Musings ....

Our brain has wonderful way by which it constantly evolves along the way devising ways to leave us astray. At times it tries teaching something to us. We all usually busy in our world, decide against its meaningful advices and encroach upon 'decisions' we deem fit. What we never discover is the source of errors in judgement. Subconscious knows all and decides to inform at appropriate timing what we seek to accomplish. But gut and intuition (which at time prove to be wrong) come in between claiming everything. If we win, we call it glory, if not,  it is termed as a mistake. But  fellows. It is not our decisions over which we so easily lay claim upon that make us win. On the other hand it is the subconscious. While executing pre -ecided actions we choose to listen (best thing to do!)  all that our subconscious has clammed up in the past. That usually makes us execute our plans with a promise of success or at least save as from a nasty debacle. Everyday while we are busy  i

Let's do that one wants Let's do that thing with a magic wand Let's create that rhyming poem Let's create tall big great thing Let's paint a picture palette Let's twist some rhyme with mallet Let the mind free, should it wander Let it walk and roam yonder Let's walk past art of nature Let's feed hungry shoal of creature Let's save penny, a dime or two Let's spend what ain't mine too For good and bad that exists together for best friends they have sweared to be they flourish when cared, apart they die let's have a piece of both, be free No salvation in honest death No salvation for devilish deeds What we do, a balanced beam supports each side, makes equal thee Let's commit a sin or two Then guilt then drink then lie in din Let's then help soul that needs help one screams in street, shouts and yelps Blessed is who points pin of beam to sky it points, supports sin and good don't brood commit a sin o

The name, usually, is the most thought out word given to a new born, usually, by its mother and father or is a dominated choice of either one of them. The problem or a minor conflict stems from the point –when a random party, who in a habit of playing the part of dominatrix or a domineer, ignores all possible outcomes of all the individuals that matter in the family. Their age and suggested names are proportional to archaic nomenclature that shows in the final derivation of the names blurted. Such names, in the name of lord, are cussed and resented by the name bearers each day. Their school turns out to be a reeking nightmare, with children constantly picking on them and calling twisted name calls. Their form filling exercise is a ruddy rotting sweet tart that leaves, each time, a sour taste on their tongue. Sometimes the boxes desirous of filing names are in dearth, while at others, spelling mistake of name of self, creates blunder. It is a sonorous theme of every ho

Each idea that sprouts It runs and jumps about don't let it go easy an idea sprouting isn't easy Find a base beneath rational about it a logic to defend it build a wall around it Save and think each day don't let it go astray don't hush or throw away let it grow and pray Conjure a way if needed water its need, breed it the seed if potent will grow an idea comes rare, don't throw Slow germination process takes breaks energy and thought boggles the mind and grinds but fruit may finally be sought Each thought precious that arrives enclose, encourage feed it it calls, hear and listen it says, " I'm an idea", heed it.

The house at the end of road, by the wide lake is the most beautiful home I have ever seen. The red limestone rooftop with blue grainy walls and porch in front give an excellent feast for eyes to feed on and one can never tire gazing at it. The adjacent glade, with pine trees and laburnum tops, with daffodils and Gulmohar flowers beam a red and yellow light that grazes through the branches from the sun. A house of single story, with an attic on the top that has a small window. One might guess it had no more than 4 rooms, but he would be surprised on seeing it up close. The sheer structure is built in an intelligible way, that a hut from outside transforms into a palace on the inside. It wasn't a surprise when the man who lived in it was keen on inviting guest more often, as he had no family. The house would be bustling with cheers and merriment of guests that could be heard from afar with constant blaring of horns of cars jostling for car space to park.The amounts o

I love her, she does too i know, i don't have proof her tears were real, i felt emotions filled each drop She stood silent, hands at sides alone in the dust i wasn't with her, i couldn't be weren't meant to be together then my sister, she sits there myself alone here i message her, dilemma what to say i switch phone off, and finally pray evening Aazan of the mosque reminds me her presence when we used to speak and talk laugh and cook and eat, Oh god! her essence she forgot, to take along with her aura the house is silent, a mortified den, it seems it turned without her scent Now when I sit on her chair it stands like a spare I dare not sit on it as only she is meant to sit on it Her aura makes my heart heavy a drop sheds now and then a boy of 10, i am not still i cry like them What would it take to console me a pat or a hug, i think i cried my heart out when i hugged my mom it didn't suffice the inner storm

