tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21702788229746542852024-03-13T11:00:47.891-07:00The beautiful soujourn Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07876607619525401558noreply@blogger.comBlogger22125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2170278822974654285.post-69952217991418146642018-07-24T08:14:00.003-07:002018-07-24T08:20:15.617-07:00The Water Princess<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>The retiring sky in its golden attire</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>Merged with the vast sapphire, </b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>The faded lines of the blurred horizon</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>Burnt in a distant saffron pyre</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>Sprang from within the hollowed depths</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>A damsel clad in watery brine, </b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>Her darkened black rolling mane</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>Basked in the fiery Sun shine</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>She tossed and rocked in the playful waves</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>As the water trickled down, </b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>The beach man stood smitten, amazed</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>As she strolled in her watery gown</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>She clasped his hands in tender hers</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>And pulled him closer and tight, </b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>The man still stood in horrid silence</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>Astounded, yet in delight! </b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>She coyed him with her beauty and youth</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>And with her gluttonous phrase</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>The setting Sun exuded fiery colors</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>Like the sweltering hot-magma blaze </b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>He played, he sang, he frolicked about</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>In her blissful camaraderie, </b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>Love and lust all entangled and tied</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>A sudden bliss, an episode, a dream, all eerie! ! </b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>Yet the desire to play in the hands of love</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>Rose in him the more, </b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>He chased her and called aloud</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>As she ran in a flash, away from the shore.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>He hunted for her into the lurching foams</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>To a yonder point into the sea</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>She looked back at him, grinning and smiling</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>With an uncanny mystery…</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>He baffled and fought with the waves colossus, </b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>Of salt and treacherous water, </b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>A desire to possess the water princess</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>Pulled him still farther</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>He urged to save, to capture her</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>But she capriciously fled</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>But who could defeat a man's will</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>His valor gallantly replayed</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>He caught her by those slender arms</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>In which he nestled hours ago</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>She shrieked and laughed in violent laughter </b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>Amidst the rebellious watery bellows.</b></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-MKXTJHGK69Q/W1dDjz624jI/AAAAAAAAAtA/7iagFlmWf8I1DV-lB0PY-oeep4cFHXSnQCLcBGAs/s1600/13246334_841854649292751_337612597455278419_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="180" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-MKXTJHGK69Q/W1dDjz624jI/AAAAAAAAAtA/7iagFlmWf8I1DV-lB0PY-oeep4cFHXSnQCLcBGAs/s320/13246334_841854649292751_337612597455278419_o.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>She garlanded her hands round his waist</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>And clang to him like a child</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>"Deep down we shall go to the briny depths</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>And sleep in the water wild! ! "</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>He pushed her with his sinewy arms</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>But her hold was too strong, </b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>The water princess had preyed again, </b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>After ages so long! !</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>- Ritwika Raha </b></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07876607619525401558noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2170278822974654285.post-81232715401177759832018-02-24T20:25:00.003-08:002018-02-24T20:25:52.969-08:00Vidi<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-s7VU_1LPiWY/WpI6pd65hcI/AAAAAAAAAqM/B504xNT69gIeuMmv_K1WoF91ykvBr3oVACLcBGAs/s1600/IMG_20180106_223315-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-s7VU_1LPiWY/WpI6pd65hcI/AAAAAAAAAqM/B504xNT69gIeuMmv_K1WoF91ykvBr3oVACLcBGAs/s320/IMG_20180106_223315-2.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07876607619525401558noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2170278822974654285.post-4369140949669627492018-02-24T20:16:00.002-08:002018-02-24T20:20:06.082-08:00An African Boy<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-C3usZeU_cKo/WpI4XKDFAoI/AAAAAAAAApc/Pesm3bBwaG4PTO4mxSy6G03R75iywDxPACLcBGAs/s1600/IMG-20171228-WA0013-001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1040" data-original-width="780" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-C3usZeU_cKo/WpI4XKDFAoI/AAAAAAAAApc/Pesm3bBwaG4PTO4mxSy6G03R75iywDxPACLcBGAs/s320/IMG-20171228-WA0013-001.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
Pencil Sketch<br />
An African Boy<br />
<br /></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07876607619525401558noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2170278822974654285.post-9424897660612039022018-02-24T19:57:00.001-08:002018-02-24T19:57:56.293-08:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-E2_oOqhkG3U/WpIz6zX-9BI/AAAAAAAAApM/8Mnq6VmyDwUKnEl4gcMksXnjykAiCJQtwCLcBGAs/s1600/_%252B91%2B95884%2B21781_%2B20171109_224057-001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="640" height="320" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-E2_oOqhkG3U/WpIz6zX-9BI/AAAAAAAAApM/8Mnq6VmyDwUKnEl4gcMksXnjykAiCJQtwCLcBGAs/s320/_%252B91%2B95884%2B21781_%2B20171109_224057-001.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07876607619525401558noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2170278822974654285.post-34241600418410897292018-01-10T20:24:00.000-08:002018-02-24T20:35:20.515-08:00The Other Half<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-IlTsM0yIEJc/WpI6Hs97tFI/AAAAAAAAAp4/cXyjjacsrasf3I92yzqLMZbJGg5LXzEnQCLcBGAs/s1600/IMG_20180111_224945-001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="684" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-IlTsM0yIEJc/WpI6Hs97tFI/AAAAAAAAAp4/cXyjjacsrasf3I92yzqLMZbJGg5LXzEnQCLcBGAs/s320/IMG_20180111_224945-001.jpg" width="136" /></a></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07876607619525401558noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2170278822974654285.post-84113946166922290962013-10-29T21:49:00.001-07:002013-10-30T07:04:55.541-07:00The Grey Boots<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-91AAm6ncf0A/UnCPwpnJSpI/AAAAAAAAASI/P7TvLGvlhz4/s1600/images.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-91AAm6ncf0A/UnCPwpnJSpI/AAAAAAAAASI/P7TvLGvlhz4/s1600/images.jpg" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: white; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<b style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: white; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">One:<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: white; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">‘It isn't love if you aren't
proud of him. Had you ever been? I can’t think of a single instance when you
battled for him or contradicted our statements that mocked you rather, him and
you as a couple. Was this not inevitable? Is this not just? The years shall
unfurl how propitious and wise have been these hours which you scorn for being
so dark.How imprudent you could have been to prod into a world which is so
disparate to ours and catch an ailment that could have jaundiced the repute!Had
you not been a gem and a subject of adoration to many such eyes which find
place in the grander niche? It was undeniably a ridiculous camaraderie.’She had
been silently listening to Dora with her penitent countenance buried in her palms.
Her elbows were pedestalled on the table with a pair of shiny boots resting
next to them and she sat muted and engrossed in the thoughts that had been
pestering her since her conscience rebelled her desires.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<b style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: white; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<b style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: white; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Two:<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: white; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Dora had been a witness to that
companionship since it began but it never found a gesture of appreciation from
her, ever! They had often communed the most intricate and the surreptitious
matters with each other but this never picked much importance to be a topic of
disquisition. It all began when there
wasn't much intrusion of the friends, foes and those detested others who were
often found in her proximity. A summer’s violent moon, engulfed in its silvery
attire had mischievously played the subtle game that day. He had been a
soothing companion to her seclusion and despair, which was later pursued by a
strong infatuation and then…..which wasn’t ‘Love’ .It would have been strange
if it would have happened at all! But it did, violating the conventions that
governed the assortment of a perfect companion.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: white; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Rose had looked straight into his
gleaming eyes and had fathomed the earnestness with which he had asked her to
bare her heart. She could have flouted it but she hadn't! Perhaps, it was the virtue
of the intellect of a painter that made her succumb to his unseen immensity. It
was an obscure corner of a balcony owned by a tea-shop that was preferred by
the non –garrulous, self-possessed fraction of the populace. He was a painter
at the nascence of his career and she was a corporate professional. The bounty of richness that brandished her status was quite ungenerous to him.
She had been a woman of means while he was mean, in his etiquettes, his attires
and every social attribute that defines ‘Gentleness’. Yet, he had picked her
curiosity! It was definitely not by mere chance, but by the stars that they
shared the same table that day. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: white; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: white; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">They had conversed, though not
for long but it was enough for her to be seized. The flippant deliberations had
gradually beg<a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=2170278822974654285" name="_GoBack"></a>ot a serious tone about the tumultuousness
of life, the perils and her. She had perhaps found the most suitable pair of
ears which could listen without placing forth a single opinion. She could see
his fingers playing with a pen captured betwixt two of them and the rest of his
entire body captivated in her words. She had always been a lonesome child then
a lonesome woman and craved for a voice in her silence.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: white; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: white; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">She was enthralled by the naïve
witticisms, the slovenliness and the ingenuousness that described him. Before
she could speak more, which she desperately coveted to, he stood up with a
jerk, pushing the seat behind and hurriedly spoke, ‘I wonder if I could talk
more but I have to depart. I had a friend who was to make a visit and I should
have been home by now.’ She made no delay in probing into the purse clasped in
her hands and soon they emerged with a small paper which bore her name, a few
more details and a number. She rose from the stool to reach his hand that
extended towards her. He stood upright,
yet small in his full length while she leaned towards him to hand him the
paper. She took notice of the full stature of this man who had amused her with
his brilliance and simplicity. He appeared a little charmer,
basking in his naturalness opposite to her fine daintiness. He grabbed
the paper and he straddled away while her inquisitive large eyes still rested
on the receding man.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: white; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: white; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It wasn't many days yet, when she received a telephone call. It was her ‘little
man’. They often conversed thereafter, rendezvoused, walked down those long
tedious lanes where they would have rather taken a cab, spent hours waiting for
the bus but took to their heels when they saw one
nearing. Perhaps, they found solace in each other’s presence except when even
the most reluctant eyes watched them with derision while making their way past
them on the streets and in the cafes. Their scornful stares intended sarcasm at
the unlikely couple. She was tall, slender and refined while he, a petite
unkempt imp. How could she have found love in that incongruence?
What made her slip her gentle hands into his’? It was perhaps
the colors she usurped from the artist that probably explained the affair! </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: white; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The frequent trysts had progressively
found a place in their daily schedules but there was an unspoken discomposure
which had progressively got raised. The sarcastic stares and those
disconcerting remarks of mockery which appeared insignificant some time ago had
gradually gained quite significance. She often appeared quite dejected in his
companionship and frequently passed swift diffident glances at the crowd around
to spot such ridiculing eyes.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: white; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Soon she could feel a faint
slackness in her desire to adhere to her little man. It was an enforced
detestation. Yet she yearned for him. But wasn't he an ill-fit gem in her solitude?
Wasn't severance the panacea to all her woes? She was pursued by a
determination to part with him. Ultimately, happiness born of immature whims is
ephemeral!</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: white; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The sudden intimacy trailed by an
abrupt avoidance was an unjust affair that had ravaged the normalcy of the poor
man. It definitely wasn't an unrequited attraction. The inexplicable avoidance
had made him approach her several times to scavenge for an answer but it
remained unanswered! He could have never perceived the
thought of being disregarded for being that what had enticed her but only when
he received a written note, his curiosity was answered.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: white; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The note explained their
disparateness and her naivety to pursue an unlikely communion.
The note was answered by another note. It was the best token of affection that
he could have sent. And the last one! </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: white; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It was a pair of high-heeled,
grey boots for men and a note was attached to it! </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: white; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The letter read:</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: white; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: white; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: white; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Dear Rose,</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: white; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: white; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Love is an inevitable ailment and
it finds way through the loneliest of all paths. Perhaps I was loved by your
seclusion than by you! The ‘disparity’ betwixt us is an exaggerated explanation
to your conscience to justify thy imprudence. The difference in those insignificant inches
and my flawed behavior could probably be a justifiable reason for the
separation in your ostentatious niche. Hence, I gift you these pair of boots
which cost me all the money that I had accrued over time to procure
something precious for you. But love is often less valued than the luster and
life! The boots might prove to be a better companion in your solitude than me.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: white; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: white; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Yours loved,</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: white; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Vimal.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<b style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: white; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<b style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: white; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Three:<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: white; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Dora continued, ‘The idea of
severance is indeed an excruciating one, but you can’t consume which cannot be
digested!’ She lifted her sunken face from her palms and passed a serious gaze
at the garrulous ever intruding and irrefutable friend. Her hands sluggishly crawled over the surface
of the table and grasped one of those polished boots and the crumbled paper and
glanced at those distorted letters buried in the folds of the letter. Was it
not intense impertinence? But was she not deceitful? </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: white; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">She shot up from the chair with
an unexpected swiftness and tucked the shoes into box. The words were rude
enough to malign the egotism and the blow was to be answered. She marched out
of the room pushed the boots into the bag resting at the corner of the table.
Dora stood dazed at the abruptness of her friend. It was rather a sense of
accomplishment that her persuasion wasn't rendered futile.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: white; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It was after few months when Dora
received an envelope. It contained an invitation. </span></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<i><span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: white; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></i></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<i><span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: white; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> The honor of your presence is requested at
the wedding of<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<i><span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: white; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Rose and J.Vimal<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<i><span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: white; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The seventh of July<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<i><span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: white; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Two thousand and
thirteen<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<i><span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: white; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">At two clock in the
afternoon<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></div>
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<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<i><span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: white; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The Wedding Hall,
Street-5<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<i><span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: white; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Near Café 9, Gurgaon,
New Delhi<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07876607619525401558noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2170278822974654285.post-12165337722121338962013-05-29T22:29:00.000-07:002013-09-12T08:01:14.410-07:00A friend<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: white; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: white; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Far beyond the cacophony of the bustling populace, on the meandering lanes that lead to the outskirts of the city, dwelt a beggar. The undulating lane overshadowed by an old bridge had been his abode since an unknown time. A small iron chest which contained a bunch of tattered clothes, few match boxes, broken jars and other abstract articles which perhaps had never found any use in the past years had been his few paraphernalia . The bank of the sordid street walled with the massive bridge had protected the poor beggar from the extremities of the sultriness of the tropical summers and the battering monsoons. A patched thick plastic cover that he had accrued from the trashes served as the roof when the rain water seeped down the olden bricks and wetted the soil floor.</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: white; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">He often went up to the yonder town-market and earned a few pennies by doing the odd jobs at a sweet shop. The money made helped him to eke a living for the next couple of weeks. It was his indolence that had consumed his youthfulness and restrained him from working. The dung cakes that he made served as the only fuel to make his meals. He sat himself on a heap of wooden planks infested with mites and relished his meager meals.</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: white; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">An irksome stray dog often came wandering to the estranged beggar and perturbed his tranquil living. He threw at him a handful of his half cooked rice and as soon as it portcullised the last grain in between its canines, he kicked him away. It often whined or barked back but returned again the next day. The dog was perhaps the sole companion in his deprived exile, though unwanted and despised.</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: white; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The sultry summer had begun to retreat and the squalling monsoon clouds had started roiling the cracked summer fields. Water trickled down the crazed roof of the dilapidated bridge. Water flooded the streets and the old plastic roof had become too old to hold the monsoon water. The nippiness of the sodden air made the beggar ill. He hid himself underneath a tattered blanket and a polythene sheet. However, the unkind rain water invaded him through those numerous holes in it.</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: white; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The dog strayed around the sick man and whined aloud but he hardly twitched or moaned. His sickness was exacerbated by starvation. The man lay in unconsciousness. The dog too starved. There wasn’t a morsel of grain! The feeble frame of the beggar was too frail to pick him from the illness. The only live object his eyes could perceive was that petulant creature but it too disappeared!</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: white; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">He slowly raised his blanket from his weary countenance and his eyes probed into the farthest corner till which they could see. The dog had gone! He slipped back into his slumber. The clouds ruthlessly poured down and drenched the streets more. He had slept for hours in unconsciousness and hunger. There was a sudden push on his head. He dragged down the blanket from his wizened face. It was the dog. A couple of loaves of chapattis firmly clenched between his teeth dangled from his mouth. It was the only piece of food that he had found. It laid the loaves on the ground and waddled away. After a while the man mustered himself up and nibbled on them. The rains had begun to cease by then.</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: white; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The ill man slipped out of his wrecked dwelling, wrapped in a dank shawl and made his way towards the town-market. The rains had expunged the fields and the streets appeared as a grave of the dead</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: white; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">remnants. Broken trunks of the trees, heaps of shards, reeking trash and lifeless carcasses of rats and lizards bordered the wet streets. And there slept the annoying dog, dead with cold and hunger!</span></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07876607619525401558noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2170278822974654285.post-48327190339145088592013-04-14T20:25:00.000-07:002018-05-07T01:32:33.947-07:00Page 789<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 16.0pt;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-uf-SBYWdS8E/UWtyozRX34I/AAAAAAAAALI/gQwMFO58vb0/s1600/diary.jpg"><br /></a><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-qrGCg6CeW9o/WvAM6RNFjoI/AAAAAAAAArw/rbe_dE6OQp8KCmkNEzVPtmkg1-K71kuRACLcBGAs/s1600/book.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="190" data-original-width="320" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-qrGCg6CeW9o/WvAM6RNFjoI/AAAAAAAAArw/rbe_dE6OQp8KCmkNEzVPtmkg1-K71kuRACLcBGAs/s1600/book.jpg" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 16.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Nikhil's
diary had always been a subject of intense curiosity to me. The forceful pace
with which he scribbled in it exacerbated my inquisitiveness each time I saw it
but his tranquil and grave countenance prevented my nosiness from yielding
results. He and I were great friends, yet there was an untold flimsy barricade.
He often came to my place to spend his futile hours and sat narrating the
agonizing intricacies of his life. At times I endeavored to probe into the
pages of his prussian blue testament but it culminated into utter futility and
often into trivial wars.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 16.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">There was a
sudden ringing of the door bell this morning. I woke up startled on my bed and
stared at the giant wall clock. It was six in the morning. I dragged myself to
the door and pushed it open. It was Nikhil. He stood pale and lifeless,
shivering and drenched in the winter rains. Water dribbled down his wet hair in
thick runnels. It had been raining violently since the last night. I called him
in and fetched him a towel. I told him to wait for a while so that I
could get him a mug of coffee. He placed his little bag on the table and
grabbed the towel from my hand to dry himself. I returned in a while with a
couple of coffee mugs and found him plucking out articles from within his bag.
