Writing

Colours lost in shadow

Colours: green, yellow, maroon, red, blue or any other, choose one. No matter whatever you choose, you’ll get a colour. A colour that can define sense and sensibilities, really? Is the life seen by you monochrome? Or multi-coloured? Or multi-turned-mono? Call it whatever you like, it will remain whatever I want. And what I want is none of your business” roared a voice out of infinity, from an infinite black sieve with countless, gazillions of sparkling golden dots.

It was mid-night, Srijan felt a sudden craving for a choco bar. He opened his refrigerator and gorged upon the bar there, like a hungry pregnant tigress. He was a man but, strangely of late, he was witnessing the rise of his feminine side. Someone in him told that he was pregnant and was carrying the offspring of unknown voice that roared daily in his dreams. He’d would often wonder how their kid would look like, half wave-half human or full wave or full human or something strange and wonderful that he never witnessed in his life. Would the kid take birth in a particular colour? Why the unknown voice asked him to choose colour and suddenly declared his choice as vain?

Days turned into weeks and weeks into month, he would watch shadow of his tummy daily on wall in order to mark any change in it. Sometimes his tummy looked huge but, his butt was equally bulging out as his tummy. Expanding tummy made sense to him but, expanding butt? Why was his butt getting enlarged?

One day, while he was inspecting his shadow, an unusual event happened. His butt in shadow started inflating as if someone started blowing up a hidden balloon there. He glanced and touched his physical butt which was completely normal and was not having any physical expansion but, why the hell his butt in shadow was expanding? He rushed to a large mirror, it too showed a butt that was calm, cold, still and deflated. He concluded that his growing offspring was visible only in shadows. While he was still in thoughts, his shadow butt kept on inflating. His shadow butt became so inflated and large that it started masking his own body in the shadow. His expanding butt didn’t stop after crushing his body in its own shadow, it kept on getting inflated and larger. All that was appearing on wall was a huge shadow of a sphere. One day, this sphere covered the whole wall but, didn’t stop. Its vicinity reached beyond what was till now a confined wall.


 

Note: Written in hurry for Creative Mondays as I’m travelling right now, I can possibly expand it later.

Vacation

Vivacious birds in vivid colours stole her eyes, on a joyous day, before the pre-mature night. Rachita was on vacation, a vacation to the land of her dreams. Canopies crowned the jewel of earth, brook babbled creasing the heart of heaven, laced cobras miles of offshoots, peacocks twerked to the rhythm of heat. It was Aravali, the line of peaks, near Delhi in 2006.

She was sitting next to a rugged rock, streams of water passed. Her heart rhymed to the mellow tunes of nature. The sky started darkening, hundreds of screeches filled the air. All of a sudden, rhymes and rhythms dishevelled. She gazed at the darkening sky, thousands of eagles started joining each other, forming an umbrella over the forest. Scavengers arrived in the land of life. Puzzled. Scared. Her heart pounded harder than the heaviest. Smell of rotten flesh replaced fragrances of wild flowers. Green trees started melting in a self putrefying process. Rotten leaves, branches, flesh of birds started falling over her. She started running randomly towards any space that seemed free. But, the hell had already covered the celestial sky. In mid of noon, it was as dark as mid-night. Eagles attacked her with their sharp, pointy beaks. Blood oozed from her pierced skin. She had no way apart from jumping into the brook and she jumped. Her skin started peeling like the cover of a boiled potato. She was flowing with the stream of water. Along with her, trails of blood followed her cascading path. Meanwhile, the eagles kept on attacking. She was getting nearer to a massive fall, a fall of folklores that comes into existence for a single day after every hundred and eight years; on the day when night has its new moon. The legends of land dictate that the Goddess Cha of jungle changes her skin after an interval of hundred and eight years. The time when she leaves her old skin for the new one brings catastrophe to the whole jungle. Trees, birds, animals die within a fraction of second; decay; dissolve; while the river changes its course and a fearsome fall of Cha appears.

