manmatha, the deity of love.

Now, the Gods were not too pleased with all the devastation, so, following standard protocol, they rang for Lord Vishnu to sort things out. Vishnu followed the enraged widower and cut off bits of Sati's burning body till nothing was left for Shiva to carry. 

<There are 21 or so Shaktipeethas in this country, for each part of her body where a fire never stops burning!!!!> 

Shiva returned to his snowy household, determined to meditate for the rest of his life or forever, whichever was longer.

But whatever happened to the homam? As we all know, it is an act of the greatest degree of sin to leave a pooja unfinished and king Daksh was feeling a little light in the head. The rishis hence called an emergency meeting and, on espying a goat nearby, whistled innocuously and edged up close to it and chopped off its head. Planting the goat's head on the king, they succeeded in completing the homam.

Thus, the Chamakam was born  (the reason the shlokas end the way they do is because of the goat's head and the goat-y way of talking!! eg. Godumashcha me, grihamcha me, mitramcha me, me me me me) 

[Author's note: 'me' here's pronounced as 'may', she did not know how to get the little line above the e to make this aspect of pronunciation clear to the reader.]

_________________________

GREED

This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 40; the fortieth edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton. The theme for the month is "MAKE A WISH"

On his knees, holding a sparkling metallic piece, Sameer knew it was the end. But it was irresistible. Greed had taken over. He knew that one wish cost one life of his clan. He was the last one remaining. He had everything but still, he wanted more. He couldn't stop himself.  He touched the metal, kissed it and made the wish. He fell down, dead; blood gushing out of his mouth.

***

As the police placed the corpse on the stretcher, something caught the attention of Inspector Vikram. It was a metal piece, soaked in blood. He picked it up and wiped the blood off it. Something was engraved on it. He looked closer. It read “MAKE A WISH”. He slipped the metal in his pocket discreetly.

Someone in the 'Dark World' smiled playfully.

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The fellow Blog-a-Tonics who took part in this Blog-a-Ton and links to their respective posts can be checked here. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton. Participation Count: 01

ITS RAIN AGAIN

Cellphone Camera : Samsung Galaxy Note II

The pictures have been taken from a moving car so they might appear a little blurry...

I was waiting for it and now its here

Pouring in so pure pouring in so clear

’Has arrived now after waiting so long

Sounding like a melodious song

It’s Rain, it’s rain, it’s Rain again...

 Rain drops pour this barren land

Let peasants smile standing hand in hand

They have suffered a lot; the grief and pain

But now it’s rain again

Those who were working hard

In the scorching heat playing their part

It has come for us and it has come for them

It’s rain, it’s rain, it’s rain again

So much so far we have longed for it

With the burning earth we have mourned for it

But now its time to ban each bane

’Coz it’s rain, it’s rain, it’s rain again 

The sky cried, the earth rejoiced

Filled with life every branch poised

Greys turned green & stalk produced grain

Cyst is broken and it’s rain again.

Do good, do noble says the rain

For it pours only when good men gain

Its time we value the priceless rain

’Coz we yearn for rain again and again. 

It’s rain, it’s rain, it’s rain again…

 © Shreyansh Chouradia

GET INSPIRED

image courtesy:
http://www.richardstjohn.com

The temperature was a scorching 41 Degrees. The streets were empty. Not even the occasional gangs of street dogs or indifferent cows sitting like a divider on the road could be seen. It was one of the hottest days in India. But this hardly affected 4 men sitting in a luxury car with air conditioned on. They wore suits and an ID tag of the company NELCO was there around their neck. Suddenly there was a bump, a noise and then the car stopped. The driver got out.

"Tyre Puncture ho gaya hai sahab." he said.

The men got out. They found a place under a large banyan tree. It was shady and thus protected them from merciless Sun God. One of them lit a cigarette. The other bought four cups of tea from the nearest tea stall. While giving out the cups of tea, they noticed one of them was missing.