All had been wetted by the rain water. There was a square watch, a drenched
kerchief, a couple of cigarettes and that diary. He sipped onto the cup and
released a breath of relief. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 16.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Before I
could question him much, he interrupted me and said, “I need to leave early. I
have some important work to finish so I am leaving these stuffs to dry. Bring
these to the office” and he departed abruptly after taking the last sip. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 16.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"> As
soon as he left, I leapt upon his diary with an elevated sense of victory. Ah I
had made it! I ruffled the pages and it opened to the last one. It bore the
number 789 and I started reading those scribbled paragraphs.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 16.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 16.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Page:789<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 16.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">December 17,
1992<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 16.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">This diary
has been an intimate fragment of mine since that year of 1989. It bares every
moment of my life and contains a testimony of every single incident that had
etched the pages of this sojourn leaving behind its impression inerasable and
irreparable. It has been a loyal companion perhaps like a mirror where I stood
clad in the naked truth of selfness, unfettered and unmasked. It is an oeuvre
which reflects those numerous events that fills the lacuna between the brackets
of my life, death and…..after!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 16.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"> It was
a gift from her. I had preserved it, caressed it and wrought it. She had been a
concealed secret of mine. How beautiful! How somber! How feminine she appeared
draped in her floral frocks! How capriciously she held me captive in her
ceaseless charm! How furtively the curls tossed on her shoulders as she treaded
those cobbled pavements! I had been intoxicated. We had been the most intimate
cohort of each other in those few years. That was an unexplained magnetism and
an inseparable amity. We sauntered about in those populated corridors where
hundreds of pupils sat themselves in clusters engrossed in their playfulness
and sincerity. There was immeasurable warmth of ardor, youth and nascent
maturity.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 16.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">The
incessant disquisitions in those galloping hours, the immense desire to possess
her and the lurking fervent affection kept me fastened to her. How desperately
I raced to catch her companionship despite the monotony of those loathsome
studious hours! But despite the intense familiarity, my fears rather my
cowardice desisted my confession. Years fled with subtle nimbleness and the
unspoken admiration leached deep down into the crevice of time. She was lost
and so was I.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 16.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">It was on
the last Monday when I took a bus to that old city to toss those frozen myriad
of lost moments. The old friends had decided to meet. The monotonous winter
evening sky and the tardy cold grappled every other passenger in its piercing
wintry bitterness. My neck stood out through that layered fortification of the
checkered muffler and my crest lay buried under a brown woolen cap. The bus
stood amidst a little crowd by the side of a narrow sordid street. There were
men, women and children gaping at those endless lanes banked by the lofty
eucalyptuses.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 16.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">It was eight
by my watch. The tearing honk of the bus disconcerted the chilly silence. I
climbed up the bus and waded through the streaming crowd to reach my seat.
Placing my bag on it, I threw myself on the soft Prussian cushion. I slid
aside the window pane and a frozen wintry gust of wind stroked my greasy
countenance. I hastened to drag back the pane and tilted myself a little
towards the back and rested my head.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 16.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">The swift
fleeing lights and the persistently following moon seemed to peer through the pane
as I gazed out with my crest on the soft cushion. The bus raced through the
city towards the tranquil peripheries of the civilization. It stopped for a
while and a flock of people crawled up those steel steps onto the bus. They
jostled through the array of the seats and one of them bundled in a wrap of
shawls and settled beside me. It was her!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 16.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">The dimly
lit bus showed me her delicate form, ignited in surprise to see me. She sat
glaring at me with her brows elevated and smiling. She rained down a buffet of
questions and I still gawked at her startled and overjoyed. We were heading
towards the same destination to rejuvenate those old memories. I was seized
with an uncontainable desire to confess those old buried emotions but the
sudden ardor subsided with time. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 16.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">There were a
few lame discussions on trivial matters and soon she retired to sleep. The pale
light of the trailing moon silvered the seats and its passengers as it pushed
through the desolate woods of the outskirts.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 16.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">There was a
sudden jerk and I felt a sharp pain. I felt a wet stream oozing out of my
thighs. There was a heavy weight on my chest and I gasped to breathe. There was
a sudden upheaval and before I could comprehend the situation, the uproar
subsided. There were broken glasses on the road and a couple of broken rods
dangling from the window. The heavy weight on my chest was her lifeless body.
Streams of blood pooled that rugged street. The night stood still. The unkind
silence spoke of death. There wasn’t a single living life. They all had
died…..even me!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 16.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"> -Nikhil<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 16.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 16.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"> The
diary dropped and I stood dazed. A sudden call disrupted the silence. A sobbing
voice spoke mournfully, “I have an awful thing to say. Nikhil Sir passed away
in a bus accident last night! None of the passengers survived…..”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br /></div>
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07876607619525401558noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2170278822974654285.post-49948395316628394222013-03-02T09:31:00.001-08:002013-03-10T21:01:15.705-07:00The complexion<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-iF2vqyF0cnA/UTI3EFfUeEI/AAAAAAAAAJA/wfibk1BSGzo/s1600/images+(1).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-iF2vqyF0cnA/UTI3EFfUeEI/AAAAAAAAAJA/wfibk1BSGzo/s1600/images+(1).jpg" /></a></div>
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<span style="background-color: black; color: white; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The summer dawn was taking over
the reign of the dark night sky. The slow chirping of the morning birds
accentuated the steady awakening of another summer day. The constricting
garrulous rivulets which laced through the rugged contours of those endless
equatorial woods fretted the tranquil silence. The rivers had started to bare
their muddy beds and the miniature marine creatures swam into deep crevices, where
the acrimony of the summer Sun could not usurp the water from those gorging
depths. The verdant foliages had been translated into a yard of dry carcass of
unclothed trees. It was the onset of summer in the Indian terrains of Sukhpur.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: white; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Molu and Daru, treaded through
that desolate wilderness in each other’s company in the rains, in the spring,
in the early fog of the winters and in every other season that the forest
witnessed. They leaped around the woody scarlet crested <i>‘Palash’ </i>that adorned the mundane pale visage of the summer thickets.
They cavorted around, drunken in their innocuous playfulness and ventured into
the unanticipated perils of that rustic wood. They talked of the giant mules
that the villagers said infested the yonder edges and scampered after the
scuttling hares. Molu, like some forest phantom, carried that little girl on
his feeble shoulders as if she was his responsibility. He leaped across the
lacing brooks from one stone to another, ensuring his precarious foot holds on
each of them, with that frail girl clinging to his scrawny back. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: black; color: white; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Molu had been her keenest playmate since the day she had been his friend. He was perhaps a couple of years elder
to Daru. They were sent to the same school in the nearest hamlet. No one ever
saw them as disparate beings. They toddled through those bare groves, strewed
with the skeletons of the trees and often held grave disquisitions about the
patterns of the clouds that fleeted through that clean blue canvas, about
witches and magic. Years ambled past with briskness and Molu grew up .Daru metamorphosed
into a little mature teenager. And the subjects
of their debate matured as well. They talked of time and people. But the amity stood unwithered and unsullied as stood the
summer woods of sukhpur. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: white; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Daru often lifted her dark dazed
brows to clasp the endless proximities of the infinite sky and wondered how
time stroked at everything and translated every single object that the human intelligence
contemplated. And the little boy politely interrupted, “Not all Dara. Don’t we
stand the same?” and Daru scurried away in her usual gait. Molu could never
probe into the reason of her inexplicable sentences. She still remained the
same and so was he. Then what was it that time had distorted?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: white; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It was another summer then. The
trees had been charred to dark timber and the woody skeletons shuddered in the
sudden strokes of the warm ephemeral breezes. Daru ripped the dry lean boughs off
those dead woody carcasses and tucked it into the massive bamboo basket that nested
on her tiny crest. Molu surveyed the other barks from which they could procure
more dry branches. The wind played into
the barks and swayed her in its tender gentleness when suddenly she slipped off
and dropped on the jagged floor. Molu loped towards her with a rapid swiftness
and grabbed her slender hands in his’ to pull up her meager frame but she
jerked away. She pushed herself away from that little boy and stared at him
with a baffling astonishment and a strange loathsomeness. She picked herself up
with a jolt and fled away.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: white; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Molu stood speechless in deep
bewilderment. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: black; color: white; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">His curiosity was answered.He recognized that it was just the complexion of the innocent
relationship that had metamorphosed in those departed hours.</span></div>
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07876607619525401558noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2170278822974654285.post-29224129875775988252013-02-25T21:15:00.001-08:002013-02-25T21:18:55.585-08:00The Lost Moments<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-vSkZY_HyX4M/USxE2Yk9qNI/AAAAAAAAAIw/WKN93SJkg_M/s1600/time-flows_~k10717407.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="257" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-vSkZY_HyX4M/USxE2Yk9qNI/AAAAAAAAAIw/WKN93SJkg_M/s320/time-flows_~k10717407.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="background-color: black; color: white; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Every moment in our life is
mortal. It gradually fades away, disappearing into the womb of past. At times
we are seized with an urge to relish the flavor of those lost moments and
reconstruct those sweetened hours of mirth. The happy moments which recede from
our lives with an abrupt swiftness, leaving behind its evanescent memories,
often rise to the surface to moisten our eyes with glistening tears of joy. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: black; color: white; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: white; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">We crave to adhere to the charm
of that naive happiness and succumb to the hollowness of that lost past, but alas;
it is expunged in the deluge of ‘Time’. At times, those departed moments are
revived and resurrected in our minds, breaking the shackles of time, wrapping
us in its warmth. We live the moments again, but with an emptiness and
staleness…..the staleness of time. The non detailed debris are reconstructed
and wiped out several times, till the cruel talons of time rips it apart from
us and we are left with the wrecked carcass.</span></div>
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07876607619525401558noreply@blogger.com173tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2170278822974654285.post-65756394640365997052013-02-14T23:41:00.000-08:002013-02-15T08:25:45.797-08:00The girl in the ‘Prussian’ Sari<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-9a8krpnZMDk/UR3meCD-eSI/AAAAAAAAAIQ/V7KmxhMLU-c/s1600/IMG00310.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="310" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-9a8krpnZMDk/UR3meCD-eSI/AAAAAAAAAIQ/V7KmxhMLU-c/s320/IMG00310.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="background-color: black; color: white; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="GingerNoCheckStart"></span>The goblets laced the edge <span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="of:0" grmarkguid="987c66f4-0595-4f8d-ba89-13466f081c04" gruiphraseguid="1af0739a-e769-46c7-8833-fe9184f787a6">of</span>
<span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="that:0" grmarkguid="64b05cf7-aa5a-4100-9ea2-92ca319409a2" gruiphraseguid="054b9de4-9837-4af9-8c76-69d4fa7d5cb3">that</span> massive table, clothed in an impeccable white cloth. The multi colored cuisines wrapped in their intoxicating scent appealed every eye to take
<span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="a:0" grmarkguid="1a1e08fd-040b-40a2-b531-c209cf46c0e1" gruiphraseguid="9749c578-a2a0-42c3-91cd-64737f604bbf">a</span> glance at their delicious contours. The wine, the mellifluous tune that
<span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="fragranced:0" grmarkguid="a2bf8868-288d-4171-ad26-efa9f39ff944" gruiphraseguid="7cf7a24c-5a57-413d-95ab-10ff542d7236">fragranced</span> the environ and the pageant of those delicate damsels that thronged
<span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="the:0" grmarkguid="145e3ce6-7339-42c4-9715-d44b615b5ef9" gruiphraseguid="30cde199-2400-473a-82e0-521bd53e8ae0">the</span> corners built a mesmerizing rather an invigorating climate in that massive
<span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="hall:0" grmarkguid="b79553a5-ff39-4769-8db1-96136a1a6cc5" gruiphraseguid="25271ea2-6898-46ca-97e7-2f39a47c234d">hall</span>. Gentlemen from the lustrous niche of the society, donned <span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="in expensive:0" grmarkguid="efd4797f-46ff-4d82-bfce-0bc17295bec4" gruiphraseguid="57d80684-2831-4f4e-98dc-754c34e4f373">in expensive</span>
<span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="black:0" grmarkguid="24bcd9ba-6393-475a-8531-d2a50962a5cf" gruiphraseguid="ef208625-4639-4d0f-8c8e-21afa687b5c8">black</span> clustered around the tables with goblets of wines, all consumed in vanity.
They were the businessmen, scholars, socialists and figures of repute who
<span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="occupied:0" grmarkguid="f90a5069-dd09-4e85-a570-5550d4dde2cd" gruiphraseguid="2e4f3417-1903-45f4-b967-b0c5c3fa76eb">occupied</span> the clichéd podium of glamour and hypocrisy. They talked of politics, social affairs, food
<span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="and:0" grmarkguid="005724bb-d2c1-4e6a-a290-82c99c5583ed" gruiphraseguid="add529f1-0ee2-4605-8d85-a1fc6e5882c4">and</span> other grave subjects with intense sincerity and seldom passed serious
<span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="glances:0" grmarkguid="4a1e87cd-0008-47d1-9136-78b258f50b3f" gruiphraseguid="f9952b72-36b6-4021-964a-cc2b7e7d62ca">glances</span> to the giggling bevy. This was the aristocratic populace with the taste
<span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="of:0" grmarkguid="38dc63bb-cd17-413e-adcd-7dc26ee9f14c" gruiphraseguid="c8fa2046-43fd-4c7a-8c8e-e86c56f57d1e">of</span> the finest things that wealth could buy.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: white; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The wives and the girls flaunted
<span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="their:0" grmarkguid="41755e37-d009-4e82-ae4c-a388e548a684" gruiphraseguid="e7076498-1879-4067-bb0a-2b8c2365983b">their</span> beauty, conversed <span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="of:1" grmarkguid="bafb35b8-d80a-46c6-8bed-8c3023ab200e" gruiphraseguid="e7076498-1879-4067-bb0a-2b8c2365983b">of</span> men, their riches and responded to those serious glances
<span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="with:0" grmarkguid="546b3611-ca68-480c-99fe-5089979ae3fd" gruiphraseguid="0893d994-0f33-430a-9c5d-fe7b25c761c1">with</span> short peals of laughter. It was enticing and pleasantly disturbing enough
<span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="to:0" grmarkguid="d79320b8-7c3e-4165-820a-adba08e36630" gruiphraseguid="d5732edb-f915-49b2-ba5f-8d2948e3ffed">to</span> allure the pretentiously grave men. There was warmth, elegance and
<span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="deceitfulness:0" grmarkguid="3815106f-1229-4739-a268-a873aeb37212" gruiphraseguid="6ad1697b-e858-441d-be74-62ca3c638c45">deceitfulness</span> in every single character that populated the raving ambience. But
<span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="the:0" grmarkguid="fbef94dc-894d-4d9f-b751-aa74d0593d41" gruiphraseguid="840492d0-e8a5-40c1-8f31-e5c32855d25f">the</span> girl in that Prussian-blue chiffon sari...<span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid=".:1" grmarkguid="93e286b9-bdde-4ceb-8d8f-fab43271a0c5" gruiphraseguid="0db03baa-d983-40da-8acb-13d3ce90ef22">.</span>Was she not disparate from the
<span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="chuckling:0" grmarkguid="7ebe1dff-1ac7-46c9-9146-4df8a42bc626" gruiphraseguid="3b1a25cc-c813-4bd3-89e2-d12242bf6e2b">chuckling</span> flock? She stood with a fine goblet clasped between her slender
<span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="fingers:0" grmarkguid="4ed46b2c-752d-4a6a-b6fb-a3122e7eaa6c" gruiphraseguid="97e41890-a1f9-46fa-b1de-62d345fbd50c">fingers</span>, silent and observant, at one of the obscure corners near the <span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="drinkery:1" grmarkguid="724e9a35-e57e-43d6-a31b-d302c4d0ce93" gruiphraseguid="97e41890-a1f9-46fa-b1de-62d345fbd50c">drinkery</span>
<span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="racing:0" grmarkguid="6d53098f-bd00-433a-9c4d-f65bb178e085" gruiphraseguid="42cb6879-eb2f-4297-b6ca-e6dfb347f627">racing</span> her curious eyes through that enthusiastic crowd.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: white; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> There was a faint smile on her somber
<span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="countenance:0" grmarkguid="1f7a2c18-4ee7-4b04-a3b4-ffbb9f7e34e2" gruiphraseguid="d6559eb2-1c4e-453c-9a9b-5b39f143ba2c">countenance</span> and elegance <span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="in:1" grmarkguid="93f62f5c-dca0-4a65-944e-028cd81209b2" gruiphraseguid="d6559eb2-1c4e-453c-9a9b-5b39f143ba2c">in</span> the tall <span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="frame work:2" grmarkguid="7defea87-b2c7-4c6b-8c29-b4e392db53fa" gruiphraseguid="d6559eb2-1c4e-453c-9a9b-5b39f143ba2c">frame work</span> that she owned. Her voluptuous
<span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="contour:0" grmarkguid="5cdcbb4d-5640-467e-9f72-813b43e621f2" gruiphraseguid="16fe0886-16c2-4e54-ab58-01cf162c69a8">contour</span> draped in the sequined Prussian cloth made her obtrusively significant
<span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="in:0" grmarkguid="bc2e69b3-251c-4fbb-ab39-ad1118398346" gruiphraseguid="3ee878da-a3ac-47ba-b177-06a9533f6f9b">in</span> that dry corner. People walked past her without much concern but there was
<span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="an:0" grmarkguid="230f04df-5188-493a-bde2-40f6c9dae7f0" gruiphraseguid="e4c69810-8160-42be-8ad4-6bc567d85340">an</span> inexplicable <span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="unusualness:1" grmarkguid="4dc8e9ef-bd16-4f80-8da1-5386f5af3489" gruiphraseguid="e4c69810-8160-42be-8ad4-6bc567d85340">unusualness</span> that held them for moments. They passed glances at
<span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="her:0" grmarkguid="93af5966-9a73-416f-b123-8861dbf18711" gruiphraseguid="1aefbd48-359b-4e97-b758-b8bb77b2da7b">her</span> for a while and walked away with abrupt briskness. One amongst those sober
<span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="gentlemen:0" grmarkguid="7f58b23c-66bd-426b-937d-d48a4485ca07" gruiphraseguid="83b7c9c4-9436-416f-8d03-625b0da99bf7">gentlemen</span> who had been observing the conundrum <span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="from:1" grmarkguid="bbe92978-ec40-4225-9e16-706bacb8ee66" gruiphraseguid="83b7c9c4-9436-416f-8d03-625b0da99bf7">from</span> a while, made his way
<span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="towards:0" grmarkguid="f316adef-efa5-4784-a226-33d23d8d3401" gruiphraseguid="d5b97d48-cb23-455a-b892-9cf73a5e961c">towards</span> her, perhaps to shred the monotony. He quietly stationed himself beside
<span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="her:0" grmarkguid="4662c6c6-861f-428f-8c5f-fb84b58cf92b" gruiphraseguid="0d2b285b-3bb2-4062-a6d4-4417749b363f">her</span>, and ordered for a glass of wine. The attendant plucked out a fine goblet
<span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="from:0" grmarkguid="94b9c990-8b4b-4879-bd1a-7a4709b12253" gruiphraseguid="a917097e-7bfa-4268-92bb-7f2bfbed92ef">from</span> that huge collection and poured into it a stream of red wine. He swirled
<span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="it:0" grmarkguid="5ddfd387-8eae-42fb-8833-5fc5392f9382" gruiphraseguid="ffbb0e52-554d-4a1b-95ef-37adea23025c">it</span> once with subtle tenderness and <span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="sipped:1" grmarkguid="85928c00-6d3d-46cb-b5be-ef9fa21c1220" gruiphraseguid="ffbb0e52-554d-4a1b-95ef-37adea23025c">sipped</span> onto its glazed edge. His dark <span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="dense:0" grmarkguid="3c44f530-d1d0-48d8-b18a-3a8cca636eb3" gruiphraseguid="db1ad8a1-6668-44a4-b89f-2e2301a709b9">dense</span>
<span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="brows:0" grmarkguid="5b822f31-6057-4356-b70e-4be3491ac485" gruiphraseguid="5287c7ac-eab7-47f1-bbee-0b3973bab1db">brows</span> rose up with delight and his stony visage brightened with contentment. He
<span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="turned:0" grmarkguid="aef897ad-48d3-437c-823f-7479124c39c9" gruiphraseguid="fc889230-09f5-426a-9932-257b5f8e1e3f">turned</span> towards the ‘Prussian’ lady and muttered, “Ah<span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="…:1" grmarkguid="cb0289b8-0a3f-45ae-a331-3073810fb5a3" gruiphraseguid="fc889230-09f5-426a-9932-257b5f8e1e3f">…</span>The wine tastes nice!” She
<span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="turned:0" grmarkguid="cbfae961-1d99-4f41-a758-dcb78a47d287" gruiphraseguid="8b1bc344-c651-4d22-ab57-65354489873a">turned</span> her crest with a sudden jerk and looked at him, astonished. The man
<span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="smiled:0" grmarkguid="a6fd64bd-21f4-42d9-833f-7cb551d0e45e" gruiphraseguid="0692251b-720b-4f79-aadd-ec31329f2536">smiled</span> at her astonishment and replied, “Did I petrify you miss?” A soft smile smudged the corners of her painted
<span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="lips:0" grmarkguid="65412d91-8ebb-4d4f-904a-12ec3558f96a" gruiphraseguid="b26f699f-393d-40e6-b3a7-9c99e2705265">lips</span> and she quietly replied, “No sir. Just a little surprised”. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: white; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The food spilled intense aroma
<span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="and:0" grmarkguid="6958974c-2a87-4f5c-a5f1-8272404be9e8" gruiphraseguid="ccdd30ec-a44a-4585-bcb5-70e66d6ef12b">and</span> the scent of the feminine perfumes intensified the heaving ambience. The
<span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="man:0" grmarkguid="ed5900dc-fe26-47b5-a2a7-4dbb2e44358c" gruiphraseguid="f81eda01-f26a-4361-b59b-9b2a7b44c233">man</span> took frequent sips from that goblet and smiled at the girl intermittently.
