Archive for August, 2013

Eternity Behind The Bars

Posted: August 31, 2013 by CampusWriting in Writes...
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Some stories begin with a character – some with a idea, or a theme. His story began with a dish behind his bars; a white turned yellowish image of a concrete
dish. Yellowish-because of the staled food spoiled day by day in the same dish. It was a massive monolith as compared to normal dishes, some 0.5 – 1.0 ft. in diameter – it was like a giant dish-maybe it was too generous for one person and so I was welcomed in the prison, or rather thrown in the prison with Yogen. 

Yogen ,a 65 aged man with his zebra striped jail suit, sitting at the corner of the cell waved a hi with a plastic-plastered smile, more satisfactorily because at least he had someone with whom he could share the disgustion of the food given in the jail.

“Hello, main Bhucchan,ji aap?”,I introduced myself.
“Main Yogen”,he said.
“Toh bhaiyya, let’s hear your story. You murdered-shurdered anyone,ha?”,I asked him in utter curiosity, expecting him spill the beans as I parked my ass on the floor.

Oh well, “Shut uppp!” with probably a frequency of 560 hertz was his instant reflex.
“I have not murdered anyone, I AM NOT A SINNER! I was there with him, I was present, I was left with no choice, I couldn’t stop her too…I had to do this..I AM NOT A SINNER!”
I do not know why he started blabbering like this, but it did make the whole atmosphere stupefying for a minute. In no time the watchmen came to handle the panic situation, held him hard, and put a medicine in his mouth. At that moment, I couldn’t help my flabbergasted look on Yogen Ji and those two watchmen, and the whole pity situation for I had the least idea of what was happening!

Later I was acknowledged about Yogendra Kumar, his life, his family, HIS STORY.
Though those watchmen narrated the juiciest part of his story in a jiffy, I came to know things about Yogen Ji, that I needed to take care of. Yogen Ji was in a subnormal state from three months after he was in prison. Parting away from his family for the past 5 years, embodied without any concrete physical support(until I was thrown in his cell room), a strong sense of guilt, remorse and culpability for some known and unknown reasons, and his troublesome age, all made debut to his subnormality. 

Days passed by, but it least bothered me whether I was bailed out or I stayed jailed. Atleast,I never minded free food however unpalatable it might be. My house was anyway a shack. Maa and Bau walked hand in hand together to experience their dynamic ‘afterlife’ while I was left in that dirty shantytown,money-less and orphaned. 
Future wasn’t a straight road for me, it was a straight rod. I wanted to try the plains because anyway the mountains was out of my league, and hence the transition. I chose theft as a profession without any regrets, until this man(Yogen Ji) tried the brain-wash sessions. His stories somehow thrilled me every time I heard those. I mean, I obviously had little concept about the whole beta-let-me-tell-you-the-grandma-tales stuff, but yes, whatever he said touched me. One day, while eating stale khicdi,

“Beta, you know I keep telling you I am not a sinner. Its true son, I have not murdered anyone. I have…or rather had a happy family, nothing to worry about. But then one day..”

I had to stop him from over-anxiety and do as I was directed. 
“It’s okay Yogen ji. I know you did nothing wrong. Please eat the food. The khicdi tastes good today”, I lied. It tasted horrible.

After a while,
“Soooo,what exactly happened that day?” Ok,so my nature is to blame. I couldn’t resist.

And thus began the story of the old man. I always knew my life was no less than famines in barren land, and the little crops that would germinate in that effete land, was only because of my illegal means of earning. Yogen Ji had had everything-a small, happy family, a modest income that would run his family, and a decent house until that day in the evening….

“2nd of February,2008. It was a Saturday, the second day of the month and I just got paid. Since it was time for me to pay the house rent to Maalik Sahab,I handed over the rent to my daughter,Gunjan. Gunjan beti never cooled her heels her forthcoming life to be of such misfortune and tragic.

“Saab ji,fabraary(February) mahine ke ghar ka kiraya”, Gunjan said with the traditional posture of the typical girls in India, head down!