"Where is he?" asked one of them.

"Ah! He must be having one of his 'solitude' time."

"I think he is in that restaurant" another one pointed out to a nearby small Dhaba.

After finishing their cups of tea they went back to see if the car was good to go. What they saw had become a life long lesson in leadership they could not forget. They saw their colleague working in the scorching sun to set up a jack and spanner. He was helping the driver change the tyre. His expensive coat was all dirty and sweaty. Sweat was running down his face but there was smile on his face. The smile of contentment. The smile of satisfaction. The smile of humility.

The man was none other than the ex-chairman of the million dollar company we know today as TATA. The man who helped the driver that day was none other than Ratan Naval Tata.

Get Inspired...

THE LAST TELEGRAM

“Telegram is going to become history. India discontinues Telegraph services. The last telegram will be sent on 14^th July 2013.” 

image courtesy: https://sphotos-a.xx.fbcdn.net

As the news anchor announced these lines, my heart skipped a beat. I felt something which people might called nostalgic. May be, yes. But it was something more. The telegrams have always been one of the most important parts of us old people living this new age. My life too had one of such incidents. I recall, telegrams had an interesting way of sending messages. The fullstops were replaced with the word ‘STOP’ and the fee was according to each word written on it. So it was costlier to send a telegram but it would be delivered much faster than a letter. Hence, only important and urgent messages were sent through it. For instance : 

“SISTER MARRIAGE STOP COME BEFORE 21 STOP”

I checked my cell phone and it read 14^th July, 8:50 AM. I finished the cup of coffee and got out of the cozy couch and went to the bathroom. There was an old man with white stubble, white eyebrows and wrinkly skin staring back at me from the bathroom mirror.

So much time… I thought.

I went down the road of reverie. It was forty years from now and I was ten…

I sat on dad’s shoulder as he carried me to “Meena Bazaar”, one of the famous fairs of that time. “I want to eat the Bambaiya Mithaai (cotton candy)”, I said to him and he smiled and nodded. He never said no to me. I don’t remember him saying ‘no’ to any of my demands. After an hour we returned back home. My mother was waiting for us in the dim light coming from the earthen lamp placed near the door. After dinner I went to bed. My mother told me a story and then I went to sleep. This was her daily chore, to tell me a new story every night before tucking me in.

*** 

I was one of those lucky boys of that time to be studying in a school. Most of the parents thought studying in school isn’t worth the money and time. Well fortunately, I studied and so did ‘she’.

I entered the small building where a skinny man with a stick in his hand used to teach us. We sat on floor, write with chalk on our black slate. Instead of fancy, heavy bags we used to carry a simple one made out of old useless rags. 

“What did u get in tiffin for lunch?” she asked me, her head bearing two ponytails with red ribbons on each. I blushed. I was shy.  I shook my head. I didn’t bring anything. She held my hand and we were out, where an old lady was selling boiled berries with a sprinkle of salt and pepper. I wasn’t comfortable with girls. I ate and left in hurry. Her eyes kept looking at my receding figure waiting for me to return.

*** 

Time passed and I passed the school with honorable grades and so did she. It was the youth. The time of life when everything looks fresh, energetic and colourful. I sat with her near a pond. She kept throwing stones into it. I kept looking her. I could spend whole day long looking at her. She was beautiful.

I went back home only to get a shocking news. My father has been transferred and so we had to leave the place within 7 days. I ran to the pond where she had been waiting for me. I told her the news and I knew the reply. She didn’t reply with words. Instead, she used the most powerful weapons women generally use: Tears and Silence. I went back home and told my father that I wanted to stay here and complete my studies in the village only. He smiled as if he knew the matter. He patted my shoulder and told me to walk with him. We were walking through a narrow lane which was covered with mango trees on both sides. Several birds, which are rarely seen today, were chirping as if they knew what was going to happen. My father started telling me how his father shifted to this village and how hard he worked. Then he told me something about young age. Then, something about life. I was hardly listening as I could not get her face out of my mind. I knew that my father will never leave me here because he loved me a lot and would never want his son to be away from him. But his answer surprised me.

