THE GIRL OPPOSITE DOOR: MY NEIGHBOUR

On a lazy Sunday morning, I sit in front of my desktop writing a story. Towards the left side I have, this small window and I saw this girl. She is very young. Perhaps 18-19 year old. She was wearing a salwar kameez and drying the clothes that she just washed. A beautiful girl she is!

I cannot make out her face, as the distance was very large between my house and hers. Still I felt she is dishy. More than that, what I liked was her body language. I could see there was lot of confidence in it. I was enjoying the sight. My lazy Sunday morning has become all of a sudden very active. Why is that girls always makes boys active. I kept watching her. There is an open ground between my house and hers.

A bull grazing on the patchy grass blocked my view. I cursed the bull. I could not see anything. I cursed the bull hundred times. I made a sound near the window so the bull would go.

‘Mowww.... Mowww...’ – That is the sound I was making.

The bull was at a distance from my window. I was inside the house. The bull could hardly hear me. (Wonder what if it does) However, my neighbour next house heard my moaning.

‘You need anything?’ What is wrong? Why are you peeping near the window?’

So many questions in just one shot. May be confused by my actions. Like an idiot clown, I said ‘Nothing. Hee hee' I tried to laugh but ended making a fool of myself. By this time the bull has moved. I looked through the window. However, the girl was not there. She has moved on. Sad and glum I penned a poem on her.

‘Beautiful you are like the clothes you were trying to dry...’

As I was busy penning the poem, some one knocked at the gate. I peeped through the window.

‘Shit man, the girl- she is right there in front of my gate, knocking. I immediately got up. Washed my face, tided my hair, put my favorite perfume (ZATAK), and moved on to welcome her. I checked my clothes. A tee and shorts I was wearing. It was perfect. It is important to check your dress before you go in front of any one so early in the morning especially when you are just up from the bed. What if you are not dressed? It happens in movies with heroes when they open the door in a semi-nude state. It is tolerable in movies. Not in real life, especially with me. With out anything on my long thighs, I would look horrible.

I opened the door and went near the gate. She smiled. I also tried to smile.

‘Sir I would like to take the flowers’ she said.

There is a hibiscus plant in our compound. I permitted her to take the flowers. She started plucking them. Now I observed her closely. Man she is beautiful, like Kate Winslet of Titanic.

‘Beautiful’ I said.

She heard me. ‘What?’ she asked.

I controlled myself. ‘The flowers they are beautiful’ I said. She did not say anything.

‘What’s your name?’ I asked

‘What?’ she asked again.

‘The flower- what is it called?’ I changed my question.

‘It’s Hibiscus’ she said.

Her voice was sweet. Then she said something that baffled me.

‘Are you not Sreekumar?’

My eyes popped out of its socket. Horry shit, how does she know my name?

‘Yes’ I said

‘You are an author, aren’t you?’ she asked

Now that is funny. Nobody knows that I write. Not even my family members. Except a few friends at my club in mocha...

‘Aren’t you that famous author?’ she asked again

The word famous made it funnier. I am not a published author and have never published any of those good for nothing stuff. I thought my foot was going an inch up in air because of all those praise.

‘How do you know I write?’ I asked her

‘I follow your personal blog. I liked your poem ‘Dusk and Dawn’ she said

Oh good, I thought. At least I have a fan. That too in a girl. Moreover, this girl at the opposite door, my neighbor made it more soothing. She finished collecting her flowers. She looked at me. I looked at her. She smiled. I was totally swept. I remember I use to stalk her and her house since the days I have seen her. A very bad habit, I know. But could not help myself. The next question of the girl completely shocked me. She asked with the flowers in her hand, ‘Can I come in?’ This was something I did not imagine. You like the girl; you trail her, all that is okay. However, if a girl opens up straight, a boy never likes it. She saw my hesitation.

‘It’s ok. I just want to see your writings.’ she said I did not like it, but thought she would mind if I say no. Therefore, I allowed her.

We came in. Only we two. There was no one else at home. My desktop is in my bedroom. So we went in. She kept the hibiscus flowers on the desktop table. I opened my folder and showed her everything. Poems, short stories, essays, articles and the latest book that I am working on. She liked it gave me useful comments. I have never showed up so many things of mine to anyone like this. While showing my works and discussing it, my hand touched her hand. They were smooth. I wondered anything more would happen like in all those movies. I think our bollywood heroes are luckier. She was surfing on more of my works. I went a bit close to her. I observed her face. Very fresh, very fair- like milk, like an actress.

Her eyes were beautiful like SONAM KAPOORS. Her aquiline nose was like PRIYANKA CHOPRA. Her lips like DEEPIKA PADUKONE. She is sexy and sultry like BIBASAH BASU. A beautiful charming angel is sitting next by to me. I am the luckiest guy in the world. I could not take it any more. I closed my eyes for about five seconds. I opened my eyes and observed her again. The charm and every thing have vanished. The girls face was looking more serious. Her fair complexion has changed red in colour. I could not understand what was happening. I looked into the monitor to figure out what was she reading. It was a story on ghost that I had written some time ago. I tried to hide my laugh. She is getting scared reading it. My writings definitely have an impact.

‘Do you like ghost stories?’ I asked

‘Do you like?’ she short back looking into the monitor.

‘Yes’ I said

She turned her face towards me. ‘You like?’ she asked

I bent my head twice saying yes.

‘How about seeing a real ghost?’ she asked

‘I like that too’ I said, though I was sure I would pee, the moment that happens.

The girl bent her head and lifted it up. Then she got up from the chair and said; ‘I am a ghost.’

I caught my stomach and started laughing. But there she was, her face and expression changed. Sonam kapoors beautiful eyes disappeared. It turned coal red. There was no aquiline nose of Priyanka chopra. Only a hole. No lips of Deepika padukone, only sharp biting teeth’s. No sexy body like Bipasha Basu- but skeleton of bones. Her soft hand that I had touched was not there. She laughed horribly and it echoed in my bedroom. The girl opposite door: my neighbour is a ghost. All of a sudden, she just disappeared.

‘Aahhhhhhhhhhhhhh..................’ I yelled and fell of from my chair.

I woke up. I was lying on my cot. It was a lazy Sunday morning. I looked at my desktop. The monitor was off.

‘Thank god, it was only a damn dream.’ I said to myself

I sat on my chair and peeped through the window. I looked at the house of the girl next door. There was no one there. My next neighbour observed me and asked ‘What are you looking at?’

‘Nothing’ I said and smiled. I was relived a lot. I switched on my desktop. I thought of the dream and my foolishness in getting unnecessarily so scared. After all ‘Illusion is the creation of mind and fact is the invention of wisdom.’

Then I saw something on the desktop table.

There was a bunch of hibiscus flowers.

****


“DO NOT GO BY THE STORY. IT IS A TRUE EXPIERENCE. WHAT?... I AM ONLY TELLING THE GIRL OPPOSITE DOOR: MY NEIGHBOUR IS NOT A FANTASY. SHE IS REAL AND I OBSERVE HER EVERYDAY.