“Arey Gunjan, you have come! Come here young girl and sit with me. Arey kiraya-wiraya will happen later. Let’s sit here.” With that,the landlord touched Gunjan’s shoulder and forcefully held her tight.

Gunjan sensed the characterless attitude in him and tried to flee home as soon as possible. She kept the money on the table and tried to exit from the main door when she was caught in the hands of the ruthless landlord. Gunjan was frightened out of the daylights. She tried to fight, fight for her self-respect, dignity but her body abandoned. For once and for all, she felt that all she was, was a puppet to the moneyed, to the well heeled, wrapped with guilt, martyrdom and nasty torment from the money-superiored.
She no longer visualized herself as the girl who loved to wear that blue-stoned bindi that she recently had bought from the Chowk market and jump like a new bride, looking herself in the mirror, she felt debased. She felt prostitutory. 

She could have back downed immediately and walk home as if nothing happened. The landlord got his pleasure, and my daughter would have been bribed. But for her, this was the end of the earth. Either she puts an end to her life, or she dooms the ruthless monster forever and dug his nasty torture along with him in his grave. 
Meanwhile, I was heavily panicked. 

‘She shouldn’t take much time in Sahab ji’s house. It’s late. Maybe I should go to the landlord’s house and bring her home’.

‘Sita,I am leaving for the landlord’s house. Dinner ready rakhna!’

By the time I reached his house,it was too late. I saw my daughter whom I still dream of her playing ‘ghar-ghar’ was wrapped in a bedsheet,crying and lying on the floor. Beside her was my daughter’s culprit, flooded in blood. Yes, he was dead. My daughter having no options left anyway, grabbed a giant knife from the dining table and inserted in his chest. She was a murderer, but I couldn’t destroy her life anymore. She was young but destroyed. Facing the consequences of murdering someone would make her nothing but a lifeless soul. I was old, lived my life with my family and was left with nothing but do something for my family.
I gave a statement to the police that for defence of my daughter and leaving with no choice to save her, I had to kill him. I haven’t seen my family for years. I wish I never had asked bitia to give the rent that day…” 

With that, he ended his story weeping blatantly. I ended up looking at Yogen ji,with tears in my eyes. By no means, I found a way to console him. I was dumfounded. I put him to sleep and had just one thought in my mind-‘I have to get him out of the jail, by any means’.

I was released from the jail in a week. The very thought of leaving a guardian, Yogen Ji was disagreeable. . Anyways,I came to visit him every day and had long hours to chat like our old times together. 

I joined a tea stall. Oh yes, I was actually starting to earn by legal means. Although the touch-screen mobile phone that I stole from the thakurain last time made my pyjama pockets balloon like a big cotton ball, but this earning was peaceful. Mountains isn’t that bad,you see. You get fresh air too.

Concurrently, I also consulted Yogen ji’s lawyer too and asked him to do his best in bailing him out of the jail.

“On account of Yogendra Kumar’s mental illness and wellness in behaviour and work records in the jail, he is free from all the charges.”
The court is adjourned.”

I was unable to portray my happiness at that very scene. I looked at Yogen Ji, he wept. He had nothing to say. He just tried to walk away, out of the court, out of the jail and meet his family, meet his daughter. I walked him out of the court, and hugged him like I was the happiest person on earth. He said nothing. He just caressed my hair and left. 

The next morning, I left early to meet Yogen Ji. Be it as a visitor to meet prisoners, or myself as a prisoner, I was a bonafide visitor. It was his last day in the black hole. He would have been freed today. No longer sitting in the solitude, and no stressing about about his family. He would soon be there with bells on with his daughter and spend the rest of his life with his dear ones in no time. I brought his favourite dish,rajma chawal today.

I have never seen him so cheerful. His face conveyed the expression of excitement and happiness. He constantly kept saying,’Sita,Gunjan…I’l meet them soon..very soon.’