It was rather a silent <span class="GRnoSuggestion GRcorrect" grcontextid="imploration:0" grmarkguid="31e28745-52a2-4672-bfec-4717674d969e" gruiphraseguid="ad86b6ac-f351-4138-babe-b07d1448df4f">imploration</span> to carry out a frivolous conversation. “What
<span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="do:0" grmarkguid="6b729f3b-7b6b-43b1-9f04-3550287c9abd" gruiphraseguid="ea68899a-bc19-4e52-8daf-bfed7f5ccdc1">do</span> you like the most in food, Madame?” he spoke again. She answered, “oh
Sire…<span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid=".:0" grmarkguid="6e952c60-8146-425f-9837-c6450a2e7b56" gruiphraseguid="4d7be1ac-0d3c-46d4-afc5-cf28d26b5f61">.</span>I am not a great food lover, still I have a corner <span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="for:1" grmarkguid="2e17e1d5-39d3-43e9-9cb3-74d64f7e9338" gruiphraseguid="4d7be1ac-0d3c-46d4-afc5-cf28d26b5f61">for</span> French
<span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="delicacies:0" grmarkguid="dda32fa0-60e1-4d70-81e3-a2232927d23f" gruiphraseguid="f6368fce-f8bb-4e43-9ba3-4e4cadaca2db">delicacies</span>.” He shrugged his shoulders and tucked his palms into his pockets,
<span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="and:0" grmarkguid="ba8bc399-3ced-4983-953d-c0a9556a9be0" gruiphraseguid="f6e681d1-4ffe-4994-9e59-4489842cceec">and</span> smiled as if to acknowledge her taste. She talked <span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="of:0" grmarkguid="b76d1f4b-7bc2-4e75-8df4-17578a0a8a35" gruiphraseguid="335ac945-2d74-4a58-b501-ff67aa88f4d1">of</span> wines, people, their places
<span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="and:0" grmarkguid="c10b2a5c-ab53-4b4e-873c-0bb1a0f6954c" gruiphraseguid="8501151a-5577-4b3f-880f-3515e87666ff">and</span> other aristocracies as she played with her silken overflowing mane that <span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="flowed:1" grmarkguid="14277d31-7548-47bd-a78d-f31da9c07c26" gruiphraseguid="8501151a-5577-4b3f-880f-3515e87666ff">flowed</span>
<span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="down:0" grmarkguid="0b1f95f5-3775-4e64-816a-226ba8e93f91" gruiphraseguid="91bd3dae-4a26-438c-8ff4-a113845689ad">down</span> her delicate shoulders. She detailed every single subject that he started
<span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="with:0" grmarkguid="fad6e94a-e230-49a1-85ed-21aadad8f946" gruiphraseguid="10be8721-ad6e-4361-bca3-de831d4cddea">with</span>. The man got entangled in that unvoiced charm and craved to talk more. He was ensnared by her plainness, her comprehension,
<span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="subtle:0" grmarkguid="59304dc6-bfbc-4f05-b5de-9dd3e65605d5" gruiphraseguid="6156ddbe-13af-408c-b13b-dec814f87223">subtle</span> humor and her uncultivated <span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="sophesticacy:1" grmarkguid="129097f7-1165-4d5d-a4c6-6d13b1a01ec1" gruiphraseguid="6156ddbe-13af-408c-b13b-dec814f87223">sophesticacy</span>. Had she not travelled across
<span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="the:0" grmarkguid="2e9a3a8f-3ef2-4d5a-b602-76c0dabb82ad" gruiphraseguid="9eb258c0-ee8d-4d7d-ac11-28030f9127da">the</span> lengths of the globe? Was she not the perfect one to have as a companion? Was
<span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="she:0" grmarkguid="63736dc5-efdd-4abd-883d-623da08f5583" gruiphraseguid="2b044b63-86a2-4fc4-bd60-97bcdacf001b">she</span> not a woman of deep understanding and learning? He wondered how educated
<span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="and:0" grmarkguid="d57f1979-24d1-4275-81e4-1572d6e8454f" gruiphraseguid="fb08fa10-7ff3-4853-8753-fd0105ce94bc">and</span> refined she was!!</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: white; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">There was a sudden rush. The people
<span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="fleeted:0" grmarkguid="d6b576e8-1b80-4161-8852-0856af87f512" gruiphraseguid="1c618cc8-fa14-400b-9d7b-b99357e2923c">fleeted</span> towards the dining court. The girl turned towards him and uttered
<span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="softly:0" grmarkguid="c4fa07c7-7de8-4c57-9e05-42e3eed0d2d2" gruiphraseguid="4db1a1e6-3bd3-490f-a222-47a1f0ae8915">softly</span>, “I have to leave sire….<span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid=".:1" grmarkguid="fe760087-bd81-4511-b681-c4b37f12e4ba" gruiphraseguid="4db1a1e6-3bd3-490f-a222-47a1f0ae8915">.</span>would you mind...” and before she could close, he
<span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="interrupted:0" grmarkguid="72cc06b2-b254-476a-a765-dd5cf0638ab8" gruiphraseguid="2bdd83e7-90d0-4dfc-b256-70385991f289">interrupted</span> with yawning curiosity, “I just forgot to ask! Do you own a
<span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="restaurant:0" grmarkguid="6d891f60-fbfb-4456-9b23-e0a2292d6bc3" gruiphraseguid="1ff3c2ff-bdb5-48ee-b665-9455ebd8e252">restaurant</span>?? I own one down the <i>Khirpi lane.</i>
We call it the<i> ‘Dining Row’. </i>” The
<span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="girl:0" grmarkguid="68cb8846-edb2-4b60-8eab-256e798e31e4" gruiphraseguid="e6e534cf-16c7-4ab2-a5ad-f88f8e405028">girl</span> smiled back to her and replied, “Sir<span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="…:1" grmarkguid="9cfdd8f9-231a-4364-918d-2ef47b366afd" gruiphraseguid="e6e534cf-16c7-4ab2-a5ad-f88f8e405028">…</span>I do not own a restaurant, but <span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="I:2" grmarkguid="ca6f1e22-1465-4ee3-a215-f4c840f35ff8" gruiphraseguid="e6e534cf-16c7-4ab2-a5ad-f88f8e405028">I</span> own
<span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="a:0" grmarkguid="360fd79a-bfe1-4910-a39e-6063da343c6b" gruiphraseguid="aa8b5e7f-8261-493a-814a-54504ee11976">a</span> small corner <span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="at:1" grmarkguid="1fa1bebf-3363-443d-b58f-12dc11d68424" gruiphraseguid="aa8b5e7f-8261-493a-814a-54504ee11976">at</span> yours<i>’. </i>I am the assistant
<span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="to:0" grmarkguid="94b265aa-59ec-4550-ae96-960ceb39b697" gruiphraseguid="ca95f5f6-ce0a-42b5-8aff-0cd6e6a499bb">to</span> your Kitchen Manager.” He stood shaken and speechless as she uttered a goodbye
<span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="word:0" grmarkguid="f48c784e-e5fa-4d49-8d99-577b24ca022c" gruiphraseguid="e303504a-7a6e-4bef-8c76-c52b00058902">word</span> and walked away with a tender smile. He contemplated his assumption for a
<span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="while:0" grmarkguid="749b2db3-9ee1-4b00-8b11-d660d1060794" gruiphraseguid="4c7145a6-6b4a-4fa9-8f9f-7b3be4a404e8">while</span> and broke into a smile, mocking at his <span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="inevident:1" grmarkguid="1eba72ab-480c-40ee-91e2-c9e3d3d41915" gruiphraseguid="4c7145a6-6b4a-4fa9-8f9f-7b3be4a404e8">inevident</span> suppositions.</span></div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-gQYcmOsw20o/UR3vPp6HjQI/AAAAAAAAAIg/mxE0sRS6eik/s1600/tumblr_mhfidngpMG1ql39g0o1_500.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-gQYcmOsw20o/UR3vPp6HjQI/AAAAAAAAAIg/mxE0sRS6eik/s320/tumblr_mhfidngpMG1ql39g0o1_500.png" width="261" /></a></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07876607619525401558noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2170278822974654285.post-13576142018620641272013-02-03T10:28:00.001-08:002013-02-03T11:12:30.980-08:00The Mother<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: white; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The room was plunged in a tearing
<span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="silence:0" grmarkguid="dbf0e42e-4081-44a1-a1ba-3ff62c5663bd" gruiphraseguid="2584b30f-7e02-4d50-9f42-ff8145a18c44">silence</span>. The somber lifeless corpse lay still on that squalid sheet wrapped in
<span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="a:0" grmarkguid="cf25cee0-9174-4ec2-a13e-1f9bed9232ee" gruiphraseguid="670fd65f-e885-4fa7-ac13-f4032532dbe3">a</span> tattered checkered blanket. A couple of <span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="brazenly:0" grmarkguid="5dc71e69-b201-4d93-9df8-702945ccfd9f" gruiphraseguid="4937a36d-3a17-4bb0-b9db-6d2d60ca1beb">brazenly</span> dressed women stood close
<span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="near:0" grmarkguid="33b7ad6b-1eea-4c9e-b99f-af559e29fa6e" gruiphraseguid="07416b52-2455-4a5b-bc72-3914c5fb18df">near</span> that dead lady. Their grave countenances and the intermittent sighs reflected
<span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="more:0" grmarkguid="6a81bfd3-aa6f-4a27-a920-549ce95fdf59" gruiphraseguid="52e9a15b-c3e5-4a31-96b0-acc516ac202e">more</span> of relief than remorse. The doctor quietly left the room with a deep sigh
<span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="and:0" grmarkguid="0764a517-54de-4551-9aad-c766d567436e" gruiphraseguid="ba05c72b-364b-4a09-a2cf-1052c02af2a3">and</span> a sluggish gait. I stood at the threshold gaping blindly at her, tainted
<span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="story:0" grmarkguid="3a096a01-7c8f-408f-8ca0-54983b192386" gruiphraseguid="f73b13f5-10ae-4c30-a4ae-9d66cc9a964e">story</span> of shattered hopes and a defamed name. One of those ladies walked up to
<span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="me:0" grmarkguid="3c08a3a1-62b2-433a-b0c6-1c05d4f0202e" gruiphraseguid="ed3a0c79-3357-41fe-9f79-0f11c460b520">me</span> and uttered in a restrained voice, “She waited for long but she passed
<span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="away:0" grmarkguid="cc114fec-6469-454d-8076-45c022296415" gruiphraseguid="a5416d06-99c4-478f-b283-27543f3a7385">away</span>.” I nodded with heaviness and replied, “The funeral…<span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="…:1" grmarkguid="c5bc8c5a-cfef-409d-ab5d-3d9374b17735" gruiphraseguid="a5416d06-99c4-478f-b283-27543f3a7385">…</span>the orphanage would
<span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="bear:0" grmarkguid="0dbccaa3-9cbf-4dab-937b-c838824f92aa" gruiphraseguid="4c7e0ab5-e30f-4a6e-9fc5-274cd1f9bd34">bear</span> the expenses.” And I trotted away.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: white; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">She was Bimlamati. She often came
<span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="and:0" grmarkguid="81e3db55-4f73-4579-949c-b4c032e91aaf" gruiphraseguid="c214991d-69a9-406d-93f0-1197c9f48fd7">and</span> sat herself <span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="in:1" grmarkguid="3e283e7d-5543-4c2d-90bf-c324a2586beb" gruiphraseguid="c214991d-69a9-406d-93f0-1197c9f48fd7">in</span> the rusted iron bench <span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="on:2" grmarkguid="14269188-c879-4263-a6a1-9ec151e6f5bd" gruiphraseguid="0fc186a6-f9a2-41dc-b8ac-b585558e440f">on</span> the garden, and glared at me with
<span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="an:0" grmarkguid="e6a23140-43db-4b5e-bd56-a659d509f010" gruiphraseguid="5527f24b-b5ec-4820-861a-8888e0c317d4">an</span> unexplained oddity!! I was sixteen then. I quietly observed the silent conundrum watching the children play. They often capriciously walked up to the
<span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="lady:0" grmarkguid="478e2f09-1f33-45b1-bbd3-b8f02ffdf279" gruiphraseguid="af82d316-738d-4aa4-a3af-1a85907be1ec">lady</span> and gaped at her silence with utter amazement .She caught hold of one of
<span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="them:0" grmarkguid="2df73b42-67f0-4416-801e-62902ad9b673" gruiphraseguid="61380a8f-7bed-4858-a0a1-5133b63bed57">them</span> and amused herself in their rapture. And they made incessant efforts to free themselves from her stingy grip.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: white; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Our mother, rather that
<span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="magnanimous:0" grmarkguid="f9fda5be-be12-4c0c-9480-4cb5eba29fb3" gruiphraseguid="890909ac-5ba5-4aa1-8819-ca88ba7b60bf">magnanimous</span> woman who owned all of us often sat beside her, comforting the
<span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="pains:0" grmarkguid="f6c17385-ac81-4a5d-b4f6-1d34ba29f629" gruiphraseguid="3f3be8ec-5022-4809-ab5e-972169956f7d">pains</span> that she tamed. She was one amongst those many distorted beings who came
<span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="in:0" grmarkguid="2aef4fa7-9360-4b35-964b-67b6fd76b6b1" gruiphraseguid="c783f133-3a1d-4286-9e5f-386e9b3264f3">in</span> search of innocent mirth amidst those innocuous smiles, yet there was a <span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="silent:1" grmarkguid="98a62f71-f7e9-4a22-a596-c3044d9ac133" gruiphraseguid="c783f133-3a1d-4286-9e5f-386e9b3264f3">silent</span>
<span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="question:0" grmarkguid="818ec386-1bb8-4b09-931c-6c7bcb4db143" gruiphraseguid="4080a119-ff00-43a9-bc10-3da166eb7089">question</span> stirring behind those inquisitive eyes. I made relentless efforts to
<span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="take:0" grmarkguid="c9f97c7d-52df-456b-8979-e40de76ea743" gruiphraseguid="2531c17f-b31b-4552-8c25-57355a087470">take</span> <span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="reins:1" grmarkguid="26711edc-bee2-4f18-844a-82e005cdaf59" gruiphraseguid="2531c17f-b31b-4552-8c25-57355a087470">reins</span> over my profound interest to discover the cause behind those curious
<span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="stares:0" grmarkguid="99cdd31c-a06b-43f5-bb93-a25615cf2938" gruiphraseguid="1079187d-7f6e-4db8-a8fd-ea386f8cdafd">stares</span>. But they ever remained in the locked cask of curiosity. I often
<span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="questioned:0" grmarkguid="6275e1da-6a89-4e4d-895a-47bc95838b14" gruiphraseguid="a0269ddd-06c7-4c73-bcc3-06b44f1433ab">questioned</span> our mother about all the people who came to visit us, and caressed
<span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="the:0" grmarkguid="fced1c13-b39f-4227-b43b-286b5486e6ca" gruiphraseguid="9d4b51cb-cc09-460b-b293-a815380efe3f">the</span> children with sympathy rather than affection. But ‘She’ was a disparate being.
