The Flight

Not once did it occur to me,
A myth so profound to be true,
Flipping past the dreams, once dreamt;
Accepting a sanctum that never was mine.
Secure I was now, in their eyes;
Disturbingly insecure, in mine.


Not once did the wise old society deter,
While shoving me into the daily regime.
Dragging through the infinite circle,
Knocked in the monotony and a soulless journey,
Sophisticated I was now, in their eyes;
Disturbingly retarded, in mine.


Not once did the magnificent currency,
Nor the custom-tailored suits free me.
Strangled by the company tie and a huge bonus.
Fingers mine, set to last on the keyboard!
Fortunate I was, in their eyes;
Miserably unfortunate, in mine.


Not once, did a small flutter leave me,
Resilient through the polemical thunder.
Colors defined me, Art never left my side.
Slowly from under the shadows, A light found me.
Crazy I was, in their eyes
Finally sane, in mine.


The Flight was taken bereft of the compelling chains!

160 Drafts

There was a flip of the pages in the calendar. The month of June showed a colorful paper aircraft  flown over the garden, a message of creativity and nature go hand in hand. How fast the time flew, I reckon it to be a  magician, capable of healing, hurting, reminding, forgetting, creating, destroying absolutely anything, anything in this universe. AND probably the person who can control time is whom I call GOD.

Have we met him then, the controller of time. Even the myths and the holy books says that even god abides by the Horrendous time. Having heard of time machines and time travelling. If that were to be true. I bow to the creator. But why is it most of the times, that we age on earth and time acts differently in other parts of the universe. It sure is a uncertain entity to be defined.

I would go mad in just attempting to solve this entity.

So I would rather not and be awed by the mysteries the nature has to offer. It is almost end of June. And I’m still uncertain of what tomorrow has to offer and what today was all about. In this infinite circle, I slowly pack my bags, unpack it, flip it over and again get ready for the journey. This is going to be a lame post, a small voice squeaks at the back of my mind. But it matters little to me now. With 160 drafts staying unedited and unattended to, leaves a scar on my dreams!

So, as long as I try, as long as I fail. I am on the right track. But being on the right track and sitting like a log will have any train run over me!

So this is an effort to keep going! Thanks to my friends and family for sucking up all my moodswings and still say that I can do it!

Somebody once told me that if you encourage a person with his positive sides and so subtly inform him about the drawbacks. He will rise like a strong tide.

And so this week is all about getting back, writing anything and everything  and having the nuts to publish the same.

The Healer

I never believed in miracles but having been consistently ill for a longer time, thanks to typhoid followed by the damn UTI. I started to believe in the higher power and that someone would be there to heal us back.

Love, in it’s purest form, can only be derived from kids, they say so. I assure you, yes it is. Pranav, more like a son to me is my little healer. Whenever I’m around him. I get a zealous energy to zap back to the world that has so much to offer. During my low times, I wasn’t able to give my best and I’m not perfect either. I don’t intend to! Like everybody else, the imperfect me is in tandem with my existence.

But Pranav doesn’t know that! He loves me. So do I. In the dreaded moments, he has made me smile. In my pain, he made me laugh. In the confused disturbed world, he made me see a clearer version. He has wiped my tears, he has laughed at my singing skills. Never made me complete a bedtime story I intend to narrate to him. He has been an absolute blessing.

I love to stay dedicated to him, though sometimes I am lost in a world that fears me the most. I have come to realize the true treasure in life. It is health. One needs to be healthy to get anything back to sanity. You need to be healthy to keep others in good health. You need to be happy and smiling to create a happy world.

His smile mirrors in mine. His playfulness mirrors the sparkle in my eyes. He has been there for me. He doesn’t know it. He will not know it unless I tell him. But the healing power that he holds has made me grow stronger. nowadays I like his stubbornness.IMG-20161207-WA0023

It fuels my childhood memories when I never used to listen to a word of my mom whenever I was asked to lend a helping hand. I guess after marriages, mothers become a treasure as well.

Had it not been for my little healer, I wouldn’t be here sitting with a smile, and writing again. With all the changes that made a glorious entry into my life. Writing always took a backseat. So a heartfelt thank you to Pranav for being such a wonderful brave kid.

IMG-20170425-WA0005Stay blessed and have that smile adorning your charming face, my dear.

With lots of Love,

Your Athe

 

 

 

Weed In The Lucifer Garden

There wasn’t much chaos in the city that day, everything was on a regular scale. People laughed. People boarded buses, little crowds involved in their own little worlds of disconnected lives.

Well, two days earlier, the same normalized streets were filled with crowds. They had slogans blaring in the air and traffic halted with much consent. There were rallies and silent prayers. Few of them threw stones at the public transport. The crowd was agitated, angry and most of all hurt.