Your Silence

But one day my words will scale
The granite walls around your heart
And consign themselves to the melody
You have muted into your silence

V K Rajan

More of my paintings

Fragrance of a forgotten time...

The nose always remembers more than the eyes. The Ashram always smelled wonderful -incense smoke combined with the vivid scent of tulsi leaves and frangipani and jasmine. I need only step into the Ashram environs to be carried away in a flood of memory.
The memories are both pleasant and painful. I remember a girl growing up and finding herself a stranger who fit nowhere. A thirteen year old was not meant to sit quietly tying flowers into garlands or doing a hundred rosaries a day in between homework. What I believed was a normal life was so far from it that years later in the various hostels I lived in during my college years, I was considered as something of a freak. I was in constant torment between trying to find my own way and surrendering my all to faith and believing myself a mere instrument of God like I was taught. At that age I could not cope with the schism in my thoughts and desires and managed to build a wall around me so effectively as to be forever after referred to as cold and arrogant.
The pleasant Ashram memories had more to do with the friends who would come from various places in India to visit annually – for their parents it was a pilgrimage of sorts. I laughed and delighted in their company and we would go exploring the areas behind the Ashram fields and climb the little hill with a sense of achievement all out of proportion to the actual activity. My sister and I would cajole someone to pluck the green mangoes (chakkara mangoes were my favourite – they tasted forgettable when ripe but amazing when yet unripe with a sweet tartness I still savour on my tongue) and we would find a corner to sit and eat them slathered with a mixture of coconut oil, salt and chilli powder. Mango season was also jackfruit season. I loved jackfruits with an insane passion and could literally eat them in any form whether painstakingly made into jam, cut into strips and fried as chips, added in curries or cooked on their own or even made into payasams and appams. So my pleasures in the Ashram were simple ones and had more to do with a rural setting than the actual Ashram atmosphere.
As I grew up and went away to college, I found that homecoming while enjoyable grew less so with every passing year. I would return home full of radical thoughts and ideas thanks to books read and conversations over chai in the college canteen. I discovered that growing up and being taught nothing of life except the benefits of prayer left me very skewed and unable to cope in situations which were a breeze for everyone else. I learnt fortitude the hard way after being ridiculed and I changed sufficiently that homecoming only served to underscore differences.
In spite of growing up consciously different from the family that raised me, there are still moments when that once-familiar whiff of incense, frangipani and tulsi turn me back into a thirteen-year old sitting under the mango tree in front of the Ashram dreaming always of a different life.

The Moon

The moon gently wakes up
The dreaming earth
And at daybreak returns staggering
Drunk with her thirst

V K Rajan

We are never far away

However far you may be from me
Or I from you
Neither of us can ever be
Too far away from us

V K Rajan

A WOMAN

Some times i just don't get this society. There r many things which we all know. But i have come to know that in islamic countries woman r not allowed to sing. Disgusting it is , it made me to penn this poem on God's wisest creation- WOMAN.

I am a woman.

With desires not extreme: simple ones.

They are my natural flair,

The world refuses to identify.

The evil society, its restrictions,

Bog me down.

Lonely voyager

My love for you
Is a lonely voyager
Travelling along an unknown path
By the darkness of your eyes

V K Rajan

KASHMIR

The valley soaked in blood,

Paradise turned into graveyard.

The abode of peace, the visage of beauty,

Oh, peer of the realm,

Please revisit my beautiful valley.

Beyond

Beyond the shimmering
Beads of tear in your eyes,
I see an endless ocean
Reaching out with a thousand arms
Of incessant waves
For a shore to…shatter on

Beyond the gentle stir
Of your restrained sighs
I hear the distant rumble
Of a tempest trapped
Seeking an open door
To blow out from

V K Rajan

Spring is here, my love

Spring is here, my love
Right in this garden
These pristine blooms;
Its colored footprints
On the earth

Spring is here, my love
And it left with me
To share with you
A few whiffs of thrills
That dropped from the bundles
Of the listless north wind
Hurrying home
A few hugs of warmth
That wafted from the chimneys
Of the summer nights ahead
Forging dreams of wonder
For you and me

V K Rajan

Your Parting Words

Your parting words
An endless echo in my heart
A ripple that keeps on returning
To the lonely shores of my thought

V K Rajan

A son apart...

The laughter of the children drifted in from the play ground outside. They were playing cricket. Some of them were running after a pet dog. Others were rattling makeshift swords at each other accompanied by dialogues from the movie that currently inspired them. My son stood at the sidelines with a smile on his face and watched it all for a few minutes. Then he went back to examining a leafy twig and holding it up to imagine yet another fascinating object.
I watched him living in his own world while the world of his peers passed by. He was unaware of the complicated conversations an eight year old was capable of having. He was unaware of the joys in simple friendship or in having children come to the door and ask for him to join in their games. He seemed to be unaffected by the apathy displayed towards him or the ridicule which is sometimes better than the condescension. I, however, was not. I keenly felt the knife-edge of ostracism that is the fate of a child who is different.
I took to heart every barb, every comment that smacked of pity and every mean act that had been committed against him. I had forgotten how to laugh and have harsh lines today where there were none a scarce four years ago. I woke up at nights sweating and choking on a nameless dread that my child would forever be dependent on the care of others once I pass away. The nights were the worst when every fear came alive and twined in my consciousness so savagely that I preferred not to close my eyes at all. I would mumble every prayer I had been taught and try to breathe deeply and enter a calm place but fail miserably. Worse was the fact that I could hear my husband snoring softly by my side, completely unaware of my near hysteria. It was then that loneliness overwhelmed me. I felt lost and forsaken even by my God.
There were days when I rallied myself with positive thoughts and worked a little harder. I tried to pay more attention to my little daughter and allowed her chatter and bright words to pull me out of my sadness. I put on the children’s favourite songs and danced around the room with them till we all dissolved in a bubble of laughter. But still I would come back to reality and the nagging heartbreak of my lost little boy.
The one day I woke up and let it go. I let the pain go. I let every feeling of frustration go. I let the anxiety and worry drain away because I could handle it no longer. I let myself see my son’s progress instead of the miles he had left to go. I let myself see how very little it took to keep my son smiling. I let myself see the bond between brother and sister that helped them face the world together despite all odds. I let myself feel peaceful. In all my sorrow, I had failed to see the most important thing – my son’s contentment. He had always been happy with himself. It was only my sadness that choked me and kept me from living life to the fullest. I chose to let the world tell me how I should feel instead of following my son’s lead and being perfectly content with the little joys that were afforded me. He teaches me more than I could ever teach him of life. His birth is a gift to open my eyes to the wonders that have always been but can only be relived through the unbiased eyes of a ‘different’ child.

