poetry · Thoughts

World Through Her Eyes

Once again in my dream

I saw you in your balcony

In the glow of the early evening sun

You had your paisley print dress

And you were leaning against the railings

Lost somewhere faraway, in thoughts.

I watched your abrupt smile

Eyes closed to the gentle cool breeze

Your twilight tresses coming loose

You lazily tucked it behind your ears.

There was something about you

That drew me in and tethered to you.

I wished I could live in your reveries

And see the world through your eyes

You stood still, unperturbed by the life below

Your gaze somewhere at the distant horizon.

You didn’t see the children playing

Or the road side vendors bargaining.

People walking their dogs,

Or the pensioners talking,

Seated on the benches along the side-walks.

My eyes trailed you from my open window

And my soul imbued with the image of you.

For my eyes were surrendering their vision,

Losing their sight to Fuch’s Endothelial Dystrophy.

Never did I know then, that you would give up.

And leap down from the same balcony.

Finally looking down, only to summon death.

Your eyes donated, restoring someone’s sight

And that someone would be me.

My wish granted,

Now seeing the world through your eyes.

Flash Fiction

Saturday Six Word Story

Flash fiction entries for Shweta’s Saturday Six Word Story


That was the last family get-together

Family skewed from square to triangle.

Wanted to skip another family drama.

A family reunion finally lacking drama.

She was something close to family.

Laughter echoed loudly from family room.

Whole family wiped out by cyclone.

A loner without family or friends.

His family wealth, once again inconsequential .

Books were more than his family.


The Secret of Happiness

What makes you happy?

Moments spend with people you love, being in the possession of all things that you desire. This will be the answer of most people.

People who work with me do say that my happiness is infectious. People who have moved on, do call sometimes when they feel blue, saying that speaking to me makes them feel better.

I am bragging. But I do hear that all the time.

I guess it is because, I feel happy and I work on staying that way.

What I have realized, few years into my adult life is that, happiness is a gift that you have to present yourself.

If you wait for that person whom you love, to make you happy, you might keep on waiting. Your wait will end in disappointment when you fail to receive the kind of happiness you anticipated.

I don’t wait to be gifted. I see something I wish to have, I buy it for myself. The gifts I receive from others, I do accept them with a grateful heart. It is like an extra cherry on top of the icing on my cake which I already bought for myself.

I have my happiness pinned on myself. I find ways to restore my smile. I am my therapist.

I am not an eternally happy and cheerful person. I have my deranged alter ego who sometimes understudies for me. I regain the control by indulging in stuff that would slowly swing me back to my sunshine persona.

Since I do not need another person to make me happy, it is also easy for me to forgive people and move on.

“You make me happy” is a statement that makes you vulnerable. You are handing over immense power to the other person who may or may not be worthy of that power. You can say those words to someone. But tell yourself ” I make me the happiest”

Only you know what your happy place looks like. You are the architect of your happy home. You have to make the plan, approve it and build it. You have the power to revamp it and rearrange the furniture, anytime you wish.

I know what my happy place looks like. It is my home, my books, my music, my movies, my daily robotic routine which is tossed away on weekends, all those moments that I spent with my loved ones.

Not just those .

Happiness for me is also these.

Watching movie with me , if I don’t have company.

Enjoying my favourite cuisine and drink with me, if I don’t have company.

I do everything that makes me happy in my own delightful company, if my loved ones are busy with their own schedule.

That is my secret of happiness.

short story

The Red Ball

I believe in paranormal experiences. I got a prompt for a 250 word horror story which brought memories of an unexplained experience I had years ago.

I was sleeping on the floor and I had a dream of a ball rolling and hitting my feet. I woke up in the morning and found the ball under the cot.

Here is the story

The day broke with a pall of gloom cast by the looming clouds.

Sue hurried towards the cemetery ignoring the threatening thunder and lightning.

She opened the rickety gate, expecting to see the cemetery keeper, George, in his ritual of sweeping the autumn leaves from the narthex of the little church where funeral services are held.

Not finding him, she moved to her brother’s grave.

She remembered their last day together. He was playing with his favourite red ball in their courtyard and she was in her room lost in her books.

She never thought that her brother would fall into the ditch, leaning in to retrieve his ball.

His tiny body was found after two days, three miles down the road, by the workers who opened the man hole for inspecting and rectifying a block in the drainage.

Wiping off her tears Sue hugged the headstone, imagining her brother’s slender arms around her.

Rain drops started pelting down. She let go off the tombstone and turned to head back home.

Something hard hit at the back of her head.

She turned around and followed the red object which was bouncing away.

Sue picked up the familiar, but lost red ball, hearing the rain drops whispering in her brother’s voice,.

“Come Sue, Play with Me”

Lightning struck, bringing a huge branch of the tree down, at the exact place where Sue stood a minute ago.

Sue saw George bounding towards her, shouting something which was lost in another clap of thunder.

She stood, rooted to the ground, her tears merging with the raindrops, staring at the red ball in her hand.

Book Review

Sophie Hannah’s Hercule Poirot

I was extremely delighted when I read about my favourite detective being brought back from death by Sophie Hannah and after reading all the four books back to back, I am ready with the conclusion.

Yes, It is really him. I couldn’t feel much difference at all. He is as pompous and meticulous as always.

This time he has a very adorable side-kick from Scotland Yard. Edward Catchpool whose brain is being trained by Poirot and mid-way through their fourth case together, he is quite confident that the brain -training is somewhat effective.

All the four cases has the characteristics of a typical Poirot mystery. They are baffling as ever and only Poirot can link the seemingly improbable events for the final reveal.

He trains Catchpool to make lists with all the puzzling questions and along with Catchpool, I once again found myself frustrated being unable to decipher the findings that makes Poirot’s eyes turns green with excitement .

My great disappointment about all four books were the fact that, the motives weren’t strong enough. The psychological explanations offered by Poirot failed to convince me as compelling reasons to commit murder.

I relished the books just as any other Hercule Poirot mysteries, but was dissatisfied. The villains were not completely evil, but painted with shades of grey. It is like we arrive at the truth, yet this time the working of the criminal mind bordered to something that did not make much sense even after the world’s most brilliant detective explained it to us.