Beautiful shore

I don’t know for what reason I was sad. I was cycling to an unknown place from my friend’s home. Why I left my friend, not sure about the reason. I cycled a long away for around 20 km and had reached bank of a river which had no water. Few kids were playing down the bank. Cycling on a bank I reached a village and met a teenage group who were talking about meeting on the shore in the evening. There was only one girl among them and I think I got attracted to the girl.

I asked one of the boys from the group for the way to reach the shore. I cycled towards the direction he pointed to thinking that I should be there before it gets dark. On the way, I meet the same group jumping above the ground trying to get fruits from a tree. A boy from the group, voluntarily said, “the kids need it, they like it”.

I cycled the way to the shore and reached a place where there was water on the other side of a big gate which stands by my side. The group I met before appears again and says that the beautiful shore in on the other side. I abandon my cycle and follow them walking on the big gate.

I followed them to a place which was not a beautiful place, but a vast ground where people leisured their time taking photographs and eating chats. It’s already dark. I could see a small patch of water receding and few people sitting near its shore. The boy from the group calls me to join them for a photograph. We were all trying to fit ourselves in the frame where the girl was at the centre of the frame in her white dress.


Am i late


The first email I read today on my official Id was that of my Boss’. “The Boss – the supreme authority” but limited to the place where I work.

Hi Ramesh,

The HR dept has been reporting on your late arrival on many days to the office. We expect you to adhere to the office discipline and deliver your duties, failing to which we would not need your service to the company.

And my reply was “YES SIR, I will adhere to the rules of the company”, but I could not assure him till when.

Actually I leave to my office everyday at 8 am with a hope to reach office at the right time and I do reach my office building at the right time. But the paan wallah infront of our office, my best friend, He gives me all the gossips of my office everyday in the morning.

Ah! What a great start to the day.

And sometimes it’s my watch which betrays me. This watch is my favourite watch.It was given by my father to me, very, very long ago.

Many people have stories behind their wrist watches. But I will tell you a story behind one of my school friend’s watch. He used it to save his life.

A teacher of mine was very harsh on students whenever they are not punctual according to her. My friend came late to her class one day and she was as normal as angry. He showed her the time on her watch and said “m’am I’m on time”. The teacher held her watch to his face and screamed “Is this the time to come to the class”. He looked at her watch and he set his time accordingly. He was let to attend the class with her eyes turning red on him.

He was the hero of that day when the rest of the class got to know later in the day that he set his watch intentionally slower as a final resort to escape the teacher’s brunt.

But I know that I shouldn’t repeat my old technique in the workplace too.

Earlier, when I was a new recruit I used to come early to the office by taking the public bus. Later I felt the bus is congested and that they are taking double the time to reach my office bus stop. Therefore I bought a new second hand motor bike, just to discover new problems.

More than the dust, smoke and Petrol problems, it’s the buses which are annoying. If ever you stop beside them in the signal, I meant traffic signal – our favourite time passing spot and for few, a business destination.

Sorry, we are beside a bus in a signal, you are covered in smoke from their devilish silencers. The smoke which irritates you to behave normal and provoke to hold onto our heroic faces as if sitting on a time machine.

The passengers do annoy you sometimes by staring at your bike in the signals even though you are single on the bike. Sometimes it’s up to you to decide whether they are looking at you with jealousy or as if you are on their stolen bike.

Many times I avoid stopping next to the buses because you know that anything thrown from the balcony will come to Gandhi class.

With all the worldly pleasures on the way to office I do come here every day.

And finally good news, not for you people, but for me, “I got married recently”. Another reason to come late to the office.



The Perfect move

I had it the third time. I knew losing eye contact pulls my confidence and my balance down. My ankle sprain made me to refrain from the perfect move and led us for an under performance in a contest. I was low but he did not lose confidence in me. “Performing in contests will help in making us familiar to those who love the art, winning the contest shouldn’t be the only goal”, he had told me many times. The perfect partner. I always took care to be light when I stood on his feet while performing, to be true to my conscience and not to hurt him. His tacit responses to my imperfectness fueled my enthusiasm. He had shown the same care since we started practicing and performing together.

When he performed a solo I had watched it like a child mesmerized by magic. I had not blinked throughout his performance. He was so perfect and indulgent. After his performance he wanted his all time partner to know what she thought about his moves. I held his palm and swayed to and fro, eye to eye and my ankle sprain vanished for a moment. He said “it would have been much prettier and complete with you on the floor”. His words were as magical as his moves. I floated in pampering air.

