Wednesday, 23 December 2015

The Force
Y sat typing furiously, every keystroke sending a thrill down his spine. He couldn’t believe it. The Aurebesh font shone on the black screen and the keys exuded a red glint that threw his face in an eerie light. He was finally receiving a response. He knew there was something special about it. It wasn’t just the wallpapers, screensavers, storyboards, movie trailers, e-book excerpts or even the concept art, it was something else entirely. He had felt something unearthly when he had touched it. Something electric seemed to have passed through him. A force.

“Audio by B&O Play! This is going to be our movie screen from today onwards!” announced R gaping at Y’s newly acquired HP Star Wars TM Special Edition notebook.

Y winced. He didn’t want his laptop to be public property too soon. But that is what happens in hostels. Nothing is really ever yours.
“i5 intel core processor and 12GB RAM! You can game your a** out, dude! You are one effing lucky guy!” S marveled, thumping Y on his back.

His roommates were more than ecstatic to have a Star Wars Special Edition notebook in their midst. There were the obvious pluses- the god-awesome audio; the considerably improved movie experience, not to mention the gaming affair. Add to that the Star Wars paraphernalia. The frenzy and the psychedelia surrounding it all was palpable. Y deemed himself lucky and kept thanking his father a million times for the pluperfect birthday gift.
But Y knew that wasn’t all. There was something about the notebook that was arresting. Something exclusively related to him. It seemed as if the notebook was intrinsically oriented towards him, although he knew that was such a stupid thing to say. But within a few weeks of spending time with it, trying to locate that which lent it a strange quality, he had hit upon something.


“Submit your assignments immediately,” the Automata professor ordered.
The class instantly began to hurry about. Sounds of scraping chairs filled the room as everyone went ahead with their laptops to get their assignments checked. Y preferred to wait till the majority had gotten theirs marked. He was possessive about his new laptop and didn’t want anything to happen to it. So he stayed on one of the last benches of the class and tested his code a few times. Satisfied that it was working, he switched to his favorite tab of late. The command prompt. He was staring at the response from last night.

“Hey!” Someone spoke into his ear making him jump.
Y quickly pressed Alt + Tab, which took the screen back to his assignment. Z stood next to him, her straight hair falling neatly on her shoulders.
“Hey--hello” Y changed greeting midway. It was an effort to speak in front of her. They hadn’t spoken in, like, ages.
“I was wondering if you could show me your assignment,” she asked tentatively. “Don’t worry, I have done mine. I just can’t seem to get this last test case.” And she brought over her notebook and placed it next to his.
Y tried to breathe normally while she spoke. He couldn’t drive away the past images from his mind. He guessed she had gotten over him. But he clearly hadn’t. Sure, it had been a fiasco, their being together. But a much-loved fiasco, as per Y. He would give anything to get those times back.
“So, should the files be displayed in this case?” she finished asking.
Some strands of her ramrod straight hair were partly resting on Y’s shoulders. He knew she wasn’t aware of it. He also knew that he himself was painfully aware of it.
“So?” she asked again, bringing Y’s attention to her words. 
Why had she suddenly come to him with her problems? Couldn’t she have asked someone else? Probably no one was willing to help. Y drove the thought away since he knew no one would refuse Z. Guys would create the assignment for her if she asked them. He brought himself back to the current situation and tried to assess the situation as objectively and emotionlessly as he could.
“Umm…let me see…” he said, staring into the code and trying to make out what had happened because he hadn’t heard a single word of what she had said. “Maybe you should put an ‘if condition’ here-”
“Is that yours?” Z asked, pointing to Y’s laptop and cutting him mid-sentence.
Y looked at her and nodded. So, his dear HP notebook had got him some attention from his ex-girlfriend. Atta boy!
“Nice,” she said and smiled.
His heart gave a lurch. Was it the doubt that had brought her to him or was she merely curious about his new laptop or perhaps she wanted to renew their friendship…? He forcefully drove away the thoughts from his mind. He didn’t want to have any expectations. He was just hoping she hadn’t read anything on the command prompt. For all he knew she might have, for the way she had stealthily crept up on him.


