That monsoon, those rains!

This post has been published by me as a part of Blog-a-Ton 55; the fifty-fifth edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. In association with ​Rashmi Kumar, the author of Hooked, Lined and Single and Jyoti Arora, the author of Lemon Girl.

Because one day, this dancing would stop,
or maybe the instinct will die, you had said,
and you couldn't be more right than that night,
when the terrace became a witness,
to the world of many firsts we were to enter.

Of witnesses,
there was that tree too,
under the shade of which,
I gave you letters,
hand written and kiss sealed.

What about that shop with downed shutter,
two streets away,
where we met as lovers, reunited and love, rejuvenated,
and sipped tea in the enraging monsoons under the cover of howling clouds,
Oh, who'd forget the drops falling in our tea cups,
and I, falling in a bit of you, wishing you'd fall in a bit of me too.

And running for cover in that downpour,
was the maverick painter,
his canvas falling apart as he runs,
and I run too,
I chase,
for the fear of him not returning ever.

He has 'us' painted,
though only in half,
before the rain came down,
and that half is you,
and I'll realize,
only years later,
how the unfinished painting was indicative of a future so true.

And that day has come, I reminisce,
when the rain would happen but dance won't,
when you would happen and us won't,
and I wish you had said something else,
if that night had to be the one God heard your wish bells.

The fellow Blog-a-Tonics who took part in this Blog-a-Ton and links to their respective posts can be checked here. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton. Participation Count: 12. 

Chocolate Ice Cream

This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 53; the fifty-third edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. In association with ​Soulmates: Love without ownership by Vinit K Bansal. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.

I passed by the old streets,
swallowing nostalgia through my throat,
as I walked down the school building,
and our lovable ice-cream uncle again,

He stood by his cycle,
even today, like those days,
quenching the thirsts of many, like us the other day,
when rain wasn't too heavy,
the lightning not too frightening.

Beyond meeting the eye

This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 50; the fiftieth edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. In association with ​Soulmates: Love without ownership by Vinit K Bansal. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.

She rushed to the mirror to check if the eye liner was put up properly. Meticulous. She ran back to the door grabbing her stole on the way. Running downstairs, she slowed herself down to regain composure as she strolled into the living area. Overlooking her was a life size poster of a God her family fervently worshipped. Escaping her mother's vigil, she threw a flying kiss to the poster. No wonder, she was euphoric.

The Inverted Universe

It was an interesting conversation I always used to have with this one particular professor, about an inverted universe.  He said that in each moment, an alter ego living in another universe was behaving in an exactly opposite manner. So, a feeling of rage was complemented by utmost serenity, a longing for love found its own in a burning hatred and so on.

It always amazed me how he imparted an innovative dimension to thinking. I used to go to his lab and we sat through hours

Aye Aye Professor!

I stood on the podium in front of vacant benches forming steps and aligned in a semicircular fashion. In full capacity, the room housed around 200 students. And that was the sight I procured maximum utility from. On other days, I'll talk to the students, scribble on the huge green-board, think of multiple worlds together and push our thoughts to attain 0% cohesion. I always thought they had much more to teach me than I could teach them, after all there were 200 minds against one of mine. But whatever statistics lead to, the pin drop silence when I spoke always testified that my students thought otherwise.