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

Pen in top-left pocket of my blazer, did not write during my examination. Do you see any irony in that? Being closest to my heart is a betrayal for me.

Amrit, a seven year old shouted, "Mom, look dad's on TV" Total silence, clock seemed to stop. Running his mother came, tears rolled from all four eyes. It was the routine for martyr 's family.

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

For my cup of love, cupid has always been unfair. I don’t think it is a good thing to blame that stupid, innocent, little, semi-naked infant with bow and arrow. Kids love pranks, don't they? But whom should I blame then? He made a prank with my life! Why is it that he hit that arrow hard to me but not to her? Why is that I always get struck hard but not her? It all started with that pretty little smile of hers. I tried to defend myself from that. And yes dear cupid, I tried to run away from your arrow too. But you ignorant infant! You would not want my happiness right? You pulled that bow hard and that arrow went down piercing my heart. That wasn’t a big deal for you, was it? And why were you so revengeful. Just because I had no belief in you; you pulled the bow only once! You intentionally did not hit her with that arrow right? Damn! Why should not I blame you? Why could you leave me like that cupid? Why did you want to tear me apart? What about her? Wasn’t she supposed t

In the first lecture, teacher said, "Euphemism is something straight told in a twisted way!" She nodded. In the second lecture, teacher asked her,"What does your mother do?" "She Distributes Love", said the daughter of prostitute boldly.