That night, he stared at the message, thinking of what to respond.
“Are we watching the movie tonight?” S jumped on him unexpectedly, barely giving him time to switch screens.
What was it these days with people? Since when had they acquired this new habit of jumping on him?
“Uhh…let’s see…I have this thing to prepare for…” Y looked for a valid excuse, some project that they had been given, to fend S off.
“Do you want to- like -top the semester or what?” S said, disgusted. “Come on dude! Get a life! The mobile assignment has a week to go!”
Y thanked S inwardly for reminding him and giving him the excuse on a plate.
“Yeah but I haven’t started yet and if I don’t do it, who will you guys copy from?”
S knew most of the able programmers were kind of tight-fisted and selfish in case of their codes. Y was the only one who freely distributed his code. Open source, in the true sense. The force of the argument was too much for S. He couldn’t afford to lose his assignment which he would be copying from Y.
“Okay dude! This time I leave you. Finish this fast. We gotta live, dude! Life is not all work!” Saying so, he went off for a smoke.
Y heaved a sigh of relief. He switched back to the black screen. The message glowed red as before. Magical. Out of this world. Then suddenly came a swishing sound. The sound of light sabers-one of those special features of his Star Wars Special Edition. A new black window popped up.
A new message winked at him onscreen. This one startled him no end. What was this? Another invitation? As if one wasn’t enough.
But this time, it was from the other group...
Now he wished he had replied to the previous message. What was he supposed to do now? Should he reply at all? Or just close the window?
He kept alternating between various windows- sometimes working on his assignment, sometimes staring at the messages. Finally he fell into a fitful sleep, dreaming of galaxies, Tatooine, light sabres and what-not.
When he rose next, the laptop was gleaming where he had left it before, the messages blinking like stars in the galaxy and the system clock showing 10 am. The classes were supposed to start at 9. Thankfully, none of his roomies were in. He guessed they had slept off in someone else’s room after movies and booze. He rushed into the bath, somehow clothed himself, packed his notebook and a couple of books in the bag, and rushed off to class.


After the classes, he decided to wait a while in the library, partly to get some work done and majorly for some privacy. He knew both he and his laptop would be hounded at night. And he wanted to reply to the invitations that very day. For that he needed some solitude. And some research. He was still finding it all hard to believe. He scrolled up and found the series of messages beginning with 'A long long time ago in a galaxy far far away...' and started going through each one of them.

Y literally jumped and closed the flap of his notebook shut in alarm. Why on earth were people doing that to him?
“Whoa! I am sorry! Did I scare you or something?” Z’s silky voice caused ripples through Y’s body.
“N-noo…” he stammered. “I was just a bit taken aback, you see.”
“I am sorry…” she said and settled down beside him.
He couldn’t understand why Z was being so friendly with him. Not that he didn’t like it. Quite the contrary.
“Did you finish the mobile assignment?” she asked him.
“No, I was at it.”
He was feeling asthmatic again as her hair brushed against his arms.
“Okay…seems as if you were at something completely different when I arrived. You just shut the lappy so vehemently I thought I had offended you.”
“Hey no no no! Don’t take me wrong! I was just a bit zapped. People have a habit of jumping on me these days, so I’m probably a bit edgy. Anyway, you tell me. How is everything? Made any progress with your assignment yet?”
“Not even started,” she said and grinned.
Y’s breath seemed to catch in his throat as the effect of Z’s grin at close range became palpable. He had worked so hard to get her face off his memory. Obviously he hadn’t succeeded much. But now, he knew her face would be pasted on his mind for weeks.
“Okay, good,” he said stupidly and instantly regretted it.
“’Guess I must get going. Catch up with you later!” And she left, making Y feel stupider than ever. Whoever says ‘okay good’ to an admission of an assignment not done? No wonder they had broken up.
However, that night, as he sat checking his notifications, a message window popped up and Z’s smiling face appeared.
“You know what, let me just get to the point,” she wrote. “I guess I have been making you uncomfortable all this while. Let me be frank, I am not a great conversationalist.”
Y read the messages with open-mouthed surprise. Talk about guilt and messing things up.
“It’s just that I wanted to ask you-”

“Hey mate!” S and R bounded into the room carrying T in their midst. “Time for some bashing!” And they hurled T onto the bed.
“Come on Y! It’s time for revenge!”
And they began to kick T playfully, who squirmed in a mock pained voice.
Y ignored them and went back to the screen. Z had already written a few messages.

“What are you up to, well?” S said and came to Y’s side to see. “Since you got this new laptop, you-”
He stopped, staring at the screen. Then he burst into guffaws.
“Oh my God! Oh my good lord! The guy has got his girl back! He is into a reelaytionship again!” he sang.
Y rolled his eyes. “I have got no girl. She was only-” he began.
“It’s okay dude! We get it,” R said in a mock-comrade voice. “Z is mighty pretty. And in the message, she says: ‘I want to-‘. What does she want? Go ahead-read it!”
Tittering madly and kicking each other, they exited the room with T following in their wake.
“Effing idiots” Y said to himself, but a smile played on his lips at the thought of Z wanting to say something to him. He quickly opened the chat box and began reading. What he read next blew away his mind.

