I'll Miss my School Days

I'll miss my hatred for the morning alarm.
Awaking, brushing, bathing even before crowing of a cock in the farm.
I'll miss my dull school uniform which was worn
Until it was outsized or torn.

I'll miss the morning assembly where we used to stand in a row.
The prayers were sung which were a bit melodious than a crow.
I'll miss, the one arm distance we used to take.
The fun of people on stage we used to make.

I'll miss, the attendance where we shouted: "present ma'am."
The wishes we made to avoid school in case there was a jam.
I'll miss, the break for lunch
Where we used to gather in a bunch.
The canteen which had no good food to eat.
The washroom where friends of different classes used to meet.

I'll miss the bunk where we had no idea what to do and where to go
The person whose response to bunk was always NO.
I'll miss my friends
Being with whom my happiness had no end.
The friends who could fight with anyone.
Even if they didn't have a gun.

I'll miss the period of sports.
The period which was like a princess between beasts in a fort.
I'll miss, the roam where we had no pass.
The whistle which was an alarm to move us back in class.
I'll miss my wait for last period bell.

The dialogue: "Make a Straight circle" PT  Usha used to yell.
I'll miss my way from school to home which I could travel even if my eyes were closed.
Arms swung, Legs moved and the entire body just flowed

© nomeee

Thank God I am Not A Girl

Thank god, I'm not a girl.
Because I know it's hard to be a flower whose spectator is the entire world.
A flower gazed for its shape, size and colour.
A Flower without which the garden would be a bit duller.
A flower with which no one wants to stand head to head.
A flower which everyone wants in their hand.

Oh God! I'm grateful to be a boy.
Because ever to anyone I don't want to be a toy.
A toy to fulfil desires.
A toy which everyone admires.
A toy which is looked after when it's new.
A toy which is later left to rust in dew.

Thank god, I'm not a girl, I know it's irritating to get messages of ten unknown people in a day.
People who just wanna play and who don't wanna stay.
Thank god, I'm not a girl, I know the sacrifices mothers do.
I'd rather choose to leave this planet if I had to do that too.

My mother was once a girl.
And more than an asset for me, she's a pearl.
If you can't respect her just because of her gender.
At least don't put the words: Girls, I'm inferior and things in a common blender.

Not every girl deserves to be respected.
But there are a few for which it is expected.
I'm a son, I'm a brother, but thank god I'm not a girl

©nomeee

A Story about my Classmate !!

I quietly open the door and try to sneak in. As my almost silent footsteps approach my room, I hear a voice from behind.

“Where were you?”

“Papa, I, uh, I…”

“Come, let’s take a walk,” he says even before I could finish my sentence.

Albeit, I am not even sure if I could have finished my sentence or not. But, papa, it’s late,” I retort. “Come, son. It’s about time we talk,” he says, taking small steps. I follow him.

We come out in the society park. It is empty. Darkness has crept in and silence has set its foot. I can hear mosquitoes buzzing and leaves rustling. A mild wind blows by. I look up in the sky. It is clear of clouds, so unlikely in a rainy season. The moon showers its crescent light on the ground.

“You have turned 19 now and there are things you should know of,” papa says. I nod.

“This point in your life, where you are standing at now, yes, this very point marks the beginning of how and what you are going to become in your life 10 years down the line. This point marks the beginning of you becoming a successful person or not.” He says with seriousness in his voice.

“I know, papa. I will do everything I can to make you and our family proud,” I reply.

“No, son, you should do everything you can to make yourself proud,” he replies.

I think I know what he means. “This age, it’s very distracting. You are going to get attracted to a lot of people. You are gonna wanna try new things. Amidst these, you will have to focus on what you want in your life and what you wish to become. It will be one hell of a difficult ride, but I want you to try anyway. Remember, son, don’t let situation and people influence you. It’s very important in life to have your priorities sorted out. You should know what is important to you and what is not.” He says.

“I understand, papa. I will keep them in mind,” I say.