She silently came, engulfed in deep calmness and
<span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="spent:0" grmarkguid="bd6f1f82-e2e2-4247-9aa4-8115ea5f6114" gruiphraseguid="ba6b5f89-b4bc-41a5-87bf-9a8ba434843c">spent</span> her hours glaring at the distant emptiness of the garden and her other
<span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="favorite:0" grmarkguid="fb938744-21fd-47af-b40e-2eb92f6b0b11" gruiphraseguid="a3a0bc67-5014-4c02-93d5-da4fcb2e413c">favorite</span> subject was ‘me’!!</span></div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-RbqYhY1g4Fo/UQ6sN5khqwI/AAAAAAAAAHw/zwRVbXT5h5w/s1600/images.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" height="134" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-RbqYhY1g4Fo/UQ6sN5khqwI/AAAAAAAAAHw/zwRVbXT5h5w/s320/images.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: white; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"> My Ignorance of
<span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="who:0" grmarkguid="d3fffb30-c986-40c7-ac19-55f0d730e5b9" gruiphraseguid="b91d1f3e-8131-48a7-b845-88c0c5e0236b">who</span> she was and where she had come from, kept me prying into <span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="her:1" grmarkguid="63aedd23-24c6-4480-bd04-6e17b93b886e" gruiphraseguid="b91d1f3e-8131-48a7-b845-88c0c5e0236b">her</span> questioned
<span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="identity:0" grmarkguid="c16d92d8-5b75-471b-98d2-c3772ae1b496" gruiphraseguid="3dad8bd7-36bd-45ea-86c4-0b76fd557514">identity</span>. But all my endeavors were rendered futile. Neither did mother speak
<span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="of:0" grmarkguid="2f27f08c-470d-455f-8451-8275d24cdd76" gruiphraseguid="3364e441-c1a3-4465-a506-9b47ffdff27c">of</span> her nor did I. Soon I was sent to a college. <span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="The strict:0" grmarkguid="30d302f3-d89e-4e72-8659-01403eaf1eba" gruiphraseguid="772fe16c-1a11-4f38-8125-ae0faf9bc5fc">The strict</span> norms of the convent
<span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="and:0" grmarkguid="b93b6a0e-d763-44a7-b9d1-0abafd4d818c" gruiphraseguid="f186fa33-8b61-45b0-9b62-5b3c3718d22b">and</span> the sudden disclosure to numerous friends, foes and acquaintances left me
<span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="in:0" grmarkguid="732e45ae-e055-4170-b44c-cced92b6b13d" gruiphraseguid="52cd5fdb-80f2-44b2-be4d-d26c2343ba8a">in</span> deep perplexities. I grew <span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="big:0" grmarkguid="68f51058-af2f-4f4c-80a2-9ca246e8f882" gruiphraseguid="f9b928ae-72c8-4147-9aab-bb73869b1e1d">big</span>, in <span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="senses:1" grmarkguid="79c72932-1a38-4be1-9210-5c43a6169c77" gruiphraseguid="f9b928ae-72c8-4147-9aab-bb73869b1e1d">senses</span> and in my thoughts. I was taught
<span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="compassion:0" grmarkguid="5d37815e-4bc5-49e2-8441-69b0b794a880" gruiphraseguid="e953a6d8-c38b-4ee8-998c-40c9be3757e1">compassion</span> and humility. The Nuns took us to the hospitals, slums, and the
<span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="brothels:0" grmarkguid="40e2bb09-6d84-4f63-9b5d-7228852b8346" gruiphraseguid="3e7cb8e3-3819-4c9c-acf5-5ee604a9daf7">brothels</span>. The <span class="GRnoSuggestion GRcorrect" grcontextid="condemnable:0" grmarkguid="10a7ab47-f5fd-4dac-91d1-cddcce4bba7b" gruiphraseguid="e718215c-3195-4a6d-a569-d8e80db9a5c8">condemnable</span> plight of those impoverished lives left us in tears.
The contaminated reputation of those women who decked the brothels of the
<span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="cities:0" grmarkguid="2ced955b-630a-4cd3-979d-26192e697fb2" gruiphraseguid="26709484-604f-42ea-8f34-7b9a3f570879">cities</span> and their maligned luster made us look at them with deep empathy. I was
<span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="taught:0" grmarkguid="572d1fb0-155b-4302-bb23-f49ca33bf765" gruiphraseguid="a87d9e81-04b8-449c-873c-a5c771580be8">taught</span> to serve. I thought of life and the ghoulish facets. The ugliness seemed
<span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="to:0" grmarkguid="a1119176-9540-49f0-b110-4d2e0bd7fa55" gruiphraseguid="16db25b4-c723-4913-b0aa-80ddd5c539b8">to</span> entwine every branch of their lives. Yet they smiled!</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: white; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">How <span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="unwearyingly:0" grmarkguid="7369b27a-2c17-4a7a-af32-054d53c87650" gruiphraseguid="72e5b0ea-ecc3-4196-8389-587c36e89e2b">unwearyingly</span> they bore the
<span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="burden:0" grmarkguid="4f6e1021-5c85-41ed-8443-4f84ff00e6d6" gruiphraseguid="a3c036f3-5522-4681-8cae-c1b7b37ecd75">burden</span> of abhorrence! How hungry they were for acceptance. The <span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="orphic:0" grmarkguid="7b49a463-6618-491e-a130-13533ffa2803" gruiphraseguid="d6965ed7-e3bd-4d20-a685-c0116e7f5af3">orphic</span> pain, the
<span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="intolerable:0" grmarkguid="36a1798d-5512-4a92-a621-d52533730812" gruiphraseguid="7367c1e0-14c4-42fc-92ed-e8ee31fb6e19">intolerable</span> condemnation stirred every eye that witnessed it! I walked through
<span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="those:0" grmarkguid="9878df2c-bb72-4fb8-98b1-b88ed2d45850" gruiphraseguid="9dfae5cd-f09a-4f82-8c6b-867db2d6b1ed">those</span> infected lanes with a deep desire to help them. I collected <i><span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="chandas:0" grmarkguid="7f359e3e-ec15-42ce-8cab-5fa20bda4ed2" gruiphraseguid="fff661b1-b77d-4044-8d60-5be2d55d64fb">chandas</span></i>, clothes and all that I could
<span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="procure:0" grmarkguid="bafbf183-69a9-4c37-b066-b59b7e46a18d" gruiphraseguid="2014f582-f3a1-4aaa-a0cb-8c14a15a73f3">procure</span> from the fortunate niche of the society. The convent supported and
<span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="appreciated:0" grmarkguid="dba01698-8590-4ff5-9478-6821fde2b447" gruiphraseguid="f1d66441-8010-4bd3-9b57-327be3d8c7d2">appreciated</span> my petite efforts to practice what they had imparted to me. Days fled
<span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="and:0" grmarkguid="7006c8d8-0b80-41f5-bb0a-adced7bfc9cf" gruiphraseguid="92000406-73af-432f-93e4-6049b47cf739">and</span> I was an educated being .And I was portrayed a poor’s champion in my familiar
<span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="boundaries:0" grmarkguid="3528aa0b-f2f5-42a6-a60e-a68c62e13440" gruiphraseguid="f7c40843-3822-40fb-9991-3827a0f5a58c">boundaries</span>.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: white; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The ‘Mother’ was on death bed. I was
<span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="sent:0" grmarkguid="4f2eed20-c917-48e2-8ab4-fd62ffa70190" gruiphraseguid="1bef86ed-b82b-49eb-8f9d-990428b451bc">sent</span> for from the orphanage. I left <span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="by:0" grmarkguid="3cb57d6c-8075-47f7-b48c-570a0415f98d" gruiphraseguid="b6fbeacb-7709-4157-bf39-79b4fd3f3236">by</span> the first
<span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="train:0" grmarkguid="0f7e17a8-661a-4bd3-afab-8fe78f385693" gruiphraseguid="036104f2-907d-4fb3-b95e-9f68790d7868">train</span> that I could get to <span class="GRnoSuggestion GRcorrect" grcontextid="champagram:1" grmarkguid="0133deb4-c676-4f72-b427-9224692ab599" gruiphraseguid="036104f2-907d-4fb3-b95e-9f68790d7868">champagram</span>. Mother lay sick and distorted in her
<span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="little:0" grmarkguid="ff785097-210b-4b79-a537-196e5f7db1af" gruiphraseguid="f3d09a5c-25c8-4967-9da7-d101e88a5a72">little</span> cot. The strong gusts of breath that she blew out evinced the weariness of
<span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="her:0" grmarkguid="a9ccb50c-48a8-4627-acc7-ee08700a8807" gruiphraseguid="bb0517a2-c707-4e73-87b3-c9438e1937c4">her</span> life. But the eyes spoke of the same recognized kindness that she possessed
<span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="for:0" grmarkguid="53f7490e-53f4-4b5d-8056-0d106f6992c0" gruiphraseguid="52b347fa-1c5e-4fd1-9931-ed14eeacef14">for</span> every child that she had mothered. Being
<span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="the:0" grmarkguid="2bfd9e6f-4539-47ef-85aa-d5fdb7f4ce14" gruiphraseguid="f128a8d6-24bd-4860-985a-c040e972577c">the</span> eldest and the most educated of all, I was asked to take over the reins of ‘Charulata’,
(<span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="the:0" grmarkguid="aca67c76-ee95-4ebd-869a-6154a18febac" gruiphraseguid="bd287cc4-6108-48d3-b83f-08e6c7f32b69">the</span> orphanage) my mother’s <span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="dreams:1" grmarkguid="a5563c49-fc06-46a6-a83a-5c9d6c7838bd" gruiphraseguid="bd287cc4-6108-48d3-b83f-08e6c7f32b69">dreams</span>. She waved
<span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="the:0" grmarkguid="f869659d-cf15-479d-acd7-61cf3e091eae" gruiphraseguid="c859d258-2968-43d4-8d95-f46178445e01">the</span> others to leave. And Mother and I were left alone. The ticking clock, the dankness
<span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="of:0" grmarkguid="802dc11d-aca7-4a0f-a69e-820aa38c9702" gruiphraseguid="c5686e1d-367a-49d5-b139-87a9d50763fe">of</span> the room, the shrunken frame of her body and the oozing rheum from her weary
<span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="eyes:0" grmarkguid="8da231a6-8e1a-4845-8bde-6ab88cf5d164" gruiphraseguid="004b9386-ae38-4ffd-a148-9b29efcf9542">eyes</span> uttered ‘Death’. I was stunned and broken! </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: white; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">She held my palm in <span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="hers:0" grmarkguid="cd14c75f-5976-481e-938d-e74b202b35a1" gruiphraseguid="a61aae73-51a3-4330-b535-05b42b2d5609">hers</span> and
<span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="stared:0" grmarkguid="5ec4ac7f-415a-48b3-a64e-7aa700552745" gruiphraseguid="76928aae-f67f-4618-a1da-f402b667e667">stared</span> at me with bareness. My heart sank the more. I sat <span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="stiff:0" grmarkguid="68ab0475-a43d-4e29-9398-409ec7012bc5" gruiphraseguid="ac3116f4-deee-417b-955a-a6010dae50f9">stiff</span> in awe when suddenly she spoke. “<span class="GRnoSuggestion GRcorrect" grcontextid="Bimla:0" grmarkguid="a6317bce-2249-491a-9303-f58b16ae7982" gruiphraseguid="028c62ef-3ca2-4208-9193-915a5ff7ab5c">Bimla</span> is your mother”.
I was left gawking at her for an indefinite time. I could not question further.
The night hours passed nimbly and the next morning she passed away. I was
<span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="chained:0" grmarkguid="6e9c457d-29a5-49c1-8bb6-e69e22ffa4ab" gruiphraseguid="68721ab5-f623-4e4d-bcc7-c05c4f6ec19e">chained</span> in her death and the quoted words. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: black; color: white; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span class="GRnoSuggestion GRcorrect" grcontextid="Bimplamati:0" grmarkguid="0bf5f0b1-2a80-44d7-9a35-4bed2e54dcfb" gruiphraseguid="387be4c5-b696-42a6-b6c7-9665055ba762">Bimplamati</span> belonged to that
<span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="disgraced:0" grmarkguid="abcbfcf1-be9b-4ea2-9f21-8668863719d9" gruiphraseguid="dcd9bee4-d842-4513-8fb6-045d339fdeb4">disgraced</span> niche of this sophisticated society where the brutal play of orgasm
<span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="knits:0" grmarkguid="0a2a11db-15e6-44c1-ad1c-b00f80ea40a8" gruiphraseguid="28093ca4-df41-4c6e-aae4-f3f4408fc0e3">knits</span> itself behind the veils of <span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="urbaneness:1" grmarkguid="419f4fc4-1221-45e9-a527-a9450273e448" gruiphraseguid="28093ca4-df41-4c6e-aae4-f3f4408fc0e3">urbaneness</span>. She was a Whore!!! She was one
<span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="amongst:0" grmarkguid="a4d69125-d49e-49f1-9f01-d803788c27f2" gruiphraseguid="1e5f47e4-585b-4516-a9cf-3c05dd2f47a6">amongst</span> those million faces for whom I had been compassionately serving <span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="for:1" grmarkguid="ec134b75-b052-40ef-8282-8e20678a1ca2" gruiphraseguid="1e5f47e4-585b-4516-a9cf-3c05dd2f47a6">for</span> the
<span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="last:0" grmarkguid="90a2397b-9fa5-48ed-9854-6e8455a27065" gruiphraseguid="02fa457e-41d7-4340-90a6-cf1e8810f21e">last</span> few years. Yet I was filled with detest. How could I be born to her? </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: black; color: white; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">She still came and sat herself on
<span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="those:0" grmarkguid="286d28ed-42e1-4d90-96e6-63842759fbc3" gruiphraseguid="7695fe45-4448-499a-8a2a-22d5e0edcbdc">those</span> rusted iron benches in those gardens. The children had grown. And there
<span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="were:0" grmarkguid="8362fe05-3058-477c-bbe9-bed4d8cb3b26" gruiphraseguid="a846f21b-8f97-4f56-b5e2-f0386659b931">were</span> few more new ones. But the <span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="stares:0" grmarkguid="b7f65d4d-3873-4564-ba91-bd9a2c1c6e02" gruiphraseguid="1a4f0c6f-2454-4f3d-aeaa-92194e55ad67">stares</span> remained indifferent. My curiosity to
<span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="know:0" grmarkguid="fdcac1e7-7803-4ad8-b633-095e106ccd25" gruiphraseguid="ea309ceb-f4e9-48a5-80ad-100966f8074e">know</span> her questioned identity had been answered. And the consequence was intense
<span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="distaste:0" grmarkguid="f6b4021a-3f3c-4b62-b1b3-bec6e3e8434d" gruiphraseguid="88b27ec0-eb1b-4d0f-b42f-a09ebf394e56">distaste</span> towards her and myself. How often I <span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="felt:0" grmarkguid="c13bb5d7-164f-4119-a2fc-a80c423fea85" gruiphraseguid="b07ba394-3c89-46ec-9b21-1c0338127a98">felt</span> to run to her and fall into
<span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="her:0" grmarkguid="efb14f29-f90f-4f7b-a1eb-692d73d9cbcf" gruiphraseguid="7f8ecd46-a599-4d09-85a1-d84b1d8dc585">her</span> arms but how could I? Was she not a whore? Was she not a ruined creature <span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="of:0" grmarkguid="1e30022d-b422-451e-94f4-74883bdb647d" gruiphraseguid="b1ae1872-2cdc-46c8-af03-09c76bee4ac5">of</span>
<span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="the:0" grmarkguid="6b30dd07-3921-48b0-a4df-694d85a87215" gruiphraseguid="aad506e6-1935-479f-9c91-171c0272921f">the</span> populace? Was it not ridiculous to accept that tainted woman and call her ‘Mother’?