“It’s just that I wanted to ask you if you have accessed the portal yet. I am sorry I saw those messages…I couldn’t help it. You were sitting on the last bench and pondering over that message. I was bursting to ask you then. But I thought it wouldn’t be prudent. Anyway, I tried to tell you today. But I guess you didn’t want to share. Anyway, I just want to tell you that I have joined…”
Y was suddenly all confused. What on earth was she talking about? All he could make out was that she had read his messages. But portal?
“Hey…could you go a little slow? What is this portal you are talking of? And you have joined what? I don’t get it.”
“Oh…you didn’t know about the portal? What about the messages then?”
“What messages?”
“The one I saw on your cmd…”
“Yes…I chanced upon that…I sent a few signals and got a ping…”
“Yeah I know. I reckoned you would know. It’s a portal this thing. This whole special edition notebook. I don’t know if you have felt it but there is a certain force exuding from it.”
Y couldn’t believe Z was recounting his precise experiences! How did she know?
“Yes…I have felt it…But how do you know? If it’s only the special edition that is a portal or whatever you say, how would you know about it?”
“Oh well my brother has it. My elder brother. The moment I held it, I knew there was something special about it. And then came the messages.”
“Who told you it was a portal?”
“When you respond to the message, you will know.”
“So, you responded?”
“But you got it from two of them. You got a choice. I didn’t…”
“What do you mean?”
“I got the second message first. The one from the Dark side…”
“And you accepted?”
“It was hard to resist. Only a few get the message. My brother didn’t. I did though.”
“So, what happens after?”
“You are a part of the inter-galactic team. There is a mission that’s about. And they are recruiting from all the ends of the universe. This was an Earth venture…”
“Stop wowing. Whom are you going to reply?”
That set him thinking. It had been about four days and he hadn’t been able to decide which side he was on. The Jedi or the Sith? Just then, another thought creeped in. Why was Z asking him that? Did she want him on a certain side? Was she being sent for it? Or she wanted it of her own accord? Did she still care for him?
“I don’t know yet,” he wrote.
“I guess I know which.”
No one wrote anything for some time.
“The Dark side is enthralling I guess,” Y typed.
“Yeah maybe...”
But Y knew who he wanted to join. Perhaps they were meant to be on opposite sides.

Master Yoda’s words flashed at him from the screen :
“Chosen you have been.
For the mission inter-galactic.
Awaits you the Jedi.
With you may the Force be.”

Y made his decision. He began to key in his response.

“Accept me master, will you?
With me, the Force is strong.”

He pressed enter and sighed. Switching to Z’s chat box, he wrote, “I have replied.”
“Good…” came from her end.
“You won’t ask whom?”
“I guess I know…Somehow we just end up on the wrong sides. Like we did last time…”

He couldn’t believe Z was finally talking about their break-up. He didn’t know what to reply.
Her messages hadn’t ended though.

“You know, I didn’t particularly want it to end…It just happened. I was not aware…I flared up…you have always been the nice guy. Maybe that’s why they chose you. And the Dark ones chose me…”

Y’s heart had stopped in his tracks.

“Listen…I know there is nothing wrong with you. It wasn’t then and it isn’t now. You just accidentally got it from them. The Jedi would love to have you, I am sure.”

“You know, perhaps we are not meant to be together…perhaps we will always be at loggerheads…”

A warmth he remembered from a long time ago suffused his heart. She did feel for him. She wanted him to choose her side.

“No…we can be together if we wish. Nothing can stop us. It is all up to you.”
“I have pledged myself. And so have you…”
“That doesn’t mean a thing. I will bring you back.”
Y knew he wouldn’t let intergalactic wars rive them apart.
He wrote to her,“The Force is strong with us.” 

#MayTheForceBeWithYou #AwakenYourForce

~This post is part of the #AwakenYourForce activity by HP in association with IndiBlogger.~

Saturday, 19 December 2015

The Wrong Touch

( Winner of the #KnowYourRights activity by BlogAdda )

A rustling of skirts,
A squeeze much intended,
A derogatory word,
An unwanted touch.
She feels nauseated,
And tries to forget,
Hoping that it would never happen again,
And yet it does. 
And again.

