A Girl Who Reads

Time and time again, I’ve seen this piece circulating on social media and other darker corners of the internet. I’ve also seen it popping up frequently with different author credits. Well, regardless of who’s written it, the fact that this bit of prose is born out of genuine sincerity remains unquestioned.

96334879500521023_bssucv2z_c2A girl who reads always has something special about her. It’s quite hard to put a finger on that something, but yeah, there’s definitely something special there. Here are a couple of lines which were written as an attempt to gather these thoughts and put them in one poetic form. Hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. 🙂

A Girl Who Reads

Beauty is rare, but there’s something rarer to find,
There’s something deeper within, that stokes the mind.
There’s a girl who has that something, something that cannot be defined,
She’s the girl who reads, and she is one of a kind.

Date a girl who reads, cause like a diamond she shines,
Date a girl who reads, she’s innocent and naughty at the same time,
Date a girl who reads, cause she has strong opinions and thoughts,
from the one’s who won’t read and the one’s who do not.

Like a girl who reads, she accepts and understands change,
Like a girl who reads, she’s open to things, normal and strange,
Like a girl who reads, she has a kind heart and a considerate mind,
Her words are deep, and her thoughts are like sunshine.

Love a girl who reads, cuz she simply understands,
Love a girl who reads, just like the sun loves the sand.
Love a girl who reads, cuz she’s leagues and fathoms apart,
from the one’s who won’t read and the one’s who do not.

She’ll paint your life with colour, she’ll fill your world with light,
She’ll sparkle with enthusiasm, even in the darkest of nights,
She’s the girl who reads, and she’ll make a mark on your mind,
She’s the girl who reads, and she is one of a kind.

The Open Chakra

This is a horror short story I had written for Brev Spread magazine. You should check it out if you’re into really unique content. Oh, and read this one with the lights out for maximum effect!

The Open Chakra

Anxiety swelled in Alok’s chest as he noticed another speed bump in the distance. He held his crotch and waited in anticipation, contemplating the moment when he had to lift his pelvis up for relief. The rickety rickshaw he was in, ploughed its way through a thick curtain of rain. As he saw the speed bump nearing, he got up just in time to avoid undesired pressure on his bladder. He had been looking for a place to urinate for the past hour, but the heavy rains made it difficult to get out of the rickshaw. Alok was on his way to his friend Sandeep’s house for a night of drinking and fun. He had been keeping a watch on speed bumps to avoid involuntary urination, but he couldn’t do it anymore. He tapped the rickshaw driver’s shoulder lightly with his index finger.

‘Can you please stop by the side of the road? I really need to pee.’

The driver didn’t answer at first. Just as Alok reached out to call him again, the driver turned a little.

‘Can you hold it in, Sir? This is not a good place to pee.’

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Who Am I?


I am MumbaiFrom colonial history to pointless mass murder; from cultural secularism to religious feuds; from luck injected success stories to unknown tragedies that have escaped into dark forgetfulness. I have seen it all. I have always been there. I have seen majestic glass buildings of the rich shadowing and contrasting the ‘dirt and grit’ huts of the unfortunate. I have seen the brave and lucky soar from the oblivion of uncertainty to the comfort of luxury. I am inspiration. I’ve inspired the cult and the commercial, the creative and the practical. I am a celluloid star with enough tributes films to last for a lifetime and more. I am influence. They say, if you want to make a living, I’m the one you should meet. I am a secret keeper; charming and wise on the outside, revealing the ugly happenings of my underbelly to a strong few. I am safety. I protect my weak, but sometimes I fail. But then, even God himself cannot protect every soul he has under his watch. I have nerves of steel; they’re called the locals. When I say people get on my nerves, they literally do. My people use it to commute, like bacteria commuting in a human body. But what was once meant to be a logistic lifeline is now just a system overburdened with responsibility.  I have seen my people turning me from what I was to what I never wanted to be. I am dying, but I’m immortal. I am tired, but I have grown wise. I have stood the test of time. I live through my people. I am second to none. I … am … Mumbai.

The Next Village

It was a cold and moonless night. A light breeze carried the cold straight to your bones. I was on my way home from the district market, where I had managed to make a small fortune in exchange for my skills in pottery. Darkness had swallowed me and a longing to see my family again clawed at me. Being alone on a forest trail in the dead of night isn’t the best situation to be in, but as fate would have it, I chose to walk home that night. Darkness often gives us a feeling that we’re being followed. But it was not just a feeling this night. I heard them, the heavy shuffling footsteps, and whipped around, praying. It was an old lady; withered and ancient. She reached out to me; a sign to wait for her. “Will you accompany me to the next village, son?” A part of me wanted to refuse, partly in fear of consequences that might pursue, but turning my back on her wasn’t the best choice either. I agreed and we strode together, side by side.

She was amazingly fast for someone her age, strong even. My mind was a plethora of entangled thoughts, some of which were desperate courses of action and fear of what would happen next. A couple of things caught my eye; her bushy white eyebrows, her red sari which was torn in places, black bands on her ankles and wrists, abnormally large grey eyes and the fact that she walked bare feet. “I’ll be taking the left ahead. I have to visit someone in the neighboring village first.” I blurted out, overwhelmed by fear. She turned slowly and looked at me without a word, her large grey eyes penetrating me. I felt a shudder. Then she nodded and the silence resumed.

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The Butterfly Effect

Round 4: Me VS my rusty brain.

It’s been almost a year since I put up a post on this blog. I have always been a reluctant blogger. I hope this one will be a good comeback post for me. 😛 This write up is about an interesting and thought provoking concept.  As always, I’m open to comments and suggestions. Happy Reading!

Here’s a topic that has managed to intrigue me for a very long time. This concept, an effect rather, has long been explained in books and movies. It is widely known as “The Butterfly Effect” and it explains how seemingly unrelated things are actually related in the universe.  In essence, when a proverbial butterfly flaps its beautiful wings on one continent, a terrible hurricane may result on another. Let me explain. When a butterfly flaps its wings, it causes tiny changes in the atmosphere. This tiny change has a cascading effect on a series of events which lead to a much larger phenomenon such as a hurricane or a tornado. In the scientific world, The Butterfly Effect is explained as ‘Sensitive dependency on initial situations.’ A simpler way to describe it would be ‘Change one thing, change everything.’

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The Last Ride

Round 3 – Me vs My rusty brain

Howdy. Just thought I’d try a hand at writing a spooky short story.  Comments and criticism are very much welcome. This ones called “The Last Ride.” Hope you like it. 😀

 The Last Ride

  The crackle of frying eggs woke Ramesh from his reverie. He was waiting around to grab a midnight snack at a local snack stall. It was rush hour as all night workers dropped in for a midnight snack at such stalls all across the country. The wait had made him slip off into the depths of his mind. He was thinking about life in general.

Ramesh was an auto rickshaw driver and like most lower class people in India, was in a financial crunch. He had four mouths to feed – three kids and a wife. All his children went to school and their fees were giving him a hard time. He could really do with some extra cash. At this point in thought, his platter of fried eggs and buttered bread arrived and he dug into it. He was ravenously hungry. He relished his meal and just as he finished eating, he raised his eyes to see an old man standing in front of him. He was just standing there. For how long, Ramesh didn’t know.

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