Confessions : Of Dreams


One of the reasons I dream of Travel is the same reason why I don’t bother to make ever lasting connections. This little confession of mine has sort of formed who I am today, a vague image of my dreams.




This is a part of Confession Series. written in old sketch books as reflections of my past bought to life here.




However, these tiny thoughts.


Tiny chairs,tiny feet,
Loud mouth,
Brilliant speech.

Tiny chairs, Tiny fingers,
Borrowed mind,
Generous thoughts.

Tiny chairs, tiny lives,
Unspoken lies,
Hidden cries.

Tiny chairs,Tiny eyes,
Big dreams,
Cowardly acts.

Tiny chairs,Tiny heads,
Colorful Clothes,
Unknown identity.

Tiny Chairs, Tiny lips,
Flying in this muddle,
Honest to a point of fault.

Mondegars ,my love !


Its a pitch black night today. The stars are covered by a dark blanket ,her shoes crunch the gravel ,making her hurry her footsteps faster. There is no skip in her step ,her stride almost mechanical.She hunches her shoulders beneath the large worn out overcoat and just races to an unmarked finish line.Her heavy satchel hanging to her side makes no sound either  ,probably its full of wrapped up objects like our dearest memories. The light at the street corner flickers to illuminate a sleepy road.The wind whips her hat away opening the inky curls as dark as the night , somewhere a trash can rattles too. She races past everything ,not bothering to collect her hat or her thoughts for that matter.

The sound of an auto rickshaw fills the air , she hails the rickshaw,hurriedly whispers the direction and gets into it , satchel first.The auto is just as dark as everything else this night. The auto gains an unnatural fast speed as if sensing her urgency.It coils around the winding roads of the hills. It doesn’t occur to her that the auto was moving at the edge of these winding road. All she could think was reaching the destination delivering the satchel.

The auto slips at an edge of the cliff  like a forewarning, but she ignores it. Her mind too busy directing the rickshaw driver and looking at the churning sea,which was brewing its own sea concoction.She couldn’t help but admire such dark violence.

With an uncanny mind of its own , the auto this time slips and topples , suspending everything in mid air for a fraction of seconds that seemed like a lifetime.In those few milliseconds , she uttered prayers and chants , anything to save her from the violent turbulence below. The prayers become obsolete as the darkness dawns on her along with the gravity.

Time passes unknown to her.The sea still remains not satisfied with the sacrifice.She wakes up with a sudden jolt , unmindful of the atheist prayers a few minutes ago .The night still enveloping her .She looks around for the satchel even before she looks at herself. A cry escapes her as the realization strikes her.Her precious belonging is lost, she doesn’t care about the driver or the rickshaw.

Her sobs echoing along with the whirlpool of sea below. Her loss incomprehensible. She had just lost what she most treasured, something that she could never get back .She had so carefully wrapped her memories of love in that satchel as her gift , and now she could never have them back.

The blackness once again engulfs her and so does silence.

I wake up with a jolt, grasping for air ,amidst a cafe full of people, the afternoon chatter .The jukebox playing “fix you ” in the corner. The doodle on the tissue paper blotting away with the condensation of the beer bottles. I look around for that familiar face , that I once sat with .Mistaking the afternoon for another one.I realize with a smile for the first time , that maybe that satchel full of  my memories was for once  gone for good .Image