She awoke, startled by the sound of parakeet perched on a parapet of the balcony. "Late!? oh shit", subconsciously scared, she jumped, leaving the warmth of bed behind onto her feet and ran towards the bathroom. She wasn't late. It was her first day there, and like any new resident in a new setting, wasn't accustomed to the schedule of the day. Her roomies, both of them, still slept at 7 in the morning, while their new companion harried through her closet searching for a brush and the tube of paste so just she could arrive in time before the ferry bus honked near the hostel gate. The building stood, not on the 'outskirts' of the Bangalore city; if one must say a solemn measurement of the distance could subtly be described as that between the fringe of a miniskirt and the knees. "It would be a blinder to miss it, and a disaster when she'll reach late at the lab, her workplace for next 2 months. Her new kurti-pajami, a bag on the shou

"Lonely?get lost!, i wouldn't feel any such thing, whatsoever" , she had said at home when her brother teased her, on how she would feel after her parents would leave her in hostel. However, now, as she sat in the room, on the bed, her eyes were droopy and her body exhausted she remembered that chat and felt the sentiment. She plugged in her computer laptop, in order to distract her thoughts, she viewed an episode of friends and silently dissolved the time, passing time slowly, swiftly.

She relaxed, as she settled in her room after her parents went away. Three beds, all occupied and one of them hers, would be her abode till two months. "It was all I had imagined, even bigger, in sorts, and pleases me too", she thought and said to herself. A table, a lamp with a perfectly snuggled suitcase in her wardrobe formed her hostel room.

What would a person do to have a mango? Step out of the house, go to a store like a mother dairy or a sabzi Mandi and buy a kilo or two.  He was a boy who sneaked onto a farm, climbed up on a tree and plucked the fruit. He climbed, well enough for a boy of 9 and always scolded by his mom about his need to feel the rush. "Why do you climb and pluck the fruit beta when I bring perfectly good ones from a market", she would ask concerned that he may fall one day and hurt himself. "I'll bring a mango mommy, taste it, the answer will come from you itself", he laughed and said.

" Daddy, I'm back", overjoyed girl screamed on arrival at home. Her father standing across the verandah, with his back towards her, turned and faced towards her, confused. She had carried the cumbersome suitcase along, with a bag on her shoulder and laptop in her hand, now waiting him to reply, rather jump towards her. She had been living away since months, and now craved for the hug from each person of her family; her mother, brother and especially her father especially being closest to him emotionally.  Her father twisted and turned, looked down at her feet and slowly sized her up till her head as if trying to remember, who the human she was.  " Dad I'm home!", she said, again waiting for a joyous expression or anything that would impress a sense of affirmed happiness from him, but he stood still perplexed, staring at her face. " Dad, you OK ?", she said defensively, a little worried. "huh?", I'm sorry beta, do I kn

She never wondered she would land in a place, so beautiful, so serene and filled with surprises. The blossoming flowers, the mango trees and the wide field in front seemed to speak to her and invite, to settle and stay in its abode forever. The towering building with a bulwark in front connecting to the field, an epitome of modern architecture, seemed ideal place for her to work her way through the summer job. She wasn't a guest!, yes, she was invited, honorably with all the expense paid to the premier research facility in the country in a city known for its computer and scientific history. Bangalore, a city with opportunities galore had embraced her debut trip in its bosom, emanating all the warmth she needed and comforting her solitude in the new surroundings and place. Though she wasn't a hotshot, but was headed and astonishingly aimed ambitiously to achieve the point where one day people would call her an expert. She would seldom ask,"why should I be an expert and if

She kept on walking, each step slower than the previous. She had bought new sandals, a dress- kurta and jeans, a bag, a lipstick and visited a prominent stylist in the city, which wasn't a usual activity, to get the perfect hair done. The red sand laid like a  carpet in the Bangalore outskirts wasn't a source of friction or deterrence that slowed her, but became a steady reminder of her distance away from home, and the life ahead which on one hand scared her, while on the other confused her by dropping all kinds of thoughts and wonderment through her brain. Her parents, both of them, had accompanied her, being her first time away from home. Her brother a smart, dashing young lad in his early twenties had accompanied his younger sister.  Most girls of her age, apparently, had come alone carrying the heavy luggage on their shoulders but she, maybe, was the only girl whose parents had spent both time and money, which was not an easy or a meager price by any means, for they had

People relax, with a glass of wine, a late night tele or a movie, a romantic spy thriller, a chat with friends or now,in the 21st century,surfing on the net.  But she, closed her eyes and slept with a teddy in her arms and wrapped around in a quilt. Her day wasn't a mundane, bland one but a spicy cohort of mismatched events, enough to cause chaos that would justifiably be called a riot.  She liked being busy; "what am I supposed to do,sit idle?", she would ask, if her mother would chide her work pattern alleging her a workaholic. The bed was the closest thing to a friend, next being her cell phone, at night, when clock struck 9. Ceremoniously her grey matter called a day, as soon as they saw the time,and wouldn't allow her black eyes to open anymore.Soon her resolve compromised,a lost argument with the brain to stay awake, as she would land swiftly in the heavenly abode of her bed.

