An artist

There's a boy in my class who was steadfast in drawing a straight line without using a scale. We all were jealous of him. Someone would say he's mastered the art of drawing lines with continuous practice. Many would tell he's inherited it from his mother who was a Physics teacher. He's my good friend. We would meet quite frequently where I'd, everytime, see if he's working on to improve his skills, but he'd be hardly found doing so. There's an evening when I couldn't stop myself from asking his secret to which he said there's none. I fathom believed him. He insisted, yet I couldn't reckon his answer. I couldn't comprehend why he said never ever a wise artist reveals what his key of making art is — he just shows and left me under the mango tree. After few days I understood why he said and it's not my intelligence but his hint. When he'd be happy, he'd draw shorter lines as compared to when he'd be sad and I learned it's melancholy which drives every artist to its art. Perhaps, that's why a female pigeon sings melodies as her children get eaten by a hawk. © nomeee

An apple pie

"Why don't you take a bite?" He asked, seeing her look longingly at the apple pie. "Mom says it will add calories around my waist and I wouldn't get a good guy," she said, digging at her bowl of boiled veggies.

"The number of calories the cake has, is the possibility of you, finding the guy of your choice and the number of calories your salad has, is the possibility of me finding a guy, let alone the choice. Therefore, my lady, eat as much as you want," he said, pushing the pie towards her.
©nomeee

Hidden stories

*Story awaits a Storyteller* When your kid comes back home from school, his first few sentences are precious like the first shower of monsoon, what they say; is storytelling. When your friend is quiet for hours, the words that spill when you hold her hand; is storytelling. He was 80 years old, asked for a lift from me just up to few yards; in few minutes he spoke so much, even after we reached his house he did not want to stop as no one else had time for him, that right there was storytelling. In a lost and found letter, in a broken new watch, in a crushed to pieces car, in a blind man’s stare, in a beggar’s smile, in a frame with a garland, in an over-crowded train and an empty stomach, a story hides waiting to be told. A story waits in bullet wounds, raped existence, abused innocence, depressed smiles and surrogate wombs, for a storyteller who is willing and bold © nomeee

Lets Just talk

​Let’s not talk about stars and horoscopes. Let’s not talk about love and heartbreak. Let’s not talk about global warming and its consequences. Let’s not talk about politics and cricket. Let’s not talk about technology and advancements. Let’s talk about me. You know, I’ve bought a new pen. It costed five rupees. I love caressing its nib. Let’s not talk about me and my pen. Let’s talk about you. When was the last time, you weren’t able to buy a shirt because of no money in hand? When was the last time, you felt like punching the face of your friend who called you at 2 AM, just to ask, what the time was? When was the last time, you laughed in an emotional situation? When was the last time, you spent the entire night in listening a single song? When was the last time, you couldn’t get extra mayonnaise with momos? Let’s not talk about you, too. Let’s talk about her. My world. You know, she forgot to add the sugar in her coffee and blamed me for not reminding her. I felt loved. Let’s not talk about her and the sugar. Let’s talk about him. My inspiration. You know, he got troubled in searching his specs to read the newspaper. I felt sad. Let’s not talk about him and the newspaper. Let’s talk about them. You know, they got slapped by a policeman after offering him the green leaf. I felt contented. Let’s not talk about them and the bribe. Let’s talk about the universe. Let’s talk about relativity and the doppelgänger theory. Let’s talk about Aristotle and Charlie Chaplin. Let’s talk about X. Let’s talk about Y. Let’s talk about Z. Let’s talk. Let’s not stay silent. Let’s not make each other feel disconnected. Communication, it is the most important tool to stay in life; to stay alive. © nomeee