Does that story sound familiar to you? Someone groping you from behind or nudging you provocatively? Someone clasping your breasts and making bile rise in your throat? And the bad memories just keep piling up. That, sadly, is the story of every girl growing up today.
Delhi is termed as the rape capital of India and not a day goes by when the pages of the newspaper are not bespattered with incidences of horrendous sexual abuse. From the Nirbhaya tragedy to the infamous Kolkata nun rape to countless assaults on six-month-olds to sixty-year-olds, the extent, means and ways in which such execrable crimes are committed make one question the humanity quotient of such human beings.     

And that is why it becomes all the more important for us to assume a stance of-as Mad Eye Moody famously put it- ‘constant vigilance’. You must have seen that amply-bearded man screeching ‘Sansani’ on ABP News, right? If not, please go and hear him once. If someone touches you on any part of your body which makes you feel uncomfortable- even slightly so- that kind of voice should start shrieking in your head. A large red bulb should start blinking and tocsins should start ringing in your mind’s room. Because then it is occasion to be alarmed. It is time to not cloak the matter but to react. This is precisely why we need to report the wrongs.

You should report the matter
  1.  Simply because you are uncomfortable. Do not think too much or try to ascertain whether your reaction is justified and not too harsh. If you feel abused, let people know. Trust your instincts. Raise your voice.
  2. Because the perpetrator needs to know that he/she will be exposed. Whether it is a stranger in a bus or some uncle in the house, he/she must be brought to book. Do not worry about offending anyone. Do not think about anything except that you were  assaulted and you must let the assaulter know that he/she will not go scot-free.
  3. Reporting the crime will not demean you or sully your name in any manner. You will only be seen as the brave one who had the courage to come up and fight. There is no shame in bringing crime to light.

It will help your physical, mental and emotional health and you will realize that people are there to support you. Each case that’s reported increases the chances of prosecution and brings it one step closer to resolution. You will be able to break the evil chain and lead a better life. It will help you rebuild your self-esteem and bring you closure and peace of mind. To carry an ugly memory, something which has scarred you for life through no fault of your own, is not what you deserve. You, fellow human, have all the rights to report a crime and ensure that the guilty gets punished.

Knowledge is power. Know your rights.

Amnesty International is a Nobel Peace Prize winning global movement of 7 million people committed to defending people’s rights.
‘Know Your Rights’ is an initiative by Amnesty International India to inform people of laws, procedures and individual rights so that we are confident to act.

"I’m writing this blog post to support Amnesty International’s #KnowYourRights campaign at BlogAdda. You can also contribute to the cause by donating or spreading the word."

Sunday, 13 December 2015

The City of Hearts

I took a peaceful slurp of the blackest tea imaginable. It seemed to fill my senses with a warmth that penetrated to the very sinews of my being. Spiky and hot. Just the way the city outside looked as seen from the glassy window panels of my office building. The tall columns of the adjacent buildings stood erect, decorated with the evening lights, sparkling and glittering like the stars that had started dotting the sky. 

As I made my way out a few minutes later, gelling and camouflaging myself among the colorful humanity filling the streets, I felt strangely at ease. Snatches of conversations reached my ears, some distant cackles, some rip roaring laughter, some intense phone conversations. I floated through the mass of vehicles, pedestrians, and hawkers. Stopping at a vendor's stall, I got myself some chickpeas. Then popping a handful into my mouth every now and then, I made my way to the metro station drinking in the colorful sights and sounds littering the atmosphere. 

There is something about this city that feels alive. I can't point out exactly what. But it's like a living breathing creature. When I walk over the overhead bridge and look down, I see an array of reds and blues, the shimmering lights indicating the horde of vehicles. Sometimes I think the city looks even more alive at night.
There is a certain #drive in the city and among the population inhabiting it. A certain conviction, a certain plan in the minds of those who hit the roads every day in search of something. Sometimes, I get a chance to peer into the faces of my fellow commuters or colleagues. And therein I see it. This streak of life. This #drive. This ambition. I think it is a common trait of all the city dwellers. Everyone is on a quest, looking for something, on a path somewhere, leading to some place. And the city is like a conduit, a way to it all.
When I close my eyes and imagine what it must look like from up there among the clouds, I imagine peering down at the majestic Qutub Minar, at the famed Jantar Mantar, at the lotus-shaped temple of serenity, at the old minaret walls of the Red Fort with history etched on them in rosy pink and rusty red hues helping to color one's imagination, at the luxurious gardens abound with flowers, at the seats of central governance controlling the country, at the high-rise office buildings, at the residential complexes and slums co-existing in a symbiotic arrangement. I imagine the historical sites and the museums taking me to olden days of yore, the days of the city’s youth and glory, of riches and splendor, of being the capital –Indraprastha to being the seat of the Mughal empire. The history and the age juxtaposed with the freshness and the novelty of the day bring to my mind a #design unique to this city.

