My Voice

Photo Source: Gurera's Tribute to Laxman Studying the political functioning of the biggest democratic country in the world is with no doubt has always been an hideous task for us CBSE students. I still remember it, long lectures with matter hard to visually imagine in one screen, names of states and there capital and over that understanding the functioning of a dual polity system of central and state governance and each state having its own panchayat with its own leaders has been taking a long hours of students hard work. Though this was tough, we had our all time favourite cartoons made by Sir. R.k. Laxman to make the subject look interesting. With due respect the shadings we used to put on his cartoons and re-draw it all over our copies are few moments that cannot be forgotten. Making concept look and sound easy his hands have created the finest cartoon in the Indian history.  The role that the Legendary cartoonist R.k. Laxma...

When asked of my first crush His is the face that comes in-front of my eyes, His is the voice that echo's in my ears, His is the heart that i feel deep inside... He is not a friend sitting besides me at present, He is not an old friend, He is not an acquaintance, neither he is a stranger, But he is one, once seen in a first trip in train. A story he owned, A story of an engineer whose placement was done in a town of new people, A town away from home, A town where he had no other choice except making new friends. Though he shared the same story as every other person in the crowd there! He was different. He carried a smile to make everyone feel happy about, He possessed a charm to look as amongst the known one's, He wore an attire of innocence that could be trusted, He was with a brilliance speaking of things that we hadn't ever heard off. Innocent i was, Didn't realize the short period of his presence. With a half open eyes tryin...

Big and round,  With eye balls moving up and down , Just as a bell ringing and echoing the beautiful Unspoken words… She has been gifted with voice! But a voice unheard, She murmurs, She is scared of the consequences of her words…. The day she was born, She was left alone on the road, She was used, tortured and beaten. She is afraid, She wants to run away from this world, She speaks no more, Has no trust. It is her eyes that reflects her pain,  Asking for help She is not brave, But somewhere in her heart Hopes for a better life. And hope is what keeps her alive.

Why do I run so much that I get tired in my path? Why I have the habit to win that I get sad when I lose? Why these thoughts don’t stop that my note pad is left without pages? Why my life is full of joy that I get scared of sorrow? Why do I have this life that I don’t want death? Why do I have so many people besides me that I can’t be alone? Why am I a girl who complains of her possessions that  now I am a girl with eyes full of tears……….