I tried to talk to him,but he would not pay attention to what I said. At some point of time, he was blabbering. I saw dozens of pill spilled over the floor. Must be his sleeping pill. Maybe he had an overdose of it. Never mind, he was going to his house after half a decade, that’s what counted.

I fed him the rajma chawal, made him sign the legal documents and within thirty minutes,
he was out of the jail. He never felt happier, because all he chanted was his wife’s and daughter’s name. 

We went to the bus station.

“Bhaiyaa,Chapragunj ke bus ka ek ticket dena”

“Yeh lijiye saab”

“Kitne hue?”

“Ji 50 rupay”

I handed over the money to the person in the counter,and bought a seat in the bus. Yogen ji sat there and remained surprisingly silent.

“Thik se rahiega Yogen ji,aur hume yaad kijiyega. Ji chalta hoon”,I was crying.

“Oye sun.” 

“Haan ji,boliye”

” Rajma Chawal bahut changa banaya tha tune! Apna khayal rakhna”

I began crying to the blues. I never imagined my life after my life as a prisoner without my inspiration, without his guidance. He held my hand and we bid goodbye with a smile. 
As the bus started its way to Chapragunj, I again heard him chanting,’Sita, Gunjan…I am coming’ and closed his eyes to dream of his happy life.

He closed his eyes forever.
He dreamt of eternity,not of his happy life. 
He was lifeless. More than his family,
The Almighty called for him. 
As they say,

“The deeper the grief, the closer is God.
The better the person, the closer is God.”

As for the massive monolith dish, me and Yogen ji shared,
maybe it was waiting for an another story inside the cage, behind the bars.

Oliva Das

KIIT University

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Intern days

Posted: August 30, 2013 by CampusWriting in Writes...
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Hello folks! Here i am all set to share my internship experience. I believe i got a once in a lifetime opportunity to intern in IIT guwahati last summer. Just after the month long end semester exams ended, i was all set for my internship. Being a day scholar in my college, it was for the first time i was moving to the hostel with two of my friends. We were excited and skeptical at the same time. After shifting to the hostel, we started our project from the very next day.The professor who was our guide had to leave for a conference in IIT bombay, so he assigned us the work that we had to do in our project. We worked under one of Sir’s PhD students. We were allotted computers in the laboratory where we mostly worked.It was in this lab where we did all our work. We used to get assignments and every time we simulated an assigned circuit, we got a new one. Trust me it was very interesting! The joy that one gets after the long tried and discuss ed circuit simulates perfectly is just awesome. Writing the codes, fixing the errors, obtaining a perfectly simulated circuit was the sequence that repeated itself with every new program. It felt as if i was really enjoying my work. Every time we got stuck somewhere in our work, bhaiya(phd student) was always there for the help. His patience was incredible! This is all about the day time. Evenings were another fun part. We took long walks around the beautiful and serene campus, ate good food, chatted about almost anything that hit our eyes,laughed a lot and were always there for each other. In the night we used to try to finish off any assignments given to us and if we didn’t have any, we watched movies. Everyday just got better than the previous one. It was for the first time, i was learning some real good stuff(my project), enjoying and loving everything that happened to me at the same time. These were some of the best days of my life! For all those who are yet to intern and aspire for it, wish u all the best!!