However, the real way the city speaks to me is via the mouth-watering delicacies abound, the gastronomically pleasing street food, the ceaseless activities and events, the innovative spirit of the people, the vibrancy of it all... 

This amazing (and quite an actual depiction) of Delhi 
is courtesy of Divyam Gupta ;)

But then my dear Delhi has its own mood swings. When it's angry, Delhi will give you such nail-biting cold that the winds will swish their way to your bones chilling them. When it's upset, it will give you the driest summer of the desert and the infamous loo winds. But when it feels upbeat and is in the mood for mischief, it will let loose its empyrean hosepipes, and like an impish rogue, will cackle with glee, its thunder-styled laughter deafening you and its revitalizing rains drenching you through and through, driving away the sweat of the season. The #designs of this impulsive city are unfathomable but unimaginably beautiful. There is an ethereal quality to it all. 

My #connect with the charming city though is much more tangible and material. There is the lure of trying on dresses at my favorite shops at Lajpat and Sarojini - the roaming in the markets, the bargaining, ogling at colorful clothes and window-shopping, buying innumerable shoes and countless clips and earrings. I love getting lost in the circles of Connaught Place...chasing the pigeons at the central park...feeding the squirrels that prance down the trees in my college campus...pushing peas through the wires to feed the deer at the deer park...taking scenic pictures and the all-important selfies at the forts in Hauz Khas....checking out the local flavors and popular hangouts, be it the lovers' point of DU, Khan chacha ke roll, Majnu Ka Tilla, Big Yellow Door or some famed chhole bhature joint, and multiple other such small-scale restaurants that shoot to local fame among college-goers.   

I literally squeal to buy the cute crown of flowers sold outside Select Citywalk. I dance at the scent of old paper and older books at Daryaganj, and salivate at the thought of visiting paranthe wali gali and having naan khatai at Chandni Chowk even though I hardly am able to walk due to the lack of even a single inch of space on the roads.

The charms of the city are too many to be listed. All I know is that I go lovey-dovey and dreamy-eyed when someone says 'Dilli'. 

You know the best thing about this city?  

It seems to have a unique #connect. The way people seem to have a trait tying them to each other. Sort of an implicit understanding. An imperceptible nod. A kinship which is evident whenever you meet a fellow city-dweller. An informality and a familiarity will put you at ease as soon as you know it’s a Dilliwallah you are talking to. Phrases like ‘arre yaar’ feel like a soothing balm to you when you perhaps go to a new place and suddenly chance upon a fellow ‘city-zen’. The singsong accent and the oft-used (read overused) words like ‘awesome’, ‘velle’, ‘katta’ are music to your ears. You know then, that there is an umbilical cord that the city has installed in you. Yes, you are a Delhiite, for sure.

When I look around myself, I find a veneer, a greyish patina surrounding everything, like a castle in the folds of clouds. They tag this city as the one of most polluted cities in the world. They call it the rape capital. 

You know why? 

Because the old city is like a kind king. He has been scarred and stained, embattled, ravaged and defeated. But the spirit of the man refuses to falter. He has survived all this while, greyed and withered but hardened from experience. He has welcomed all with open arms. ‘Come thither,’ he said and that continues to be his message.

Remember I was trying to pinpoint that uncanny feeling that makes the city feel alive? A strange but strong conviction? 

I realize what it is now. 

The city feels alive because it is like a large beating pulsating heart, throbbing with the dreams, visions and ideas of millions inhabiting its nooks and crannies. 

If you try to fit the city map in the shape of a heart, you might have to crunch and do a bit of jugaad but ultimately you will manage it, if not the graphic heart image we have been used to seeing, but at least the biological depiction of heart as we have studied in the secondary school. Because it is true after all, that Delhi truly is Dilwalon ki. It is the unrivaled city of hearts. 