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07876607619525401558noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2170278822974654285.post-54482756470650912942012-11-25T01:41:00.001-08:002012-11-25T01:45:47.250-08:00The Mirror<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: white; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="GingerNoCheckStart"></span>She had been perhaps the most grotesque and the detested creature in the vast expanse of that colossus mansion. Loyola had been serving the inmates of that house since time oblivion but now what remained was her frail dead frame burdened with languor and ugliness. How often had she fleeted from one storey to the other cleaning and mopping the unkempt corners!!! With what great delight had she spent her days making breads for those hungry little mouths!!! Had not she caressed those little cherubs with profound concern and affection!!! But all had fled- the Agility, the <span class="GRcorrect" grphrase="f48bcecaaafb130f1f92ae237652c4ddd1167dda" grtype="null" id="GRmark_f48bcecaaafb130f1f92ae237652c4ddd1167dda_sprightfulness:0">sprightfulness</span>, and every trait for which she had been revered and praised. What just survived was that perpetual urge to serve and that dreadful ugliness. It was the sympathies of the masters and the magnanimity of their wives that had still tamed the sick maid in their house.</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: white;"> <span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Loyola was in her early forties then. Those bygone quiet ephemeral years had estranged the maid from her own self, her family and her country. And what remained in that long pace of time was a faint picture of the roots to which she was born, the truth that she had been disowned by her father for being the ugliest creature of them<span class="GRcorrect" grphrase="6b386e8a63d1087f39b25754340fbc12df40bcc2" grtype="null" id="GRmark_6b386e8a63d1087f39b25754340fbc12df40bcc2_…:0">…</span>and the name ‘Loyola’. Her kingdom that comprised of those long corridors and that old kitchen had shrunk into a disheveled little dark room that occupied an obscure corner of <span class="GRcorrect" grphrase="cae8a2b614c82d7402c9d37bf0f720faf481ae28" grtype="null" id="GRmark_cae8a2b614c82d7402c9d37bf0f720faf481ae28_those:0">those</span> ancient corridors. There was a broken wobbly cot, a couple of discolored robes hanging from a vermillion rusted iron nail, a dozen of tattered books, a massive mirror and a dried rose in a green vase that accompanied the desolate being in her loneliness. It was illness rather the diffidence that had scourged that little woman. What was it that had the swallowed her health??? Was it the incessant tiring years that had ripped her off her liveliness??? Or was it the profanity she suffered <span class="GRcorrect" grphrase="68788fb6c5c840ad00aed3716a230fead32de715" grtype="null" id="GRmark_68788fb6c5c840ad00aed3716a230fead32de715_for:0">for</span> being tamed as a loathsome worthless beast??? The abhorrence, the hateful glances, and the constantly stirring sense of uselessness had cloistered her to that dark room….<span class="GRcorrect" grphrase="ae9bac2cac3ed1052498cad96b4db2cd69e4f5bc" grtype="null" id="GRmark_ae9bac2cac3ed1052498cad96b4db2cd69e4f5bc_.:0">.</span>her room. The children were no more children. The house cheered in the rasping music of youth and ardor. The sons became the fathers and the elders gave way to their young sons. Generations rolled with an amazing briskness. And she was eclipsed the more!!! </span></span></span></div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-DYHspdUCR08/ULHnnlsg5kI/AAAAAAAAAGw/JFwcqSq9BiA/s1600/460970_380192795372116_1051740991_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-DYHspdUCR08/ULHnnlsg5kI/AAAAAAAAAGw/JFwcqSq9BiA/s320/460970_380192795372116_1051740991_o.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
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<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: white; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">She was often discovered copiously weeping in her desolate confinements or was found ceaselessly gazing at the emptiness of those flaking walls. A couple of servants often attended to that poor retiring lady. It was just her silence and the quick deteriorating health that they perceived. The sent bowls of meals often returned untouched. And the silent sobs were gradually taken over by frequent shrieks and tearing laughter. The insanity exacerbated with each passing month and every reluctant eye stared at the door with a hidden awe. How keenly they awaited her farewell!!! How often did they think to get rid of that irksome creature!!! But how could they??? Had not she nurtured them with her own hands?? Had she not been one amongst them??<span class="GRcorrect" grphrase="f6c834bfb887c2d78bb4bf1b27ec2d10c2635e0e" grtype="null" id="GRmark_f6c834bfb887c2d78bb4bf1b27ec2d10c2635e0e_?:0">?</span>The reluctance gradually metamorphosed into concern, but not for the insane woman, rather in trepidation of losing their philanthropic reputation.</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: white; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">One amongst those pretentiously kind people called for a doctor. But alas, the medicines were rendered futile. The doctor spoke no words of hope. She wailed and swooned. And the servants pitied the more. How arduously they prayed for her to sleep!!! And the repugnance intensified in those young minds. Was it not mere imprudence to feed that savage lunatic woman?? The family had grown bigger<span class="GRcorrect" grphrase="4ae8cdd098886b27818c4d7601cc9eba21796078" grtype="null" id="GRmark_4ae8cdd098886b27818c4d7601cc9eba21796078_.:0">.</span>And was it not a necessity to have more commodious rooms?? They moved the old furniture and the other paraphernalia into that room. The '<span class="GRcorrect" grphrase="dd08bcaa1b02b967638c06e6c4ef038b06b281f7" grtype="null" id="GRmark_dd08bcaa1b02b967638c06e6c4ef038b06b281f7_small:0">small</span>' grew smaller and the sense of futility worsened than before. Every time the workmen straddled into that cell with some or the other massive antique, she was <span class="GRcorrect" grphrase="da72813219e9302aee7ed50f53d30ae24de65feb" grtype="null" id="GRmark_da72813219e9302aee7ed50f53d30ae24de65feb_gazed:0">gazed</span> at with hatred and fear. She covered her scarred visage with her chapped hands to mask her ugliness. Quite often the doctor stepped into her dreadful premises but departed with a mournful frown. </span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: white; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Months fled past with abruptness. And the docile creature had not been seen for a long time. There was a deep silence with sudden murmurs. But no-one cared rather dared to plunge into that silent depth. Stirred by the sudden silence, the doctor was sent for. He carefully pushed in through that heavy door and walked in stealthily to that darkness. Thin streaks of light that invaded it through the small gaps of the window smeared that room with a faint dusky light. Peering through that dimness, his curious eyes perceived the long unseen woman. She sat herself on her neatly dressed cot with a tattered book in her hands. The man was taken aback by her composure. There was neither <span class="GRcorrect" grphrase="264bcd10e612494a9eabf4a240edbdfc5d2b9981" grtype="null" id="GRmark_264bcd10e612494a9eabf4a240edbdfc5d2b9981_violence:0">violence</span> nor insanity. He drifted towards the patient hesitantly and muttered politely, “May I interrupt you Madame”. Loyola lifted her eyes from those old stained pages and greeted with a smile, “yes Sir”. He spent an hour in that grayness, relentlessly trying to probe into the cause of that abrupt change. He made frequent visits to that mysterious lady and each time he went, he was the more astonished. The question agitated him constantly that what transformed the sick lady. Where had the sickness disappeared??? But none could answer!!</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: white; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">She was seen with her mop again, cleaning and sweeping the floors. But the matter remained unanswered??? He often pondered upon the mystery and wondered if he could investigate the reason. But how could he??? Was she not still insane?? He often leaned against the locked door and tried to decipher the low murmurs that were often heard. But none of his question could find their answers. Unable to resist himself from the inquisitiveness, the doctor pushed in through the door and found the lady sitting close to that huge mirror. A faint smile smudged the corner of her lips and she gazed at it ceaselessly. Perturbing the silence he spoke out loud, “What are you gazing at Loyola?” she turned that detested face towards him and uttered with a smile, “me”. The doctor lifted his brows with keen curiosity. Measuring that he was unable to understand her, she explained, “There is a girl just like me that sits behind this mirror. She says that we two are alike, like the twin sisters. She says that she is beautiful<span class="GRcorrect" grphrase="39fa6daf38e6d94ab74542def501202cc6771e4d" grtype="null" id="GRmark_39fa6daf38e6d94ab74542def501202cc6771e4d_…:0">…</span>so am I. Neither am I worthless, nor am I a discerned creature….<span class="GRcorrect" grphrase="43dcb4e06bae39105ca1784152cfdd9f9ce9bad2" grtype="null" id="GRmark_43dcb4e06bae39105ca1784152cfdd9f9ce9bad2_.:0">.</span>and no one <span class="GRcorrect" grphrase="43dcb4e06bae39105ca1784152cfdd9f9ce9bad2" grtype="null" id="GRmark_43dcb4e06bae39105ca1784152cfdd9f9ce9bad2_is:1">is</span>!!! All this time I have been abhorred, considered ugly but the girl who sits behind does not think me so. I had been a fool giving way to the perceptions of the others but look….<span class="GRcorrect" grphrase="0c04f28d3ba07d194fdd0c38e11f5a195134f816" grtype="null" id="GRmark_0c04f28d3ba07d194fdd0c38e11f5a195134f816_.:0">.</span>She says<span class="GRcorrect" grphrase="0c04f28d3ba07d194fdd0c38e11f5a195134f816" grtype="null" id="GRmark_0c04f28d3ba07d194fdd0c38e11f5a195134f816_…:1">…</span>I say that I am loved and deserve to live.” The doctor gaped at her astounded and wondered how the sense of futility and being hated ruined men. How ardently had she craved for love and acceptance!!! None could fathom those innocent desires. But it was ‘her’, who did!!!</span></span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07876607619525401558noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2170278822974654285.post-32723678554888134282012-11-24T01:23:00.002-08:002013-01-01T21:18:37.711-08:00They call her a Whore!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><span class="GingerNoCheckStart"></span>The play of orgasm and money which still knits behind the veil of urbane civilization dates back to the oblivion. A practiced heinousness since the most ancient years and even in the most sacred times evinces the sanctity of the squalidness of prostitution- A sordid portrayal of femininity. It’s ghastliness behind the curtains of those disgraced</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: black; color: white;"> walls of the brothels…... have always been a celebrated custom in the evolving race of the rampant world. The sexual game that breeds in the narrow lanes of the Profaneness and Poverty has permeated well from the aristocratic Harems to the raw modern society.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: black; color: white;">The voyage was not disparate for her…. <span class="GRcorrect" grphrase="ec5a13915baba5ac86cd2ff28e90f7800d7831a7" grtype="null" id="GRmark_978976827601edebfdbd6ed25fb17309ae7fb4be_from:0">from</span> any of those obtrusive women who shared the dark corners of the railway station or thronged the most obscure drenched streets of the city…. <span class="GRcorrect" grphrase="4f394d4b84fef769b9b0dfb259c321804b2778e0" grtype="null" id="GRmark_4f394d4b84fef769b9b0dfb259c321804b2778e0_placing:0">placing</span> themselves to be mutilated by the infernal weapons of lust and animosity. <span class="GRcorrect" grphrase="4f972ddb134580c8dc2a64245c74bbec78fba38f" grtype="null" id="GRmark_4f972ddb134580c8dc2a64245c74bbec78fba38f_Bimlamati:0">Bimlamati</span> had been 24 by then!!! Nine long years of estrangement from the clean social niche and bereavement from affection had been her life for all that time. Intense inimical environ and infliction of pain beyond human endurance had made her elope from her hostile confinements to savor sovereignty and mirth.... <span class="GRcorrect" grphrase="1fe43943f3c21fd656396f8301339c0d4124d827" grtype="null" id="GRmark_1fe43943f3c21fd656396f8301339c0d4124d827_unaware:0">unaware</span> of the <span class="GRcorrect" grphrase="1fe43943f3c21fd656396f8301339c0d4124d827" grtype="null" id="GRmark_1fe43943f3c21fd656396f8301339c0d4124d827_diabolism:1">diabolism</span> that waited her crouching in that swarming populace. And since then she had been grafted into that abhorred low lane of the concubines….. <span class="GRcorrect" grphrase="3fa9f1ca19283c441c0361e7d1e5cbbf5444daf2" grtype="null" id="GRmark_3fa9f1ca19283c441c0361e7d1e5cbbf5444daf2_to:0">to</span> gratify the men and their ghoulish desires. The nascent adolescence built on gushing hopes and frailty had been shattered once again…. <span class="GRcorrect" grphrase="4d6a9423a8e5e624299a269f6e5a2988bd35cbb2" grtype="null" id="GRmark_4d6a9423a8e5e624299a269f6e5a2988bd35cbb2_and:0">and</span> they called her a ‘Whore’.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: black; color: white;">But is she just a whore….. <span class="GRcorrect" grphrase="bbe0d2f2a04db88df31eb5b6e63637a3afc13cc7" grtype="null" id="GRmark_bbe0d2f2a04db88df31eb5b6e63637a3afc13cc7_when:0">when</span> they call her one??? Is she not a mother or had a mother too??? Is she not the girl who desires to be apparelled in the attire of dignity and tread the arcades with the plumes of freedom decked on her…. <span class="GRcorrect" grphrase="d96afc061b02c9c08c3a793ffd8b94550c0d2f97" grtype="null" id="GRmark_d96afc061b02c9c08c3a793ffd8b94550c0d2f97_but:0">but</span> how would she?? Had she not thrown it off the last night and every night…… to feed the child <span class="GRcorrect" grphrase="9c2e849cbf949cbf49c6c83ba994623a14577ccb" grtype="null" id="GRmark_9c2e849cbf949cbf49c6c83ba994623a14577ccb_she:0">she</span> mothers, <span class="GRcorrect" grphrase="9c2e849cbf949cbf49c6c83ba994623a14577ccb" grtype="null" id="GRmark_9c2e849cbf949cbf49c6c83ba994623a14577ccb_to:1">to</span> water that sprouting sprig..... <span class="GRcorrect" grphrase="f3935d8c4395e71738b9db2fa158983ece6ce81d" grtype="null" id="GRmark_f3935d8c4395e71738b9db2fa158983ece6ce81d_and:0">and</span> keep the moist breath alive. The upper world which nestles on the other bank watches the darkness of this filthy world grow….. <span class="GRcorrect" grphrase="8dcfdcf873cb8e0adb25a026e70a7dcd13dc08dd" grtype="null" id="GRmark_8dcfdcf873cb8e0adb25a026e70a7dcd13dc08dd_and:0">and</span> scorns this reeking world… but the smoke that they see has its fire in their own homes. It is not the brothels which tame the wretches… but our homes which nurture the atrocities. The soul needs to be cleansed… and later the frame that enshrines it!!!</span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07876607619525401558noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2170278822974654285.post-56271928947189477432012-11-22T11:26:00.005-08:002012-11-22T11:26:59.031-08:00My Perceptions<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">As <span class="GRcorrect" grphrase="bd4a1b8010584157d72ab62f9110806e2ec9f420" grtype="null" id="GRmark_bd4a1b8010584157d72ab62f9110806e2ec9f420_clean:0">clean</span>, as beautiful</span><br style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;" /><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">The mirror, I saw</span><br style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;" /><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">The crafted grandeur</span><br style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;" /><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">Beauty gorged of flaw.</span><br style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;" /><br style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;" /><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">I tried to chase, </span><br style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;" /><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">The world so bright</span><br style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;" /><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">But each time I leapt</span><br style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;" /><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">They showed me <span class="GRcorrect" grphrase="58bb1a7322af38a8357079ea8b250799c12f0b5b" grtype="null" id="GRmark_58bb1a7322af38a8357079ea8b250799c12f0b5b_fright:0">fright</span></span><br style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;" /><br style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;" /><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">I tried to see, </span><br style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;" /><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">The vial of life</span><br style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;" /><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">But the eyes grew weary </span><br style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;" /><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">And just saw strife</span><br style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;" /><br style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;" /><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">I tried to clasp, </span><br style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;" /><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">The wind and sail</span><br style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;" /><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">But the galloping waves</span><br style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;" /><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">And the tearing gale…</span><br style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;" /><br style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;" /><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">I tried to mount, </span><br style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;" /><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">My thoughts on steed</span><br style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;" /><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">But every thought</span><br style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;" /><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">Was struck and it did bleed! ! </span><br style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;" /><br style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;" /><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">I tried to tread, </span><br style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;" /><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">With the crowd rampant</span><br style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;" /><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">I was clenched, and I gasped</span><br style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;" /><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">In the crowd nonchalant! ! </span></span><br />
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-8i_t1SRRwO4/UK563GUopII/AAAAAAAAAGQ/8coe9I2-Ngo/s1600/IMG00309-001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-8i_t1SRRwO4/UK563GUopII/AAAAAAAAAGQ/8coe9I2-Ngo/s320/IMG00309-001.jpg" width="119" /></a></div>
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<span style="background-color: black; color: white; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">I raised my brows,</span><br />
<span style="background-color: black; color: white; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;"> </span><span style="background-color: black; color: white; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">To catch the long straight street</span><br />