Laxmi Chachan

Assam Engineering College

THIS IS THE WAY THE WORLD ENDS…

Posted: August 29, 2013 by CampusWriting in Writes...
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This is the way the world ends,
Not with a bang, but a whimper.
And I, still Ice cold on that bench, STILL.
Coz’ you said “Take care. Be composed and still.”;
And I took it literally!
(Having defined my present, I revert to my flashback. Ah! That’s all I have.)
I weaved the world,
Just You and Me.
I, You and Us,
The setup was tiny.
You wore a princess crown,
And I looked a mere pauper.
The mountains, enveloped with snow,
Resolute in love, like me.
A long road there,
It led us nowhere.
It was just meant to walk.
The world is round; I weaved.
Her hand in mine is all I need.
The pine trees nearby, 
Looked downright focussed, 
I found it same, 
at a single look in her eyes.
The oceans roared,
As I told her loud,
“I LOVE YOU”..
And then the tides went low,
Synchronised with her blush.
Till one fine day, came a king.
The Golden clothes, crown alike.
He looked strong, and had an army new,
I was Helpless! Dumbstruck! Frenzied!
I fought. I tried. I cried.
He took my princess away forcibly.
“No. She’s mine, and will forever be.
Take her, Satan, you won’t get her love,
Coz’ her heart is with me.”
I couldn’t meet her eyes,
As my worthlessness liquefied in her eyes.
“I am ashamed.
I couldn’t save you.
I couldn’t save you.”
Satan took flight. His army left.
And I took a last…last glimpse.
“Take care. Be composed and still.”
Were her last dejected words.
She cried for a minute or few.
Till Satan showed her some things new.
Necklaces, earrings and jewellery bright,
The kind only royals knew.
The tears were gone, 
Aspirations clouded her eyes.
She admired the materials acquired,
As he webbed her in his talks,
She indeed Blushed, Smiled, Laughed.

Still in view, she was!
Ice cold! I felt light.
No, not in mood. In weight.

Was THAT a bigger assault,
or THIS??
How could she?
What about me?
“It wasn’t a life of dreams,
Rather a dream of life”
I heard a voice from top whisper.
“This is the way the world ends,
Not with a bang, 
but a whimper.”
And I, 
still Ice cold on that bench, STILL.

Ayush Srivastava

BIT Mesra

sri.ayush92@gmail.com

Solitude

Posted: August 25, 2013 by CampusWriting in Writes...
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A winter morning..An empty room..  silence all around. Not a sound to be heard, not a soul to be seen. Yes, there’s light.. but the tube light cannot differentiate between the sunshine and moonlight, can it? And in that silent room, it’s just me and my loneliness.

The silence of things scare me. I want somebody to make some noise.. and make me feel a little alive. I want the birds to chirp or some auto to hoot or someone to wake up and talk. My small breaths reverberate themselves and I don’t like this sound.  A part of me tells me to take a blanket and drift off to that land I always go to.. that land where I AM HAPPY.

But then as soon as I shut my eyes, that image of my mother standing in front of the Railway Station waving at me zooms before my eyes.. little moments of mischief and playfulness that have made my brother laugh to his soul’s content… the lines on my father’s forehead that seem to increase every time I see him.. with so much before my eyes, sleep is far at bay. All I do is sit and cry.

There is no shoulder I can lean on, so I lean on the chair and pretend He’s holding me. There’s no one to pacify me, so I console myself with an Imaginary-He’s hand on my shoulder, supporting me. I don’t have his shirt to dry my tears, so my handkerchief becomes his shirt for the moment.

And then something inside snaps and brings me to reality. I open my eyes to that empty room.. the silence.. the artificial light. I walk to the mirror. The reflection shows a girl with messed up hair, red and puffy eyes and stains of dried tears on the cheeks. I hate what I see. So I come back and sit on the bed.. cold, sad and lonely. I rest my head on the edge of the chair.. give way to some more tears and keep sitting like that till the sorrow lulls me to sleep.

Nayanika Chatterjee

Mahangai Par Samvad

Posted: August 24, 2013 by CampusWriting in Writes...
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Aaj Phir Garaj Garaj Kar Barse Neta 
Sansad Se Ye Byan Aaya Hain 
Matriji, 
Dal Ka Nahi, 
Vayakti Ka Mulya Ghataya Hain…

Phir Pucha Maine,
Mahangai Ko Kyu Bhadhaya Hain ? 
Ham Garib, Behal, Kangal Ho Rain Bitae
Yadi Sach,
“Mahangai Dayan Khae Jaat Hain”
To Phir Kyu Khayal Aisa Aya Hain?

Matri Bole,
Hamne Khub Kamaya Hain
Parwah Nahi Hame Auro Ki 
Mahangai Ko Hi To Badhaya Hain
To Tumhara Kya Churaya Hain?