~ #Drive #Design #Connect with Tata Motors and IndiBlogger~


Monday, 30 November 2015

The Little Bundle of Joy

Mala took a long deep breath. The day looked young and fresh, the sunlight falling in patches over the bushes that littered the park. Back in her village, she was wont to rise up at the crack of dawn to fill the water pitchers, cook the morning meal and then bask in the glory of the day. She especially loved the mornings because the skies looked freshly washed as if the sun had bathed them in effulgent shades of blue and golden yellow. When they moved to the city about three months ago, for the first time she had been exposed to a sky garbed in various shades of grey and white. Naman had landed a job in the city and they had decided that it would be best for them to move, especially as it would provide an atmosphere conducive to the learning and development of their new-born baby. The little fragile bundle of joy had been made to part with his loving grandparents and their cozy village life, and brought to the city to settle and grow.

After having seen her husband off to work and cooked for the day, Mala had come down with her baby for a stroll in the park. As she walked onward, holding her son securely near her bosom, she remembered all those bits and pieces of advice that her mother and her mother-in-law had given her. 
"In our absence, you must give your utmost attention to the baby. The city is a wide strange land. You may not be able to find your way there. But you must take care of our babu.” They addressed their grandson as their 'babu'.
In fact, hardly a few days ago, when Naman had made a call to his parents in the village, his mother had wanted to talk to Mala to ask about the baby.
She had begun by giving her tips,
“Don't forget these handful of counsels regarding the care of our babu, especially his skin. 
Make sure you massage him daily with oil. His teeny-tiny legs need to be strengthened and his muscles need to shape well.
Make sure he sleeps on a pillow filled with mustard seeds! That will help his head shape up well.” 
Mala knew that such a pillow would only be found in their village and she had planned to bring back one when they went home this time. Till then, her lap would have to act as the baby's makeshift pillow. 
“Don't expose him to too much sun or excessive rain. Protect him especially from the heat and dust of the city. One knows only too well how bleak the city atmosphere is and how easily one can catch diseases. 
And once the baby starts sneezing, some doctor has to be consulted. Then rain down antibiotics and all those newfangled substances! No need! Prevention is better than cure. Why should a tiny divine creature be burdened with alien concoctions and spurious mixtures? Nature’s cure is the best remedy."
Mala had nodded her way through the call. She was trying her best to care for her young son.
"Do not use corrosive substances on him. No amount of synthetic clothing or artificial substances. Use only the clothes we have knitted for him. Only the oils and the talcs we have packed for him..."
Mala could only agree. She had taken utmost precautions for her child. 
In fact, she had also fought with Naman, who insisted on using diapers for the baby. 
"But we don't know if these would be good for the baby!"
"But Mala, they have been especially designed after adequate research. They are much better than cotton clothes, which can only absorb up to a limit. Try this!"
Their baby had started crying, as if on cue. Mala quickly hurried over and changed his clothes. It was a real task to change his clothes every time. It also eliminated the possibility of their going out on long trips in the city. 
"Just try it once. This one is really soft. This is my baby too. I wouldn't want anything to harm his soft skin."
Mala decided to listen to Naman. She took the packet from him. There was a group of lovely smiling kids on the cover. She took out a Pampers pad and dressed her baby up. She saw his distress change into a smile of comfort. In no time, he had started to resemble the kids pictured on the Pampers cover. 
"You see? This is the time we pamper our baby," Naman smiled at Mala. 
Mala nodded. 
As she walked with her baby nestled in her bosom, she felt that she had finally found something safe and soft just right for her baby’s soft warm skin.

Pampers brings you the softest ever Pampers Premium Care Pants. Its cotton-like softness is #SoftestForBabySkin and allows it to breathe, thus keeping baby’s skin soft and healthy, and your baby happy. 
~This post has been written as a part of Pampers #SoftestForBabySkin activity in association with BlogAdda~

Thursday, 19 November 2015

Read between the lines

Don't you try to read between the lines !
With that thick fedora of yours
Crowning your skull,
And thicker lenses
Clouding your vision.
A stranger in your own world
The king of misfits
Are you trying to know me?
Then know that I will not be easily known.
The likes of me stay concealed,
Awaiting those with more welcoming minds.
I'm not for you, who are crammed with ideals,
And wear judgement hats of all kinds.
But if you are one of those kindred spirits,
And me is who you seek,
Then perhaps I will come
In that trance-like stupor
Where reality segues into the unreal
When your eyes close softly
Of their own accord,
I may pay you a visit
In that dreamy world,
You might then know me

Till then, let the night take over.

So, this is the second time my dear little brother has served as my muse and led me to write gibberish. That hat of his sure has some tricks up its sleeve!