When he came and whence he came, it couldn’t be a matter of choice for the seniors, party men, associates and workers. His arrival, not an unprecedented invitation, had sickened the rivals as it meant an infusion of a fresh leadership with whom the bustling youth population could identify themselves and the veterans and the aged would see a resemblance of their once alive pragmatic, now a legendary(sic) assassinated leader. He stepped out of his SUV in the dusty town, a constituency he came to campaign and earlier, held by his uncle, grand mother, father, and now he was projected as the aspirant candidate. It was 2004 when he arrived, not a long time if we see the ascent of his growth in unpopularity among the people, which is remarkable feat and totally unexpected, as his ancestor have had distinguished records both in terms of popularity and electoral politics. He did have a name, which I need not tell, although a laugh or a slight grin would paradrop on your face before you pas

In terms of damage, the catastrophe concluded by analysis in terms of lives lost and casualties, new channels rambled their phony discussion going completely against what was witnessed by X.The crater in the middle with a puddle of red blood now turned muddy due to the commotion of police around, was the place where it happened.It was a white colored car, though not a shiny new but an old ruddy model probably bought from a junkyard, whose hood had lodged itself through a closed shutter of shop with the engine blown apart and parts nowhere to be seen.The shards of glasses were spread in and around the crater like pieces of marbles. The police vans stood guard to the site while big dog sniffed for more such gadget laden bombs around the neighborhood, which now had a deserted look like a face of widow whose flaming spirit to live had been doused without any fault of her.The bulky gurney was pushed into the ambulance with distorted humans lying, enough to make one queasy and s

TV, is turning into a constant source of depressing reality! I had a slight grin when Narendra Modi (read NaMo) and his party were insulting an institution that possesses a pristine position in the framework of our country. Blatant disregard of senior leader's obligation hurling insults was a spectacle I had never imagined would be witnessed by me. Yes, the authority questioned was Election Commission of India.(EC) " I dare Election Commission(EC) to file an FIR against me" he said. Such an audacious remark from a leader who very well might become Indian PM by next week is an unexpected, shocking turn from the NaMo portrayed earlier. The depth of gross misdemeanor  has been overlooked by the Indian citizens due to their blind love for PM prospective adding a dose of unfair judgement. But if the man has dared to quiz its decision and authority, which have never been shadowy or influenced, the independence of those institutions that strived to remain clean will so

Grappling the leftover straws empty are my hands hands are sore from searching on red sprawling sand The earth brown still has marks her blood still soaked red she lay here, i found her laying silent like on her bed Killer absconds, i am not fond of events that have ensued I live,lie,lay,sit on ground people now call me shrewd. Khaki people tell me tales "sir the trail has gone cold" boldly tread they in house, and say "on suspicion alone they cannot hold". The ground reeking of her sweat i touch my ear to ground She shouts and screams,i can hear her screeching wailing sound She must have pleaded, bleat like sheep my poor poor girl I'll give my tooth,strike a nail until the criminal unfurls The monster man TV call him i sit in day, through night hear them speak, repeat explain the grisly sight. Closure, i seek I'll get the day I kill him self my mission is to search he who delves torture and make him yelp

She jumped over the pole of toll booth with solitary halogen shining towards the ground, illuminating the area. The booth had been defunct fortunately for about a year thereby making up for the dearth of a place to practice. One day her father promised her as they dined to fulfill her wish to see cinema. A rare luxury, the remote town did not present many sources of amusement to the poor citizens of her village. She and her father chose to watch the 9 PM show of Bhaag Milkhaa Bhaag. Engrossed, her eyes wouldn't budge from the screen. The ravenous graphics, the cloud of emotions and the undying spirit compelled her to absorb each frame and moment of the 3 hour long story. She was impressed and at the same time overwhelmed at the incredulous presentation of the athlete's life. His feats stirred her insides budding a zeal to imitate by his life. She couldn't stop thinking about him. Even as she slept back home she would see him sprinting sitting amongst the awed

