Write and Wrong

The riot of words was unstoppable;

He composed feverishly through night and day.

Liberated from the confines of black and white

Each character was captured in hues of grey.

Seasoned with a dash of punctuation

Each passage was a reader’s delight;

With every stroke of the pen in his notebook

A literary masterpiece was coming into sight.

He was a stranger to this feeling of freedom

For he knew not that this is where he belonged;

Hemmed in by morality, cloaked in a social avatar,

He was a writer whose conscience had been wronged.

There was a boy

I had made up my mind. 

But the body language gave it away.

I put up a brave face.

Yet my teary eyes told a different tale.

I maintained a dignified silence.

Though my heart was screaming in agony

I failed to hide my emotions;

It had become an open secret now.

Someone killed my inner child today,

And the untamed beast lived another day.

But why?

It remains a hotly debated topic among them. Was it an act of foolishness or valor? Is there any truth in all the silly rumors? The phenomenon was unprecedented. She was truly a pioneer. Humans think it is just a joke, but birds at the farm still wonder – why did the chicken cross the road?

Appears on the blog 55WordStory on the theme Perplexed

Break free

He navigated his bike through the narrow dirt road between soaring mountains and steep gorges. This road trip with his buddies was like a dream. Looming landslides didn’t intimidate him. Barrage of power point slides did. Sitting among his rambling colleagues in the board meeting that day, he felt like a nomad waiting to break free.

Appears on the blog 55WordStory on the theme Nomadic 

Image: Amit Pande

No exceptions

It was 5 am on a damp Sunday morning. He was the first one to get there. But others would be there soon. The fights were unavoidable. They all wanted one but it was always in short supply. No other fish would do. A Bengali deprived of Hilsa is like a fish living without water!

As published in the blog 55WordStory on the theme "Solitary"

The end

They finally bumped him. It was breaking news. Facts were sketchy, but news channels looped the story all night. Schedules were adjusted to accommodate programming on his life story. Experts were lined up for panel discussions. There was no shortage of creativity in newspaper headlines the next morning. Some called him smut. Few others, Bhai.

As published in the blog 55WordStory on the theme "Smut"

No escape

She was a nervous wreck. Waiting was as agonizing as the experience itself. Three more to go before her. In a bid to escape her misery, she closed her eyes and let her imagination take flight. Skinny dipping on the sandy beaches of Hawaii. Rays of the warm winter sun cutting through the chill to kiss her cheeks on a sunny morning in the hills. The delicious sensation of eating a spoonful of chocolate mud pie ice cream sundae. It wasn't helping. There was no escape. She braced for the worst and mustered all her courage to endure the impending root canal treatment.