Back to the times when earth was only green and blue, there lived a boy, furious as the fire, sparkling as the star, swift as a deer but intelligent, well, only as a piece of rock.
Oh, he was as good as he could be in everything everyone would envy but for one thing but his brain that would never be by his side.
Hebba was his name and his best friend was Murra the rhino.
They would take a walk together in the evening. Hebba would sit on Murra's hefty back.While Murra would focus on chewing all the soft greens that came his way, Hebba would focus on shooting with his bow and arrow at whatever came his way.
Hebba's favorite ways of passing days was sharpening his arrows with a little rock, painting them with colors obtained from petals and climbing on a tree he called 'Mush Mush', then shooting arrows in that one direction always.
He wondered where all his arrows disappeared, not that he never tried to find them, but all in vain.
His bowstring was made of hareskin and it would recoil with all its mighty force.Maybe that's why his arrow would go so far to never be found.
Hebba would still think someone somewhere would be collecting all his colorful arrows or maybe someone would even come searching for him through his arrows.
Who knows?

Happy as they were but seasons changed, of rains and drought and then time came when Hebba started growing up with Murra and then came a dust of little knowledge as we would call it today in Hebba's little brain which failed to keep pace with Hebba's growth.
As days passed by, Hebba started growing uncomfortable staying alone, not that Murra wasn't there and Alas! did he start questioning  his own existence?
As a child, he remembered seeing his own kind.
Where had they gone?
Or had he fallen from that cliff only to fall on little Murra's back just to find himself separated from the rest of his kind.
Why had no one come to look for him? Or was it Murra who had called him?
Murra seemed to only enjoy the grasses, why would he never tell him much?
He only shaked his head in joy or sorrow or whatever he felt.
Murra had friends, more than one, of his own kind unlike Hebba and Hebba would envy this fact.
Hebba and Murra together would play with the rest of the lot all day long. Hebba seemed to have enjoyed this game all his life until this dust came into his brain bringing questions which never mattered until recently.

Hebba started feeling lonely even in a crash of rhinos.
So that one night , without telling Murra, Hebba continued to walk .

To where, oh he didn't know.

How far ?
He didn't know that either.
Tired and thirsty Hebba could walk no more and he collapsed as they would say .
Did he fall off the cliff again over some other Murra ?
Oh no! No no !
Hebba was there where no one would want to be!
Fire and arrows and some scary looking people all around Hebba who was now tied to a trunk.

They were so alike yet so different!
Where was murra?
Did he also not come to look for him?
A splurge of terror ran across Hebba's shivering lean naked body of now 14.
He gulped his fears and was thrilled to notice these fearful creatures of his own kind.
Have they found him back, have they tied him so he doesn't fall off that cliff over Murra who was just too lazy to come along and only busy eating grass!
Maybe .
And what was that?

Those colorful arrows in the hands of a tender, lean dark figure, hairs unkempt and much longer than hebba, those eyes glowing fiery red from the reflection of flames from across.. smiling in Hebba's direction. Oh why had that figure captivated Hebba's eyes that made him forget of his fears?
So this is why he ran that night ?
To be with his own kind? Was this the answer to all his questions? Was his dream and envy to be with his own kind now going to get fulfilled?  What we dream of is what we truly want ? Does running away in order to answer our ever questioning brain really worth? Had Hebba found the cure to his loneliness? Now surrounded by his own kinds, were they really his own? What awaits Hebba who ran away leaving Murra alone only to put the blame on Murra?

Has he got what he was searching for?Maybe.

Forgetting all the questions that his little brain could not handle, Hebba smiled back in her direction still gazing at his sharp colorful arrow awaiting whatever may come, surrendering himself to the unveiled mysteries of life and accepting destiny.



Raw thoughts of what a woman goes through when she’s married after spending a considerable time with her parents. Its not the excitement of a new companion but the pain of separation, adjustment with the new surroundings and a constant worry of her distant parents.

As I am married for two months now, the thoughts constantly running through my mind are those of mixed emotions. I am constantly thinking about my parents.

Just for a background, I have been away from home after school due to college and masters and then work, all in one place- Hyderabad. So technically, I have not had enough time to stay with parents after gaining emotional stability i.e after crossing my rebellious teenage.

However, pre-marriage scenes are different. All that goes in the preparation of marriage for months together is bound to leave you with withdrawal symptoms. Happened with me too. So I moved to New Delhi, which is where my parents live in the pre-workout for marriage. I had hoped a maximum of three months time before I would be officially hitched just like all other friends and counterparts. Not everything though happens the way we plan.

I was very much in love with my to-be husband and not so much with my parents at that time, because although it was an arranged marriage, due to some reasons, my parents had gone against it and the two of us were for it, so you see how it worked. The story underwent a twist here. One of the love birds needed more time now right when my parents were all for it. This brought with itself humongous drama at home, lots of emotional up-downs and those long counseling calls with friends.

Things had to become better though and they did because the main focus was to get a middle-aged woman married. The real bonding begins then, not with the future husband but with parents. How my parents especially papa planned the smallest of things for marriage rituals, left me emotionally etched. Those few months with them was more than a lifetime. Loads of planning, loads of cuddling, hopes, expectations and future planning. Have you gone through the same phase?

My three-month plan extended to eleven months. I had not been any more closer to my parents than this time and then one day, I got married, which I really wanted to – at some point though.

I have moved to a different country now with a very understanding, supporting and a loving husband. I still feel funny calling him husband. I am however, constantly worried that my parents are left alone with nobody to take care of them and no one to celebrate the festivals with. Sometimes, I feel I could have stayed with them, worked in Delhi and not have got married to have come so far. This is how life continues. I have come here, my children will do the same and so on. Nature knows no feelings but its own mean ways of flourishing.