The air of the night had never felt so good. Her cheery heart, light mind, both told her to live the moment and savor its nuances. The air was chilly with a shallow breeze impressing the departure of clouds that had showered in another area of city. The rustling of leaves made her realize how silent the night had turned. It had been only a few hours ago when the mourning process had begun and was soon over. All the relatives bid adieu with consolations and sympathies while some of them shed a tear or two. The guests were large in number,difficult to deal with, thus exhausting and adding to her displeasure of going through such a tumultuous process. She was tired altogether and planned a long dreamy sleep, alone. Suddenly she was knocked from her conscious stupor by sound of approaching sandals outside the door of her room. "May I come in?", it was her father. He had been invited to stay over at the villa of her in laws thus presenting him an opportunity. She on

It is time for the 5 'o' clock Aazan. I hear it everyday. Today I heard it again. The sound reverberates around the mosque and knocks stealthily on my ears ..... It says ....  it's time to drop the books and take a break.You have been busy studying. Go to the kitchen and cook a plate of Maggi. So sweet voice, I melt and fly away ...

She sat there mourning. Her crumpled white saree color exonerated the mood of the room. Crossed-legged sitting, young woman of 28 with caked mascara and  kajal enclosed eyes with a spot of thumb sized sindoor she stared at the flickering lamp in front of his picture. Her curly black tresses now mingled with her mother's, as she rested her head on her shoulder. Her mother clasped her hands, fingers intertwined with droopy eyes that  had forgotten how it was to sleep. The young widow turned her head towards the gate on heating whispers and the sudden commotion. She saw her father arrive followed by relatives  back after the 'dah' sanskar ceremony. He waved at her and called her. She jumped  and ran past her mother into his arms. He drew her aside from the gaze of guests, ensuring absence of everyone and headed towards the corner near the stairs of the house compound.She seemed calmed and composed comparatively now as she was with him. Assured by his presence she held

She had tried but failed. The rising sun and silent night had informed her of the passing hours. There was no clock, no window, only a thin rectangular ventilator with iron grills. Her hair were caked with dried blood and mud. The red spot on the crisp white pillow and starched bed drapes explained the amount of blood lost since she arrived. Her head felt light, parched lips and empty stomach presenting no help to her famished body. He slapped her,again, this time gifting her a cut on her lip, sending her back to her unconscious world of dreams. ............................................................................................................... A burly boy in his late teens, with his chocolaty looks, spiked up gelled hair with loose trousers and loafers sat working. A brief look at him would serve enough to describe his looks, similar to any other boy of his age, full of mischief with bustling energy due to those post puberty raging hormones and the dynamic endurance o

The screen of her mobile phone would display arrival of the message from her boyfriend, she hoped. Her gifted pink tee and white silky night pants were her reminder to self of the commitment she always displayed for him. The phone resting on her belly, suddenly vibrated vigorously, pulling her out from her naughty chain of thoughts as 'his' message arrived. Jumping from her back, eager eyes complementing the rising heart beat, she clicked the main menu, scrolled down and touched the tab with his name. Excited, she forgot to wear her glasses. She got up hurriedly, grabbed them when bang!.. her door slammed open. The spectacles dropped from her hands breaking into pieces which didn't bother her as her phone was lying in front of her with his message open along with the trove of her all her saintly secrets. She knew she was in for trouble as soon as her mother had arrived. The fear of getting discovered by her prying eyes tendered her limbs lifeless while her brain re

His wrist watch signaled her expected arrival when it struck 2. He would stare intermittently, constantly, at the dial and in the direction of the girl intensely with no care of the world around him. His emotions overpowering his senses dissolved the feeling of scorching heat, hunger beat and waiting pang. She finally arrived, with her polka dotted frock with beautiful bellies and flowing long hair with lily clutch holding her hair steady, a beautiful girl. With hazel nut colored bag swinging in her hand, which was under strain by its weight, she stopped in front of him, and apologized, " I'm sorry daddy for making you wait". His cheeks crinkled as he smiled; hugging her he was at peace.

Stepping into the furnished room, the room reeked with effervescence left behind by lilies, roses and blooming orchids once adorned the walls and side-stand.  The fish net supported by four corner pikes of the wooden bed, strung lifeless explaining proudly the secure haven it once had been. Demure pillows had disowned its character, accepting shamelessly the gift of rot and bugs. Plucked feathers of dove and hen had submitted themselves in favor of death. The Oaken floor where once toiled the happy woman with her man, forsook the rich almond color and bartered the hellish red of blood and dusty yellow of sand. The room reeked of havoc, despair, a cheery haven once was.