“Soon enough, you will enter your college life. You have always been fascinated by the idea of college, but here is what you need to know: as fascinating and attractive as it may seem or sound, it is difficult. It will put you through some of your very hard times. At times, you may feel tired and discouraged. But, I want you to know that these are the times that define who you are as a person. These are the times which will help you become the man you want to or distract you from becoming the same. These are the times which will prepare you and mold you into a better or worse version of what you are. Now, what happens to you is what you choose for yourself: better or worse. If you choose the former, then, these are the times which will make you ready for your future endeavors. If you choose the latter, these will take you as far away from your goal as possible. So, face them and embrace them.” I stay silent. I don’t say a word. I just keep on listening to him. I don’t know if I will get this chance again or not.

“From this moment onwards, you are going to fall in love innumerable times just to realize that it wasn’t love all the time. Or maybe, it was? You will be confused. You will be broken. But, that’s okay. That’s completely okay. It’s okay to be confused. If you want surety, be confused first. If you want to be beautiful, be a broken soul first. A broken mirror reflects and scatters light more than a simple mirror. Getting my point?” He asks.

“Yes, papa, I am,” I reply. “I want you to have everything you dream of. I want you to become the person you want to. And on top of everything, I want you to be happy.” He continues. “Thank you, papa.”

“But, do you know the worst part of it all?”

“No, what is it?”

“I won’t be there to see any of it. Or maybe, it is the best part, considering the relationship you and I have been sharing for quite some time,” he says. “Why do you say so, papa? Why won’t you be there? Wouldn’t it make you happy to see me become the man I want to?”

He doesn’t reply. He doesn’t say anything. He stays silent. All he does is look at me and smile. “Say something, papa. Why are you silent?” I question. I see him vanishing into thin air. I reach out to grab his arm, but I can’t. It’s like, it’s like how water slips from one’s hand when one tries to hold it. “Papa, wait. Where are you going?” He is gone.

He isn’t with me anymore. My eyes are filled with tears. I can’t see him anywhere. It hurts. “Papa…pa…” I wake up with a scream and teary eyes, only to find him staring at me…from the photo hung on the wall.

© nomeee

Dont make him feel incomplete

Do not make him feel insufficient. The moment he starts to think that he's not enough, he stops taking efforts as well. This sounds illogical because when you are unable to provide something to someone, you try harder and not stop trying at all. However, in that case, you still have a little more left to give, but in his, he already empties himself before expecting something in return - and that's no less than your happiness.

"You're everything I need and want." Say it once a week.

He won't respond when you'll say it, but he'll feel accomplished. You'll see him treating you like a Queen. He wants you the way a vagabond wants a mere glimpse of the shore. He needs you. Perhaps like our eyes need tears - to stand abreast. You might think he's insecure, and he envies abysmally, but you don't see what resides in his bosom - the fear - which only manages to increase by the passage of time. He says hurtful words and several times makes you shed tears - your soul gets damaged - and you want to go away somewhere, but he doesn't stay happy either. It's inevitable. He's imperfect. If he heals you, he'll break you as well.

No matter what happens, stand by his side. Appreciate his efforts. Be well aware of the things which please him and which displease  - and if that's too much to ask for, then rethink.

