Thursday, 28 February 2013

Eluding sorrow with pangs of joy






He saw his cousins tying up his mother’s body before they placed her on the pyre and blames them for it even today - he is still angry with them. 

But he eludes this melancholy with fun and mischief, he finds solace in them. 

He suffers from kleptomania - an irresistible impulse to steal in the absence of any economic motive; he stealthily picks up particular things he is fond of - soaps, cassettes, money and the likes. 

From deflating car tyres to incomprehensible idiosyncratic gestures, this special boy is chasing every ray of light that can bring him happiness. 

His mother’s memory holds him up there, between the rays, till he can hold them in his palms.


Monday, 25 February 2013


Buried graves


He touches his forehead to mine for that’s his way of expressing love. 

He laughs a lot, dances like no one’s watching and tunelessly sings the perfect lyrics. 

But dad has taken him away from us to another city for reasons best known to him. 

Dad left him back with us, but he doesn't talk anymore, nor does he smile; he only stammers broken sentences. 

His scars say a lot but he is silent – what dad and the other city did to my younger brother will always be buried in a grave that we will never be able to find.


Saturday, 23 February 2013


Doe a Deer..


‘Doe a deer, a female deer..’ that harmonious tune takes me back to the girl, that toothless fairy. 

She was the 7th of 10 siblings, specially gifted in every way other than normalcy. 

Having lost both her parents, she lived with only a maid to look out for her in a house that her siblings quarreled for and ignored their little sister’s very existence. 

After 46 years of showing the world that being special was her way, she sleeps in her coffin waiting for her mother to come back from church and hug her. 

That smile will never fade, that song will never die out, the love will always live on; ‘Doe a deer..’


Thursday, 21 February 2013


Who switched off the lights?


My boy is normal and he will be treated that way – I lamented. 

His friends and teachers at school didn’t hear my words and his brain didn’t follow theirs. 

I kept him at home, protected from those noxious eyes and drowned myself in work as he sat unattended and ignored. 


He knew he was nobody’s apple of the eye; he hurt himself repeatedly, but who was there to see? 

Finally he gauged out his eyes, inflicting irrevocable guilt on me because now my boy is mentally challenged and blind.

5 Point Someone

Every story we hear stirs us with shock or melancholy. 

These are stories that need to be told and stories that need to be heard. They spell bane and despair; they reek of injustice and rejection; a foul play of betrayal. These are words that haven’t seen the light of day and voices that have been covert for way too long. But amidst it all is a mesh of love, hope and belief.

With each story you read, you will witness a tactile connection to the protagonist, who in this case, happens to have been our student at some point. “5 Point Someone” is Advitya’s attempt to quill an affable connection between those who are different and those who aren't.

Each narration is 5 lines long or 5 lines short, either ways.