Accompany me, Will you?

The world reeled under his feet. Drifting away in circles! The clamp carted the wheels and it clanged its baritone, in anticipation of the meet. As the intensity grew louder, he could hazily make out the waving hands. His journey had started. A fulfilling time off at home to the inevitable back to workplace the time span seemed too narrow. The world is definitely mean in the sense that we can’t clutch to all that we want. He took to his seat and saw around. Nothing! Not even a single guy in the compartment? Suddenly a train of thought gripped him and he began to wander back to the home days- the merry making, the laziness, the LOVE. It filled him with renewed vigor and the urge to be return home soon.

Time passed. Few passengers boarded the AC compartment, still a very few! He was cramped; the cozy seat was too unyielding to smooth dreams. The blank outside threatened of greater sins elsewhere. It was all deafeningly silent, the likes which he never liked! The happy prospect of friends filled him and the happy days edged him to a sleep. He dreamt about the beauty of everything- tangible to intangible, real to surreal!

Alas! The morning was too nearby- lurking in the horizon. Seldom has a day passed with silent mornings. Mornings seems to rub off the vitality in everyone. Mornings are like new beginnings as if the world is going to last for a day. Nonetheless the feeling wears down as the day progresses but reassumes and reinforces itself the next morn. So there he was, awakened with all the noises that raked the mouse off the carriage! He jumped up did his brushing and unpacked the cookies he had brought to eat. It took him sometime to really gasp that his woes of a lonely journey is coupled with the train’s slow locomotion. Certain shades of reality would have donned his face. But how could he know? How could he imagine that wrinkles play a facial game? He had never thought he could replicate emotions in face- He wasn’t an actor.

By evening he was disgusted by the smell of the carriage, the airlessness of it. He made his continuous tours to the door. The wind grazed his brazen face. The wind was so alien that he was reminded of his home instantaneously. He hardly realized that the train was screeching to a halt. Snapped he was from his thoughts and suddenly he found a face- radiating the smoothness of known, the warmth which he was attached with. He wouldn’t mistake the cutting, the color of her face. She had to be her. He was sure of himself; his memory of his school was so vivid to betray him. Then he mustered courage to question her- he couldn’t think of anything else! His purpose was defeated when he heard a flat no. He wondered!

Back to boredom, he was fleeting with the wind when she called for him. Another twist in tale! He had his suspicions back with him by then. But he let them go. She radiated the kind of eager enthusiasm and radiant enigma that he lived in the moment. He was glad that he gave chance a chance to win and wasn’t he excited? She was the random flower and he became the buzzing bee. Like a magic tale it lingered. It all happened as if it were destined. She was everything. She displayed all her facets in that short span, but he was sure it was just a tip. He was getting ready with the ski board to jump head long into the iceberg!

The curl by her ear,
Eerie thoughts by the sear,
Wrinkled the sun beams with the lear!

That was all he could say, he could realize-before her stop came! Some story in his childhood had warned him to be cautious of strangers and boiled eggs. He was happy that books weren’t the sole experience of godliness. Good things are bound to happen rather unexpectedly!

Time of My Life!

It has been eons since I had a totally grumpy afternoon and I decide to pick the rags from the riches of my computer hard drive. Time grabbed me by the wrist and directed me to Green Day’s- Time of your Life. So lost was I in its connotation, its import that I decide to overcome the laziness and write a post rather earlier than my usual snail speed.

For the uninitiated, I am in my last year of undergraduate studies (Of course until unless my college people decide otherwise). The rate with which I let myself to be tamed by time is rather obnoxious. The comparisons are nauseous. The equivalences between a-then-me and a-now-me are non existent. I could never recollect a day when I went to exams unprepared।Alas! It was a story which existed only in then time frames! I hardly remember the last time I took to serious preparations! My exams came and went with a jiffy. But did I wonder for a second as to what it meant to be so oblivious? The care free me forgetting to bring in the calculators for the exams and not even letting it affect me in the aftermath does speak volumes of my negligence, doesn’t it? For the other exam I didn’t give a damn just because the others weren’t looking too committed either. So I can be pardoned for that sin! But the day next when I had one off the important papers- What did I do for preparations? Play the whole evening. Started reading at 10- Stopped by 10.45 and slept till the exam. So much so that it didn’t affect me like anything. An ant crawled over a goofy fur? Enough room for my carefree no-matter-what attitude? I leave space to tumble myself in the ignominy of my former self. But then do I matter? Even in the former outfit? Just for the record Am I giving in too easily or do these things don't deserve the look? I Am just curious! Are all the bricks in the wall same or is mine different?

So much so for the time of my life!

