A Little North Of Normality

Can you hear the time passing by, The chariot wheel's fleeting cry .... Raising the heart beats of empty space, Run over by the wheels, the stars weep, in disgrace... O friend, that fleeting time, has consumed me in its rhyme.... Has dragged me on the chariot seat.... On a journey unknown, courageously discreet... Far far away from you....A thousand deaths I overcame... A new beginning at its very peak...The chariot pace has blown away my past name.... It is a point of no return... If you still look far and try... You wont recognise me.... Dear friend... Goodbye! Sometime in leisure under the wind and sky... Sitting on the banks of memories , the night shall sigh... The day when the tears of blossoms will hurt the sky... In that moment try..... To find the remnants of my heart... And it will give you light, dreamy subtle and slight... But its not a dream , its true... Its my love, changeless, eternal for you .. On change I float and drift apart... On a jou...

Rupsha always had the final say. No matter what Sohail wrote, she had to edit. Just had to. Sohail was a brilliant author, he could paint with words. He could tickle, provoke,  incite and excite with his pen but he was too casual with construction and punctuation.. Rupsha knew that after was done with it,  it was a perfect piece. She knew Sohail wrote for her,  he always had, for the last 6 years she was all he wrote for... Sometimes explicitly, sometimes subtly but the objective was always a nod of approval from her. Sohail loved that look,  curly hair,  kohl laden eyes and that smile which meant the world to him.... Sohail wrote something today... Rupsha wasn't there to edit anymore... Rupsha saw it on Facebook.... She went through it... It had so many errors... Yet it struck the heart, just as it always did.... But she knew she couldn't correct him anymore,  the mistakes were too personal... She had lost the right... Sohail still wrote... Now for...

Radhika and Rishab knew nothing about love. Both carefree and simple, believed that love was for the losers. Career,  marks,  success is what you love,  how can you love a person? Love was just a four letter word for them. It meant nothing more than any other four letter word. It was when Radhika left for UK,  that Rishab realised the true meaning of love. He realised that it was real and after a point nothing else matters but the person who you want to be with,  nothing smells sweeter than the hair,  more refreshing than the touch,  more inspiring than those words... Time went on and with days Rishab and Radhika found success.... 18 years later... At Delhi Airport they met again,  Radhika was with a young girl,  she was still very beautiful,  at least that wouldn't change for Rishab ever,  but age did catch up. The pink had been replaced with a sombre green,  the kohl now a couple of shades lighter,  the shades ...

Derek never smoked again. That was one promise he had to keep. If there was anything Ellen hated more was a cigarette. It was for the first time that someone could convince him that smoking was bad. Actually to be very honest, he didn't care about the bad but Ellen s scowl was definitely not worth a thousand puffs of smoke. Its been years, he faintly remembers how Ellen looked like... Years of existence, struggle, glory, joy and above all Ann had made him forget the bitterness of the parting. It took him a couple of years, but eventually he realised that not all was lost,  in fact nothing was. Derek is a grandfather now. His grandson graduated last month. He was a man who had played his part, all he wanted in life was a happy and peaceful death.. Meanwhile Ellen in another part of the world had also crossed the barrier of grandmotherhood. Her grandson was still in high school. Ellen s daughter , April, had a huge business to handle. Her fathers business empire was growing...

Its been rather boring, the days are coming and going by. The world has been a safer place, a nicer place, a place where the path is straight, thats all we hope for, right?Ummm! The position am in at this point of time, I feel the journey is getting too monotonous, the challenges are too vague, the people around me , too predictable, too familiar.Am I living my dream, am I doing things I wanted to, am I doing things at all, very philosophical are these questions, yet I seek the answers. Low, disturbed, deep down, yet apparently perfect and happy. I am confused about what I really feel. I feel the need to express, to say so much, but I do not have listeners, I feel that those who cared, those who listened, have lost interest. The performance is no longer that grand, the expressions , no longer that clear and provoking....  Ambition is a good thing, the popular belief.. The human emotion, which pushes it, pulls it through, which instills a ruthlessness , necessary for succes...

Amidst the weirdest excuses one can give himself , melancholy is the lamest one....  The life as I know it, is not the one where utopian ideas, reign supreme, but rather something where practicality leads to a conscious utopia. Friends and family are always there, they are comforting but in the end the journey happens alone, the consequences are faced by just one, the glory is seldom shared.  Friendship is the essence of life and I know and believe that it is perhaps one the best gifts life gives to its performers , but then again the performance comes at a price. The definitions of friendship is rather vague, the extremities and generalization of such a definition can be misleading at times however , hope burns bright in the human breast.  I have made a thousand promises, I have kept many, but that might never be enough. Every person you trust and love are subjective, every man and woman who care for you are also subjective and relative, so what is the whole point...

This is a story of a man and woman, no, it's no longer obvious these days. The story is real , and the parts I do not remember I will make up. Okay, please be hush about the fact that, I didint really take any permission before I planning to write this story. Anyway , hoping that they won mind, let me proceed. This was a boy, an Indian of course, I said it's real in the beginning and he was kind of desperate. I can't exactly elaborate on the desperation on facebook, but trust me when I say he was. He used to be a good boy, now if that sounds contradictory , with desperate, then I would be like hey, look at is grades, so yeah good grades made him a good boy. I diidn't like him much , he was not my type, way out of my league, but ya he was kind of fond of me, no not that kind , normal "fond" ! Okay, let's make this very clear at this very point , that I am not writing this, in his fond memories or something, you will soon realise why, and to be very...