Little Magic, Little Tragic.

You were the gentleman I met in books, the kind of lines i could read over and over again and recite even in my siesta.

Like the rhymes of the poems that cheered little kids in nursery and all the hue of magical little things in life.

Like the soft little drizzle pouring gently on my skin causing light titillation you brought clean and gentle softness into my life,

But quickly disappeared in a blink leaving a certain coldness.

You were something uncanny and unruly, something that breaks my heart and mends it all at once.

Your eyes were ocean blue showering stardust on my slumbering skin and all my reasons why.

You were a magic disappearing into nothingness, like an old scar melting away.

Little did I know, you would be my whirlwind ripping everything apart.

The lonely breeze of November now moans within my heart wrapping me around like the comfort of home.


A match made on a train. 

It was a chilly January night.The sound of drizzling rain, the sound so profound, kissing my eardrums and sending shivers up my spine. I sticked my head out of the train window to feel the drops. 

My feeble eyes encountered a lass spruced up in a white kurti and a faded blue jeans, untangling her curly and bushy hair. Her hazel eyes were too deep to not get drowned in,  there was something about them that sucked me in, so mystifying , the kind of face that stopped you in your tracks and ofcourse the little blush that i could capture was a dead give-away. I stretched my neck a little longer to get a glimpse of her face but something hindered my vision. 

But the girl my eyes were looking for luckily got on the same compartment and sat right beside me,  half drenched. She then started brushing her hair with her fingers, drops of rain still sprinkled as she stood to put her luggage on a storage. Her eyes caught me staring at her. She must have cursed me for this and was somewhat terrified as there was no one in the cabin except we two. 

I was too numb and dumbstruck to even start a conversation so i just blurted out, “Hi”. 

My heart rate decelerated to a comatose level. She didn’t utter a word,  but Oh!  She smiled. Her smile could literally melt an iceberg. My body ached at the thought of never seeing her again but i had already waged a war with destiny to make her mine. 

“So thats how we started as a stranger dear and 50 years now she is still beautiful,  still so vibrant smiling as i saw her in white kurti for the very first time” to my 16 years old grand daughter as i left a bunch of roses on her grave.

“Grandpa, i got my smile from my beautiful grandmom eh? ”


The heart that has truly loved never forgets.


A Billet To My Super-Hero.

Dear Dad,

I have grown a beautiful lassie of 21 years old. Its been 18 long doleful years since you had embarked on a reckless vacation towards the abode of God. Life simply is not a bed of roses and without you in it is more like living in a lopsided hut waiting to be tossed aside by the whirlwind. But I am breathing Dad, I am breathing though not the air of elation, I am breathing.

“DAD”- The only word that twinges me wholly and profoundly, the only word that I have always pined to cry out for. Dad, do you remember when you gave me a last piggyback ride, the last time when you held me high in the heavenly breeze? Do you know when the world gets real quiet I lay shattered and deserted, a little alive with paralysed memories refusing to rise? But Dad, I learnt to be hard as nails and rugged enough to cope with the maddening multitude.

Life would amply be extraordinary if you were here Dad. I wouldn’t have to cultivate the fear of those prying eyes that could sabotage me at their convenience. There is a storm inside me that can never be lulled. There is no denying the fact that people eventually meet their doom sooner or later but you did a little too soon. Your little one had only learnt to pace. But I hold no grudges against you for I know you dwell within me, your presence is always felt in the air I breathe, shielding me from the grotty sophisticated world.

You continue to awaken me in the morning’s hush as swift , uplifting surge of thrushes fly. Be with me in each dawn.

PS: Missing your father is expected and expressing the pain is therapeutic.