MINUTES OF MEETING ON 07/06/2009

Our founders r not to be seen. So i thoght i would post this myself. The meeting that we concluded on 7th June was very interesting. In fact the 1hr. meet went for abt. 2 and half hrs. Runa n prema were not available so a participant by siddharth took over.( hope i got the name correct) We did an exercise of writing, anything of 200 words. In my group there were four people including VK Rajan. His article on men's moustache (i do not recall the title; sry) became a hit. All the ladies present there called it as 'it shows insecurity of men!'. His theme of the article was wheter men require moustache or not?
We were also given the PLATFORM MAGAZINE-writers edition, which was very informative. Thanks Moacha!
Nirmala Menon spoke on the late author Kamala Suraiya. It was a true tribute.
In short we had a great time.
Now I want to share a secret with all of u.
I have taken a oath. I would attend all the meets of moacha here after-come what may.
CHEERS!
SREEKUMAR NAIR.

MERCY OR HYPOCRICSY?

The first time u commit a mistake, and you are in the receiving end for their wrong doings.It hurts, real bad. But its alright. You can forgive yourself and forgive the world around you and convince yourself that 'it was your first experience'. And also you hear to all the theory about people telling theres somthing better waiting for you.

And when it happens the second time, What are you going to do? Who are you going to believe? Who are you going to listen? To all those people who assured you about 'the better on your way'?

I guess its very easy to stand back and judge. How about going through it all? No ones up for that deal aint they? Everyday, every night and every moment it feels like there is a pin that slowly is making its way through your heart and injecting you with the venom to be Comfortably numb. It feels like you have this huge blackhole inside you which is going to suck and bring down evrybody around you who are busy giving you the sympathy or empathy or whatever..
And as far the mercy goes for the mistake, how are you going to forgive someone or forgive the world around you when you cant even forgive yourself for feeling what u feel??

Reflections

The Blackened moon sky

And the mystic moonlight

Reflects her words in my mind!

SRINIDHI.R

Comments - Graphics - Layouts - Photobucket

girl phobia - an ignorance

melancholy in the aura
in a home
that was exhuberant for 9 months
waiting impatiently for water
in the desert of their solitude life

then the tragedy ... happened
a dark storm came;
sands of hope migrated to infinite distances
trash left
trash is a persevarant burden
that they have to keep for the rest of their lives
they cannot throw it
the storm was god's punishment for their misdeeds
in their previous life
they believe this
they are god fearing

they are mistaken
dark clouds were mistaken for a storm
that would not disappear before giving rains
of bliss
shower the drops of freshness
sustenance and hope
seeds of prosperity will give rise to the plants
gifting fruits as well as shade
gruesome heat that gripped them for ages
would flee away
crispness in the air .

ignorance will cost them heavily
society and country too.

Fallen flowers

No! I won't trample these fallen flowers
Abandoned on my path
By the vagrant seasons
They are, I know, prayers that failed to reach the Gods

V K Rajan

SORRY WILL POST SOON

I will post my writings soon. Sorry about not posting....

SRINIDHI.R

PARTING IS SUCH A SWEET SORROW..!!

We both know it’s over but keep hanging on like it’s not

Should we keep on pretending robbing others with our thought?

Should we keep holding on to Love that seems so very distant

At times a love that can be to overly persistent

Are we scared of what life may bring with out each other

Like a mommy’s boy who’s afraid to leave his mother

As we emotionally strike like two prize fighter in the last round of a bout

We keep hurting one another til one feels down and the other totally out .

Are we so scared of letting this love go

one finds love that the other would never know

Should we really love each other any more like this

No smile in the morning walking by with out a kiss

Are we two souls that just want to love until the end

Saying I love you but knowing all this time it’s pretend

Why do we want to stay and put up this huge fight

Struggling each day straining with all of our might

I care about you and that’s certainly for sure

So I can’t go on living a love that’s not pure

I am walking out today I want to let you know

We both need this space and time to grow

I can’t go on like this living love as a Lie

So I will say it in this note at last goodbye

Please take me to the hospital! - a short story by vikash

“Oh someone please help me”.

Cried the injured dog which was like a wrecked ship in the bloody waters..His veins were visible; the meat became a host for the desperate flies .the soaky eyes clearly spoke about his pain. The limbs were distorted. The internal organs also suffered a major blow.

Two hours down the memory lane

It was a chilly Monday morning. After a great Sunday night with his friends; the black dog was in a lazy mood and having a leisure walk in the solitary road in the mahato locality. The school children were off to school. So there was no hustle and bustle around. It decided to have a nap and lied down and was lost in deep slumber until...

That is the last moment which the dog reminisces. The speeding motorcycle had a direct impact with the dog and the collision crushed the fleshes .and now it was; in dire straits and probably running out of life .if only someone could help him in his grief and take him to the hospital. Well! When normal denizens cannot get emergency help in India; it’s futile to expect relief in minutes for the animal.
But things are different on the gloomy day.
The dog hears a cacophony .there was a big rally .it seemed to be a pre election rally. The supporters were in white attire holding banners which had the inscriptions of the political leader face .the politician’s canines were clearly viable in the banner. All the alleys became over crowded in a minute. The rage of people was clearly battling out to get a glimpse of the leader. The Politician was clad in a white kurta. His kurta had no dark spots; contradictory to his character and political career. The garland which was composed of the daffodils-(which once provided bliss in the solitude to Wordsworth) was now draped around the neck of a corrupt soul. His forehead was smeared with a red tika- a symbolic gesture of true hindu.the saffron men dominating the procession were howling ‘doosre se bhay ho; phir bhi humari jay ho’.the incantation of the verses were echoed by other party members.
The high decibel of the dog’s cry caught the attention of the politician: who on normal days has deaf ears even to screams .he tries to source the voice of despair. Finally he locates the voice; tears comes stripping down his face as he looked at the wounds .this was the second time he has cried in his life ;after the last parliamentary elections loss which had broken him down. some of the party members too shared his grief and sobbed . He gets moved by the condition .he gets closer to the dog; squats down and says: ‘brother. You are in great despair. Who is responsible for the condition’?

“Oh.sir you are so benovelent.i always hear sour things about politicians; but you changed my perception. I will give you finer details later. First please take me to the hospi….!”Pleaded the dog