He said, “You can live here but on one condition. Whenever I will call you, you have to come and meet me. Whenever I will tell you to stay with your mother, you should obey that and leave this village.”“I promise.” I said hugging him tight.

 ***

After a week my father and mother bid me goodbye. We all cried. My mother hugged me, kissed me and told me to eat properly and all the stuffs in detail. My father hugged me and whispered just one thing in my ear, “Remember the promise.”

They left in the bullock cart that made tingling sound as the bulls walk away. I remember I cried that whole night.

I stayed with our neighbors who treated me like their son. Meeting her by the pond had become the routine. Days passed by and we passed the college. She had called me to meet at our ‘meeting point’ near the pond. She was standing against a huge banyan tree. She seemed perplexed. There was a telegram in her hand. I asked her “what is it?” gesturing to the small piece of paper.

“It’s letter from the city college. I have been selected for post graduation in a college there.” She said.

I looked at her without saying anything. She understood the look and tore off the telegram into several pieces. I never wanted her to go to another city and study higher. I never wanted her to go to another city and find new friends. In fact, I never wanted any girl to leave and study higher. ‘It’s useless for girls to study’ I thought. She obeyed me without even getting annoyed by my selfish behavior. I left in anger. Her kohl clad eyes kept looking at me waiting for me to return.

 ***

Next day, to compensate for my behavior, I wrote a letter. I plucked some roses in hurry and tied them with the letter. Here comes the postman in khakhi uniform in a bicycle. I gave him the letter to deliver it to her. He took the letter. I was about to turn when he held my hand and handed me a telegram. The postman pushed the paddle of the bicycle and went on his way.

I opened the telegram. It read: “COME  SOON  STOP  FATHER DEAD  STOP”

My heart broke into thousand pieces. I remembered the last words my father whispered. “Remember the promise.” He never said no to any of my demands. I had to fulfill his one demand.

I packed my bags and left in a hurry. Had I have turned to look back then, I would have known that in her eyes were the tears and in her hands was the letter tucked with red roses. Her hand was bleeding as thorns have made their way into her soft hands I once held. Had I have turned to look back then, I would have known that her kohl clad eyes kept looking at me waiting for me to return.
I never did.

***

The doorbell rang and I snapped out of the flashback. First love is always the first love. It always gives you that tingling feeling when you think about the first time you know that you love someone. I approached the door and was delighted to see my daughter. She has arrived from London where she was pursuing Masters in business. ‘I never wanted her to go to another city and study’ I remembered and smiled a guilty smile. Today was the last day a telegram can be sent. I rushed to my room, pulled out the little suitcase, searched a little bit and found a small piece of paper. It was an address which might no longer be available. I was sure she couldn’t be living there, anyway. I knew it was a foolish idea. But then it was love.

I ran to the nearest telegraph office and sent the telegram to her address. I don’t know where or to whom this might be delivered to but it was necessary. I told the person sitting there the message I wanted to send. After the sound of a few dots and dashes the telegram was sent. It read:

“I  AM  SORRY  STOP” 

I smiled a content smile and walked back home. That was my ‘last telegram’.

SANGHARSH

Humein bhi  mushkilon ka maza lene do zara

Ladkhada kar hi sahi, Aage badhne to do zara

Uchhalte hue jo gir jaaun, to  mujhe na uthana

Yun uchhalkar mujhe aasmaan chhoone do zara.

Kaanto ki chubhan sehkar, phoolon ko chunne do zara

Adhure jo khwab reh gaye the, un khwabon ko fir bunne do zara

Cheekhon aur siskiyon ke shor ke is bazaar mein

Khamoshiyon ki meethi dhun ko sunne do zara.

