Leafy Meadows

Dust. It settled quietly, on the arches of the stone gate that once protected the haveli from the inquisitive eyes of the intruders. Small creepers now rented the crevices of these stone joints and weeds of all kinds flourished here unaware that they have taken abode on the compound of Maharana Uddham Singh's Haveli. The Lasts of the Rana, for he now is without an heir and living his old days in a small community near France and Switzerland border The strong iron gate, which once kept people in awe and would intimidate small village folks who would come to pay respects to the Haveli, decayed slowly. It's iron on the mercy of winds and rain, eroded so much, you could break its bars and hinges by swaying of a stone no bigger than your wrist. When opened its hinges gave a mournful cry of a bygone era and hesitated to nudge forgetting that the strength which once was their pride now was gone and its frail hinges could only cry. The ground inside, untended, now resembled a dilapidat

  Chirping her way in, the little sparrow made the grand entry in the nest, the nest its all but ugly, made comfortable by lining the floor with softest of feathers and cotton and bits of fabric collected over an endless number of flights, well, that was just the bedding. How about the walls then, fine twigs from the softest and tender grass were collected, sorted, and carefully weaved one by one, creating a small shallow and eventually finishing it with another smoothest upholstery of feathers and cotton. Such is the nest of our common sparrow. Perched high on the branches of a fig tree, this sparrow has made her third brooding nest. This she does without exhaustion, it’s the natural urge to pass on the genes and with it the experience of this little life. Insignificant, not even close.   It was raining and summer was just heating up, the sun was too tired of being cold, and was getting hot, for it too, doesn’t like the cold weather. There up in the neem tree, amongst three

  From church room confessions to all swears and oaths and vows. From secret chambers to open conventions, the truth is what makes us bow.                                                                 The feeling of guilt that lingers                                                                 or remember crossing the heart with fingers.                                                                 A thousand lies you say,                                                                 in the end, truth wins the day. Hide it, from the world or the god above or sink it in some abyss unknown. But by you, it will be always known, Coming from your heart's deepest cove.                                                                         And in the end, the truth will surface                                                                    and will mock you and grimace.                                                                    Oh! now you take a vow and oath,     

  Monty was not rabid, he was just old, too old perhaps to wag his tail and jump around for his master's attention. However, when his master got tired, of his old age he was taken one day on a trip from where he would never return. As his master drove him, Monty saw lights of the city fading out in the dark, soon, dark shadows cast by the trees were his only companions for this trip. Then they too were replaced by small and pales shadows of remote and deserted area shrubs. To Monty, this looked very scary, for not a soul, bipedal or quadrupedal was seen.   He wondered where his master was taking him, so far from his cozy blanket, on which he sat and often waited for his master's arrival. They must have traveled quite a distance when suddenly the van stopped, Monty lurched forward, as the vehicle came to halt. There was an audible silence about this place. There couldn't have been a dreaded scene, so remote, so lonely and so soulless.   He was soon chained and taken out for

  "Few years have gone by now, I have not called my friend. Sure, it will be awkward to call him now, after all these years, who knows if he would have anything to say or will he say anything at all. There was a time, when being among friends and being in the center of their world was all that mattered but now, with all the responsibilities weighing down on the shoulder, or because of requirements of job or due to being old  that is just not possible ."  These is what Ramesh has to say to his friend, Prathamesh. Is being the one in awkward relations whether it be a family one, or a romantic one or of friendly kind, make you uncomfortable? Well let's get you more uncomfortable then, a part of human brain always tries to find a comfort zone, nothing wrong in that, if it helps you realize your potential? But does it really? All that comfort zone does is to create border around you, first it protects you from harms and evils, then when the border becomes the boundary bet

  She married a man of great determination, ambition, and grit. But he was neither the king nor a knight in shining armour, well at least not in his early days of struggle. The man worked in an Iranian restaurant servicing tables in the suburbs of Mumbai until he found an opportunity, after which we went on to create an empire, an empire people would awe and envy at the same time. But this is not the story of the man or his empire, it's as the title suggests, it's a story of a queen. Often out of the courtroom and supporting her king every which way, she made him not only the knight in the shining armor but the emperor himself. This story sound's more relatable, perhaps some of you might even have some memories coming back.  This is the story of Kokilaben Ambani, Wife of Dhirubhai Ambani, who went on to create a Reliance Industries empire fit for his queen. This is nothing new you might say, everybody knows this story, perhaps more vividly than I could pen. Wait ...but I am

'"Why would you like to die?" Master asked. " Well master, nothing seems pertinent, why should I live?" the student questioned back.  On top of it, the student seems to be of melancholy, grim and depressive attitude. One might even rightly guess that he might commit suicide.  But the question is do you really die when you commit suicide? Well, mortally yes, you might choose your way of snuffing your life out, but the end is the same, you will be dead. Dead.  Death is a mystery, nobody knows what happens post mortem, is there any other world? or any other reincarnation perhaps? No. you are dead, and that's the end of it. Many countries, and their respective cultures, have tabooed or outlawed the committing of suicide, perhaps the reason behind it is to make you realize that coming into this life wasn't in your hands, and so is dying.  In fact, many religions, sects, cultures do propagate this theory.  Let me tell you a story, thousands of years ago