The politician stands upright; asks for a mike .seems unperturbed by the dog’s last words. And then in a thunderous voice exhibits his plight and sorrow at the condition.
“This government is a failed one.it has done nothing to provide shelter to our faithful animal dog. I will raise this issue in the parliament when I will come to power. I will make it sure that our fellow animal- which becomes the sharp target for the disturbing elements in the society gets justice and dignity.” Some party members get too excited by the neta words and put the garland across the dog’s neck.
“But sir - first take to the hosp…!”
“Dog which is a symbol of faithfulness; a living symbol of valor; animal which sweats it out in the night when the whole world is snoozing? Hindu treat dog as one of the members of our family. We foster them with care and compassion; Unmatched by any another religion.i am revealing you a truth.i was one of the karsevak who was part of the mob who sabotaged the babri masjid.some of my friends might have pitched out that it was a matter of ramajanabhommi but the reality is far from anyone’s imagination. We were there to unearth the fossils of the dog which is believed to be domesticated by lord ram.if we would have found the dog’s fossils; then we would have displayed it at our office museum. The dog fossils could have answered any apprehensions from the leftist party who still doubt the existence of shree ram. But our search went in vain and we attacked the mosque to get rid of our frustration. Poor mosque! You see this animal has a special place in history providing company to lord ram when he was on a vanvas.
“Thanks for your words of praise. But sir please takes me to the hospital need your help”
“My brother- I would have definitely taken you to the hospital. I am already committed to the day .I have been invited to inaugurate the new veterinary hospital .I cannot disappoint my m.l.a friend.but don’t be disheartened my dear friend. I assure you that if you die; I will make it a point that you receive the bharat ratna posthumously. You widow will lose a husband-but not be void of money rest of her life .I will assure that your widow gets a handsome relief package from the government. Your children’s education would be completed in an English dog school”
And the mob leaves the place …
And what happened to the dog? No surprise guesses either. The dog became a martyr. No bharat ratna; no help to his widow. And the false promises travelled to the next alley. Some needy and unfortunate was waiting for him…

The wayside elms

The wayside elms are all my loving grannies

They draw me to their trunks

And hug me hard

With their thousand weathered arms

Rajan V K

LOVE IS PAIN..!

Jumping in the well of hell,
decisions of life and beyond..
Mistakes do make a mark,
And your path becomes lonely and dark…

Love is pain,
And pain is plain,
Lying down slain,


In the fifth street main,
Your memory down in the drain,
Bound by invisible shackles and chains,
Held loosely by the rush of lanes…

Glowing the light of uncertainity,
Behind the curtains of the night,
Make way for the demons in my dreams,
You stare at me like I am a stranger who screams..
Guess you told me to walk away,
And I did walk..
Walked away from me…

Sports: the Indian mentality

What happens when a national level gold winner in karate gets overshadowed by a boy who mugged it off and became a school topper?
Well: welcome to India where sports is just a` time pass`; just another thing to do after studies. The futile thing that clogs the student future. Just this is the Indian mentality that has carried out for generations and seems to carry on till eternity. Parents believe only engineering and medical profession can land their children in the safety net Students tasting higher marks become talk of the town for ages where as the student’s high achievement in sports gets lost in the dungeons.
In schools; in the sports period girls- rather than being involved in sports; they are involved in discussing the length and breadth of their love relationship. The toppers are busy gazing at notebooks rather than sweating out in the field.indians at the 40s and 50s are hardly involved in any kind of sport. All they do is watch cricket all day and discussing about the match with their peers is the next big thing for them. They say- they are too busy to play any kind of sports. On the other hand their American and the Australian counterparts indulge in various kinds of sports and are more versatile when it comes to sports viewing. They understand sportsmanship and are not the fellow Indians who are in the rampage when India loses
. You scroll across the pages of times of India ,cricket is all over the place. The gigantic rohit Sharma image overshadows the jeev milkha Singh who is a miniscule in comparison. cricket sells. Well, that’s the Indian mentality You ask Indians about the captain of the Indian football team- faces blank .but they can answer who is the captain of the Bermuda cricket team. That’s the Indian mentality. And the big news that makes headlines is: can India ever make a place in the football world cup?; and these people will be first one to give the negative opinion . A country of one billion people and still only one sport dominates people mind. There is nothing wrong with obsession with cricket but we should promote other sports and adore their skills. Each sport requires the same zest; hard work and determination.
Lets come out of this crap mentality and realize the power of sports

YELLOW

I am yellow,
Bit in dawn, more in dusk.
I am origin of gold, I feel so bold.
I feel so proud, people like me throughout.

In yellow pages, or in golden era,
Things follow my name, as I have earned fame.
Even rainbow can’t stand without me feeling shame,
The spirit of mine is worth its name,
I felt to conquer water by changing it yellow.

Being proud I went across, seeing a house burning in yellow flames,
I felt ashamed hurting others, but it was me who did.
I stopped being public and stayed calm,
But I know people remember my charm!

VAIBHAV NAGAR

Sky and earth

The overcast sky
A furious black reptile
And the sleeping earth
A dainty gem under its hood

V K Rajan

CONFESSION OF A PORN STAR

CONFESSION OF A PORN STAR

I dun no- I like it I do not like it.

I do it. I do not want to do it.

I am in this; I am into this, dun no how.

The choice was purely mine.

Choice to come off it is again mine,

But not able to make a one,

I am an entertainer and I entertain.

Do I loose my soul? No, I don’t,

We are professionals. It is a profession. No guilt,

Then but I dun no.

I do it. I am doing it.

There are times, I dun like my co-pair

No choice, I concentrate on his nails, fingers

I am paid, No not as of from him. From the people,

Who sells my visuals – I am no prostitute

I am an entertainer

I like it.

I dun no!

MANGOES

Yellow it is, green it is,

Array of shapes, array of names

Juicy it is, sweet it is, and tasty it is.

I am a mango. Not a tango

Bingo- people like mangoes,

Lingo- they like mangoes,

King of fruits I am

I am a mango.

YELLOWWW

Yellow yellow, dirty fellow

Dirty fellow, yellow yellow

Mish it is- the yellow colour

And this colour I like

Yellow yellow -But I am not a dirty fellow.

Don't you hear?

I were perhaps
A fire in you
That time or tide put out
Yet at times
Don’t you still hear
The embers crackle

V K Rajan

THE TREES: ENVIRONMENT

Lush greenery, we are in abode.

Life in a paradise, Breath in paradise

Then the intelligent species grew up,

Chopping creation of Mother Nature,

Greenery in heaven disappeared the valley appeared

No tone to breath, no space to go

Chopping and callous the heritage falls

It continues. No one follows

Time; Mother Nature would spring back.

Back off, back off and save the species, save the valley.

Path of Success

Searching my lost identity, I followed the path of success,
Passing the lovely path, I found lovely successful people.
Few liked me, few hated, but all were successful,
I greeted their comments and followed the path of success.

Lost in my vicinity, I came to dead end,
Broken, lost, I recollected where I went wrong.
As I followed same path other successful people followed,
Looked around everywhere, only to find no one to support.

I started returning as I remembered people I met,
They had one thing in common, they never gave up.
I turned to dead end, searched way out for very long,
My strength was my soul, I heard and kept trying.

Finally I was through and successful too,
But learnt one thing, there is no such path of success.
We make it, if we have it in us.
Still I have a lot to achieve than to loose.

I am lucky I don’t have a girlfriend ….. by vikash `vicks'

I am lucky I don’t have a girlfriend

I am not bonded to the chains of commitment ,
I am not engulfed by a woman who always checks my temperament .

I am lucky I don’t have a girlfriend

I am not engaged to a girl who strangles my mind and soul ,
Spending sleepless night on phone, never makes me a tired owl .

I am lucky I don’t have a girlfriend

My ears are not a playgroud for her bitching game,
I don’t need a mind notepad for remembering all her friend’s name.