Tab Main Bola, 
Nahi Dekha Kyu Hamari Aur?
Kya Garib Ke Bachhe Ko Jine Ka Adhikar Nhin?
Haa, Tumne Danav Saa Bhes Rachaya Hain
Aur Aam Insaan Ko Fasaya Hain…

[ANURODH]
Tum Ho Vidhata, Bandhu- Sakha Mere,
Ishwar Ke Saman Tumhe Bataya Hain
Chod Bhrastachar, Sabhay Rastara Ka Nirman Kar
Kam Kar Mahangai, Karta Hu Araj Aaj Main
Din Hin Lachar Khada Main
Tumne Khub Sataya Hain
Tumne Khub Sataya Hain…

Mantri Bole,
Sabhayata To Hamare Khun Main Nahi
Tabhi To Hame Neta Banaya Hain
Jhuth Bolkar Lutkar
Hamne Raz Jamaya Hain
Hamne Raz Jamaya Hain…

Deta Hoon Ashvasan Main,Badhegi Aur Mahangai
Farz Nibha Raha Hoon Neta Ka Main
Akhir Tumne Hame Jo Apnaya Hain
Akhir Tumne Hame Jo ApnayaHain…

Sun Baat Ye Kavi Ne Samjhaya Hain
Aadambar Netao Ne Ab Bahut Rachaya Hain
Krishna Ke Chehre Main Kans Saa Charitra Dhikhaya Hain
Aur Paapi Kans Ne To Desh Ko Bikvaya Hain…

Tum Ho Bharat Ka Bhavishya Sambhal Desh Ki Bagdor 
Samjhau Main Tarun Ko Ab,Mar Bhaga Gaddaro Ko…
Kyuki,
Badnam Kiya Namak Desh Ka 
Vikas Nhi Jebo Ko Bharvaya Hain
Vikas Nhi Jebo Ko Bharvaya Hain…

Prateeti Rawal

Sir Padampat Singhaniya University

prateetirawal@gmail.com

A Strange Story

Posted: August 23, 2013 by CampusWriting in Writes...
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“Babu ,the light went off again. Have you repaired the old switch or is it a normal power cut…?”,my mother shrieked . Though her voice was audible enough for me to reply back, still i didn’t ,as i was busy looking outside…trying to capture the hustle and bustle of the South Calcutta road that the drizzling rain has caused. I decided to take a walk down the park lane ,the road behind our three- storeyed home ,after being arrested for nearly three days …sitting in the same room, playing video games and sometimes screaming out loudly in my sleep…”I didn’t do it…it was not my intension ,i was forced…forgive me please…”, and sometimes i even blanked out completely while screaming and my parents had to often run to hospital to call the doctor .The psychiatrist informed my parents that i was hallucinating things…i imagine incidents that doesn’t occur in reality. Though my father agreed with the do ctor , my mother did not comply because she didn’t believe that i was mad and was against the decision to send me to the mental asylum.

As i was walking down the quiet lane, i heard someone crying. Following the sound, i saw a little boy crying profusely on the other side of the road. Everyone is passing by him, not caring who he is and what he is doing out here in the rain all by himself. I can tell by looking at him that he is either lost or his parents have left him.”What happened ..why are you crying? Are you lost…?”,i said. “Tell me…i will help you.” Hearing my voice he lifted his face and i saw his red eyes ,a pinch of fine brown colour hidden underneath, all wet. He stared at me as if he was trying to tell me something…some request perhaps .

I couldn’t pry my eyes away from his flattened black hair and his elongated chin. Looking intently i realized it was him…,i shouted…”Help me somebody, he is going to kill me…”,but nobody seemed to listen . Suddenly, there was nothing behind him…no road ,no people, nothing behind him. It was clear, white space, silent except for the ringing in my ears. I was screaming for help on top of my voice, “Please don’t kill me…believe me it wasn’t me…i didn’t do it intentionally, i didn’t kill you …believe me..”. He didn’t seem to listen and approached towards me with slow foot steps. He did not glare at me ,or smile ,or laugh ,or cry…he was watching me ,his gaze wavering ever so slightly that it gave me chills. 