<span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">But it showed me just</span><br style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;" /><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">A fragment of it! ! </span><br style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;" /><br style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;" /><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">I tried to <span class="GRcorrect" grphrase="c1a5b1d5bdbbcee94cf496b9bbaff826f7e7b222" grtype="null" id="GRmark_c1a5b1d5bdbbcee94cf496b9bbaff826f7e7b222_ti:0">ti</span>, e </span><br style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;" /><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">The chords of despair and hope</span><br style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;" /><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">But nothing could mend</span><br style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;" /><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">This broken rope.</span><br style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;" /><br style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;" /><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">I dropped down battered</span><br style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;" /><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">In pieces, in shards</span><br style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;" /><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">Narrow hopes all cleaved</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;"> All reveries marred.</span><br style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;" /><br style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;" /><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">It was the mirror</span><br style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;" /><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">I saw till then</span><br style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;" /><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">The truth, its twin and…</span><br style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;" /><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;"><span class="GRcorrect" grphrase="b2257bf437409e35f10ac459c13b9fef5bdbc9b5" grtype="null" id="GRmark_b2257bf437409e35f10ac459c13b9fef5bdbc9b5_Betwixt:0">Betwixt</span> a narrow glen! ! ! </span><br style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;" /><br style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;" /><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">All this while</span><br style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;" /><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">I <span class="GRcorrect" grphrase="a5c28357f5439bf4f615a5a5424f94d22edfb2c7" grtype="null" id="GRmark_a5c28357f5439bf4f615a5a5424f94d22edfb2c7_played a child:0">played a child</span>! ! ! </span><br style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;" /><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">Sporting folly, </span><br style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;" /><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">And reveries wild…</span></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07876607619525401558noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2170278822974654285.post-66273073942519950772012-11-22T08:57:00.001-08:002013-01-01T21:22:26.729-08:00The Sonnet!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-7MuC5Ef5Bk4/UK5bgazTkSI/AAAAAAAAAGA/6DqFoui9EpU/s1600/IMG_0939.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-7MuC5Ef5Bk4/UK5bgazTkSI/AAAAAAAAAGA/6DqFoui9EpU/s320/IMG_0939.JPG" width="251" /></a></div>
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<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: white; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">Life <span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="being:0" grmarkguid="825e52d0-4e2b-4eb3-b24a-44475e21016f" grphrase="bac18f3106750aaa28af992ce0b6ba563671ddff" grtype="null" gruiphraseguid="9b51cf64-03b9-44eb-93cd-02d6883e65b0" id="GRmark_bac18f3106750aaa28af992ce0b6ba563671ddff_being:0">being</span> the greatest labyrinth remains the most alluring question to every single soul who owns this cursed possession!! Is it not obvious?? It is a <span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="gore:0" grmarkguid="4efe62ea-c494-4ff6-9726-13f6bae5d17e" grphrase="212ded3710e085120ba41040df82564a33b8ccb4" grtype="null" gruiphraseguid="0542ed56-4f0f-4460-8816-5d57b9af0b7c" id="GRmark_212ded3710e085120ba41040df82564a33b8ccb4_gore:0">gore</span>... <span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="a:0" grmarkguid="2acf8b2d-defe-4e16-9c6d-e5a777171a12" grphrase="8cc7c5ba1b301b777430e0d88bfed2eadcafe9bb" grtype="null" gruiphraseguid="00989ff3-08ab-48d6-802b-c007e7ec46a1" id="GRmark_8cc7c5ba1b301b777430e0d88bfed2eadcafe9bb_a:0">a</span> painful sting yet it is <span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="fragranced:1" grmarkguid="19e9cb18-202d-4368-be7c-b622d7664a04" grphrase="8cc7c5ba1b301b777430e0d88bfed2eadcafe9bb" grtype="null" gruiphraseguid="00989ff3-08ab-48d6-802b-c007e7ec46a1" id="GRmark_8cc7c5ba1b301b777430e0d88bfed2eadcafe9bb_fragranced:1">fragranced</span>, enticing and the most fluent poetry… so artistically concocted and designed… a series of melodramatic events… yet carrying the beatitude. Every moment in </span><span style="color: white; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"></span><span style="color: white; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"></span><span style="color: white; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"></span><span style="color: white; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"></span><span style="color: white; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"></span><span style="color: white; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"></span><span style="color: white; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"></span><span style="color: white; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"></span><span style="color: white; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"></span><span style="color: white; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"></span><span style="color: white; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"></span><span style="color: white; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"></span><span class="GRcorrect" grphrase="b3a06b3e096d3ade6e407559aeced9f97824f978" grtype="null" id="GRmark_b3a06b3e096d3ade6e407559aeced9f97824f978_thissojourn:0"><span style="color: white; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"></span><span style="color: white; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"></span><span style="color: white; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">this </span><span class="GRcorrect" grphrase="ec12f8bc27be2abfaa8d1c0d1f35c5012f5ee2d6" grtype="null" id="GRmark_ec12f8bc27be2abfaa8d1c0d1f35c5012f5ee2d6_is sojourn holds:0" style="color: white; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">sojourn</span><span class="GRcorrect" grphrase="ec12f8bc27be2abfaa8d1c0d1f35c5012f5ee2d6" grtype="null" id="GRmark_ec12f8bc27be2abfaa8d1c0d1f35c5012f5ee2d6_is sojourn holds:0" style="color: white; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"></span><span class="GRcorrect" grphrase="ec12f8bc27be2abfaa8d1c0d1f35c5012f5ee2d6" grtype="null" id="GRmark_ec12f8bc27be2abfaa8d1c0d1f35c5012f5ee2d6_is sojourn holds:0" style="color: white; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"></span></span><span class="GRcorrect" grphrase="ec12f8bc27be2abfaa8d1c0d1f35c5012f5ee2d6" grtype="null" id="GRmark_ec12f8bc27be2abfaa8d1c0d1f35c5012f5ee2d6_is sojourn holds:0" style="color: white; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"></span><span class="GRcorrect" grphrase="ec12f8bc27be2abfaa8d1c0d1f35c5012f5ee2d6" grtype="null" id="GRmark_ec12f8bc27be2abfaa8d1c0d1f35c5012f5ee2d6_is sojourn holds:0" style="color: white; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"></span><span class="GRcorrect" grphrase="ec12f8bc27be2abfaa8d1c0d1f35c5012f5ee2d6" grtype="null" id="GRmark_ec12f8bc27be2abfaa8d1c0d1f35c5012f5ee2d6_is sojourn holds:0" style="color: white; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"></span><span class="GRcorrect" grphrase="ec12f8bc27be2abfaa8d1c0d1f35c5012f5ee2d6" grtype="null" id="GRmark_ec12f8bc27be2abfaa8d1c0d1f35c5012f5ee2d6_is sojourn holds:0" style="color: white; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"></span><span class="GRcorrect" grphrase="ec12f8bc27be2abfaa8d1c0d1f35c5012f5ee2d6" grtype="null" id="GRmark_ec12f8bc27be2abfaa8d1c0d1f35c5012f5ee2d6_is sojourn holds:0" style="color: white; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"></span><span class="GRcorrect" grphrase="ec12f8bc27be2abfaa8d1c0d1f35c5012f5ee2d6" grtype="null" id="GRmark_ec12f8bc27be2abfaa8d1c0d1f35c5012f5ee2d6_is sojourn holds:0" style="color: white; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"></span><span class="GRcorrect" grphrase="ec12f8bc27be2abfaa8d1c0d1f35c5012f5ee2d6" grtype="null" id="GRmark_ec12f8bc27be2abfaa8d1c0d1f35c5012f5ee2d6_is sojourn holds:0" style="color: white; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"></span><span class="GRcorrect" grphrase="ec12f8bc27be2abfaa8d1c0d1f35c5012f5ee2d6" grtype="null" id="GRmark_ec12f8bc27be2abfaa8d1c0d1f35c5012f5ee2d6_is sojourn holds:0" style="color: white; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"></span><span class="GRcorrect" grphrase="ec12f8bc27be2abfaa8d1c0d1f35c5012f5ee2d6" grtype="null" id="GRmark_ec12f8bc27be2abfaa8d1c0d1f35c5012f5ee2d6_is sojourn holds:0" style="color: white; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"></span><span class="GRcorrect" grphrase="ec12f8bc27be2abfaa8d1c0d1f35c5012f5ee2d6" grtype="null" id="GRmark_ec12f8bc27be2abfaa8d1c0d1f35c5012f5ee2d6_is sojourn holds:0" style="color: white; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"></span><span class="GRcorrect" grphrase="ec12f8bc27be2abfaa8d1c0d1f35c5012f5ee2d6" grtype="null" id="GRmark_ec12f8bc27be2abfaa8d1c0d1f35c5012f5ee2d6_is sojourn holds:0" style="color: white; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"></span><span class="GRcorrect" grphrase="ec12f8bc27be2abfaa8d1c0d1f35c5012f5ee2d6" grtype="null" id="GRmark_ec12f8bc27be2abfaa8d1c0d1f35c5012f5ee2d6_is sojourn holds:0" style="color: white; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"></span><span class="GRcorrect" grphrase="ec12f8bc27be2abfaa8d1c0d1f35c5012f5ee2d6" grtype="null" id="GRmark_ec12f8bc27be2abfaa8d1c0d1f35c5012f5ee2d6_is sojourn holds:0" style="color: white; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"> holds</span><span style="color: white; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"> its own significance, every single minute has a lesson to impart and every head that throngs this vastness has a tale to </span><span class="GRcorrect" grphrase="ec12f8bc27be2abfaa8d1c0d1f35c5012f5ee2d6" grtype="null" id="GRmark_ec12f8bc27be2abfaa8d1c0d1f35c5012f5ee2d6_beget:1" style="color: white; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"></span><span class="GRcorrect" grphrase="ec12f8bc27be2abfaa8d1c0d1f35c5012f5ee2d6" grtype="null" id="GRmark_ec12f8bc27be2abfaa8d1c0d1f35c5012f5ee2d6_beget:1" style="color: white; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"></span><span class="GRcorrect" grphrase="ec12f8bc27be2abfaa8d1c0d1f35c5012f5ee2d6" grtype="null" id="GRmark_ec12f8bc27be2abfaa8d1c0d1f35c5012f5ee2d6_beget:1" style="color: white; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"></span><span class="GRcorrect" grphrase="ec12f8bc27be2abfaa8d1c0d1f35c5012f5ee2d6" grtype="null" id="GRmark_ec12f8bc27be2abfaa8d1c0d1f35c5012f5ee2d6_beget:1" style="color: white; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"></span><span class="GRcorrect" grphrase="ec12f8bc27be2abfaa8d1c0d1f35c5012f5ee2d6" grtype="null" id="GRmark_ec12f8bc27be2abfaa8d1c0d1f35c5012f5ee2d6_beget:1" style="color: white; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"></span><span class="GRcorrect" grphrase="ec12f8bc27be2abfaa8d1c0d1f35c5012f5ee2d6" grtype="null" id="GRmark_ec12f8bc27be2abfaa8d1c0d1f35c5012f5ee2d6_beget:1" style="color: white; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"></span><span class="GRcorrect" grphrase="ec12f8bc27be2abfaa8d1c0d1f35c5012f5ee2d6" grtype="null" id="GRmark_ec12f8bc27be2abfaa8d1c0d1f35c5012f5ee2d6_beget:1" style="color: white; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"></span><span class="GRcorrect" grphrase="ec12f8bc27be2abfaa8d1c0d1f35c5012f5ee2d6" grtype="null" id="GRmark_ec12f8bc27be2abfaa8d1c0d1f35c5012f5ee2d6_beget:1" style="color: white; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"></span><span class="GRcorrect" grphrase="ec12f8bc27be2abfaa8d1c0d1f35c5012f5ee2d6" grtype="null" id="GRmark_ec12f8bc27be2abfaa8d1c0d1f35c5012f5ee2d6_beget:1" style="color: white; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"></span><span class="GRcorrect" grphrase="ec12f8bc27be2abfaa8d1c0d1f35c5012f5ee2d6" grtype="null" id="GRmark_ec12f8bc27be2abfaa8d1c0d1f35c5012f5ee2d6_beget:1" style="color: white; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"></span><span class="GRcorrect" grphrase="ec12f8bc27be2abfaa8d1c0d1f35c5012f5ee2d6" grtype="null" id="GRmark_ec12f8bc27be2abfaa8d1c0d1f35c5012f5ee2d6_beget:1" style="color: white; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"></span><span class="GRcorrect" grphrase="ec12f8bc27be2abfaa8d1c0d1f35c5012f5ee2d6" grtype="null" id="GRmark_ec12f8bc27be2abfaa8d1c0d1f35c5012f5ee2d6_beget:1" style="color: white; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"></span><span class="GRcorrect" grphrase="ec12f8bc27be2abfaa8d1c0d1f35c5012f5ee2d6" grtype="null" id="GRmark_ec12f8bc27be2abfaa8d1c0d1f35c5012f5ee2d6_beget:1" style="color: white; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"></span><span class="GRcorrect" grphrase="ec12f8bc27be2abfaa8d1c0d1f35c5012f5ee2d6" grtype="null" id="GRmark_ec12f8bc27be2abfaa8d1c0d1f35c5012f5ee2d6_beget:1" style="color: white; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"></span><span class="GRnoSuggestion GRcorrect" grcontextid="beget:0" grmarkguid="0f0b6acf-ac09-45a2-99d5-db7f1bea3721" grphrase="ec12f8bc27be2abfaa8d1c0d1f35c5012f5ee2d6" grtype="null" gruiphraseguid="0395763d-bad7-4a56-9581-f6111f7d757b" id="GRmark_ec12f8bc27be2abfaa8d1c0d1f35c5012f5ee2d6_beget:1" style="color: white; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">beget</span><span style="color: white; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">.</span><span style="color: white; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"></span><span style="color: white; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"></span><span style="color: white; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"></span><span style="color: white; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"></span><span style="color: white; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"></span><span style="color: white; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"></span><span style="color: white; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"></span><span style="color: white; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"></span><span style="color: white; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"></span><span style="color: white; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"></span><span style="color: white; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"></span><span style="color: white; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"></span><span style="color: white; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"></span><span style="color: white; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"> The garrulous </span><span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="hours:1" grmarkguid="3b47d3b2-7504-4e52-8ba6-adc2602fcb35" grphrase="fc069234762cbb975eb0865266ea675e625dc00e" grtype="null" gruiphraseguid="0395763d-bad7-4a56-9581-f6111f7d757b" id="GRmark_fc069234762cbb975eb0865266ea675e625dc00e_hours:0" style="color: white; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">hours</span><span style="color: white; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"> of mirth and togetherness toddle away with amazing briskness while those sordid wailing void moments drag through us with painful tardiness… leaving us in tatters…. </span><span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="ugly:0" grmarkguid="2a82e0e0-db50-4d9c-bc56-21124862665c" grphrase="600001b638bb58fae76153f79a1d2e7d0f198ff3" grtype="null" gruiphraseguid="ba5842cf-140b-453d-a29d-86777806fb2b" id="GRmark_600001b638bb58fae76153f79a1d2e7d0f198ff3_ugly:0" style="color: white; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">ugly</span><span style="color: white; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"> and fragile! But does it bring with it the death…. </span><span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="a:0" grmarkguid="9f0e3180-47a5-4fe6-a5e3-4934cf21a4f7" grphrase="71c2d9d187ef639d16ff748f413531b8d981d13b" grtype="null" gruiphraseguid="3d53a2fc-a408-4b58-b3b8-2a8b55395bb5" id="GRmark_71c2d9d187ef639d16ff748f413531b8d981d13b_a:0" style="color: white; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">a</span><span style="color: white; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"> stagnation…. </span><span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="or:0" grmarkguid="8f1e96a6-1ef3-46f9-be01-e6ddd43c1aef" grphrase="64de97eb51e4e8e9b5af8db3ed8cb0dff8cfe61e" grtype="null" gruiphraseguid="8d7cd5c2-4804-4391-97b7-565584b4f509" id="GRmark_64de97eb51e4e8e9b5af8db3ed8cb0dff8cfe61e_or:0" style="color: white; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">or</span><span style="color: white; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"> just a hiatus?? No, it does not… it is just the way we perceive the </span><span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="facets:0" grmarkguid="0c76d1ac-1ddf-4d25-b0c5-c531824fd5ef" grphrase="0863afd8644ed7e3630515800c41b36dcd9f4276" grtype="null" gruiphraseguid="ad4f5ebd-c49d-4072-88a0-6bee7cf99082" id="GRmark_0863afd8644ed7e3630515800c41b36dcd9f4276_facets:0" style="color: white; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">facets</span><span style="color: white; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"> of this coin which speaks innumerable tales….. </span><span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="the:0" grmarkguid="68c00149-a263-4e8d-b440-02099f18d562" grphrase="982192975bb1f6850af76740532e93773fe49f0d" grtype="null" gruiphraseguid="80cd1e66-7347-438d-b057-5a3b8779be3c" id="GRmark_982192975bb1f6850af76740532e93773fe49f0d_the:0" style="color: white; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">the</span><span style="color: white; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"> time cascades down like a capricious brook… and so does life in the abruptness and the sublimity of time.</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: black; color: white; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Life frolics about…. <span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="and:0" grmarkguid="319fc3cb-6c27-4f45-87f2-2e7103938ad5" grphrase="05e457e7a24a3100897bbfce9130b369ea188010" grtype="null" gruiphraseguid="9081da6f-9c22-4013-b2c2-4578199740a7" id="GRmark_05e457e7a24a3100897bbfce9130b369ea188010_and:0">and</span> often plays the clown… cold and profaned… making mockery of itself and playing a ludicrous role…. <span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="but:0" grmarkguid="26a51205-65b2-4e92-bef7-f083979c9e4f" grphrase="5adb37c2cec521322abe51861a34d3d2821779cf" grtype="null" gruiphraseguid="d94ade44-8f57-4780-ab35-c089eb863f86" id="GRmark_5adb37c2cec521322abe51861a34d3d2821779cf_but:0">but</span> soon these shoes are lost and worn by some other feet… giving this clown a ‘Taurus’ to play!!! This is the sonnet…. <span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="and:0" grmarkguid="a265c9ca-e8fd-4e16-a8f6-7f9a7c4f2ceb" grphrase="fd3456fca49c45e118c5a0c3bc265e675b8ea569" grtype="null" gruiphraseguid="16be2c88-d18c-4744-90e6-cc52ce7d327f" id="GRmark_fd3456fca49c45e118c5a0c3bc265e675b8ea569_and:0">and</span> the perfume of life……</span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07876607619525401558noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2170278822974654285.post-27550418289371368822012-11-10T23:12:00.002-08:002012-11-21T20:50:33.271-08:00The Blessing....<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-QxP_MQaafG4/UJ9PvcSLh4I/AAAAAAAAAD4/dGuQMAvfJrk/s1600/Ray_of_Light_by_yuniarko.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-QxP_MQaafG4/UJ9PvcSLh4I/AAAAAAAAAD4/dGuQMAvfJrk/s320/Ray_of_Light_by_yuniarko.jpg" width="255" /></a></div>