I am lucky I don’t have a girlfriend

I don’t have to look at eyes which sometimes showers early monsoon,
No one sniggers at me , as if I am a moron cartoon.

I am lucky I don’t have a girlfriend

No one blasts my ass when I am late,
My father’s precious bucks never goes missing on a date.

I am lucky I don’t have a girlfriend

I never become a bull eye for the shot of girl blame ,
Her complains of my bad breath never makes me die in shame.

I am lucky I don’t have a girlfriend

I need not listen to her boring family stories,
Memories , that could make me a bag of worries

I am lucky I don’t have a girlfriend

I don’t live in an illusion of her as a future wife,
I never think of being myself a vegetable of prey ;her as a bloody knife.


I am lucky I don’t have a girlfriend

I need not worry about my marriage as my parent’s revolt
I never imagine my mother’s anger as harrowing as a lightening bolt


I am lucky I don’t have a girlfriend

emotional tsunami never drowns my ambition
i believe; a perfect wife would be my mom's selection

The Keyboard Player and his cocktail

Ram was 25 now.He looked up, out of the window. the cloudless skies, huge shadows leaping upon the veranda. The wind was gay and the breeze cool.He lighted his cigarette with a dragon faced zippo.Ram liked collecting small things of bigger beauty.Though his cigarette was still navy cut, he said that imported ones didn't have 'em kick.It was Saturday and he yawned off the week's decay.There was one thing Ram could not understand.He thought a lot about things he could do and things he was doing.He was not happy with the present order of things.His mind always in a constant state of strife.Conflict from the moment he was in his senses.The problem, he was a genius.He emptied the contents of rum tea into the sink.Too much heat the rum was inflicting on his tender tummy.Rum tea was a recipe of his own and i can't give that out.So here's what happens.Someone's at the door.Not expecting anyone he opens the door.First impressions last longer, a shady figure dressed in grays, looks amicably at him.He questions this man with an inquiring look."I have come to give you something in return of a favor" he says.Ram though unsure of his strange guest allows him in for this man carried an aura around him.He was a replica of some greek God.Perfect face,lush eyebrows, high forehead, aquiline nose, exquisite features.His body as agile as a cheeta's .Well defined muscles. His neck strong, with 'em muscles beneath bunching up in superb tension and sensuous vitality."Ram can you write a rhythm for me?"- Jason asked."Rhythms are not written Sir,and how do you know my dexterity with the keyboard?"-Ram."I know what i know and i can help you create the single best piece of music which you can play"-He said."I am listening"-Ram was now listening intently."Do you know that every note you play is a footnote of your life, and that struggle would consist of a harmonic at a particular frequency"-JasonRam knew this ,and instinctively struck some chords on the keyboard that depicted more of chaos. But he liked them."Keep the rhythm straight and let your right hand play some tinkering song. Like I loved you yesterday ta boom, But yesterday i was a sane man Ta Da.Today has gone, dum dum and i get your memories Na na na"-Jasaon grinned."Thats sick"Ram said "listen to this"Ram kept his rhythm and started a blues wrapper, Just imagine this as i write.Silence, and it said everything.Tears rolled down his cheek.Ram looked up at his saviour."what now?"-he demanded."You were never made for music.Music is like worship.Just playing an instrument won't make you better.You need to improvise and impoverish yourself with the chaos.Starve on notes and do nothing but play.Its not weekends that will make you a great musician."-JasonHe continues."Do something that comes natural to you.Love it as your work and never let down.ENjoy every second of your life. Love women and have lustful nights.Make money and give the poor.SMile and be happy.This life is not your last.But the best thing you can do in this life is the only thing you can do here.Never forget that."Ram has an elegant mustache now sprayed with genuine white.Rama's cocktail is the name of the sporadic inn in Goa,his liquors are an exquisite taste of herbs, alcohol plus secret ingredients. He serves from day to dusk.Luminaries illuminating his inn.Rock shows,folk dances and exhibitions finding a way to his patronage. At 60 Ram is content, a connosier of rare tastes. A family of varied cultures , wife of Italy , children, two adopted from Brazil.But Ram knows his trade and what do you think is his last wish? That when he dies the last item on the menu be changed from Rum Tea to Ram Tea.

Ronny's pursuit of happiness

He was crouched over his stubby cigarette ... puffing up smoke out of the window. He looked at his scrawny body stretched across barely few inches below six feet. He was good looking but he never thought so.The simple reason being he could not see his face from the thick beard he kept. He looked down on the sidewalks of Delhi.His work had been eating his time but on weekends he became a frenzied soul. His one room apartment looked like a cage,and he did not go out.Not that Ronny had not tried his luck with girls. But everything which seemed hopeful came to a abrupt stop, because he was too innocent. He believed everyone on face value.such an incredulous soul who had been many a times been looted by his most extravagant crushes in most extravagant ways.Ronny had come of age and his dwindling sharp but fickle mind needed some food for the body.to put it plainly he was desperately looking to get laid .This morning Adi had called him to say that she was getting married. He was horrified ,because though he was not devoted to any girl as such , he only loved Adi. He did not cry,he was too big for that. He could booze but that's what he normally did on weekends.then suddenly the most horrendous picture of love came drifting in front of him. she laying on bed,he beautiful hair caressing the pillow below, her beautiful shining eyes looking straight ahead.and another man, his insides shrieked in anguish. He screamed inside like a angry wolf.with the dying ember of his cigarette he was in a daze and decided he would do something that he thought he would never indulge in. yes there were dangers but at times such as these where love lost,desperate urges and needs of the body and stale beer painted a gloomy picture before him.He put on his dirty jeans and headed to the roads of obsession.the last 2months of his research took him Irving street few lanes behind the CPO junction.He was scared , dazed a little but still determined to handle his resort. He walked carefully looking sideways letting all the figurines transfix him. As he trudged forward he clutched his pocket for the 2000 bucks he had saved for this. was money worth spending on this.The first couple of interactions proved to him that he could not make himself spend time with anything such derogated. Features highlighted by make up, strong perfumes welling up in the air.Ronny felt sick, he turned to go when he saw what he had come for. there in the distance stood beauty in untarnished form.He could not go away even if he was dragged by his feet. and so Ronny found himself with the beauty and her manager.Ronny with Katrina reached her room, small swanky and smelling of dust. suddenly her manager burst in. "OK gimme the room charge 800""what we decided on the price before"and then as the manager raised her voice he saw the truth.It was an eunuch.He was shocked and frightened, his insides squealing for fresh air.coz in that room it was stuffy between two aromatic eunuchs."i don't have anymore"he thought that his persecutors would let him go with the 2000 for nothing but what happened next spun the world for him.A hard strong hand crashed on his cheekbones and he yelped in fury.He was getting beaten.No room to escape .And in a few minuted he was on his knees, on the verge of tears.they checked his wallet, his mobile for money.then Ronny got another thrashing he could not protect himself from.He was on his way back.he could think nothing , but in a way he thanked God. Who had saved him in a way which only he understood.