Hailed as the harbinger of change by the tribal people and townsfolk, he assumed the position of district collector in the remote area of Hacer. Loin clothed, sunken cheeked that silhouetted the bones with a rib caged posterior, the tribe of Habilu stood waiting in the unrelenting heat of scorching summer. High officials in khaki uniform, officials of the panchayat samiti, gram panchayat and the zilla parishad  and all the local municipal bodies were present amongst the local folks who had ventured from far flung villages, had never felt eager to receive a collector.  But this man of 35 years, a young enthusiastic civil servant had sent the chatter mill turning about the true change that he had brought whilst his presence in the previous posting. A tribal woman with her infant, having his food, alongside a lonely boy expecting a school, landless farmer hoping reforms and the landlords; well, ready to build friendships strong waited to greet him.  A collector nonetheless, a

Beat after a hard long day, the hard wooden bed felt replete with soft feathers surrounded by white misty heavenly clouds. The boy sat idle on the steps of hanuman temple, oblivious to the chain of events heading towards him that would transform his life forever. Mr. and Mrs. White, a childless couple both in their mid 30s had traveled to India on a whim expecting magic from the land of spirituality. Plate of prasad in hand as they descended down the steps of mandir, they saw the boy with bony structure selling nick-knacks and plastic idols of god. His face one won't call pretty but had a brilliant charm that was enhanced by the piercing eyes with brows that if one observed, showed brimming self-assurance and unwavering belief in self. Mrs. Smith couldn't ignore him and headed towards the parchment where the boy had established his enterprise. "What is you name son?", she spoke misplacing the words in broken hindi she had picked up over the last couple

He stood at the gate waiting for the mother by law to let him in, for he had stood there for hours hoping that gods would finally show sliver of mercy. As the girl came sneaking out desperately, she waved at him to come inside the door by the yard. He stooped under the window sill to hide from the inside view and made his way passing from under the chair, around the patio table and the doghouse. On the way, the elbow received a cut, the fingers scraped now turned pink, but the boy in love determined to reach the destination and eager to hug and kiss his love ignored all. Arriving, his eyes met with the staring eyes of the tall, proud albeit angry girl, standing scared scared behind her mother.

Sitting in the verandah, deep in thought, he reminisced the day he was married. A strapping young boy of 24, fresh out of college brimming with potential was marrying a woman he didn't love. Love in those times seemed to him a dream too far when on the eve of his sagan ceremony 'she' arrived. Fate was idly smiling, destiny plotting a plan for his heart wasn't his anymore. He sat on the dias confused with the to-be bride with a hundred eyes on him while his never flinched for a second from her face. She stood behind her friend along his to-be bride, never attempting to look away from his eyes while each breath through her chest made her realize it was not something wrong. She felt alive. The boy picked his hand, placing in the soft bright heena colored bride's with eyes that had lost its sheen. It had been 40 years since. He remembered the joyful laughs, the honeymoon loft, their kiss on cliff and the first child. Nothing to complain but still in love wi

The evening was rank with the emanating stench with pervading fume of death from beneath the fallen tree. It hadn't been a long time since people had gathered there together, even under the prevailing circumstances, demanding a meet with their mayor to discuss reforms and necessary changes. Different plans altogether, as the first rising in centuries and an initiative to participate in local governance was turned asunder in the heavy storm that blew that eve. The sky had grown cold with a misty look garnished with cherry red stroke of jet light amidst the sea blue-green horizon which tolled the arrival bell of an unnatural phenomenon or one that of a  devil. The crowd unknown, focused and oblivious, were busy chattering and discussing the agenda. A lonely boy sitting his mama's lap, too small to move, had been a constant witness of changes in the sky. His blue eyes had absorbed the growth of mist, showering  papery thin feathers of eagle that flew high and coin like metallic e

A sharp unnecessary brake, a curvy overtake. never thought for good, the fellow driver's sake. Accelerate he does, ego thrashed and bashed. If i don't budge, i bet he'll crash. Befit his stature, sedan big drives, on Fellow roadie's annoyance, he feeds and thrives. Striving for 100 never stops, for red light, green or yellow. Slow if I do below 50,he says, " I'm not my mother's fellow." High beam or low, my father never taught if it's there i'll burn it you may got to hell and rot.

