The saffron clad swamiji received money as a donation from some devout devotees of his.
Keeping some portion of the money aside, he took the rest and went with trembling legs to the shop across the street; opposite to the institution where he resided.
“Do you have chocolates?” his face lit up with excitement similar to a baby’s. It had been more than twenty years since he savored the delicacy.
The despondent Don bent over the bullet-infested body of his son, shedding tears of sorrow and pain.
He placed a bunch of Chrysanthemums over his boy’s hands; they oddly complimented his black suit and white satin shirt.
Organized crime was never such un-organized before.
It is strange, isn’t it?
We want what we cannot get, what we get, we do not want. In addition, what we already have, we choose to ignore its value unless they are a lost cause.
Today: She is now a frenetic entrepreneur and a proud owner of an NGO tending towards rape victims.
Yesterday: Yet the fact that she herself was raped at the tender age of 7 occupied the first lines of a newspaper advertisement.
What comes first? Today’s glory or yesterday’s shame?
- The nouveau riche repeatedly hit the GPS equipment of his new blue car for malfunctioning.
- A rickshaw-wala creased his eyebrows for spotting a few scratches on his dusty old rickshaw.
Perspective blushed red.
The housewife threw a few discarded plastic bags through the window as they had served their purpose.
Down below, a rag-picker grabbed the falling plastic bags and stuffed them into his sack.
Tonight, the heavens had showered their blessings on him.
7) Life and keys
The locksmith carried several rows of keys in all shapes and sizes.
He had a key for every kind of lock there ever was-
8) Hope is a dangerous asset.
Hope transformed the once lively blue planet into the gray, decaying, dull and asthmatic one we see today.
Hope must be disbursed on the ‘truest motives’.
9) “When someone is middle-aged, what do we imply? Does it mean that the said person will live an equal number of years before being engulfed by death? Or does it mean something else entirely? Aren’t we making an improvised clairvoyant out of ourselves?”
“Do you remember how you used to coerce us into buying tools and equipments for performing magic?”Asked the mother to her now grown up son. She smiled, her eyes shimmering, reflecting her infinite affection towards him.
“And how poorly those tiny hands of yours performed?”His father taunted sitting on a chair across the room.
Shedding tears of solitude, they watched as their son left. When he asked why they were crying, “specks of dust” came the prompt reply.
For the parents, the greatest magic was the fact that their son had grown so much in so little time.
Although time was the greatest magician, it had competitors.
Image courtesy- Myself