A magic moment

Just a moment

A magic moment when we were lovers

Strangers before

Strangers after

V K Rajan

TEACHERS GOING BERSERK..!!

TEACHERS CAuUGHT WITH THEIR OWN NIGHTMARE..!!.!!!!
( at my college...)

**** and people here that have been mentioned are my classmates..( found this bit from our class community) ***

Rohan asking mechanical teacher...."How do we SCREW'....and later....'hat to do after we have SCREWED'.....( this happened wen we were checking out the Lathe machine)

Math teacher saying....."..Its compulsory for those who want to"...

Our EC teacher wen she was pissed at us for constant noise in the class..
"i know what is the sound from inside and what is the sound from outside!!!!".....she is a crazy woman trust me..!!!

"Dont murmur on my backside" ( Dont know who said this..I was revolted laughing my ass off..)

Our Maha Maayi EC teacher again ... "We have to 'anal ice' the circuit properly.."

My friends Microbio Sir..."The cell wil become die" (Can this get anymore funny..!)

One of my classmates (confidential) spelt Jacob as "JACKUP"!!!!

Lab Attender in Power electronics lab..." Don't take anythin ..., take only that thing.."

Our Electrical teacher dictating a problem..." the stator has 'yaaair' gaps of......."
( pronounced as AIR GAPS )

our Vice Principal...We were being blasted for making a teacher cry.." we all come to teach here and you people should learn somthing..this is a temple of education..(yawn..!)..We all work very hard..and YEARN ( *TING* again..YEARN) the money..! ( In that typical Tami accent)

:-P :-P

GET WELL SONG...!

Fever Fever..!
oh! dear Lucifer..
kissed by a virus ..
pissed with a tigress..
so get well soon,
tonics and syrups are a boon..
slept all day long,
ding dong..!
Heres a song..!!!

( this was a song that i came up for my sick friend who had chicken pox and had a raging fever....and yes..! it did bring a smile back on his face..:-P )

The Songbird

(I wanted to write something touching. Somehow I managed to write this new poem imagining a lonely bird singing in the woods. Please read and comment!)

The songbird in the woods

Sings the song of love!

The song which will soothe the ears and mind!

The song which will weave its magic in to the heart!

The song which will cleanse the soul!

The song which could never be forgotten!

The song of inner joy which will make us lose ourselves,

For eternity ...

SRINIDHI.R

confessions of my dirty computer screen - by vikash

my dusty computer screen smirks at me; then says

" here is person - who never wipes my dirty face

never ever cares about my external enchanting beauty

lost in the imagination of google;

reads T S eliot poems;

inspires by che guevara's biography;

adores creative articles of mocha writers club;

gets mesmerised by the pristine blue waters;

discovers the mystique valleys and forests;

orkutting is bliss for him;

waits impatiently for the next g mail".

it has been ages

but never ever; never ever

tried to wipe my filthy face

here is a man who believes in depth;

explores the tranquility and the mysteries of

stranger's inner soul.

never ever gets seduced by spurious glamouria

he is a rare breed- i tell you

in this world :where beauty tranqulizes everyone

The Prostitute

A woman…alas!
Waits to be disgraced again
In the confines of a dank cavity
For another shadow to fall on her
Another vagrant passion to devour
The talcum powder on her face
The sticky pigment on her lips
The scented oil on her hair
She waits like a carcass
For the good earth to take her back
…Which might…
But the enigma of her existence
Will outlive her as an evil
The Gods can't get away with.

V K Rajan

Love and Truth

The moment had come, my anniversary eve,
As always, same terrace restaurant, a candle light dinner.
Been twenty years now, and it seemed a year only,
Still a lot to know about her likes and dislikes.
Sitting and watching the small cars, looking like shine of stars.

I met her first on the same table I am sitting today,
She was shivering due to cold and fear,
Her lips looked like calling me near.
I smiled made her feel warm and comfortable.

I was in love at first sight,
Her open hair in the breeze made me crazy,
Her blushing, caring and positive vibes touched my heart,
I married and made her my better part.

She loved to the core, made my life wonderful as whole.
My eyes kept looking at the entrance for my wife to enter,
Waiter came and lit the candle, a smile as always on his face.
I gestured and responded and again lost in thoughts,
The checks she kept I loved, my wallet, my mobile and even my wicked smile.

She knew me more, loving to the core,
Our honeymoon, hear feather touch and the smell of aroma around,
I love you my love, my heart was drizzling around.
The warm embrace, the best hug, her sweet dimple……

What else to say, she took my heart,
Waiter came again with a cake, smiled and went.
My eyes kept count on everyone who entered,
But she didn’t come yet, still I waited for her.

The candle was burning so do I, a drop of tear came from my eyes,
She went shopping and meanwhile booked the seats at restaurant,
While crossing road, an accident and it was all over.
Her body is still at home, but I had promised we will be here on anniversary,
Still I am waiting for her to come, and the candle is still burning.

Vaibhav Nagar

SISTER

Who is a sister?
One who always scold,
Or the one who always finds a fault,
She does so because she loves me,my father told.

She often hides my mistake,
And often make it take.
Saving me from the blame,
My sister is earning a lot of fame.

She is kind and devotee of God,
Besides this she is also mod.
Keeping in mind the ladies slot,
After mother,she is first thought.

I love the happy moments,she always brought,
Like rain falling in a drought.
But I know I love her a lot,
One of my wish of a good sister,Is what i have got.

Vaibhav Nagar

My Kitten--Cute Poem

She chews my hair
And bites my pants
And chases away the mice!

She climbs the wall
And eats the fish
Oh god! She’s so nice!

She’s clever and old
And plump and large
Her skin’s pure white!

She lives in my room
With a long tail
And with a face so bright!

After all, she’s my kitten
I love her,
And so, I write!

SRINIDHI.R

Midnight moon

The midnight moon
Like a lustful lover
Slowly and steadily
Tugs the blanket of darkness
Off the sleeping earth
Until he lays her
Almost bare

V K Rajan

ADDICTED TO LOVE..!!

To You..!!

I've found almost everything ever written about love to be true. Shakespeare said "Journeys end in lovers meeting." What an extraordinary thought..! Personally, I have not experienced anything remotely close to that, but I am more than willing to believe Shakespeare had. I suppose I think about love more than anyone really should. I am constantly amazed by its sheer power to alter and define our lives. It was Shakespeare who also said "love is blind". Now that is something I know to be true. For some quite inexplicably, love fades; for others love is simply lost. But then of course love can also be found, even if just for the night. And then, there's another kind of love: the cruelest kind. The one that almost kills its victims. Its called unrequited love. Of that I am an expert. Most love stories are about people who fall in love with each other. But what about the rest of us? What about our stories, those of us who fall in love alone? We are the victims of the one sided affair. We are the cursed of the loved ones. We are the unloved ones, the walking wounded. The handicapped without the advantage of a great parking space! Yes, you are looking at one such individual. And I have willingly loved that man for over three miserable years! The absolute worst years of my life! The worst Christmas', the worst Birthday's, New Years Eve's brought in by tears and valium. These years that I have been in love have been the darkest days of my life. All because I've been cursed by being in love with a man who does not and will not love me back. Oh god, just the sight of him! Heart pounding! Throat thickening! Absolutely can't swallow! All the usual symptoms.