The sharp sound of sirens, monotonous whispering crowd broke the tranquil morning silence while the house exuded a sullen, sordid aura. The grief stricken father, the old mother and the divorced husband sat lifeless, though together but were a picture of loneliness.  It wasn't uncommon to see the coroner and the police officials conducting surveys and inquiries when a murder had been committed. But mystery of this unusual case turned trivial when the authorities had been pressed by hard hitting questions regarding the cause of death. Consoling carefully the man, with a natural artistry of expressing comfort, sat on the couch none special but skilled as clerk.

It was just an another day for Bertie, a small girl of 4, getting ready to go to school. "Mummy, please fix a sandwich for  me", she called today, just the same way as she had been doing since she had started going to school. This morning was seemingly much different though the little girl had no inkling of the recent development that would bring her life to a new place. As she proceeded towards her mother, with slight agitation due to no response of any kind, she found her sleeping peacefully, sprawled with hands by her side in a deep stupor but oddly; with her eyes open. She could see the over-boiled milk foaming on the gas stove, the normally neat shelf untidy and chaotic, with jar of jelly, butter and loaf of bread lying all over the floor. A step ahead she could see her father sitting on a white stool with blood shot eyes, face gone pale, colorless and  transformed cream white  with a knife gripped tight dripping blood on the floor.

Crisp yellow leaves cracked under the gentle steps of Mr. Hattori as he sneaked laboriously into the backyard passing along  line of the ornamental pine and cone trees. An astonishing justification of his sun-sign -Gemini, his life could be defined as exhibiting two facets; one that he lived during the day, the other secretive of the night. In the wee hours of the night, donning the hat of a hired mercenary, the lonely clerk; one whose receding hairline, cheap ironed shirt with pants pulled up high defined him as a simple man, now brandished a weapon.Sitting in his office the day before, it wasn't unexpected as he had been informed earlier, he received a call mentioning the name, place and the way the work was to be done.The cold hearted murderer didn't think twice before he agreed. A skilled locksmith, it didn't take him long to get through the door making his way towards the woman's room. Over the creaking floor board it was a shame no one could witness the 'show

That year was a formidable part of his life which if his wishes could prevail, would have been erased from his memory forever. 20 years had passed since the untoward death of his mother had scarred his dreams creating a void of relationship filled with love and happiness that they had together. The police was clueless, a mystery killer's act, she was found floating on a blue morning in the early hours by a man on a fishing trip. The calm fresh water held her as if it were protecting the remains of the poor departed soul so that humanity could see to what depths a human's act could fall. Solitary, sitting on his bed, the image of her tresses floating with bloated body that had turned white overnight still horrified him to his core.

Sitting in the muddy puddle Ringo, surrounded by his children, distant relatives and all the comrades of the farm, thinking deep felt overwhelmed by the feeling of being the most fortunate living being in the world. The crazier, more developed brained beings scurrying, hustling mounted with daily stress weren't the most happy ones he had concluded. Their little ones either left them alone or abandoned to enjoy the fruit of better pastures in far distant lands. Ringo on the other hand had modest means with no luxury or stature to feel proud upon, felt blessed and expressed sincerely, gratitude to god. People called his species as dirty, ate  him as staple and included him in cuss words but he was nothing but happy to be born as a Pig on earth.

A wave of hand, a swift movement of wrist, mid-air, to take leave and bid adieu is the simplest and most natural development of human species among a wide range of expressions. Along with a smile on lips or a joyful laugh, people express it by wide range of words and various name such as -Bye!, Tada!, Ta! Ta!, Adios! ....etc. A mother stands in the balcony everyday and waves unflinching until her little one has traveled far enough to become invisible. The pampered child, staring with sad eyes longing to go and be near his mother, is assured of her presence presenting a companion  to share his agony brewing inside. How beautifully a simple human expression carries a myriad of human emotions, isn't it?

Her life story was normal hunky-dory, the girl cautiously ascended the steps. Fur lined shoes silky-white gown worn, eyes cold, she was alone and flowing were tiny beads of sweat. Each step she deftly put scared and shaking foot. The stairs standing without stilts or base seemed outlandish but sturdily stood. Her husband died; it was an accident, the crash wasn't his fault. on seeing blood soaked sheet, body underneath, she felt a shivering jolt. The girl steadfast had incredible resolve she didn't cry, shout or rant. He is my love, i forbid god's decision, thinking she; cross-legged started prayers and rhythmic chants. Impressed god on a chair he lolled, called her spirit up top Will do as you please, keep him safe and strong He'll be back as he had done no wrong. You are an idol of the women on earth who know how to love, ergo they will kick,smack and fight the world preserve their loved one and