The Broken Seat.

A man riding a bicycle fell. The seat was broken. He had tied it with a rope to keep it in place, but the rope came loose; he lost balance and fell.

                          ****************************************************

“Bye Honey”, he called out as he stood at the door.

It was strange. The day itself was strange. He never bade farewell to his wife, never even called her ‘Honey’.

“Where is my Tiffin?”. He enquired.

‘No Tiffin today. No food at home. whatever there was, I fed to the kids. please get some money tonight or the kids will have to n hungry for the day’. She replied.
                         ****************************************************

He sold flowers. He had made 70 rupees by the evening. That would take care of the kid’s food for the day.

                         ****************************************************  
‘I need to get the seat’ he thought as the rope came loose a second time that day. But that would cost around 40 rupees and the kids will have to go hungry. ‘No!. food for the kids is the priority. I can do without the seat’.
                         ****************************************************
It was a long stretch of road- a shortcut through a desolate area. He did not usually take that route for there was a chance of encountering robbers. But he was late and the thought of his hungry children made him forget his own fears. The rope that held the seat in place came loose a third time and he fell on the road. Two orbs travelling at a high speed blinded him. His hands tried to shield his eyes but they could shield him from the fate that awaited him. The next moment the same orbs had run over him leaving a pool of blood and gore where he fell. The 70 rupees had fallen out of his pocket and lay soaked near his mangled remains.
                         *****************************************************
The hungry children cried themselves to sleep that night.

                         *****************************************************

Author's note: Yes, I know it's weird. I wrote it a long time back while travelling in 912. I don't  know what inspired me to write this. I don't know why I had not posted it and I don't even know why I've decided to post it now when I've ruined everything and reduced my life to a mess... no, mess is an understatement. Anyways, you get the picture.

P.S.: I wish I'd meet the same fate as the man in this story. 

Happy Birthday Kreation!!

A the title blatantly suggests, its Kreation's first anniversary today!
A year of blogging!
Memories!

It still seems the other day when I came across this guy's profile on orkut. He had included a link to his blog on his profile. I decided to give it a look... just out of curiosity. At that time, I wasn't even aware of the word 'blog'! I had to Google it to find out. Somehow, I liked this guy's blog... and decided to give it a shot myself. Initially, I made a blog on wordpress... and then.. forgot the password! (the quintessentially 'technically' challenged ME! What else could you expect?!)

Came across blogger.. dunno how.. liked it.. found it simple enough.. and that was when "kreation" came into being!

After a complete year of blogging, I had huge plans for my bloggie's bday. But as it turns out, somehow, i didn't even get the time to update it this morning. At 10 in the night.. here I am.. with so much to write and so little time!!

So, what I'm gonna do right now.. is.. well.. ill just include a few links here. Old posts.. either close to my heart.. or they got good reviews.. whatever might be the case..
For people who missed them somehow.. and for those who would like to re-read them.. you are welcome!

Awakening- My very first poem on this blog. In fact, initially I thought I'd call my blog "awakening".. but somehow.. it didn't fit.. and then... "kreation" happened!

The Beginning and End of it- This one's really close to my heart.. personal reasons! By the way, Thank you Nick. Remember.. you were the one who actually challenged me to write this?

The Daughter They Never Wanted- Inspired. Can't mention the source. But.. everything.. every single thing... that I mention in this.. is true!

आ रहा हूँ मौत मैं भी- My first Hindi poem on the blog.

The Kiss- :-P

What QMS taught me- A dedication to my dear school... and an insight into what it really stands for!

Dad- I wrote this one, composed it into a song.. and my dad still isn't aware that I wrote a song especially for him! :-(

Love- Defined - Feeling all lovey-dovey? check this out! no? still check it out.. this one got some really good reviews!

And more recently.. Incognito- Read it to know why it has been included here!

To all my readers, friends, foes, classmates, seniors, juniors (and what-nots!)... Thank you all for being here.. for your precious comments and valuable insights. I hope this bond strengthens further...

Incognito

At 8:20 a.m. on a Monday, the most hectic day in college, i find myself in 912 (which is thankfully DTC and not a blue line. Though it doesn't make much difference now.) sitting on the seat right before the conductor's. A genteel girl is standing nearby, definitely very uncomfortable (who wouldn't be if there were two pe****s rubbing against you ), yet bearing it all.

Her face speaks of an agony that stretches far beyond this bus-ride. A daughter's agony, whose father doesn't believe in her but has full-faith on her evidently useless brothers and everyday, she steps out the 'comfort' of the house into this big bad world which is chiefly plagued with predators; only to prove her father wrong. Only.

Her neatly manicured hands, nicely done hair and a carefully chosen pin-striped crisp cotton shirt with a vest screams that she is dying to be noticed- by you, by me, by her colleagues, her friends and the man of her dreams. Her dreamy eyes betray the solemn look on her face. They speak of dreams unheard of. Dreams of reaching such heights that its not expected, even atrocious, of her to even 'think' of them.

She doesn't tell you that she comes from a family which has difficulty in providing the basic comforts... no, not comforts... the basic needs; but the cuffs of her shirt, flared at ends and her jeans, torn... in a way that is certainly not 'fashionable' let you in on this secret.

Her dusky complexion, sharp features and a square jaw, possibly inherited from her father, exude certain exuberance, beauty. Beauty, that is not flamboyant or dumb but made even more charming by the asperities that she under-went.

She speaks... oh yes, she does!
She tries hard to sound disdainful and overbearing but there's an unmistakable hint of diffident modesty in her voice that she fails to conceal even after trying hard to sound reticent and withdrawn.

A blood red handkerchief in her hand speaks of a passion that she seems incapable of possessing, but nonetheless its an insight into the romantic that's buried deep inside her heart. She won't tell you how much she doted on a certain chocolate-boy- "OH! He's just okay."- but deep down she wishes to have a complete fairy-tale existence.

If there is one thing she is adept at, its ensconcing her wishes. Dreams are one thing, they wiggle out even if she doesn't want them too. There she has no control. But wishes- only she is aware of her wishes- no one else.
Not you.
Not me.

And she gets off.