Maidan-e-zindagi mein rookhi sookhi ye ghaas hai

Na jaane kyun majbooriyaan aas paas hai

In majbooriyon se aaj mujhe bhidne do zara

In sookhi ghaason mein shabnam ki boondein girne do zara.

Aaj is dhool mein, is gard mein, kho jaane do zara

Kaanto ki kantili mez par, so jaane do zara

Jo gir bhi gaya in pathrili raahon mein chalte chalte

Khud ba Khud apne pairo par khade ho jaane do zara.

Tapte suraj ko nangi aankhon se takne do zara

Jalti chingariyon ko ab chakhne do zara

Yun mujhko patthar samajhkar fizool na samajhna

Sona hoon main, angaaron mein kuch der tapne do zara.

Humein bhi mushkilon ka maza lene do zara

Ladkhada kar hi sahi aage badhne do zara…

© Shreyansh Chouradia

HAPPY NEW YEAR 2013 !

I am not good with writing happy stuffs but as New Year has to start with happiness I somehow tried to scribble down some happy lines...

She is beautiful, she is bright

She came afresh bidding goodbye to night.

Dew drops as her necklace

And sunshine as her smile,
With fresh breeze as her whisper

Spreading mile to mile.

Let's welcome her with our warm hearts, Dear

Here she comes, the first morning of the New Year.

Say goodbye to the gloomy night

Which embraced the evil in her red hands

The bloddy smile that the devils smiled

On those blood soaked barren lands.

Those nights are gone and a new day is here

Let's hope 2013 be really a HAPPY NEW YEAR !

© Shreyansh Chouradia

Ankahee (अनकही)

कहने  को  तरसते  हुए  उन  अफ्सानो  को

Image source : www.goodfon.com

वक़्त  की  किताब  में  बंद  रहने  दो.

कुछ  अधूरी  सी  जो  रह  गयी  है  यह  दास्तान,

इसे  यूँही  कुछ  अधूरी  सी  रहने  दो .

नज़रों के  ख़त  को , पलकों  से  खोल  कर 
तुमने  पढ़ी  थी  जो  बातें  राज़  की ,
उन  बातों  को  हौले  से  सिरहाने  छुपा  देना 
जो  राज़  की  है  बात , उसे  राज़  ही  रहने  दो .

लब्ज़  खर्च  न  किये  थे  तब 
यह  सोचकर  की  काम  आएँगे  फिर  कभी  वक़्त  आने  पर .
अब  जो  दबी  हैं  दिल  में  उन  लफ़्ज़ों  की  परछाइयां ,
उन्हें  वहीँ  दिल  की  गहराई  में , यूँही  दबे  रहने  दो .

थरथराते  हुए  उन  लबों  से  कह  दो 
मुझे  खामोशियों  के  नगमे  जादा  पसंद  हैं 
जो  दुआएं  कर  रहीं  हैं  इंतज़ार  मेरा 
उन्हें  कुछ  देर  और  इंतज़ार  करने  दो .

कुछ  अधूरी  सी  जो  रह  गयी  है  यह  दास्तान 
इसे  यूँही  कुछ  अधूरी  सी  रहने  दो ...

© श्रेयांश चौरडिया

Kehne ko taraste hue un afsaano ko,

Waqt ki kitaab mein band rehne do.

Kuch adhoori si jo reh gyi hai yeh dastaan

Ise yunhi kuch adhoori si rehne do.

Nazron ke khat ko, palko se khol kar

Tumne padhi thi jo baatein raaz ki,

Un baaton ko haule se sirhane chhupa dena

Jo raaz ki hai baat, use raaz hi rehne do.

Labz kharch na kiye the tab

Yeh sochkar ki kaam aenge fir kabhi waqt aane par.

Ab jo dabi hain dil mein un lafzon ki parchhaiyaan,

Unhe wahin dil ki gehraayi mein, yunhi dabe rehne do.

