Yugantar Writes

A cup of tea, and a newspaper headline "Boy, 18, Kills Himself". Usual news it was. Forensics confirmed of suicide. No words of clemency around. Blasphemies from many mouths, a pair of eyes though shed hushed tears, as if asking for forgiveness. Boy. Thick rimmed glasses- a show-off they called, dissembled bulk of hair-careless they called, un-ironed pants-lazy they whispered, class topper-cheater they claimed, name- Munal they loathed. Lower middle class family. Raised by father, hated by his stepmother and her daughter. He lost his mother when he was five and together with mother, he lost his voice. Sole but jovial soul, bright one he was. Physics he considered his heart. He revered Hawking, and loved relativity as much. Discoursing with guitar, frets and chords soothed him. He bled ink, for pen was his only voice. His stories spoke of stars and vanished souls. Being mute had no rewards. But petite did his lost voice affected him. No grievances he had of his inf

A cup of coffee beside the windowsill and a guitar on his hand. He was used to it! Sitting by the window with the same old melody on his guitar over years, and the same cappuccino with two teaspoons of sugar regardless of any season. He was as gentle as a breeze and as calm as the sky. His fingers ran down the frets as if they were the robots assigned to that particular task. His eyes were motionless, staring out of the window, to the stars, twinkling to impress the solitary moon. He threw a glance at his cellphone, it was 10:53. Suddenly, a charm grew over his eyes. They started to twinkle as the stars did up there. He took his left hand away from the guitar and picked up his cell phone. Slowly, he went to that number! He stopped for a while- he remembered how this went eight years before. He hesitated, but pressed the green button beside the number, conquering the dilemma. The ring went off. As expected, the call was picked up at the exact third ring. A sleepy but charismat