As he approached closer towards me i walked backwards. Suddenly, he vanished in the air, as if he was just a shadow…i searched for him shouting…”what aren’t you going to kill me? are you afraid?…but i am not, because i didn’t kill you..”. As i turned back, i saw a speeding car approaching towards me…i was standing numb. I closed my eyes…and the next moment i heard people saying, “kya huya he bhai…?”, “arre isse gari ne thodk diya…dekho toh saas bhi le pa raha he kya? mar gaya kya? take him to hospital…”.Opening my eyes i saw myself lying on the road in a pool of blood…red everywhere, people gathering around me….and among them i saw him, looking at me with his normal light blue eyes ,wide ,staring at me…as if he was feeling guilty for his deed. As he walked away from the crowd, with a drop of tear at the corner of his eye, i breathed my last breath.

Soumyadeep Sengupta

Kalinga Institute of Industrial Technology

soumyadeeps2@gmail.com

Phir Se Udd Chala Mein !!!

Posted: August 22, 2013 by CampusWriting in Writes...
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Ek khule maidan mein
Aasmaaa ki chaoo mein lipat kar
Behaktee hue mausam ki aahat mein
Ud chal mein ud chala mein

Baarish ki haseen mehakte pal mein
Durr khile baadlon mein 
Suraj ki kiran ko lapatee hue
Ud chala mein ud chala mein

Uss chupee hui boondh ki kashish mein
Uss chupee hui mehak ki soch mein
Uss lehrate hui haseen ke tasawar mein
Ud chala mein ud chala mein

Lehrate nayan ki ghustakhiyon mein
Ek ajeeb tanhai ki ghoonj mein
Kuch kehne laga aasman ki chao se
Ud chala mein ud chala mein

Gulistan ki mehak mein umda hua
Aarmanon ke chupee alfazon mein lipta hua
Khilte hue us ghulistan ki khushi mein
Ud chala mein ud chala mein

Simti hui us suraj ki haseen kiran mein
Zameen pe chupe hue uss paigam mein
Baadalon kii us khwaish mein
Ud chala mein ud chala mein

Pattiyoon ki bhoondh par lehratee hue khushi mein
Us ghanee pedh ki daliyon pe
Bikhri hue har dali ki khushi mein
Har patti ki uss muskurahat mein
Ud chala mein ud chala mein…

Rahul Bhat

K.J Somaiya College Of Enginering

Intimacy

Posted: August 21, 2013 by Zoyeb in Writes...
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The promise of love
The plethora of love
Sempiternal love
Quintessential love
Two fortunate lovers
The moiety of love
A svelte beauty
A courageous lad
An exquisite bond
Each others’ talisman
.
The ones for each other
An eternal wait
The spirit of freedom
Display of affection
Of tenderness and care
Of play of sentiments
And sharing of pleasures
A congenial atmosphere
The caresses, the stares, the scent
The 
relieving, refreshing, rejuvenating touch
.
A conspicuous romance
Of crumbling into the arms
The warm embrace, a heavenly abode
The bonding
 amidst angels
The uniting of souls
The exuberance
Of melodies and symphonies
The enchanted swaying
The graceful moves

An ethereal dance
.
The mellifluous words
A resounding calm
a ringing peace

The chime, the rhythm, the hymn
The aura of each others’ presence
The charismatic personas
In the brush of  lips
As romantic as petrichor
Of surpassing many a horizons
Of feeling the moistness
A holy pretence

tumblr_lux0mnqzws1qfi4j1o1_1280


An intense shiver
Soul-stirring
The power of intimacy

The obsessions, the confessions
Of priorities, of skeptical swears
The intensity of closeness
A surreal proximity
Of hugs and kisses and of holding hands
Driven by lust
The frailty of lust
.
Surreptitious seduction
The passion, the myths