Thartharate hue un labon se keh do

Mujhe khamoshiyon ke nagme jada pasand hain

Jo duaaein kar rahi hai intezaar mera

Unhein kuchh der or intezaar karne do.

Kuch adhoori si jo reh gyi hai yeh dastaan

Ise yunhi kuch adhoori si rehne do...

© Shreyansh Chouradia

THE HEADLINE

Image has been editted.
Original image source : corbisimages.com

Standing in the crowded railway station Sandy saw the young man, sporting stubble and spiky hair, with a large guitar case with him getting down from Howrah-Mumbai express.

“Welcome to Mumbai, sir.” Sandy said, teasing his partner.

“Shut up, Sandy. I am too tired to listen to your gibberish now.”

Sandy gave him a wide grin and then went on to call a taxi.

“So, how did your last assignment go?” asked Sandy once they were in the taxi.

“Ah! It went just fine. It’s this task in Mumbai that I am worried for.”

“Don’t worry bhai, you will be just fine. After all in this task I shall be your partner in crime, isn’t it?” He exposed his pearly white teeth again.

The taxi stopped at the red light. Sandy kept on blabbering and his friend nodded unconsciously. Finally they arrived at a hotel. Sandy gave the taxi driver money and his wide grin.

***

It was 10 in the morning. Sandy was getting ready for the ‘performance’. His friend was nervous and making a joint that would hopefully clear out his mind. After a few drags, the two men went out. Sandy stopped suddenly and ran towards the room. His friend followed him.

“What is the matter now?”

“How are we going to perform without the instrument you idiot.” Answered Sandy, now holding the black guitar case with him. “Hurry now”.

***

It was 11 AM thanks to the Mumbai traffic.

“STOP !”

“What now?” said Sandy looking bewildered.

“Isn’t this the way to the famous Siddhivinayak temple?” asked his friend.

“Yes, it is. So what?”

“Lets pray.”

For the first time Sandy was silent. He could not utter a single word and stared wide eyed at his friend who was now taking of his shoes.

“B-B-But aren’t you?”

“Oh! That? I believe He is everywhere.”

After an hour they were back in the taxi.

“So how was your meeting with God?” the grin returned on Sandy’s face as he asked the question.

“Fine. Go on. Tease me. Taunt me. But you just can’t deny the fact that there is one Supreme Power guiding us all.”

“Sure I do”, replied sandy almost immediately, “It’s called Money.”

“Don’t you have enough?”

“Enough is not enough, my dear friend.” Sandy replied instantly.

“If I were you, I would have left this thing years ago. You know, I just can’t sleep at night because of it.”

“Why do you need to sleep at night when you have pubs & bars all around here? Oh! You don’t drink… its against…” Sandy was interrupted.

“No, it’s because I don’t want to drink.”

The taxi stopped. They have finally reached the destination.

Now the work starts. They will be in the Headlines of every newspaper tomorrow. Sandy thought.

The two men went ahead. Sandy was both excited and nervous. The other man stopped abruptly. Ran towards the taxi and got the black guitar case out.

***

The other morning Sandy was viewing the morning newspaper. He was right. They are in the headlines of the newspaper. It read:

MUMBAI CHIEF MINISTER ASSASSINATED

Mumbai. 21/12/2012. Friday

"…One of the two assassins was shot dead. Ballistic team have confirmed the use of a M82A1 Barett .50 caliber rifle.  A black guitar case was found which was used for carrying the weapon. The terrorist who was shot dead has been identified as one Wasim Muhammad…"

'METAPHORS'

Note : Terms 'he', 'it', 'they' etc. are used as nouns wherever they are enclosed in inverted comas.

