Quill, Write Ups

SHE

She tosses her hair and arches her eyebrow. With one leg over the other, and a tiffin in her lap, she munches on her food, keen eyes roaming here and there, glancing at disheveled boys, drug addicts, according to her. With a smile that breaks off into giggles and chortles at an instant, she beams with joy. In a corner, sometimes caressing the pages of her diary and doodling on the corners of her notebook, a head swiveling with bundles of ideas, flowing with imagination.

She walks without grace and often complains of her aching back, a result of rigorous exercise. She is frank and can be mean if it means standing up for her friends. She speaks and chats and laughs and sings. Her eyes, walnut brown with a tinge of mocha, twinkle with mischief and depth, a depth of observance, of search, a search of philosophical ideas maybe, still on their journey to the end. She is hurt when she becomes the butt of all jokes, she brushes them off aside but sometimes she wishes that all those around her would let her be herself, quiet and composed.

She makes those around her happy, those nervous wrecks calm and dances to her own tune, a mix of ‘we will rock you’ and ‘aankh marey’. She has dreams, this girl, of being with some people, rather the one embedded in her heart, at the moment, (and the writer feels that she would pass this temporary phase quickly). Carefree and careless, a small phone in hand, used for sending messages to her mother during english period and becoming a source of embarrassment the other times. A round cherub face which blushes in awkward situations and a spirit which is no one’s slave. She shines through her difficulties and emerges brighter than ever, she is a born fighter. With bruises from not so elegant falls of her scooter and a determined mind ready to work, this girl sits in the corner of that seat in that class. She looks outside the small window and smiles, because for her, each day is new, brimming with excitement and gossip and food, full of life.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY KRITI, I LOVE YOU! I ADORE YOU! I ADMIRE YOU! AND YOU ARE THIS PERSON WHOM I CAN NEVER FORGET EVEN IF I HAVE AMNESIA. LOADS OF HAPPINESS TO YOU.

Quill, Write Ups

The Girl On The Last Bench

Today I finally observed you, sitting on the last bench, totally engrossed in ‘The Pride and Prejudice’. You were probably oblivious to the boy sitting on the bench next to you or to the girls singing on top of their voices on the first bench. And just when I thought you were to preoccupied for the world outside, you smiled at the literary remark someone in the middle row made.

We never had a conversation except the one time you were my subject for the psychology project. You were  really slow to answer my tasteless questions. And dear you were cautious too, placing each of your words perfectly one after the another. I was in awe of the way you speak. You are just like me an avid reader.

Perhaps you have learned from Elizabeth Bennet, how not to make hasty decision and how to appreciate the difference between essential and superficial. Maybe like Alaska you too have a hurricane inside you, like Atticus Finch you too delete the adjectives to have your facts strong and solid. Like Katniss you have internal conflicts but you too know, just like her, hopes live on.   

Most likely I will keep on guessing things about you and never ask you anything,

-A girl just like you

p.s. Elizabeth Bennet is the protagonist in the book Pride and Prejudice (Jane Austin), Alaska in John Green’s book Looking for Alaska, Atticus Finch of To Kill a Mockingbird, Katniss of  The Hunger Games series.

Brevity, Poetry

Fall

And darling even your fall, 

should be the most glorious thing,

the world  has ever witnessed.