Tag Archives: past


14 Sep



‘How come they have alphabets in mathematics?’ – I uttered.

I sneaked through the tall window repeatedly to confirm my soon to be planned allegation.

Laughing – naive to the concept of Algebra. Ironically, I was on ice that I was right and I could have launched a campaign on ORKUT about how absurd the teacher of class VI D was.

Walked back to my classroom to be seated on that wooden chair where desks had our scribbled FLAME game, the famous crushes with a icky heart emoji in the middle, the value of Pi that was too volatile to remember and never the less, the ‘Da Vinci’ sketches of each other and our teachers. The joy of calling ‘ASALAMUALIKUM AUNTY’ in chorus and the merriment of achieving a star on the title page of chapters. That life was nonpareil.

That phase ended.

I delightfully welcomed the teenage hood. A chapter where you eventually learn the meaning of the word privacy. The urge and turmoil suppressed the innocence or allow me to call it, ignorance of childhood and I discovered my self in detail.

That phase ended too.

And here I am today. At the brim of mature-hood, yet an ephemeral period. Remote to what I should be doing. Every single moment of reclusiveness makes me experience nostalgia of school and college days. Of people who’re no more, of opportunities which use to shine, the immortal ‘ifs’ and the withering present. I am miles away from satisfaction. Prisma, snap chat, Instagram, Facebook, twitter, whats-app – yet forsaken.

Sad no? it is. Interludes romances past more than future. It is how desperate I am to shrink and be 12 again. Arcing under expectations, wasted by grades and levels, hunting for people to talk without acting – the voids are expanding. Absences penetrate through me, like thread through a needle, everything I feel is stitched with its color. I am still not able to express what I need. There is a fire within us, no body pauses to swelter themselves at it. They pass by only seeing a wisp of smoke.

Give us time, give us a pleasing present. As much as I miss school and college, my childhood and teenage life – this phase should be no different. This age, is only a number. Painfully visible and entirely ignored. Give us space, permission to make mistakes and apologize, a lacuna to be better some other time. Don’t ask us to be best TODAY.

The most incommunicable piece I’ve ever written, comes to an end.




Stories told at hearth.

12 Apr

Something stale emerged from that debris, something which diffused instantaneously to the surface of my thoughts and conquered my mind for the next hour or so. Something that potent. I have noticed it plenty a times, grey and olden memories don’t take too long to come back to you. Mach. They strike you, and all of a sudden, present is left entangled in the ticks of clock and you’re gone.

I have always been fond of those traditional village plotted old tales which our Grandma’s narrate when light goes of and the ambience is illuminated by dim romantic candle limelight. Romanticism soon meddles the typical being of flies, the dripping sweat, the uncharged cell phone and the fast track life and I melt in the tales of times when grey was golden.


How many of us remember that white bearded ghost who haunts kids when they refuse to sleep at night? Or that tooth fairy who in return of our tooth gives us money? or the stories of that old tree in the garden, it’s fruits and that swing? the fiction of those stretched evenings by the lake and harsh decisions by the villagers, the recital of ode and tales of roaming around in fields at night?

Grandma’s make it all sound so interesting by the hearth. She smiles, amuses, laughs, questions, assumes and feels every word that is told. I’ve heard many such, All of it by the hearth. Grandma is no more, but that fireplace absorbed her scent, her stories, I can re-hear them any time I want, All I have to do is to walk up to the hearth.

Love you Grand ma! Miss you.



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