The desire, the wants
The pleasure of insanity
A bare truth, a wrong act
Of expectations and need
The pain of loss
Of not getting the desired
Of farewells and embraces
Of missing and letting go
.
Of resisting the resurgent
Of memories and that what’s forgotten
A threatening nightmare
The restless times
The doomed perceptions
A conspiring universe
Of being in a better state
Of own deterioration
Of self-destruction
Of refraining oneself
.
The fear, the devastation
A withered touch
, an illusion
An accommodating belief
Of bending the truth
Of living a lie
Craving following a betrayal
The desperation
The incredible missing
Of many break downs
And of rebuilding oneself
.
Strengthened as one
Hand-in-hand
Weakened as separate
Love hurts, period
Of absorbing the worst
Of radiating the best
Of rejoicing and praying
Pity for the times spent alone
Of silent sufferings
And quietly bearing
.
In the joy of redemption
Of casting away the grief
And forgetting the mourning
Of healing and soothing
And of an innocent hope
Of holding the faith
Of gathering the dispersed
A new lilt in the conversation
The unbreakable threads of love
A never-ending tale of love. . .

Zoyeb

Blue devils

Posted: August 9, 2013 by CampusWriting in Writes...
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Sometimes I just feel that my birth was an accident. I wasn’t supposed to be born at all. No purpose, no interests, no aim. By the age 19, millions of people have already achieved great things in life, or at least have a plan in mind to achieve great things. While I, on the other hand, still wait for a miracle to happen, when I would finally realize what I want from life and work with full passion towards achieving it. 

This feeling, that you won’t be able to make anything out of your life, is the worst anyone could ever feel in a lifetime. “Your parents would be ashamed”, makes you feel even more of a loser.

Gokarna, a small beach village in Karnataka, is known for its profound beauty and the hundreds of hipsters that it attracts. I thought I could use a vacation for this once and introspect. I did go to Gokarna with two of my friends and one of those nights, when my friends were high, I thought about life. 

But all I could conclude was that, till date I haven’t achieved anything that I could be proud of or my parents could be (of me). I felt hopeless and worthless. I thought about my dreams, and all I saw was a dark blur of mist.

Sitting under the full moon in the cold sand, I looked at the sea meeting the sky in a hard line. My inner demons were impossible to beat and I thought maybe this was the end for me. Maybe “nothing” is what my life, exactly is. The waves looked so beautiful at that moment, it felt like I needed to be a part of it. Death seemed like a better life. I wanted to die. It seemed like the right thing to do. Spare everyone the burden and do myself a favor. 

Then I thought, if I were gone, would it matter to anyone? Would it matter at all? Yes, said something in some corner of my heart. My family. They would be heartbroken, and even more, they would be left stranded. And I couldn’t do this to them, because I know how “stranded” feels exactly. It would be selfish of me to inflict such pain upon them when they have given me everything I could possibly ask for. 

And suddenly, even though death was tempting, it wasn’t an option anymore. I could, of all things, not do “this” to my family. So I kissed the waves goodbye and returned the next day. 

I still feel hopeless most of the time, I still run away from my problems because I am just too scared to face them. But I know that my family will be with me all along, and I have to be there for them no matter what. This is the only thing which keeps me going, till I realize what I really want from life. And when I finally do realize, I want to give them the world and all the happiness in it.

Anwesha Sarma

Stranger

Posted: August 8, 2013 by CampusWriting in Writes...
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We walk side by side,
Lost in our own thoughts,
Lost in our different worlds,
Trying to find the next foothold.

We wait for the same bus-ride,
Thinking of everyday fights,
Thinking of unopened folds,
Trying to cross the threshold.

We share a sudden glance, wide,
As the tires screech their rights,
As the moment, for a second, holds,
Trying to look calm and bold.

We take our silent leaves, aside,
Hoping to make an impression, for nights,
Hoping to wait till the future unfolds,
Trying to frame that one bus-stand, in gold.

We were two strangers from the world, wide,
Wasted in our present and our fights,
Wasted in screams, laughs, slaps and scolds,
Trying to forget each other, unasked, untold.

Oly Chatterjee

University of Alberta