Involuntarily, unconscious, like a lump of dead mass Rachita fell into the fall of Cha. Silence roamed. Complete dissolution. Not a single life left, eagles disappeared, sky cleared. A serene river appeared in tranquil. A massive fountain of water, rattling like the tongue of a venomous snake with unsurpassable power of creation thundered the sky while rising from earth. Droplets of water like millions of gleaming diamonds fell over the impalpable remains of past. Seedlings sprouted from seeds, birds hatched from eggs, new lives appeared. Lions roared, crickets chirped. It was life ones again. But….but, what happened to Rachita is not known. She could have died, she could have lived, though it is certain that she disappeared. A few miles away, in a village, smeared in blood, separated from the umbilical cord, a baby cried.


Note: Written for the prompt “vacation” of IBQ

time (haibun)

I wake you up, don’t I? That’s what you accuse me of.

silence

splatters egg

on floor

No, I don’t need an introduction. I put all on you. You accuse me for everything that can’t be held by you. Buds, flowers, fruits, seeds, humus, plants– cyclic, isn’t it? And you claim me for it.  You can’t understand yourself and are out to know me, me?

stars

river reflects

million years

You count, I see whether you reach up to me or not. Ever thought that I can be sitting eternally by your side? Ever thought that I’m a reflection, yes, reflection of everything seen and felt by you? No. For you, your life is real. But remember, I’m the elusive driver, driving your mind.

rains-

petrichor

returns

I return because I’ve never been away. Don’t blame you. You can’t see me as I’m. In parts you see, in parts you believe and in parts you differentiate. But, I’m all as one: no past, no present, no future. I’m as I’m, always: Time.


Note: A Haibun written as monologue in response to Linty’s prompt: Speak to me

 

Bubble Bizarre (1)

It was a morning, sun rays entering through windows fell upon white marble floor of a well groomed airy room. Red sofa, beautiful antiques and sophisticated wall hangings. Amid all these beauties, lied a deceptive portrait of a woman in brown saree, the portrait’s face was blurred with water paint and it looked like a diffused oval bulb lost in crowd.

No, I can’t eat it.”

Little Boy, if you don’t eat it then Mama will roar.” Her eyes glistened grey, she grinned while removing black tresses falling over her face. She held an apple near Rohit’s mouth. She moved her hand forth till the apple touched Rohit’s lips. “No,” screamed Rohit squeezing his eyes with a great force.

Huh,” gasping, drenched in sweat wakes up teenage Rohit, 4:02AM. He threw back the white blanket which covered his half body, went to wash-room and prepared for his job. Rohit was a Paper boy whose work required to get up as early as 4:00AM. Unlike other Paper boys of the area who had to pick up and deliver various kind of newspapers, Rohit exclusively delivered only one newspaper titled “Bubble Bizarre”. His story of landing a job at Bubble Bizarre was itself unbelievable. One day, while going for a job interview he bought roadside spicy puffed rice wrapped in a piece of newspaper. He finished the spicy puffed rice but, didn’t threw the piece of paper in which he bought it, instead he kept it in his black leather bag. After a day of unsuccessful attempts and failures, Rohit fell over his bed at night. All of a sudden, he thought to open his bag in order to check his past academic performances. That day, strangely when he was enquired about his academic records, he stumbled and felt like a total blank. Hence, he was rejected. How? How could he forget everything, he was shocked, confused, anxious and what not? Hurriedly, he opened the bag to see pieces of papers titled “Bubble Bizarre”. His mark-sheets, certificates all gone. What remained there were some papers with Bubble Bizarre written on them. He took a paper which read, “Congratulation! You’ve been selected for the team Bubble Bizarre. As long as you work with us, you should not think about anything earthly like salary, food, transport, communication etc. If you’re interested in working with us, type aoodapoacpcoa in your address bar of internet browser, this is one time access code to our site, for further information, you need to visit us.”

Rohit was excited even though he lost all his academic certificates, he had some intuitive trust over his new found recruiter. He rushed to his PC and opened internet browser to type aoodapoacpcoa in the address bar. It took him to the homepage of Bubble Bizarre.

Bubble Bizarre is a daily published from the core of Mars by Martians for Martians residing all over solar system. You’ve hit upon our Earth especial page that is available for users on earth. Since all this may appear like a dream to any Earthizen and some of you may wonder why we’ve chosen you, here is a link to our FAQs. Rohit clicked on FAQs that took him to a different web page.