About my parents, maybe I am wrong, maybe they have each other like I have my husband. I do not know if they feel the same about me. ‘Absence makes the heart grow fonder’ and probably that is what is happening to me right now.

Dusk to Dawn

Walking and talking all day long
Working and hopping on a good song
It passes by way too soon
I start the day and soon its noon

Leaving me in an exile
Wont it stay for a lil while

There comes the dark
A journey to embark
It makes me stay awake
To miss the days it were to take
The nights the lonely nights
Making me miss the lights
Suddenly the happiest moments
Begin to take a shape
A shape inside my head
All I think is I’m alone
No soul beside me there
No comfort in the zone
Thoughts then start to pour
Thoughts all good and bad
Thoughts that make me talk
I talk and talk alone
Till the darkness starts to leave
Tip tops the rosy dawn
It’s then that I sleep in peace.


Torn broken shredded to pieces

Tearing of the soul 

Churning of the gut

A heavy thumping chest

Like the end of the road 

No where to go 

No where to escape 

Like the last days 

Of a cancer sore 

Choices to be made 

To live or let go

I choose to live 

With a head held high

I’m stronger than this storm

Can’t shake me off the ground

I’ll stay and I’ll live 

I’ll face the storm till it passes 

Till I get the strength 

To live and move on

Me for myself 

I struggle again

To cross a burnt bridge

With a hole in the heart

And an anguished brain.

I struggle again

Against all odds

To smile again

And say it’s all okay.

I struggle again

Trying to understand

Tangled human behavior

And pain that it brings.

I struggle again

To carry with routine

Ask questions why me

Then sleep over it.

I struggle again

To cross the burning bridge

Get to the other side

And say it’s all fine.

The one we meet 

We meet a lot of people everyday. We forget some, we remember some. There are very few we want to keep forever though. Those very few strangers who make a huge impression, leave a powerful impact on your mind and soul.

We all meet someone at a phase of life when we need it the most. The times when we are forgetting ourselves and then these stranger angels appear and give life a meaningful turn.

How sceptical we are to these new entries and only when we look ahead and beyond, observe deeper and down, do we overcome the initial scepticism. How I met the one who looked strange initially but after a while I realized it was me, standing right in front of my eyes, talking to me like I talk to myself, already achieving what I wished to, living a life I had dreamt of. It was me . I met myself and I absolutely loved it . I am profoundly in love with this image of myself. Meeting myself at a stage when I the image was fading off was the most exhilarating experience.

I don’t know how to end this but I want me till the end .

The Short lived Love 

How I wonder could something so magnanimous

Be so small to be concised 

In the page of a diary so small

At a corner in the brain so vast.
How could it be confined

Within the limits of a pink pen stand

And the memory of a red soft toy

Within the heart of now a stranger

Within the faded memory of the brain.
I wonder how the most powerful feelings of all

Which starts like it has no start or no end

Like the beginning of a new universe

Like the creation of a new being

Like the rise of a new star.
I am in a state of denial

As I fail to understand

How this new universe limits itself

In a tiny world of shrewds

In a mean world of hatred.
I do not believe in it’s death

It’s way too huge to die

The energy is spread somewhere

In the universe where I breathe

Now transformed to another.
The soul has changed it’s clothes 

Now not in the pink little pen stand

It’s out there but for sure

It has not died although

As huge as this can never die.
The toys have changed their shapes

The laughs are a little different

Those eyes have changed their colors

The humongous feeling but lives

This love can never be short-lived .

The Weaver Weaves

We all make plans; long term, short term, we all do. We all dream big and small and base our plans on these dreams. How many dreams keep shattering somewhere every second of every day.

How we collect those shattered pieces, join them together and weave a new dream. 

Rephrasing and rebuilding lives every second of every day. Trying to get up, dust ourselves and moving on every day. 

Had there been no dreams, the cycle of efforts would have stopped. So live, dream and keep moving. This is life, an endless pursuit of weaving and catching dreams.

A Delayed Meeting

Peeping through the corner of my eye, I immediately recognized that figure in the dim lighting. It was a get together and all the dentists from my branch were there, both natives and international. I had been trying to avoid this all through my life but destiny plays it’s own games. A small girl was holding his little finger. She looked like him.

My gaze was suddenly interrupted by a pretty looking tall and fair woman as she asked me, ” do you know him?” In a gust I replied,” well not that I remember very clearly” and pretended to look at the waiter’s direction. “Oh, I’m Mrs Gustavo and that’s my little princess. Very nice to meet you” she said.

I felt this strong weightless sinking feeling, like I couldn’t breathe for a while. Recollecting my composure, I smiled back at her and excused myself as I was about to throw up. Unable to handle the anxiety and my disturbed emotional state, I sat in the corner of that huge lawn.

Nothing seemed beautiful anymore, I kept sitting there, in a trans, lost in my world of 21, exchanging promises, smiles and kisses. 

The river and the cliff 

It had been a long week running after money, meeting deadlines and pleasing people. It seemed like a year. Only a month back she had moved to a new city where money screamed out loud and an unprecedented, never-ending race with dead end was been run by almost everyone with two legs. She joined too,  leaving behind her  peaceful life with grandparents. The pursuit of money ought to bring happiness she thought, but was taken aback by the cost she had to pay. In a month she had lost weight, her peachy glow  replaced by a tan and her mind had everything but peace. Weekend was here, so she boarded the evening bus straight to where she belonged finding herself sitting next to a calm flowing river bounded by a cliff on one side. With her feet dipped in and contemplating life, she realized it all makes sense. The cliff reminded her that no matter how life binds you, break free and flow like a river and find happiness in the path you traverse. Rejuvenated, with her smile back, she went to see her grandparents, all set to go to work the following week and the days ahead.