The people I would like to be around at present, doing the things I miss doing are sitting elsewhere in some other part of the world. Now all I yearn for is a neat dossier of chat which at some point was much more than life capsules. I am learning to live with it. I am learning to be aimless. I am learning to be the crowd in crowding sphere! May be perhaps it is a juncture in time? A fork still struck on the road? I am being cast in outcast role. My sentences are silent and my eagerness slimed. Do I need to cut through? To fight for all that could be mine? The juice really worth the squeeze? Is moral fibers not mean clinging to what you like? I am still passive. Maybe I want this spell to get over. But I am struck with a jinx. I don’t know how to distinguish when nothing ends and something begins? Help me guys!

Eating Sugar... No PAPA!

I, for one, had always been associated with food as much as anything else. This is one identity which unites my many other false individualities. I own to it quite blithely! Period.

For me it is not merely a “breaks time” between the episodes of me being alive and kicking। Within the constitution of this life sentence we all succumb to the dark temptation of food. The sensation of taste is intimated with sequences small and large that we tend to overlook its import. The taste of success, the taste of life, the taste of love et al revolves and bonds around the smell of good food. No wonder all the winsome moments in life call for good food. Let it be a Date or a Treat- Good food has the uncanny knack of transfusing hypnotism in the sphere. It falsifies environ to soothe, the talks to mellow, the air smells reasonable and its scent to intoxicate!

Is this just a frameless mechanism? Is it one of the things which illudes once in a while? Perhaps we can never know! Perhaps maybe the ‘patient’ waiting in a restaurant bears testimony to it. It can’t be just a sheer coincidence how good food can heal so many things unnoticeably, as stealthily as silent thoughts! It would always be an understatement how good things start with food. A city is as much known for its cultural dimensions as much as it is for its special cuisines. These are so intertwined that Lakhnabi Kebabs and Hyderabadi Biriyani potentially can catalyst a conversation to flush between any we-don’t-know-each-other.

Mom’s cuisine tastes all so heavenly, for the food has her smell- the one smell which I can never emulate while I cook. Blinkingly, I travel my dinner! Good food is not any other food that tastes good! Good food stimulates body, as much as Rum can stimulate the brain. The romance is to be lived over and over again! For it won’t ditch you, it would manifest itself in others forms and catch you- a blind eye and a equally absurd mouth (claiming that any food tasting good is good food) have their reasons to be FISHY(pun intended).

P.S. It just ogled out when I was trying to dissuade my friend, making him see the difference between food that tastes good and good food.

When the Ball hit the Pitch!

He reached there with a dream, and if anything, his last screaming kicks with the team flooded his dreams. The team, he had learn to play with, the only team he could play with and be injured for. He had lived with the dream and he had prepared to let everything in for that. He looked up and he found solace, for he had his favorite player of his dreams in his very team. If Real had a Sergio Ramos, we sure had one who could lift us from any situation, score goals, defend, give life (Even take one) each time he touched the ground. He knew he had to support his Ramos this time with his life.

The first thing he did after he threw his bags to the corner of an allotted hall- check out the pitch. He gulped down his own disappointment. Rollers! Bulldozers! Not a single blade of grass! To couple the woes, the ball was bouncing too alarmingly and the flanks were pebbled with concrete! He was promised match under floodlights- he for sure had the match under floodlights. Suddenly he found others claiming nonchalantly about the pitch, that the dream fever gripped him on. The team hurried through the opening ceremony for they had been scheduled for the third match of the night. He stayed back with Ramos to watch the first half of the first match. Teams looked good, competent but scoring goals looked a herculean tasks given the pace and bounce of the pitch! Nonetheless they managed to sneak one in.

He had a few silent words with Ramos, who like all great leaders had the uncanny knack of motivating with right words. I shall remember those words forever. “You might loose a tackle, look foolish but the collective foolishness of this sort would invoke anxiety in any team”. So sure was he with his football spikes that he needed the ball and the team to melt under his welt. He let out the fears, for he only had place to fill himself with passion. He went into the game, egging others to shed the side talks.

He started with his customary left flank, defending and assisting the mid fielders। Patrolling back and forth, looking up to Ramos for the inspiration-for the geniuses। They had tackled well, defenders sold their sweats and the forwards pushed for inches in the uncontrollable twitching field. Meanwhile goalkeeper grabbed a brilliant save to spur the team on. He had by now moved to the midfield to assist Ramos and let all others to blink their tries at the goals. It was not coming. Alas! Luck isn’t a non existent quantity! It was not to be his day!

He stepped unto take his penalty with the score line reading 2-3, he had his vision and bartered his luck. He netted it in and fervently hoped that at least the luck can’t turn a blind eye now. He was wrong. He lost. His team lost. The team he was playing for the final time in a tournament. He was devastated. Perhaps, he should have dreamt about luck and luck solely!