© nomeee

It Started With A Follow

10th Oct’16. 11:30 pm “Sir, can I follow you on your Facebook handle?” “On one condition.” “What is that?” “Only if you stop calling me Sir.” The two of them witnessed their first conversation, albeit randomly, on a Facebook writing page. It's so surprising how you meet people on the internet and the two of you click so instantly, and sometimes it takes a lifetime to click with a person you have been seeing everyday in your real life. Strange, isn't it? And that's exactly what had happened to them. They had just clicked, even though they were like the two sides of a river. She was an emotional being while he would never show his emotions. She was a dreamer while he was a realist. The only thing common between them was that none of them were in love. 15th Oct’16. 3:03 a.m. “Let's meet.” “Sure.” “When will you be free?” “Um, I have classes from Monday. And I have to go to the Church on Sunday.” “Today?” “So, today.” Both of them blurted out 'today’ at the same time. This was the day when they had first met. 15th Oct’16. 1:30 pm. Sorry, I am late. Saying this, she gave me a hug and then we started roaming around Connought Place. When I had looked at her, the first thing I noticed was her smile, how withered it was, and how hard she was trying to hide it. The next thing I saw was a girl, in all her ache and a heartbreak, standing next to me, trying her best to convey the world that smile that she hadn't fallen in love...let alone be a heart-broken. While we walked, we talked about anything and everything but books and TV series. “When we will meet, promise me, promise me that you won't talk about books and TV series.” This is what she had said before our meeting, and I was just following the orders. We wandered in Connought Place for around half an hour until we finally found the CCD nearby N-block where she had to collect her certificate from. Most of the time, she did most of the talking and I? Well, I was just listening to her as she spoke. She told me how uncertain she was of the time when she would finish her graduation, how she wanted to go to France and couldn't for some reasons, and how afraid she was if her parents happened to ask her about marriage. And I did nothing but listen to her. Sometimes, people just want to be listened to. They don't want your advice. They don't want anything. Just lend them your ears. That's all. Nothing more. 15th Oct’16. 3:30 pm We sat in the cafeteria of Alliance Française, sipping coke and eating white sauce chicken pasta. We were still talking. Technically, she was the one still talking. She told me how she hated that particular teacher who would often lash out on students who missed her classes. “Thank you for bringing me here. I have finally found a place where I can get good and cheap food,” I giggled. “First, you don't talk. And when you do, this is what you say! You are so bad,” she grinned. I laughed off. It was almost 6 and the cafeteria was about to close. We were the only two sitting. The sun had almost set and the darkness had stepped in. “What is your story?” she asked me suddenly. “Um, uh, I don't have any.” I answered, stammering. She didn't say anything but nodded. “Hey, let's go to Indian Habitat Centre. We'll sit there for some time and then we will go,” she said. As we were about to cross the road, she stopped and said, “I don't know how to cross the road.” I held her hand in mine and walked to the other side of the road, our hands still entwined. After a while, we reached IHC. While we were sitting, I asked her, “You want to tell me what happened with you?” Even before she could finish telling her side of the story, my hand was on her shoulder and her head resting on mine. No sooner, our lips had met. I could feel the tension in the moment and top of that, I could feel what was going on inside of her. After a while, we parted our lips. We sat for some more time there, in silence. As we got up to leave, she said, “Promise me you will write about this day.” “I promise,” I replied. Today, as I write about that day and think of it, I realise, by the end of that day, we were left with nothing in common. The tragedy of that beautiful day was that, she fell in love again and I? Well, I didn't, again. ©nomeee

Yes i am weak

"I know you are weak," She said to me, "and it is okay to be." For a moment, I felt stronger. Her words strengthened me. They were pure and truthful. I think if we let people's weakness breathe into them for a while, they would turn into their strength. At least they wouldn't feel ashamed of themselves and most probably they will be fixed again. Mislead motivation only adds up to the burden and do more damage than it fixes. Thou shall set them free into their skin. I believe brokenness in real is the manifestation of strength. ©nomeee

The stranger-turned-familiar-turned-stranger.

To, The stranger-turned-familiar-turned-stranger. You never expected me to write this, did you? But, here I am, with this piece, in the hope we might alter the equation, again. We accidentally bumped into each other, and it was one of those few times when I wasn’t afraid of the word “accident.” I wish for such more accidents. Or wait, do I? It was a beautiful accident, nevertheless. For once, you allowed me to sneak into your life and I, into mine. Unfortunately, things were confined to sneaking only. It never made to “enter.” I peeped into your life through the small window you had carved for me. You seemed like an angel with broken wings. You seemed like an ocean filled with mystery and secrets. I wanted to unravel all those mysteries and secrets. With this hope, I dived into you. But I never made it to the bottom? How could I? Buoyancy played its role well. Physics never fails to amuse me. You seemed cold from outside but deep inside – just like every other ocean out there – you were warm and soft, carrying a beautiful and amazing world – or adventurous, maybe? Who knows? I wanted to know more about you: What is your favourite food? Which restaurant do you like the most? Do you, like me, end up ordering the same food all over again, or you try new dishes every time you visit that particular restaurant? Do you like coffee or tea? Do you love the feeling when you walk on an empty road late in the night, and the wind suddenly strolls past you, hitting against your face? But, I never got the answers to these questions. [If you’re reading this, know that I will wait for your answers.] We ended even before we had started. They say, “Whatever happens, happens for good.” But, did we end for a greater good? If you know or figure out the answer, do let me know. You were like a gust of wind, came and strolled past me. In between, I experienced some adrenaline rush. You were like a wave of sea, touched me and vanished. Yours, The stranger-who-remained-a-stranger © nomeee

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