I understand feeling as small and as insignificant as humanly possible. And how it can actually ache in places you didn't know you had inside you. And it doesn't matter how many new haircuts you get, or gyms you join, or how many glasses of chardonnay you drink with your girlfriends... you still go to bed every night going over every detail and wonder what you did wrong or how you could have misunderstood. And how in the hell for that brief moment you could think that you were that happy. And sometimes you can even convince yourself that he'll see the light and show up at your door. And after all that, however long all that may be, you'll go somewhere new. And you'll meet people who make you feel worthwhile again. And little pieces of your soul will finally come back. And all that fuzzy stuff, those years of your life that you wasted, that will eventually begin to fade.
Inspite of all these...u still realise what was missing and what kept fading and you so dont want to let it go..!

I have another scenario for you - I'm in love with you. I apologize for the blunt delivery, but as problematic as this fact may be, I'm in love... with YOU. I'm not feeling this because you're leaving, and not because it feels good to feel this way... which, by the way, it does, or did before you went off like that. I can't figure out the mathematics of this, I just know I love you. I can't believe how many times I'm saying it! And I never thought I'd feel this way again, so that's pretty phenomenal. I know my package, perhaps in the light of day, isn't all that wonderful, but I finally know what I want and that, in itself, is a miracle. And what I want is YOU...unconditionally and forever, irrespective of whether u want me or not..!

" I dont care what they say,
i am in love with you,
they try to pul me away,
but they dont know the truth
My heart is crippled by the vein that i keep on closing."
(Leona Lewis with 'bleeding in love')

yours truly
Rashmi..

His Own World---A short paragraph

A CREATIVE ENTERTAINER..(There is no story in it. Its just a short para I wrote long back. I want to continue it, but still I feel I have written more than enough about this.)

HIS OWN WORLD

Once upon a time there lived a man who was so creative and imaginative. This fanciful man would only spend all his day in his own dream world. He would be whimsical and poetical to his standards. He would be so inventive and would see each and every thing to a quality so enterprising and fabulous. He would be engrossed in artistic activity and would be so productive and fertile. He would have his own dream worlds with his own characters and sceneries. To tell about him a little more---- He was a gifted genius. He would read a lot and write and have his own views and he lived in a fantasy world. He was shunned and rejected by many people who believed him to be mad. He was treated cruelly as a lunatic. He was an unrecognized person in the society and lived a poor, bad life. But Creativity which belonged to God ranked him the best and gave him a place in its own cosmos after the man's death. He became the most blessed and blissful and attained the state of inner salvation and the joy of heaven. He was the man who attained contentment He was the man who attained happiness......

SRINIDHI.R

THE WIND

The wind blew swiftly,

My sorrows flew away along.

Bringing in bliss into my hardened life.

Oh! Winds do not come occasionally,

Come in day after day, blew the sorrow alike.

Bring in happiness that is carried with you,

Through the terra firma that you traveled all the way.

Poems for you

Today my thoughts
Sailed in the ship of imagination
And brought back
A handful of vibrant beads
from the island of fantasy.
So I will string these, my friend
On the thread of poetry
And make a few poems for you!

V K Rajan

The Inspiration

Thoughts.
Mystical. Magical.
Fantasy-like
Transporting us
from the mundane
to the piquant.
With verve and
sparkle
Till we are restless
passionate and
adrenalised

We become eloquent.
Magniloquent, perhaps.
and then mediocrity
no longer stays
the accepted mode.
There is that innate
propensity for
flamboyance here.

Then a sudden
aberration sets in-
Unnerving and
a trifle disconcerting.
Quixotic ways
get promptly discarded
and one awakens to
reality
The staid path seems
less disquieting
and more reassuring.


Idealistic views
pour out
and words surge
forth
Giving voice to
emotions
which have been
cached away
in the remote
recesses of the
being

All feelings-
Every feeling
Finds expression
In Words,
Art and
Photographic collages.

8th January 2007, Monaco
(from 'Towards a new harmony with life')

Night

Night the enchantress has vanished
Beyond the hills with all her charms
And every twinkling little star
Has followed her

V K Rajan

Figuratively Speaking

Figuratively speaking,
We have evolved into
an era
Where we are nothing
but abstract
objects de art
Mummified and embalmed
fatalistic and bizarre

We have
but have not
As we are not.
Merely transmundane
figures
from a world beyond
Enigmatic
Sceptical.
Mozzled
The unfortunate survivors
in a tentative land.

3rdJanuary 2007, Monaco
(from 'Towards a new harmony with life')

A dream that was

Love touched my heart
With the tips of her finger nails
When I woke up
I heard...
The footfalls depart
A flower fall
Primroses and promises fade
Why then, alas, are they made?

V K Rajan

I HOPE I DONT HOPE..!!!

I know this morning wasn’t great,
I sit here in the crowd,
Trying to hold it together,
Trying to pull it together,
Trying to ignore this sinking feeling,

Everything is asleep inside of me,
Even my unconscious dwelling mind,
In my dreams,
I dream of the reality that u burnt down
With just a flaming wick.

And I dreamt this dream,
I am up on this roof tonight,
With this velvet mattress spread under the heat of the stars,
I sit with my head between my knees,
Waiting for you to come,
Wondering if you would come,
Wanting you to come
We could build a cocoon by ourselves,
And slip inside,
Just like the way we did at that beach,
I hope u remember

I spread this mattress on my roof,
So that we can lie on our backs,
In each others embrace,
We could watch the stars shine,
We could watch the moon cross by our paths.

Dreams don’t always come true,
Then I wonder,
If dreams in my dream would ever come true ?
I dig into my empty heart to find my answer,
I probe into my frozen mind,
And why does my mind tell me ‘to hope’ ?
I realize,
That its like having a hope of safe landing,
In a bottomless pit.

Why? Why? Why?---a poem

Why does the sun rise?

Out of the lonely clouds,

Beckoning a beautiful glance

Illuminating the entire earth!

Why does the wave rush?

Rumbling and roaring,

Spreading a sea of emotions

Rushing on to eternity!

Why does the moon shine?

On a Starry night

Covering the darkness

In God’s beautiful sky!

Why does the earth spin?

Round and Round

Like a giant ball

Opening the door to a new horizon!