A week after I confessed to my ankle it would never lose eye to eye and trouble myself. The floor had got another pair of perfect legs on it. Moves became perfect and prettier. My eyes didn’t break their promise. With our eyes mounted to each others, rest floated in a comforting air around us. He whispered “its complete now, the perfect performance and the perfect partner”.


It has been 3 days I’m atop here. Like a bird nesting restlessly. I had raced with the floods to rise to this height to save my life. It had already sunk our stables, Pig arks, our workshops and our toddy huts, the last place I visited before the clouds poured to dissolve everything that stood on earth. I could overlook a vast tract of land under water, habitats devastated by the supreme force.

I had planted this when it was still clean and slender. When it had bent the last time more than normal facing the brunt of the fierce wind and brutal rain, I had supported it by an iron rod that stood along its length. Since then it had grown strong acquiring all the power of the wind and the rain. Now I sit on the broad midriffs of its extensions and living on the fruits it nurtured. All I could overlook is the water which destroyed whatever in its course. It had lost its colour owing to the overflow of the badly trenched drainage. It had turned amber.

I hated the downpour as much as the water below. Leaving very few to its mercy, the floods had created havoc in our normal lives. The tree on which I survived was also growing mosses on its strong trunk and I realized that the ground below it has turned soggy very dangerously. I feared that it may fall soon showing my place to where I belonged to. The air had grown stinky too.

Some solid flat objects which breathed once a while struggled to float. I later realized those where the thatches of our houses. Some carcasses of dogs, pigs and the furniture on which there owners once rested were also struck to the branches of the very few trees that survived. All I could hear was sneaky barks of remotely survived sick dogs, my co-pessimists.

Dangerously survived walls of those big buildings of the highland and churches were the only lucky ones which could offer some shelter to those survived a little more time than there mates. They were washed down to the lowlands with the downpour taking its fierce character last evening. The only time water flowed towards our side without any control and price. By this time I had grown resistant to the gushing sound of water in the houses turned rubbles. Water flowed through the smallest cracks in any of the structures standing weak.

The water started pouncing on me as the winds retrieved for some rest and the light growing weak lowered my visibility. I drank the water was collected in those shells of the fruits which I had scraped using my teeth and nails. The clouds dominated the land below and wind combated with the rain to ruin. The structures of the highlands were beaten to dust by the invisible forces. An unpleasant silence occurred, I couldn’t hear myself too.



I wake up to the cold air that brushed my eye lashes for a fraction of second quite exasperatingly. My palms were sweating and were slipping of my mom’s stole, my only support. She hesitatingly wiped of her neck on which I had salivated while asleep. My mom was sitting on a steel long bench supporting her back.  I was sleeping hugging her. I normally do that. Still half buried in my sleep I could see the blurred red bus which had disturbed my sleep passing on behind. I could see everybody rushing to an unknown unknown. Perhaps I believe I was the only one calmly resting there though not for long. I still clung to the yellow stole; I knew my mom would take me home safely.

I panned my head to the extent possible and I could see many people. many many. With their bags on their shoulders some like my mom sitting on those long benches. Some had sort of packets in their hands which made me realize it is my snack time too. Above those people sitting and standing and sleeping and rushing and staring at the sky and talking to themselves I could see a large banner with a picture of a packet. It looked like my snack pack. The picture was of the size of my toy car, a bit long, and its surface was extended to a television with two antennas. I was perplexed to understand what it is and what it said. It was written “50 – 50” on it, I ignored. Raising my head up above pained my neck.

The same red bus which just left returned and slowed down in front of us. My mom rushed towards it and suddenly sat again on the bench. I got a nudge, the bus disturbed me again. May be my mom got it wrong, it wasn’t our bus. I turned my head and was back in my position, still on my mom’s lap and clinging to the stole. The crowd was doubled and there were many buses with their doors open which soon filled up and left. This picture was like the busy ant hole which I had troubled, the last time I was let down to play on the ground.

Suddenly my mom stood up to catch the correct bus. I did not to receive a setback this time. I could see myself to the height of every other person there. In a second I was between many people holding on to the bar with their hands upright. I was just to see everybody above my height but my mom managed to keep me high. She placed the bag she had in the other hand on the dusty moving floor. Among many faces in the crowd the one which caught my attention was a familiar face on a T-shirt which said “All is well”. I was shocked and shut my eyes. Sweat seeping between the stole and my palm.



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