Am I lucky or what? I've a bunch of crazy people around. Some of them can write really well, and some others are still struggling with it. Then there are some, who just pick up their pens (do some crazy yet sweet rhymes) to make me feel good because they know how special I feel to see myself getting re-defined in their words every now and then.
Picking up two very special posts from Sarthak Parashar, a brilliant writer at Roobaroo theatre group.
|Me and Rashmi|
-Inspiration behind the write-up was this
picture of us. This inspired Sarthak Parasher
to pen down this brilliant write-up.
A still in the memory lane...the reels roll by and the picture unfurls, but the still lies still in the memory lane...The seconds tick-tock and the minutes on the clock... hours, days, years and yet you walk...on the memory lane…
A picture smiles, a moment kisses, a sun does light to see the shine but too late, for time flows on... ever painting new portraits on the canvas, and thus an epoch is gone and an epoch is borne in the memory lane... A lady somewhere drags her chair, a picture she holds, which like her is now old... the wrinkles on her hand, the white hair strand... speak for the march long trodden, on the memory lane...the faded image shows, an arrow from two bows, flying in the air, cutting through the winds, in search of the elusive mark, where now it lies pinned, on some tree whose canopy shelters the memory lane.... The lady smiles for the picture smiles, she weeps for the same reason.. the corner fold of her smile catches a dew drop, a mist of an eye, tracking its path through the wrinkly folds.... glistening the lips, so they may kiss again...
Angeline was awoken with a jerk as the train halted before the next station. Lazily she opened her eyes to survey the outside, through the window pane. The platform was a crowded one, a tide of distinct faces dashing upon each other. And then Angeline saw her own reflection on the pane. If the other faces were distinct, hers was surely alien. She half expected everyone to stop still, drop their current activities and just stare at her. They did no such thing though and carried on with their lives oblivious to her presence. She decided to get off at this station, to look for something familiar maybe, a cup of coffee perhaps, and then continue on with her journey.
Everywhere, there were signs in a language she knew by heart, yet it made her uneasy. It shouldn't have been like this. That wasn't the plan. Stumped, she settled on the platform to clear her head some. In the back of her mind, she knew she was scared to even ask for directions. Unknowingly her fingernails dug into the cover of a book that lay clutched in her hands. She fondly remembered her close friend who had gifted it to her before she left the country two weeks back. The letters in french, had become harder to read, now that the book was not so new. She tried to visualize her here with her in this foriegn land. That, almost made her laugh. None of her friends knew her to be timid or scared at any point in her life. That's because she never was, nor would she be now. Carefully putting the book back in her handbag, she stood up and walked to a gaurd to ask for the way to her destinition. The gaurd gave it without so much as giving her a second look. Weird, she thought. "Merci!" She almost said then stopped herself.
This was a different country.
Hurriedly, she exited the station and boarded the bus specified by the gaurd. The night before her flight, she had created several wild scenarios for the days to come, ranging from red carpets to stone pelting. This, was not one of them. "Accept it Angeline" she said to herself "You miss France.". She missed the years, walking under the lamp in night, the taste of white wine on her lips, the way she would dance to the music every time 'Tout le Monde' started to play. She doubted it would be playing here anytime soon.
Someone called out for "Rohini", and Angeline knew she had to get off here. The rest of the distance would have to be covered on foot. As she reached the apartment gate, she picked up a pen to fill the entry register when she spotted someone familiar walking out. Out of some habbit, Angeline waved. The person did not respond at first, then suddenly the eyes widened and recognition was restored. She turned back to the register and suddenly smiled to herself, as she brought the pen down to fill out her name.
Thankyou Sarthak for making me feel special. Keep it going :-D I love it!