Why You?

Because not every human can adjust to various frequency levels required for communication all through the solar system so, we select a few who can adapt and perceive frequencies from realms different to their own.

How chosen?

We have appointed our Martian nurses in every Earth hospital where a baby is born. Our nurses have inbuilt scanners that can scan and detect a human baby best suitable for our requirements.

Why now?

Our nurses tag human babies that we think would serve our purpose, they follow and feed them regularly with our bio-transmitters which require time to adjust naturally to a human body and once adjusted, they make a human capable of communicating with any life form within our solar system.

Why Martians on Earth don’t use bio-transmitters in their body?

Because some high IQ beings who run Earth from underground have kept track on beings from all over the solar system, they maintain strict security and fear any invasion from other planets so, they track bodies of Martians living on Earth. But, they seldom track any human body, they view a human body as an inferior trash incapable of challenges. So, we take advantage of this loophole to prepare professionals that would cater to our requirements.

What is the job?

You’ve to deliver our newspapers to a few selected Martians, their residential addresses have already been encrypted in your brain so that no Earthizen including you can misuse them in future. Various parts of these newspapers and various parts of you, would remain in various different dimensions simultaneously which would mean that neither you nor the newspapers would be fully or similarly viewed from any single dimension.

Do you agree to work with us?

If you don’t agree to work with us then we’ll instantly deactivate all the bio-transmitters that we’ve fed you and embedded in your body that would lead to neurological demolition of yourself, to prevent this, agree to work with us and click here.

Rohit clicked to agree. BOOM, a blast on earth. A mouse sniffing here and there in debris, Rohit searching his favourite video game cartridge in various rooms.

Over A Chat

a cat-
drools dog
in mid-day

“Today, I bought a gown worth Rs. 20,000”
“Isn’t it cheap for a designer gown?”
A grin. “I bought a matching necklace worth Rs. 5,00,000 too.”
A frown. “That’s great.”
A laugh. “Yes, I’m the Barbie.”

A petite, gracile lady dressed in white top and black high waisted pencil skirt enters.
Gazes; Grim; Scowls.

“No dressing sense, simply trash.”
“I agree.”
Giggles

Confidence is NOT
    what you say
       what you want to believe
          what others believe;
             it IS
                your comfort
                   your trust
                      your bliss, in yourself.


 

