My echo, My shadow and Me...

He tossed the coin in air, waited till it comes back to his hands, checked the result and tossed it again...I saw him repeating the same for several times. "What's that for?" "I'm in a dilemma." "So, you are trying to solve it by tossing!" He nodded positively in reply. "But how many times do you toss to arrive at a decision? Don't you think it's foolish to let a metal coin decide things for you?" "Yes, even I also feel that way. That's why I'll be tossing till I get the decision right, the decision that is mine, till the toss takes me to that. At times first toss takes me there. Today it's taking time. I have tossed some thirty times till now," there was an oblique smile in his face. He resumed tossing...

I am trying to be silent. But the words bubbling in my mind never let that happen. Words that the processor somewhere in my brain is producing incessantly and tirelessly. Good words, bad words, cold words, warm words...There is no dearth of reasons; there is no dearth of occasions and stimuli. I have seen smiles, butterflies and fireflies getting transformed into words; words that will fuel your the journey ahead through miles of roughness. Chirruping of the morning birds, sound of creeper leaves in the breeze and rain drops take the shape of words, musical words that will flood you with emotions, keep you warm in chilling winter nights. There were thousands of occasions when I failed to stop the processor from converting the silences in between the conversations, blank spaces in between the lines into words, words that made me fret and sulk and pursue unwarranted turns on the paths. At times I put-up efforts to generate anti-words to fight with these, at times just take them...

I got curious and peeped out of the window to check what was happening on the lane out side. The little girl was crying her heart out stumping her feet on the ground. That she was crying despite being alone ( there were no one to pacify her) made me feel she was really upset about something. I usually find her playing with her playmates in the evening but never had any chance or reason for interaction. "Hey, what happened?" It seemed my question fueled her grieves and she started crying even lauder. " What happened? Why are you crying? May be I can help you out?" My second question succeeded in generating some response from her. " I am trying to collect the marbles in my hands," she said maintaining her sobbing. "But every time some of them slip out of my hand". That's when I noticed the collection of some twenty marbles she was struggling with. She had palms too small to accommodate more than five marbles at a time. Even if she managed to pi...

And there's the smell, the soothing scent of earth first time touched by the heavenly drops, the drops of rain. Yes, finally here's the first rain of the season, pulling me to the roof top...to watch the mixtu re of reactions of the surroundings. The morning birds were excited by the sudden change and started flying here and there randomly as if to express the fact that they were as happy as I am. The doves that were busy in their search for foo d took refuse in groups under whatever lit tle shed they found. The leaves of the gra pevine creeping on the wall waved with the mild wind, as if they were shying away from the first rain. Howe ver, soon with rain getting harder they will give up their efforts. In fact they will be the last ones to hold back rain water that will drip down in drops after the rain stops. The squirrels, usually fighting for food, g ot irritated by sudden disturbance. One of them started s creaming at the unwarranted disruption that was created. But...

"Why do you write?" "For chocolates! As per an agreement, for every post I write, I earn a chocolate." "Wao, that's amazing. I have heard people getting paid for blogs. First time I am hearing some one earning chocolates through blog posts." I knew my interviewer was not convinced by my answer, thought I was just kidding. Even I was not sure what was it that made me write for. Perhaps there was no specific reason, when I started writing. But now there's one... "Can you promise something?" "What’s that ?" "Can you promise that you will always be happy, what ever you are doing, where ever you are?" "I can't assure. But I’ll try my best." "No, trying best will not do. You have to promise that you will. You are a writer. You have strong imagination. You can do anything if you want. Just imagine yourself to be happy. You will." Yes, you are true. I can do anything and everything I wish. I open my eye...