The Spark of Writing

It was the last day in college and the bags were packed and resting in one corner in my room. I could hear echoes of laughter and crying as I was about to bid goodbye to my room. Stressing out on so many things that I had to do, I ran around trying to avoid people who were leaving from different parts of the hostel. I was the last one to book my ticket to travel back home and the first one to leave. I was so glad that I got to leave first so that I didn’t have to stay back and see my friends leave. When the moment came, I was satisfied with the fact that I spent a decent amount of time in that beautiful campus, which was never enough anyway. And I had done my duties of writing farewell letters to my friends and leaving it on beds and running away. Soon it was time to book one last cab from the college hostel. The cab on arriving never let me cry, instead we were all laughing at the really really micro car that pulled over before us. I stood there looking at my friends loading my lugg

Memories never fade.. I saw him, with my bare eyes, being taken to his own graveyard. He did the right thing and he was punished. He raised his voice, for the masses and he was humiliated. He made them speechless and they dragged him along the ground. I doubt if revolution showed him mercy but he wasn't afraid . . His dream, when I met him, was to lead an ordinary life, with me, of course. Then he dreamt of freedom. From the ever superior and powerful hands that burried people's rights deep down. Then his dream became the nation's. Then he dreamt of people's lives, which he knew, would do him no good. None at all. All he wanted was to stand up and raise his voice so that both the powerful and the weakling could be heard. And he did. So they feared. A hundred battles were fought before they could trap him. He fought with fire in his eyes, that shattered many a hands which harmed the fellows, cruelly. 'Mighty Warrior' , he was called. Immortal name for a morta

Some are just stories; some are much more than that.... “Mere pyare deshvasion…” I woke up from sleep, startled to hear a familiar voice. “Modiji ageya?” I whispered into Christy’s ears. With a smug face, she pointed at the speaker who stood in front of the class. “What’s happening? What is he saying now?” “How would I know?!” “Ok. Can I go back to sleep again?” “No.” “Why?” “Since I can’t sleep, you shouldn’t either.” “Hey! What a stupid logic yaar!” And that was when I realised the whole class was looking at me, as if I was caught stealing something. I didn’t get the point of them staring at me like that. So I took all the courage to meet the eyes of the equally perplexed face of the speaker. “Sir, do you realise that half the class doesn’t understand a thing and is sitting here like dumb and nodding for no reason?” There was dead silence all over and even the lecturer looked amazed at what I said just now. “Yes, sir.” Finally, one of the fellow non-Hindi lads spoke

Being a travel freak, I have seen places and learnt things that can never be forgotten. Adventures don’t tire me, though I look a bit freaked out in terms of health. Those who follow my instagram and facebook pages call me instantly when I post my picture, to enquire how bad my illness is. So I tell them, I am healthier than anyone they know. Anyway, I am glad that they are concerned. But then, not everyone who checks with you is sincere. Sometimes people just want to confirm that you aren’t doing well enough in life. And I have learnt to face them as well. I have had friends who turned out into enemies. Not many get to see the other way round, but I have met ‘enemies’ who have turned out into friends. The plural form is an exaggeration, though. So, that basically sums up the current phase of my life. If it was some three or four days before, I wouldn’t have been able to write this. I wouldn’t even have this laptop to sit down and type this out. Not a penny did I save from all these