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.


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.


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?


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.




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


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.”

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


on river bed
eons flicker

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.