The Sonance Behind My Silence

The triangular holders in the train clink incessantly, Everyone is headed back home to their kin, My bored mind searches for a new story, That's where my voyeurism kicks in. I look curiously at the average Mumbaikar, Half of his body is out of the train, One of his arms wrapped around the steel pole, His hair dried by industrial bane. He looks a decade older than he actually is, His wrinkled face, a sign of his hard life, What must be the reason for his plight I think, Ill parents, deceased son, or an ailing wife? His hair flutters in the dusty wind, His torn shirt bears so many stains, Wonder how far he has to travel everyday, Walk how much, change how many trains. He looks meekly at the outside world, At the skyscrapers springing behind the slums, His heart leaps to be on the other side, God knows when his time comes! I'm jolted back to reality, When my station comes near, I'd better stop staring, I think, Before pe

     The obnoxious sound of hot water gushing from the geyser into the bucket placed below it woke me up. My unpredictable doesn’t-know-when-to-sleep-doesn’t-know-when-to-rise roommate had just decided to take a bath, at 7 am on a Sunday. My sleepy eyes shifted to my bandaged leg, much dirtier but much less swollen than it had been ten days ago. The memories of the most excruciating ten days of my life flashed before my eyes. Scornful “friends”, non co-operative roommates, those walks of pain, limping my way to college, that life of dependence... It all ends today.      Today was the day I bade adieu to those ugly stitches. The stitches that I dutifully bandaged every two days, the stitches that left me sleepless for ten nights, the stitches that made me lie to my parents about me being OK, the stitches that could have been avoided after all.      I forced myself back to sleep, but couldn’t evade the thoughts that began flowing in mechanically. I remembered looking at my foo

     As I write this piece in excruciating pain, I wonder if all Januarys are bound to be a bit too hard on me. The two stitches the doctor has sewn in my ankle are starting to hurt even more, and my mind’s filled with other tensions that make this pain seem so petty.      It was very sudden, the way the whole world turned topsy turvy before my eyes, as Sangit lost control of his bike. The road wasn’t lit at all, so he couldn’t see the water on it, not while he was pointing at something that I don’t even remember. So it was pointless anyway!      An innocent suggestion by a hungry Sangit led the three of us, Sagar, him and me, to Bharati Vidyapeeth, possibly the only place nearby with an eatery that doesn’t shut down by 9:30 PM. The frosty weather compelled me to sit behind Sangit on his Honda Unicorn, as I decided to go just for a round, after a long day of studies and assignments.      We collected our parcelled Chocolate Toasts and Burgers, and headed home, when disaster

     The air is filled with an eerie silence at 11:45 PM as my roommate dims the lights so that he can sleep. This is one unusual occurrence, for he is not known to sleep before 2 am every day.  Thankfully it is still the first week of college, and studies are yet to take their toll on us, which is why the early bedtime. This, however, is no inspiring action for me. I’m still glued to my laptop, watching ‘The Curious Case of Benjamin Button’, a movie I always wanted to watch, but didn’t really make it happen, mainly because of its long runtime. However, I find the movie so intriguing that the perfect-for-sleep weather can do nothing to lull me to sleep.      The movie gets over and I switch my laptop off. Turning around, I find myself staring out the gallery into the dark of the night. Not a bark or a howl can be heard, and while my roommates are still asleep, I step out into the gallery, without slippers, looking out aimlessly. My feet are instantly numbed by the chill from the

    2012. We are now 4 years into the future since the spiteful attacks on the megalopolis of Mumbai, Americanly termed as 26/11, slapped the entire nation out of its long persistent slumber. The stains of the brutal attacks, that claimed the lives of more than a hundred innocent people, and wounded thrice as many, cannot be washed off, no matter how hard we try. It was a manifestation of the nation’s weak defence, which fell apart like a pack of cards at the hands of twelve gunmen, who laid siege to the city for three days. Few of us can forget that time, when we were glued to the tube, with tears in our eyes and fear in our heart, as the latest news flashed on the screen, notifying us about more and more deaths.      But even this dark cloud of terrorism had a bright silver lining. As much as it brought to light the loopholes in our security systems, it also established the existence of humanity in our society. While the two landmark hotels under attack – The Taj Mahal pala

Home is where mirth embraces me, Home is where I dearly long to be. Home is where roaming charges don’t apply, Home is where there’s unlimited power supply. Home is where tender fish is fried to golden perfection, Home is where I needn’t ask for any direction. Home is where traffic has the required sense, Home is where we live in the present tense. Home is where Sunday = vada pav + fresh cooked chicken, Home is where I’m never even close to being grief stricken. Home is where love resides, Home is where there are no divides. Home is where I smell no fart (?), Home is where I’ve left my heart. Chicken Tikka - Now that sends my taste buds into a frenzy!