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<span class="GingerNoCheckStart"></span>The morning rays crouched into my little room breaking through that profound slumber…. <span class="GRcorrect" grphrase="956ab1a48a5e32c9e5bb49794df27f757b21794e" grtype="null" id="GRmark_956ab1a48a5e32c9e5bb49794df27f757b21794e_and:0">and</span> I lay awake on my cot. The timepiece which beckoned me to slip into my regular schedule stirred me to quit the bed and head towards the basin which <span class="GRcorrect" grphrase="07a28f8628670a70e244fdb18f096ce211e985a2" grtype="null" id="GRmark_52558cca49d04918b96b628f85b980017aaecf23_uglied:2">uglied</span> the corner of the room. Squeezing out some toothpaste on those distorted strands of that antique brush of mine…<span class="GRcorrect" grphrase="f326879ac0e02a2ecf46b013877496fc7c1e12e8" grtype="null" id="GRmark_f326879ac0e02a2ecf46b013877496fc7c1e12e8_.:0">.</span>I hastened towards the casement… and craned my crest out through the window to catch a glimpse of the neighborhood and those beautiful red flowers<span class="GRcorrect" grphrase="f326879ac0e02a2ecf46b013877496fc7c1e12e8" grtype="null" id="GRmark_f326879ac0e02a2ecf46b013877496fc7c1e12e8_…:1">…</span>which adorned the balcony that stood straight in front of my window ensnared me once more<span class="GRcorrect" grphrase="f326879ac0e02a2ecf46b013877496fc7c1e12e8" grtype="null" id="GRmark_f326879ac0e02a2ecf46b013877496fc7c1e12e8_…:2">…</span>like every morning…<span class="GRcorrect" grphrase="f326879ac0e02a2ecf46b013877496fc7c1e12e8" grtype="null" id="GRmark_f326879ac0e02a2ecf46b013877496fc7c1e12e8_.:3">.</span>but the balcony…<span class="GRcorrect" grphrase="f326879ac0e02a2ecf46b013877496fc7c1e12e8" grtype="null" id="GRmark_f326879ac0e02a2ecf46b013877496fc7c1e12e8_.:4">.</span>was desolate and lonely as ever!! Life had been idle for her, the owner…. <span class="GRcorrect" grphrase="de85279f1a87b2909c89ea84f714bf5f03a1c5a2" grtype="null" id="GRmark_de85279f1a87b2909c89ea84f714bf5f03a1c5a2_for:0">for</span> the past few years…<span class="GRcorrect" grphrase="de85279f1a87b2909c89ea84f714bf5f03a1c5a2" grtype="null" id="GRmark_de85279f1a87b2909c89ea84f714bf5f03a1c5a2_.:1">.</span>muted, deafened and paralyzed!!! The rocking chair<span class="GRcorrect" grphrase="7aa7102acb51021fbd489e7548dadee821f1eaf6" grtype="null" id="GRmark_7aa7102acb51021fbd489e7548dadee821f1eaf6_…:0">…</span>the little balcony…<span class="GRcorrect" grphrase="7aa7102acb51021fbd489e7548dadee821f1eaf6" grtype="null" id="GRmark_7aa7102acb51021fbd489e7548dadee821f1eaf6_.:1">.</span>and her dire plight had been the most persistent possessions in her lifetime. A life of virtual recluse….desolation amidst the garrulous crowd…<span class="GRcorrect" grphrase="86675dc26763960e7e408b4863d35cbe0d8e821e" grtype="null" id="GRmark_71bc263214356beaf5b3047ecd2784e08bdbbb96_.:0">.</span>and a perpetual numbness!!<span class="GRcorrect" grphrase="86675dc26763960e7e408b4863d35cbe0d8e821e" grtype="null" id="GRmark_71bc263214356beaf5b3047ecd2784e08bdbbb96_!:1">!</span>This dour visage of her blearing life got uglier and ghoulish with each growing hour<span class="GRcorrect" grphrase="86675dc26763960e7e408b4863d35cbe0d8e821e" grtype="null" id="GRmark_71bc263214356beaf5b3047ecd2784e08bdbbb96_…:2">…</span>with each passing day and the call to eternal sleep seemed to be her final destination…<span class="GRcorrect" grphrase="86675dc26763960e7e408b4863d35cbe0d8e821e" grtype="null" id="GRmark_71bc263214356beaf5b3047ecd2784e08bdbbb96_.:4">.</span>the accursed old age. It had been a day when she was young and agile<span class="GRcorrect" grphrase="81b40471dd0ef1afed9ffbe792b94c12d3800588" grtype="null" id="GRmark_81b40471dd0ef1afed9ffbe792b94c12d3800588_…:0">…</span>teeming with vigor…<span class="GRcorrect" grphrase="81b40471dd0ef1afed9ffbe792b94c12d3800588" grtype="null" id="GRmark_81b40471dd0ef1afed9ffbe792b94c12d3800588_.:1">.</span>and beauty….<span class="GRcorrect" grphrase="81b40471dd0ef1afed9ffbe792b94c12d3800588" grtype="null" id="GRmark_81b40471dd0ef1afed9ffbe792b94c12d3800588_.:2">.</span>but all those possessions had been reduced to smithereens…<span class="GRcorrect" grphrase="81b40471dd0ef1afed9ffbe792b94c12d3800588" grtype="null" id="GRmark_81b40471dd0ef1afed9ffbe792b94c12d3800588_.:3">.</span>and who would love to tame a dead flower??? Not even him…<span class="GRcorrect" grphrase="71adec66438a662bbd51746e932790e0fd18c693" grtype="null" id="GRmark_71adec66438a662bbd51746e932790e0fd18c693_.:0">.</span>who she had mothered for the bygone 25 years…<span class="GRcorrect" grphrase="71adec66438a662bbd51746e932790e0fd18c693" grtype="null" id="GRmark_71adec66438a662bbd51746e932790e0fd18c693_.:1">.</span>played, chided and loved with an unfathomable intensity<span class="GRcorrect" grphrase="71adec66438a662bbd51746e932790e0fd18c693" grtype="null" id="GRmark_71adec66438a662bbd51746e932790e0fd18c693_…:2">…</span>her son!! People disown responsibilities…<span class="GRcorrect" grphrase="785049548734ba8b918578a5f7c201a51d20e545" grtype="null" id="GRmark_785049548734ba8b918578a5f7c201a51d20e545_.:0">.</span>and every responsibility seems onerous…<span class="GRcorrect" grphrase="785049548734ba8b918578a5f7c201a51d20e545" grtype="null" id="GRmark_785049548734ba8b918578a5f7c201a51d20e545_.:1">.</span>a sordid truth of life…<span class="GRcorrect" grphrase="785049548734ba8b918578a5f7c201a51d20e545" grtype="null" id="GRmark_785049548734ba8b918578a5f7c201a51d20e545_.:2">.</span>and more squalid is the bitterness which the growing years bring with it…<span class="GRcorrect" grphrase="785049548734ba8b918578a5f7c201a51d20e545" grtype="null" id="GRmark_785049548734ba8b918578a5f7c201a51d20e545_.:3">.</span>a dark smut indeed<span class="GRcorrect" grphrase="785049548734ba8b918578a5f7c201a51d20e545" grtype="null" id="GRmark_785049548734ba8b918578a5f7c201a51d20e545_…:4">…</span>and then 'Death' wears the apparel of a Blessing!!</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07876607619525401558noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2170278822974654285.post-55117963509886894342012-11-08T21:04:00.000-08:002013-01-01T21:23:31.796-08:00The Silence<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span class="GingerNoCheckStart"></span>Long 4 years, and we had not spoken a single word to each other. In fact 4 years and 2 months. Ah!! I was counting, incredible. Is he not that abominable darn thing whom I detested the most….<span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid=".:0" grmarkguid="96d878a9-a99a-4efa-830a-006562ba57dd" grphrase="654997a58da4c36483a8132951dacfa9b8a59ea2" grtype="null" gruiphraseguid="b54485c8-ef3f-4f82-8a9d-253570b7998e" id="GRmark_67e594a29fa9d44d9bc0efac7204f8b65ae92d80_.:0">.</span>as if we were the worst foes in this earth? Yes we were….. <span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="and:0" grmarkguid="d115805d-c8ed-4cbf-8bf1-b25fa29cc597" grphrase="e00e65f1696bb1a2c385134f0d04e4880191414f" grtype="null" gruiphraseguid="dd074df4-5f13-491f-a212-beccebc38a69" id="GRmark_e00e65f1696bb1a2c385134f0d04e4880191414f_and:0">and</span> it needs no evidence to evince the extremity of abhorrence, because it was evident from the fact that we had not shared a single word since that day. ‘That day’ was 24th of May. A day which gave me one of the worst blows which I ever had, revealed the ghoulish visage that he nurtured beneath that robe of amiability and gentleness and gave me a lesson to carry on along my life. Well this is not a hyperbole. This is the impression that I have tamed since that day!!! Three months did I take to slither out of the impact of those grotesque words<span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="…:0" grmarkguid="a27ba13f-009e-4993-bf97-7fe3fc0cbea6" grphrase="0f1b7fc01dd93329661c6bc8fdac7ba4d21437a8" grtype="null" gruiphraseguid="25117358-b13f-42cc-935e-06f1b6829453" id="GRmark_934cecf19f2466f21059a9a81b837cd35000940e_…:0">…</span>those rebuff… and those loathsome stares as if I were some repugnant creature. So clean and pronounced in my mind!</div>
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This bitterness in the complexion of this relationship was not hostility…<span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid=".:0" grmarkguid="52531fb9-b26b-4805-a004-7f5ccbb1adfa" grphrase="bc08cb6f37fcac9baf1f88bb3607fcca9fc4a460" grtype="null" gruiphraseguid="ab70ec84-a14b-45c4-8473-5ae5a9ef7525" id="GRmark_bc08cb6f37fcac9baf1f88bb3607fcca9fc4a460_.:0">.</span>neither was it a revolt. It was just the speechless Wrath. Perhaps this was the only explanation!! We sat two desks apart, dined at the same table, came by the same office cab and not a single soul amongst the others, knew that we could have pictured each other so well, better than anyone else!! Those memories though tarnished by the rust of time, do sometimes rise up to the surface and fill the eyes with a drop or so of those briny tears….<span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid=".:0" grmarkguid="781d3f59-f165-4e1d-9763-1ea0f67d03df" grphrase="ee41177967ed4a9e2835183a6cb62d1a37da8ef5" grtype="null" gruiphraseguid="619ca2f3-9199-45f5-a0b2-87dda3a1f316" id="GRmark_ee41177967ed4a9e2835183a6cb62d1a37da8ef5_.:0">.</span>but nay….<span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid=".:1" grmarkguid="f315739a-3126-4d33-87f3-42e5842e1227" grphrase="ee41177967ed4a9e2835183a6cb62d1a37da8ef5" grtype="null" gruiphraseguid="619ca2f3-9199-45f5-a0b2-87dda3a1f316" id="GRmark_ee41177967ed4a9e2835183a6cb62d1a37da8ef5_.:1">.</span>no tear for the worst foe!!!</div>
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This ‘He’ was not just a mere acquaintance. He was the best friend, the guide, the brother, an idol of reverence and affection and…… an obnoxious wretch in disguise. Those sultry summer evenings of the eternal long summer vacations<span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="…:0" grmarkguid="37010e78-e415-4a53-a53c-9f54d07bf512" grphrase="425e42b7a242cba095954b70424ab9fd9a822c2a" grtype="null" gruiphraseguid="d8557c16-cae8-4cbb-98ef-5774fe38a969" id="GRmark_425e42b7a242cba095954b70424ab9fd9a822c2a_…:0">…</span>not a single day passed when those thin hairy legs pushed in through that heavy Iron Gate, walked on that ruddy pavement, came up on the verandah and rested himself on those broad mosaic window sills. That was the usual place of the regular rendezvous. Sometimes the venue shifted to the room adjacent to the verandah<span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="…:0" grmarkguid="39f4d65e-0439-4b8a-b3e8-031096dab96c" grphrase="0c520d29411bbdfa2f6073c92c1d34b80336d6ea" grtype="null" gruiphraseguid="bb83df22-7d06-4f6d-bc0e-b2df65490492" id="GRmark_cb61407cedec4e5b0992f8c01f79f6415cf1f0cb_…:0">…</span>it was the living room<span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="!:1" grmarkguid="047d6896-0bd0-4a94-aafb-c6fc400f744e" gruiphraseguid="bb83df22-7d06-4f6d-bc0e-b2df65490492">!</span>The minutes went by and the hours slithered away, maybe an hour or more, in a snap….<span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid=".:2" grmarkguid="d08be8bf-aba3-42c6-9d6c-9db5117bb421" grphrase="0c520d29411bbdfa2f6073c92c1d34b80336d6ea" grtype="null" gruiphraseguid="bb83df22-7d06-4f6d-bc0e-b2df65490492" id="GRmark_cb61407cedec4e5b0992f8c01f79f6415cf1f0cb_.:3">.</span>with a pair of tea cups, no he preferred coffee more...and incessant discussions. These were debates on topics of relevance….<span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid=".:0" grmarkguid="93d05019-94f3-4b41-9045-1d7d542a4b11" grphrase="826dcad2d174fd50ec3a8da5e2078435af950e13" grtype="null" gruiphraseguid="5847005c-d5aa-434e-af6b-938f483b6852" id="GRmark_826dcad2d174fd50ec3a8da5e2078435af950e13_.:0">.</span>and irrelevance, from the terrestrial frame to the extraterrestrial one, from sensible deliberations to utter baloney. Those peals of laughter of innocent mirth…<span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid=".:0" grmarkguid="86618655-ae51-46e8-84d9-1725d163397c" grphrase="55c34bda88b143d11f8056ecb1af8ef3c3e614a2" grtype="null" gruiphraseguid="5a3b06b5-df3e-4f11-bada-0abe56072c60" id="GRmark_55c34bda88b143d11f8056ecb1af8ef3c3e614a2_.:0">.</span>and swinging the legs as the hands of the clocked ticked away!! And this was a resurrecting event of every day of every vacation. This playful amity of two kids…. <span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="but:0" grmarkguid="7deece6d-8371-4c5f-8010-231d4852dd97" grphrase="6f49e1f94fbf93ccc248fd8003952d3dc47cd64e" grtype="null" gruiphraseguid="739062be-2253-4303-b73d-ffe55915fd0b" id="GRmark_6f49e1f94fbf93ccc248fd8003952d3dc47cd64e_but:0">but</span> all of a sudden it was gone, declined in a wink…. <span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="but:0" grmarkguid="46b9031a-50f0-445c-a58a-b571ed1368e0" grphrase="a700575d5d7baa22a402af8af0e0318012ef2be9" grtype="null" gruiphraseguid="841dfa03-c08a-4b31-a962-ecec1c016008" id="GRmark_a700575d5d7baa22a402af8af0e0318012ef2be9_but:0">but</span> why? The cause??</div>
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I had made incessant efforts to play the ‘Sherlock’ but all in futility!! Why the sudden upheaval?? Why the uncanny evasion???? And it injured me… a million times. The 'why' had seeped down into the crevice of past<span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="…:0" grmarkguid="a4e3da63-dc49-483d-a3a6-fd6c633e45da" grphrase="b51093683d826b696105cbaae75114cde384b4ad" grtype="null" gruiphraseguid="7af0e7de-9e87-41f5-b1e6-ad2f76f3c971" id="GRmark_b51093683d826b696105cbaae75114cde384b4ad_…:0">…</span>and what remained now was….<span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid=".:1" grmarkguid="749f018a-2998-4798-8f44-9e24e73b49f5" grphrase="b51093683d826b696105cbaae75114cde384b4ad" grtype="null" gruiphraseguid="7af0e7de-9e87-41f5-b1e6-ad2f76f3c971" id="GRmark_b51093683d826b696105cbaae75114cde384b4ad_.:1">.</span>nothing. No anger, no grudge, not even the reason of that brawl<span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="…:0" grmarkguid="1bedf146-7742-4f0d-93d9-8b559153717e" grphrase="2ded93fd3386951b5321f2d4d321196cd42c7801" grtype="null" gruiphraseguid="11e5d2b5-5cd5-4088-8c47-f75e3059ae73" id="GRmark_2ded93fd3386951b5321f2d4d321196cd42c7801_…:0">…</span>just a handful of debris<span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="…:1" grmarkguid="6a8a4306-2f91-498e-900f-f6d9b06c54e6" grphrase="2ded93fd3386951b5321f2d4d321196cd42c7801" grtype="null" gruiphraseguid="11e5d2b5-5cd5-4088-8c47-f75e3059ae73" id="GRmark_2ded93fd3386951b5321f2d4d321196cd42c7801_…:1">…</span>then why the silence?? We often passed glances of awkwardness and discomfort…<span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid=".:0" grmarkguid="eba18a33-c7fa-4557-ad05-ea35a2523e4f" grphrase="1d030b4b290086e8c67f8ecd19023775179a9393" grtype="null" gruiphraseguid="96a3d630-390d-43e3-87b1-6b18baf163cc" id="GRmark_da01d5c5632660d73b0d2bdf0ca4eb37f574ee91_.:0">.</span>but it was time we shuddered this of ourselves.</div>
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We seated ourselves as we usually did. Worked as if we did not take notice of each other and it was true!<span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="!:0" grmarkguid="874103c5-2291-448a-87b5-be971f302861" grphrase="e38d7533b91f19261ee4e6eed6f6ce90cee2fd2a" grtype="null" gruiphraseguid="da3c83c8-bbcb-4e59-acbe-8fdada75803c" id="GRmark_e38d7533b91f19261ee4e6eed6f6ce90cee2fd2a_!:0">!</span>Was it really so? No it was not……<span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid=".:0" grmarkguid="bbd87db4-c403-4e5e-ad81-148ac6bfd92e" grphrase="84366abc9dccb550a20adefe03d77ea1515fce41" grtype="null" gruiphraseguid="5c5b445c-5d88-458e-88f7-2b3ebea16f8d" id="GRmark_84366abc9dccb550a20adefe03d77ea1515fce41_.:0">.</span>I had been lying all this while. I had just been enduring…<span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid=".:0" grmarkguid="d462174d-6f8b-4658-bde7-57d025872a50" grphrase="42fdbee2cb6fda942750ba9e5c78ba09be6a0288" grtype="null" gruiphraseguid="975c7019-394b-4f08-90e1-3ea1da680b24" id="GRmark_42fdbee2cb6fda942750ba9e5c78ba09be6a0288_.:0">.</span>and patiently to keep myself away from the beast. But was he not the best friend<span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="…:0" grmarkguid="cb4e2cbe-c949-435a-b75a-74c69ab1c111" grphrase="43fc8a083b644e2429c2ebb0bab52f3a94a21c37" grtype="null" gruiphraseguid="898eab8b-881b-4e6a-b3ab-6b028f076c10" id="GRmark_43fc8a083b644e2429c2ebb0bab52f3a94a21c37_…:0">…</span>who pulled me out through every bitterness…<span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid=".:1" grmarkguid="b8c69af6-d6e3-4706-beb0-80187a5dfe28" grphrase="43fc8a083b644e2429c2ebb0bab52f3a94a21c37" grtype="null" gruiphraseguid="898eab8b-881b-4e6a-b3ab-6b028f076c10" id="GRmark_43fc8a083b644e2429c2ebb0bab52f3a94a21c37_.:1">.</span>chided me as if he were my father<span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="…:2" grmarkguid="aab45482-0ca8-4ada-b40b-50e07034191f" grphrase="43fc8a083b644e2429c2ebb0bab52f3a94a21c37" grtype="null" gruiphraseguid="898eab8b-881b-4e6a-b3ab-6b028f076c10" id="GRmark_43fc8a083b644e2429c2ebb0bab52f3a94a21c37_…:2">…</span>...and had held me with a promising firmness in the darkest hours.</div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-SVz4HFKGavQ/UJyXrMUHWZI/AAAAAAAAADo/LrNihe72UWk/s1600/powerofsilence062611.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-SVz4HFKGavQ/UJyXrMUHWZI/AAAAAAAAADo/LrNihe72UWk/s320/powerofsilence062611.jpg" width="291" /></a></div>
The ruddy golden sky passed a flicker across the room. It was time to retire. There was a rush and the rest were hurrying. I winded up those few papers lying on my desk and tucked the files inside the drawer<span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="…:0" grmarkguid="d3e4957e-5f53-4186-a744-88b97651952a" grphrase="3756e2013a5aac78928cdbccbfce5122f9731e2b" grtype="null" gruiphraseguid="51f76935-c3b5-4348-8189-ca2c7858326f" id="GRmark_3756e2013a5aac78928cdbccbfce5122f9731e2b_…:0">…</span>but with a consciousness. It was the determination to break that ‘spell of silence’. I tilted my head a little to take an account of him.<span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid=".:0" grmarkguid="84eb798b-1464-4da1-985b-dd990e88bdb6" grphrase="5bc87e3f17d09668bef3ebc7429ed945af7a9da6" grtype="null" gruiphraseguid="0d22a245-a4ad-4347-8cec-0ade2eed1531" id="GRmark_5bc87e3f17d09668bef3ebc7429ed945af7a9da6_.:0">.</span>but he was gone! I stood up with a jerk<span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="…:0" grmarkguid="1893ede6-5e70-48eb-a1ac-061ae01f6bca" grphrase="4b5fba80056169d1059ff1fa8c96585d9145eb25" grtype="null" gruiphraseguid="c39506ac-3e56-443e-8800-c0206d820998" id="GRmark_4b5fba80056169d1059ff1fa8c96585d9145eb25_…:0">…</span>and scurried out of the office….<span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid=".:1" grmarkguid="b4e2fb3b-7318-4ae0-b849-31df9cf2a600" grphrase="4b5fba80056169d1059ff1fa8c96585d9145eb25" grtype="null" gruiphraseguid="c39506ac-3e56-443e-8800-c0206d820998" id="GRmark_4b5fba80056169d1059ff1fa8c96585d9145eb25_.:1">.</span>and he stood still waiting for the cab. Measuring him and pondering over my impatience….<span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid=".:0" grmarkguid="5877628f-1bce-4afe-8871-51e8443c56d6" grphrase="3d0d971842acf196b6580b037714895e9b2468f0" grtype="null" gruiphraseguid="becc7681-4391-49d0-a490-e770a8205beb" id="GRmark_3d0d971842acf196b6580b037714895e9b2468f0_.:0">.</span>I gradually made my way towards him with steady nimbleness…<span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid=".:1" grmarkguid="007ceff4-f007-46ac-9406-c3d02454fa82" grphrase="3d0d971842acf196b6580b037714895e9b2468f0" grtype="null" gruiphraseguid="becc7681-4391-49d0-a490-e770a8205beb" id="GRmark_3d0d971842acf196b6580b037714895e9b2468f0_.:1">.</span>positioned myself beside his short <span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="statured:2" grmarkguid="5d0d41e2-d7b9-471a-a7d3-1d9fdea31eb9" gruiphraseguid="becc7681-4391-49d0-a490-e770a8205beb">statured</span> frame...<span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid=".:3" grmarkguid="4fb9295d-d38c-434d-a970-be533a82fcfa" grphrase="3d0d971842acf196b6580b037714895e9b2468f0" grtype="null" gruiphraseguid="becc7681-4391-49d0-a490-e770a8205beb" id="GRmark_3d0d971842acf196b6580b037714895e9b2468f0_.:2">.</span>a couple of minutes passed away and then ten….. <span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="and:0" grmarkguid="f18cc21f-2c23-4183-abeb-713b51f5e190" grphrase="1da8adf69b84ea7a2c764d61836fa2265d4cc3c1" grtype="null" gruiphraseguid="6c526da0-58d3-4b89-8d5d-89433b7ee14e" id="GRmark_1da8adf69b84ea7a2c764d61836fa2265d4cc3c1_and:0">and</span> then fifteen. No I will not! I should not!! And I stepped back. The cab came blowing its horn<span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="…:0" grmarkguid="e6de90e2-48fc-4128-a2a0-e8bb64613d8e" grphrase="99ccb78897c040108352e8c7b9b5c7ed5503ce62" grtype="null" gruiphraseguid="a3cfd3f9-c727-4dcb-a62a-8bfd0fc301b7" id="GRmark_ae8efc284b66f83192080fe1d77620a405a7a3c8_…:1">…</span>and we departed. Was it the trepidation? Was it the wrath again? Or was it mere reluctance that prevented me<span class="GRcorrect" grcontextid="?:0" grmarkguid="631ccfb3-5037-4ce5-a835-f89d5d7784d9" gruiphraseguid="da4deeb5-7714-45d9-9e93-bb94113967fc">?</span>It was just the egotism, which He and I had nurtured for the last four years. How could have we let it disappear in a flicker of the moment? Would it not have been sheer obstinacy? Ah!! God I am saved.</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07876607619525401558noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2170278822974654285.post-39242218873172508062012-10-02T09:14:00.003-07:002012-10-02T09:14:43.534-07:00The Sarcasm<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The world lay buried in the depth of that tearing wintry night except some. They were the dogs, the beggars and the fervent nocturnal youth belonging to the civilized niche of this classified society. The smoke, the wine, the rasping music, the glittering lights and unrestrained wildness was what night meant to those reveling brutes. A door pushed open and a rhapsodizing crowd oozed out onto the empty, silent streets. It was a frigid dank winter dawn and the Sun was yet to rise. The raucous music that poured out through the door tried to amalgamate with the mundane moist air of the tranquil dawn but alas, it was hoarse enough to disrupt the silence till several yards. The intoxicated crowd marched on the streets with a drunken valor and faltering gait. The words were lost before they could find their way out moreover the ears were too deaf to hear.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The flame of their youthful ardor had died and they straddled through that narrow lane slandering everything which their drowsy drunken eyes could perceive. One of them went and kicked the lamp post while the other a bare street dog that lay half dead with cold…..and it woke up startled from its grave, whining and wagging its tail. As they made their way through those desolate slumbering streets rummaging the tranquility, a couple of sleepy eyes peered through the heavy eye lids as they pulled themselves up with great effort. The dying night was heralding the murky dawn……and as he craned his crest out of that Prussian blanket, he perceived the ferine roaring creatures mocking the wretched beings that lined the cobbled pavements. He stared at them with intense disgust and subtle heaviness as if endeavoring to fathom those sluggish beasts. One of them listlessly toddled towards the sleeping man and bent over him measuring that abominable dour beggar. She murmured something but it was lost in that cold moist air. The beggar gazed at the obtrusively clad tall girl with awe while she stared as if he was a loathsome object. It was perhaps his grotesque poverty and his unkemptness that made her look at him inimically. A faint smile smudged the corners of the dry lips and taking the shawl off her shoulders; she threw it at him….followed by a piercing laughter and then trotted away. It was laughter of ridicule!!!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The morning light slowly took reign over the night sky and traces of life appeared on the streets. A couple of municipal workers with two huge brooms were swishing the streets and heaped those colored wrappers at a corner of the pavement. The grey crested retired populace streamed towards the local park and the road was sparkling with life again. The beggar slipped out of his numerously patched torn blanket and wrapping himself in his newly gifted shawl he marched towards the shallow crowd that thronged the road several yards away. He jostled through the murmuring mob and perceived a thin delicate frame of a woman. It lay stiff but was still breathing. It was her, the generous owner of the gifted shawl!!! She had swooned and her companions had fled.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The beggar stooped over the delicate drunken beauty and sprinkled some water on her weary countenance, took the shawl off his shoulders and wrapped the girl with the same. But there wasn’t any smile of mockery or detest. The sarcasm of Life!!!</span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07876607619525401558noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2170278822974654285.post-14427527648616282872012-10-01T00:44:00.000-07:002012-10-01T00:44:13.966-07:00The Ticking Clock!!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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The fingers glided over the keys of that uneven keyboard and a stream of letters appeared on that white screen. He had been doing this for the last few days perhaps making an attempt to beget a creative literary piece. But his relentless efforts and his old ingeniousness had beguiled him……or hadn't been generous enough to give his thoughts a window……the window of words. He had been scavenging through every obscure corner of his brain to scrape out something productive but alas…all his efforts had been rendered futile!!</div>