Every other news channel telecasted a show on how the most upright policeman, Mr. Raghavendra was hunted down and slaughtered to death. This man was the real hero to the most of the city. Be it the hour before sunrise or that scary moment after midnight. ACP Raghavendra was always for the city.

Twitter garlanded him, the state government gave him laurels and Facebook gave him all the publicity. But the tiger was always focused on its prey. With his leadership, most of the illegal activities reduced down in scale. Murders and kidnaps were rare. Burglars became bankrupt again. And that is when everybody planned an assassination.

For the record, they weren’t petty roadies who hunted him down. But the media portrayed so. He wasn’t into any drugs, yet the postmortem doctors described it so. He wasn’t into any gambling and drinking yet his close ones portrayed him so.

Being a journalist myself. I couldn’t handle the wrong information the powerful media was spreading.

I had the proof.fiction, oneshot, short story, policemen, society

It was the government itself which had him eliminated. He was a weed in their Lucifer garden. Many of you have heard it. I will conclude it. Yes, there is a black government that runs after dusk. All the illegals meet, plan, target and eliminate people.

ACP Raghavendra was one of the many targets. The video file in my hard disk still lay in my backpack. But I’m still an intern. Will I be able to convey the real truth in comparison to the two-headed false new the society has accepted?

I clenched my teeth, for my own father was into the media, one of the best journalists ever. But anger seethed in me as I realized his true colors last night. An anonymous person had emailed it to him, and he chose to ignore the truth. I have vowed to deliver only the absolute truth, but here I stay as a witness to the crime. I am a greater culprit if I stay a witness and keep my mouth shut.

I reached office early, to redeem the truth. To set free a pure soul and protect his real identity.

“What are you doing here?” Mr. Madhavan. The best journalist in the whole world, to me.

My father.

” Nothing, just working on ACP Raghavendra’s case” I bluntly threw it on his face. Something I had never done. All these years I had great respect towards him.

“Sindhu! Stop it and give me the files” His voice growled. The first time in years.

“Oh, so you know! How can you do that dad” I confronted him and rushed to my cabin. The faster I upload it, the better chances for it to reach the crowds.

10%…20%…40%….

………………..

It was another day, and there was another weed to be eliminated. The evening newspapers carried the news of a love-struck young journalist who had jumped from the seventh floor of the Tony Media companies. The daughter of the legendary journalist Madhavan, who seem to have lost his mind and admitted to the asylum unable to withstand the loss of his daughter.

The truth was buried again!

What Sindhu never knew was that she was monitored the minute she entered the building. Her killer, the watchman, man from the lucifer garden!

And there still remains many such lucifers in the society. Should we ignore the atrocities or be another Sindhu!

In a dilemma, the new generation strives!

Made Of Ashes

Raining Stories

She isn’t human, fleshes and bones never made her. She is a phoenix, burning in the fire and reincarnating yet again with wings of fury. She is the girl you see every day , a bit strong, a bit innocent, her head held high, with a bit of smile adorning her sweet face. Her neatly plaited hair, thick black and neatly covered with a cloth that looks dusty.

Flowers filled with fragrance hide in her tresses inspiring her about the wonderful world she lives in. It’s all in her head, the happiness, the blooming flowers, the euphoria and ephemeral feelings of heaven.

She picks her infant crying over in the old cloth cradle tied to the banyan tree nearby. The city buildings have overgrown the trees. But the motherhood in her finds her child the perfect shade under the only greens. She is a mason and paid only half of her…

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The Pale Girl In the House-Horror

Raining Stories

I have a strange feeling today, as I stride myself through the subway, there is a creepy looking girl that I see often in the mirror, jet black hairs with bloodshot eyes, she is pretty but very very pale.

As I see her every day, I am not scared anymore, I feel that she smiles at me so very subtly that the straight line on her face sometimes curved and quickly vanished to nothing as well. At first, I thought she was another girl living in the house that we shifted to.

I was in junior high at the Jason High school when we shifted to Nagpur, a small town in the depth of Karnataka. I had never wanted to leave the city and give up all the luxuries it provided. It was then I realized how much I missed my friends back in Bangalore. The countryside had muddy roads and…

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Story 3-My Uniform Grew In Size

Raining Stories

I took out the only blue shorts that I had for school; They seem to have shrunken down over the past two months and faded into the oldness of blue. It has just been a year since dad brought new shorts for me.

I measured them placing around my hip. It was way higher that my knees exposing two inches of my untanned dark skin.

“Mom, I need a new set of uniforms! They are already shrunken down and I’m in seventh grade” I insisted making a sad face.

She looked up from the basket of greeneries that she was washing up for dinner tonight. It was going to be some green soup again! We grow them and I eat the same menu over more than four days a week!

A sweet smile brightened her droopy eyes as she gently took the uniform shorts from my tiny hands and settled near the…

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