SRINIDHI.R

MOOLAND--- COWS AND BULLS

Story as aasked by Mrs. Prema

Once upon a time, in a land beyond the river Moo was a farm of cows and bulls. Cows were milked and bulls used to work in fields for hours.
Cows and bulls were happy in their respective work and life. The beautiful weather, rain, sun and breezy nights were their counterpart.
Far across the city came few cows and bulls for a holiday. They felt cows and bulls being illiterate and backward.
City bulls told farm bulls that they were wasting time in reaping farms; in city we have cowboys and bullfighting competition. Come there you can earn good money in no time.
City cows said to cows that we are not being milked in city, rather we enjoy with our kids at home. Farm cows astonished and asked “Then what you do with your milk?”
We feed our calf and rest milk we dispose.
Farm bulls and cows were confused as they heard it.
Few went with them to city others remained behind with a thought ‘GOD HAS MADE US FOR SOME PURPOSE, AND NO ONE CAN DO WHAT WE CAN DO BEST, WHY NOT WE SHOULD DO WHAT WE ARE BEING SUPPOSED TO DO’.
And the journey continues but "To be milked or not to milked?" was the question which arouse in few cows minds. Bulls too felt “Whether to reap farm or to do bullfight and make money”. It was our choice and that gives us the freedom to live the life as we want.
Few bulls excelled in bullfight and others came back, cows too did same, some were happy with calf and others felt they were happy before and returned.
Life gives all of us an option to live as we wish to; it’s on us which way we bend it and lives.
VAIBHAV NAGAR

Lingering Dreams

Those dreams that have vanished

Linger in my memory

Like the wetness of your parting kiss

On my cheeks

V K Rajan

How My Grandfather Caught A Rat

(This story is pure fiction and was made up to give a good laugh! I wrote this assuming, that I was born before 1970 where there was neither technology nor youtube in India to assist anyone in catching a rat!)

You might not believe me if I say that my grandfather was a well-built man! You would have to think again if I say that he was really mentally quick or acute! That is because he had the slightest trouble in doing a tiny job—“Catching a fat rat out of our house”! As my grandfather was very orthodox, he would not use rat poison, as he thought it was a sin. Here in India, to catch a rat long back in 1970 without the use of a pest control man is tough! But let me proceed with the story..

It all began one morning in November the 6th (I could still remember the day) when I woke up very quickly, hearing a thud and then a loud noise and something crash and clatter! I was shocked to see that there was utter chaos in the house. My grandfather was running from one end to the other, in a wild manner as if he was searching for something he lost miserably! “Grandpa, what is happening?” I shouted. “Oh! My boy! You woke up already?” he asked. “Yes! But what is happening in the house? Why all the noise? Why are you so excited?” I asked in a hurry. “Nothing my son, there is a fat rat in the room! We had enough of rodent droppings! I am trying to find the rat from daylight. The wicked rat has bitten all my books and office papers. It has eaten away all the bread and cheese in the house! And now, I am trying to get rid of it” he babbled angrily, with a snort. “Ha! Is that all? I will catch it for you” I said laughing, as I couldn’t control my laughter. I questioned him again, “But, how did it get in to the house?”. Grandfather replied in a hurry, looking for the rat under the bed. “I just can’t figure that out. Maybe because of the heavy rain yesterday, the rat sought some shelter and unfortunately found only our house for that!”

Then, all of a sudden the rat came out from under my bed and bit grandfather’s toe in a jiffy and rushed out from the room. “Ouch!” shouted my grandfather, “This rat is a nuisance!” We ran out of the room and went into the hall. Grandmother came out from the kitchen and spoke. “Did you catch it? The neighbors just called and asked what was happening in our house and what the commotion is?”. “Forget the neighbors! We need to catch that brat! But let’s try not to use poison” my grandfather murmured irritably. We tried to catch the rat the entire day. But we just couldn’t find it. It just disappeared. The place became quiet. “I think it’s gone!” said grandmother. “No! It’s still there lingering somewhere! Maybe it might have got into the bathroom!” said grandfather, “I will definitely try to catch it tomorrow! But let’s make sure that never to let another rodent in the house. Then, the rodents could multiply and it would become a tough job” 

Evening passed and at night my grandfather was sleeping soundly, when he felt some sort of sensation running through his body. Now, to describe more about that, my grandfather was actually wearing a half pant and the clever rat had just the time to creep up inside the pant, which was rather a big pant to allow any rodent in it. At the count of the next few seconds my grandfather woke up the entire house, shouting and screaming at the top of his lungs. “Help! It’s the rat!” At the next moment he was laughing as if someone was tickling him and then started to scream again! The rat jumped out and started to sprint. Grandfather took a stick and began to chase it. He was in a rage, now! Grandmother helped in opening the big back door (we usually had for the servants to come in) and the rat rushed out, followed by the grandfather and me. We forgot that it was 12.00 in the night and we made a terrible noise. All the neighbors got up and came out. In a hurry I had the rat trap with peanut butter, in my hand but the rat was very quick. It got into the huge dustbin in the road and dug its way in to the bottom. My grandfather still wanted revenge. He began to dig the smelly dustbin filled with junk, food and snacks, I threw some in yesterday. Luckily he caught the rat’s tail and the rat was trying to get away. It began to shiver and dance. My grandfather put the rat into the rattrap and shut it and shouted. “Hurrah!” and started to hop with joy, showing the captured rat trap to the neighbors, as they all joined in the fun. Sorry to say, the story ends here, when my grandfather took the rattrap carrying the rat and walking for a mile and leaving it way far behind, in a deserted ruined area! 
After the death of grandfather and grandmother, I still have that old smelly rattrap in the cupboard and I could still remember the day my grandfather caught the rat. Well, all I can say that it was such a memorable experience!

SRINIDHI.R
PS--THANKS FOR READING 

Lifez no Fairytale

Hiya Fellas,

I am really sorry that I was not able to pitch in anything till now, I sadly remain one of the unfortunate members of the club who were not able to attend either of the meetings, & as luck would have it I got transferred to mumbai lst week.:( But this blog idea surely rocks..so as poetry seems to be the "size zero " trend of our club right now..I just thought I would like to include a poem which I had written long back.

The following work doesn't bear any resemblance to the author's life, it's a pure work of fiction [:p]

Together we set fire, Together we danced,
Together we set the mood,Together we romanced.
But lifes got different plans so has rolled it's dice,
The decision we once took doesn't seem wise.
From friends we became lovers & now we are friends again,
The road was rough & together we embraced the pain.
How do I forget the long walks on the beach on moonlite nights,
The castle of sand he saved me with all his might.
But pop goes the dream when REALITY checks in,
Lifez no fairytale so farewell prince charming.
For I am no princess who needs to be rescued from the tower,
I have no step mum & my Dad hasn't stolen any flower.
I am a girl who was confused about her feelings,
As u an old friend, have taken for granted loads of dealings.
Truth is that we live in a materialistic world,
& I can't give into love & then cry in the bed all curled.
I want someone stronger who can hold me & not let me fall,
But can play devil's advocate at times & tell me I don't have it all.
Someone who can put up a fight when I am speaking all crap,
But whose gentle enough to keep all that under wrap.
I am looking for someone who can sweep me off my feet,
Something unpredictable, someones whose hard to beat.
Your a great friend, & a fine lover too.
But life is cruel & you are too gud too be true!!!!!!