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He sauntered around in his little room puffing out small rings of smoke from his cigar and reflecting upon everything that he could recollect and could submit his thoughts to those keys which arrayed the keyboard. Distressed by his futility, he dropped himself on a big couch and gazed at the massive historic clock that hung from an ancient nail embedded in the east wall. The red of the retreating sun which peered through the thin parallel stretches of the clouds tinged the room with its warm shade and illuminated the ceaseless time piece. But was it really ceaseless????</div>
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It had never stopped since he had known that he was in senses and that treasured clock had been an epitome of constancy and perfection. This ancient object of grandeur had always been revered and preserved because of its faithfulness and precision…..and his still eyes gazed vigilantly from their hollow shelter. He had been making comparisons between the relentlessly scurrying time and his insipid life. And he was suddenly struck with awe. A sudden trepidation....and a fear grappled him that it was the time that measured his life. It was not just the time either; rather it was the time piece that hung on that east wall. He could see the clock ticking away…..but not with its usual pace. The hands pinioned to a massive brass nail seemed to drag themselves sluggishly in that huge hollow chamber ….as if they would stop the next moment. His fears got exacerbated. He sat straight on his couch alarmed and perplexed…..waiting for the last minute when he would perish with the dying time!!!</div>
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He sat dumbstruck with horror and the clock seemed to run out of life….ticking slower and slower with each passing moment. There was a dreadful silence…except the clatter of a swift galloping heart and the clickety-click of the dying clock. All of a sudden a lady pushed in through the closed door and interrupted the silent cacophony. She pushed the half dead man with mild shudder and he woke up startled from his deep slumber. The lady pressed on his forehead a tender kiss….and handed him a cup of tea and departed from the room. He briskly made his way towards his unfinished task and made a dramatic narration of this fearsome reverie. It was an opus which portrayed the joy of life that filled the gap in between the brackets of birth and death. The concluding lines of the piece read ‘I receded away with the dying time. And I was dead!!!’</div>
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The next morning the lady entered into the little room and found him lying supine on his couch still, cold and dead. There was the finished piece of his last work and the dead clock gazing at the silent corpse.</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07876607619525401558noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2170278822974654285.post-61915013232978379842012-09-27T20:33:00.001-07:002012-09-27T20:35:41.431-07:00The Truth<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The afternoon sky peeped through the dense mask of those green leaves which formed a massive canopy over that lonely path, crawling into the dense spruce forest and losing itself somewhere in between! The dankness of the cold winter noon and the discomfort which it brought with itself compelled me to walk out of my doors and walk upto those virgin hills which stood at a mile from the dwelling …. And savor its tranquil verdure. The world outside seemed busy and playful…somewhere gray and industrious, while the rest in various shades of moods and classes…..separated by the societal chasms. Soon the faces were lost, and then the murmur of the crowd, the sordid streets narrowed down and got transformed into a continuous streak of land peering from the grasses as I walked away from the swarming multitude. And now I stood at the foot of the hill, wild and magnanimous and…. swallowed in a green-grey blanket with a thin curtain of mist blanketing it further.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Just a mile away from civilization and how untrimmed and untamed life seemed to be…. I treaded through the woods on that thin thread of path waiting for it to disappear completely so that I would turn back to begin my retreat journey. All this time I had been wondering whether I were the only trace of civilization in that feral world but nay…. A sudden screech disrupted the perpetual silence. Was it just the dry leaves, or the impatient breeze, it could be a broken bark or a wild boar but it was the footstep of a man, another man….crushing those dry leaves which covered almost the entire forest floor. With him was a woman, clasped tightly in his arms, tall and all covered in black with perfectly black glasses veiling their eyes. Emerging from within the mist through those thickets of trees, the blurred image of the humans gradually gained prominence as they walked towards me. She, the lady had slipped her hands into his and clung to him…. and he walked straight but with a sluggish gait, as if he was dragging her. They walked past and the man watching me gaping at their sudden appearance smiled but with an unfinished expression and I smiled back too.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">But there was an uncanny familiarity…a strange feeling did grapple me. It was the lady. Had I not seen her before? Had I not known this lady all wrapped up in that black apparel?? Had she not been my first girl? She was!! She was the girl I had known in my college times sparkling yet a silent conundrum. How silently had I adored her silence and tried to fathom this deep gorge, unspoken and unveiled!! My admiration succeeded by infatuation and then by a strong liking made me tame her in my mind. I might have talked to her a couple of times or more, but I had treasured those moments in some pronounced corner of my frame. How much I craved to be with her, talk to her and hold her in my arms but alas…all muted desires sulking beneath!!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I turned back to see how far had they gone and it was just a few meters away. I was seized with a desire to get back and stir the past, to talk to her and relive those long lost moments but the man…..Who was he? A grey crested tall gentleman perhaps in his late fifties. My curiosity exasperating with every passing second pulled me towards the drifting couple. I hurried to them and hesitantly uttered in a wavering voice, “hello sir!!! I am new one in this town and…. ” and swiftly with a sharp coarseness a ‘hello’did echo back. Before I could speak more words, the man poured down a buffet of questions, all of formal kind but perhaps the best way to begin with a cordial conversation. As the minutes glided by, I tried to move my eyes from the sober countenance of this fine man and place it on the woman, an impeccable finer human form. But her glasses, those were an obstruction!! She seemed not to look at me, as if untouched and unmoved by the conversation.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The man turning his crest towards the lady, spoke out loud, “ And the lady with me is my daughter. She got a sprain in her ankle and the doctor advices her to take a walk every day. So we love to walk through the forest path and devour the forest air. Is it not pleasant sire??” The humid air, the freshness of the leaves, the pristine aura, indeed all was pleasant..but more pleasant was the beauty of my beloved!! And I continued, “It seems to me that I know your daughter….madam were we not class mates during our graduation time?? We often talked….Mukul here.” She turned towards me, her brows contracted a bit, as if trying to read through the past and the face gradually brightened up. A sudden Smile escaped from the corner of her lips, quite reluctant to show how beautiful and mesmerizing it was!! A faint voice replied, “yes, I do…I do so well. Dint we have coffee at times!” And I was gladdened!!....Gladdened to assume that I too was a fragment of her memories. And a myriad of questions started building up in me. Did she treasure me as I did?? Was I a framed monument in her gilded chest of memories?? Did she like me as well?? Or was it just my Love that made me take these assumptions!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The noon sky was turning murky. The complexion of the forest had turned greyer. The father with a domineering politeness said, “It is time we should leave. Look the sky gets a darker shade. Mom must be waiting. Better we haste.” Convinced and agreed we decided to part. But was it the last verse??Would the unspoken words remain sunken as ever??Was this the culmination of this beginning?? I could not have let her walk away this way...but all in my thoughts. As I was baffling with myself, she spoke out once more, “Mukul… we hope to see you soon at our place. It would be a pleasure. The house stands on the market street and reads H-8.” “Sure!!” I replied. The father caught hold of his daughter’s arms and slightly pulling her toward him and enquired about her ankle….and whether she could walk. And came a reply, “It is absolutely fine. You have been dragging me all the way…but I feel I can walk now”. She pulled a folded stick out of that overcoat….and let it down. It was a white cane!! She probed it through the ground and took a couple of steps ahead. My heart dropped low and I raised my eyes to the man. Fathoming my curiosity, he replied, “Last year there was a mishap…and she lost her eyes”…. A melancholy smile followed those words as if mocking at her fate, their fate!!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I turned tail to them and fled as if I were being chased, chased by her Blindness. How comfortable she seemed to be in that perpetual darkness as if it were her native clime, not a trace of despair, not a tinge of regret…all was like a fluent poetry without a glitch!! But I stood stunned and traumatized… my feet could hardly carry me...as if I were chained. She was blind, blind forever. She would never see me. She would never see the world either!! The Love, the rapture all was so effervescent. Just the truth prevailed in me that she was Blind. The strong desire to possess her in my arms was dead. The adoration of that silent beauty was gone. The hesitation, the conversation, the invitation….all was futile. How could she make my home? The reveries had been submitted to the hands of folly. This was not selfishness…this was pragmatism. And I walked away</span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07876607619525401558noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2170278822974654285.post-23740935258169645512012-09-25T20:21:00.001-07:002012-09-25T20:21:35.736-07:00They!!!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The impeccable beauty of the sky with its vivid display of numerous warm colors on its palate exhibited a phenomenal artistic masterpiece!!! The crimson…the vermilion….the saffron…the yellow….with the faintness of dark blue tingeing the peripheries….evinced the dusk taking reign of the sky. Innumerable breakers emanating from the nonchalant vermillion sea marched onto the calm sands of the beach….washed it intermittently…..and left behind a couple of shells…..sometimes a decadent corpse of some sea creature….and few other things that often become an object of décor on the mantelpiece. The briny breeze….the pallid foams….the myriad of colors….and the lonely couple….all uttered of warmth….and intense affection.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Untiring incessant disquisitions…followed by the mild frowns of the lady…..and the deep sighs of the man spoke of a sincere subject of deliberation that might have been stifling them….or just might have been a casual conference about politics.....the worldly affairs…..the future….or Love. Soft romantic murmurs were losing itself in the garrulousness of the obstreperous sea…as if the nature, envious of them was trying to usurp the romanticism from the Lovers!!! The man fiddled with her hands…..often ran his fingers through his lady’s tresses….and each time he did…..they got tangled in the overflowing mane….and every time she liberated them from the lover’s captivity. There were gestures of affection and understanding…..but the smile that often smudged the corners of their lips was not as frequent as it used to be!!! There was a play….a sonnet of intense emotions…..an enchantment that tangled the two…..a murky luminescence of mirth….and yet an unfathomable silence. What was it that the silence spoke of??? What stirred behind the girl’s woebegone stern face???</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">A couple of stars could be seen in the dark blue canvas….which had transformed its complexion in those flying hours. The warmth in the sky had faded away with swift nimbleness….and just the crest of the retiring Sun could be witnessed…beckoning the lovers to depart….but there was a hesitance……a refusal….and an unusual plaintiveness in ‘The’ day’s Farewell. The eyes which mirrored her soul reflected tears. The girl clang to him with an honest persistence…..while the boy with a weighted heart made ceaseless endeavors to cajole the sulking lady. What was it that had expunged them of happiness??? It was her wedding the next day!!!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It was the dirge of severance….of sacrifice…..and their servile love. How could have love survived the test of the societal norms….and stood against the clout of money and the strength of reputation??? Was it not obvious for the Father to get his darling daughter a husband, decked with riches and residing in the upper niche of the society??? Was not ‘Their Love’ a feeble and a childish amalgamation of passion and caprice??? Who would have cared to fathom the soreness of the incision….but chasing penniless Love would have smutted their reputation……and then ‘They’ would have spoken!!! ‘They’ were the people…the kin…..the neighbors….and those who suddenly become cautious of the duty of being a well wisher. Then was it not wise to break the links of frail love….and choose what ‘They’ said???</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Years trotted away….making way into the future……and the beaten love had melded itself somewhere in the staleness of the past. He had carved out a new life for himself…..and probably was happy….and the girl??? She had been placed amidst lavishness….so she too might have found happiness!!! And ‘They’???? ‘They’ never cared anymore!!! He had been patient all these years….patient with his failures…..the pain of estrangement…..and his efforts to wade through that grotesque pain. But the future hours generously turned amiable to him. He procured all that an ordinary man craves for…..a well heeled job, a comfortable dwelling…..and a beautiful wife…..but still the shards of the broken love dwelt in some preserved corner.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">A couple of decades or more of family hood passed by!!! Those were the fertile years begetting him happiness….and prosperity. He had wealth, opulence, a business of repute and children. There were concerns of life and family melodrama. Years had started to ripen his age.....the rolling hours stole the bliss of youth from him. He had grown a frailer being. All his tasks were done…and he had been transformed into a recluse. His wife had died….and he too had succumbed to the decaying life. But that sunken Love??? Had it disappeared??? Is it not a palpable fact that memories are ephemeral colors that get expunged with time??? Because time plays its role well….and conceals every wound. He visited temples…..shrines and a few NGOs to devote himself to the service of God…and his men. He spent hours in the churches….attending to masses and deciphering the gist of Life. He had given himself to art, literature and all those refined instincts that had been the most prized possessions of man.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It was a cold winter Sunday, silent and pristine as usual. The church door smoked out a rhythmic hymn being sung in chorus. But he sat himself on an ancient iron bench which occupied an obscure corner of the untamed garden and tried to confiscate a bit of harmony from the serenity. He was all alone in that tranquil suburb of that garden…..perhaps with a couple of sparrows and……and a woman with a ball of wool and a half woven sweater in her hands. He could catch a glimpse of that bundle of white through those green thickets….and every time he craned his head to get a proper view of the lady…..she got camouflaged with those heavy untrimmed hedges the more!! It was as if nature was playing a childish game with him.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Uncontrollable curiosity and an hour’s monotony pushed his feeble frame toward the lady. She had in her hands a pair of knitting needles with a half woven red woolen piece hanging from one of them….and her heads almost buried in her creative work. It could have been a scarf….a sweater or something else. It might have been for her son or her grandchildren….or for her husband. He kept gazing at her……and she kept playing with her needle and the woolen thread with a commendable dexterity oblivious of the man’s presence. The mellifluous hymn which echoed out of the arched doors of the church had become silent…..and the fluttering sparrows too had flown away. He thought to leave the garden and head towards that sacred cradle……but suddenly pushing herself out of that trance, the lady raised her little head. It was her!!!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The man stood dazed and speechless. But she was still…looking straight into his trembling visage….no restlessness….no excitement….and not a streak of dejection. The fluttering butterflies…the dancing leaves…..and the singing voices….all seemed to have muted. There was an absolute silence……and the shattered debris of those gilded memories was being resurrected. The furrows that had made their</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">ways through that broad forehead revealed the time…..the long time they had been apart…..but yet the Love seemed to be oblivious of the dark gulch of the decades that separated them. It was young and fertile!!! The charm had been wiped out and the youth had shriveled away…just remained the memoirs of that unrequited love!! Neither the rendezvous at the roadside cafeteria…nor the unquenched hours of ceaseless rapture was alive…all what stood in that long passage of time was that ardent desire to slip their hands into each other’s and tread that narrow lane again….once again……or watch the lurid play of colors of the evening sky by the seaside. But he had been a married man…..and she too had been married…..and married to a rich husband. Was not she???? How could he have forgotten the bitterness of parting??? But where was the red dot on her forehead??? It was blank…..and there was not a single smear of red on her….she was widowed!!!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Sympathies clouded the more and the lover stood in despair. He was grappled with an irresistible desire to clasp her hands and never let them go!!But the sense of obligation….the call of duty…..above all the cacophony of the refined and the trimmed society….all prevented him to escape his confinements of ‘those societal norms’. He had sons, daughters and grandchildren. What would ‘they’ say?? Would not his impulsiveness make him a mere subject of mockery??? Man can learn to live without love…..but not without honor.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It was ‘they’ again. What would ‘they’ say?? But who were ‘they’???</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">‘They’ were none!!!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">‘They’ is the self erected reason of an unfounded awe…..and a gorge that tears apart man from himself. It is just the virtual image that stands behind the mirror…..and is non-existent and imaginary. It is the noise of the muted voices which speak without reason……and influence our vulnerable conscience…..but then???? It is gone!!! Gone forever!!! And we are just left with ourselves…..all alone with regret….and sobbing repentance. But again….what would ‘they’ say????</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The man stood there with a palpitating heart and tried to step forward….towards his lady. She picked the half woven woolen piece in her hand with a sudden jerk and tucked the woolen ball into the straw basket she carried….and briskly walked away….fading into the crowd which oozed of the church. And she was lost again!!!</span></div>
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