Broken and wretched ‘it’ fell on the earth. The pain was unbearable. A month from now, it has been soaring high up in the sky. People saw it with awe and amazement. The happiness, the applaud, the audience. It’s all gone. All remains is a memory. ‘It’ has always been ‘his’ favourite. Since childhood, ‘it’ was ‘his’ only companion. ‘They’ always told ‘him’ to part ways from ‘it’ but ‘he’ never listened to ‘them’ and till now ‘he’ thought he was right. But now, with ‘it’ lying on the earth, ‘he’ wondered, “Was he really?”

***

Memories from the past played ‘his’ mind. ‘Him’ and ‘it’,  right from the childhood have been the best of the friends.

“I don’t know who you are. I even don’t know what you are. Still I like you. I am happy when I am with you. I just want to let go the world and be with you forever.” He would say to ‘it’ more than often.

“I depend on you. It depends on you, how you mould me. How you shape me. I shall be what you want me to be. But just don’t take me as reality or one day that will be the reason for the tears in your eyes.” ‘It’ warned ‘him’.

***

Days, Weeks, Years passed. ‘He’ grew up. And as ‘he’ grew up, ‘it’ took a more precise and defined shape.

“Damn! I have to choose between ‘you’ and ‘them’.” ‘He’ said while preparing for the exams.

“Do as you wish. Choose whatever path you want to tread. But do choose the road of happiness.” ‘It’ said in a matter-of-fact tone.

“Choose the road of happiness” ‘He’ said imitating ‘it’. ‘He’ was angry.

“As if I didn’t know that.” ‘He’ continued. “The problem is, I don’t know where the road to Happiness is.”

‘It’ smiled, hovering above ‘his’ head. ‘It’ knew the future.

***

A couple of years have passed. Through some ups and downs, ‘he’ and ‘it’ were still together. Thanks to ‘her’, that ‘it’ was still with ‘him’ and the bond was stronger than ever. ‘She’ has always been an inspiration for ‘him’ and that inspiration was the only think that kept ‘him’ and ‘it’ together. Eventually, ‘he’ and ‘it’ almost became one. ‘He’ was happy and ‘it’ was now more precise in its shape.

But then there were ‘them’ waiting for ‘it’ to fall down. ‘It’ has always known the fate. It’s always the same. Only a few can merge into reality. Only a few ‘It(s)’can merge with ‘them’ and make ‘him’ happy. This was not going to be that case.

‘They’ were all ready to attack the bond. ‘They’ arrived with long swords of “money”. They attacked with maces of “reasons”. They used the strategies of “prejudices” and “experiences”. ‘They’ were called “People of the World” and they lived in a place called “Society”. ‘He’, unfortunate enough to have been born amongst ‘them’, had to choose between ‘it’ or ‘them’. As a matter of fact, ‘he’ never cared for ‘them’. The problem was that ‘he’ has to choose between ‘it’ and ‘her’.

‘He’ was, as always, confused. ‘He’ didn’t care about the ‘Society’. Neither did ‘he’ care for ‘them’; ‘People of the World’ as they were known were what ‘him’ has despised the most for their dark hearts and bright faces. ‘He’ only cared for ‘her’ who helped ‘him’ to be with ‘it’. Inspired ‘him’ to always stick together with ‘it’.

But now ‘he’ has to choose between ‘her’ and ‘it’.

He remembered what ‘it’ always used to say:

“… just don’t take me as reality or one day that will be the reason for the tears in your eyes.”

‘He’ has made the decision.

***

An old man, worn out by the ever turning ‘wheel of time’, came beside him when ‘he’ was mourning ‘it’s’ death. A tear rolled down the eyes of ‘the old man’. As he patted on ‘his’ shoulder and walked away slowly muttering something. ‘He’ could only catch a few words. The words were enough to make him realise what actually ‘it’ was. The words of the old man echoed in ‘his’ ears as ‘he’ cried mournfully before the now dead ‘it’. The old man’s words now echoed in his ears:

“Reasons of the World’ took over man and in his search for reality, once again ‘it’ has perished.

Once again a ‘Dream’ has perished.”

© Shreyansh Chouradia