Note: Written for IBQ weekly writing prompt

Dear Dream Reader

Dear Dream Reader,

You’re a reader in need, reader indeed. Everybody likes to read and appreciate a good piece of writing but, a true reader is one who can continue reading till the last word without interruption irrespective of the quality of work. You understand the effort behind worse of worst writing pieces and honour it with your patience and time. Very few are like you, who’re there with a writer of no name and fame. An unconditional reader is as rare as platinum on earth.

~~~~~~

The Question

I really had no idea of my dream reader when I initially saw this assignment for day six of blogging 101 but, then I thought and I asked myself several questions before deciding upon the criteria of my dream reader. To me anyone who reads without any expectation is a dream reader.

The Search

A dream reader is one who hunts down a writer from the last of rags and puts him/her on top of the table. With a dream reader, a writer is never anxious of losing readership even with his/her worst work.

Gratitude

Gratitude towards a dream reader is inexpressible because the words like Thanks or Gratitude cannot do justice to the delight that one gets from the readership of a dream reader. Still millions, billions, infinite thanks to the incredible dream reader.


 

Note: Written for blogging 101 challenge

Second Life

rain-
shines sun
on horizon

There is a life that I lead in the presence of physical beings and there is a life that I lead in thoughts in the presence of virtual beings. If asked which one I like more? My answer would be both, I enjoy both. As a child I possessed a diary in which I recorded names and daily activities of pigeons, parrots, rabbits and dogs. I also recorded a few instances from my own life in it like a joyful day in holi, the colour festival. After a long time as an adult, I found that diary in a shelf along with old books of my school. When I started reading that diary then I was taken back to my childhood days. It was a wonderful trip. I remembered the names of pigeons and why I had named them so, I remembered the nuisances and various sad incidences in their lives and how they had affected me at that time. It was like, all of a sudden I was not living in present. That day, I realized that a tale if recorded in any form be it words, films etc. then its lifespan increases. It can be lived more than once. There are/were many beautiful moments that I would like to live again. With this thing in my mind I restarted writing diary. After a certain time of restarting my diary, I realized that by writing diary I was confining a big part of me to only myself. I needed something intermediate that would not put my thoughts into seclusion while preserving mementoes. Blogging seemed to be the nearest possible solution to it.

Typing out the Second Life

rottenecard_6583586_wrnry9gbcbWith blogging my thoughts are free and sensible. Many things that I would not like to say in real life or many things that no one would listen from me in real life can be easily written and shared through blogs. I live here the part of my life that I live in my thoughts and memories. I feel as if my internal life is no more confined to vicinity of my soul and to be honest, the feeling is great. I feel that this phenomenon within me is going live long and I would like to see myself blogging for next many years.


 

Note: Written for Day Three Zero to Hero Challenge

An Introduction: To Me & My Blogging Goals

Who am I?

prudence

flickers candle

amid wind

I am the queen and reigning deity of my life. Ever watchful, yet impulsive. I am married to a very sweet and kind man, who stands for a big part of my identity. A chunk of my time is devoted to family, elders, reading and writing.

A dreamer, whose dreams never cease to disturb daily life. Right from my childhood, I am addicted to imagination. As a child, I searched a flying monkey with fiery eyes in night sky, imagined hordes of pigeons talking-discussing their daily lives with me, imagined mighty parrots snatching my biscuits and many more. I grew up in a remote place of eastern India, located in Jharkhand. Green trees, bushes, deer, tigers, snakes, peacocks were all at door step. As a child, I loved Mogli and his story influenced my childhood. Playing outdoors irrespective of seasons was my favourite task. I loved the way, we shouted, fought, cursed each other while playing games.

I wanted to be a scientist; physics and mathematics were my forte but, ended up with economics in college then an affair with languages followed by literature started. I am still very much interested in latest discoveries and keep checking them from time to time. My long term goal is to be a published speculative fiction writer while my short term goal is to read and learn from most of earlier works by various writers.

Why am I here?

rain drops

cuts through rocks

a river

Blogging is something that makes me more cautious towards my existing goals. It inspires me to be more disciplined and provides an opportunity to learn many new concepts/things from fellow bloggers. I love learning and consider myself a life long learner, I see blogging as a tool that aids me in this zeal. I maintain a personal journal too along with my blogs. The main difference between two in my opinion is “sharing”. There are tales and information that one would like to share in order to create a mutual environment for learning. While there are some information which are too personal to be shared on any public platform, those are for personal journal. I enjoy both blogging and maintaining a personal journal, both have different purposes and are good in their respective jobs. I basically, like to share information through my blog that I find during my personal readings. Apart from this, there are some creative junks excreted while performing writing exercises which I like to collect in my blog.

I appreciate learning as I already mentioned so, I wish to see a better learned person out of myself in course of blogging by coming years and I wish same for my fellow ambitious readers-writers.


 

Note: Written for Zero to Hero Challenge 101

apex

bleached
on river bed
eons flicker
unmoved~
flamingo

Green trees run parallel to viridescent water, dancing birds form vibrant shapes in blue sky, with sweat droplets over face comes Junga, the mystery boy. He puts his straw bunch near the babbling brook and lies down when the sun is neither overhead nor in horizon. It is said that Junga’s virgin mother didn’t know for nine months that she had conceived Junga, till the day he was born. Everyday, Junga comes near the brook for solitude, silence and security.

IMG_20140412_185914While on ground, he fixes his eyes on the stream, he senses every movement of insects, he feels vibrations lighter than air, subtler than water. His sensations vanish gradually from all over body till they reach the tip of his right index finger, that is where he limits all his senselessness. Like a dead hungry crocodile, rekindling, he snaps out of air, his finger like a laser blade pierces through the heart of a fish swimming in the brook.