Song of the Rain

That artificial box, the metro was stuffed, stenching and philosophically boring. It was an ardous task to stand still, stare out of the window blankly and wait for my station to arrive. The aroma of dry chips intertwined with the hot  spices spewed out of the untied packet, the stink of sweats dried by air conditioners and the uneasy suffocation had caught my lungs. Pairs of eyes sensed my discomfort, but mine focused outside, with a hope to move out of this dingy coach.
The doors finally opened and a splash of little diamond-like droplets flew in. The cool breeze embraced my skin and I shoved myself of out that cell. The station was carpeted with dust and water. People were slithering out of that place and I was there, standing alone, cherishing the first monsoon spell.
I managed to move and walk steadily to my right and get downstairs. The windows to my left, half opened, busted some fresh air. Gradually, I checked out of the station and stepped outside. The sounds of pitter-patter on the shed above my head, the slush beneath the vehicles and criss-cross on the roads were all the euphonies of the rain. And somehow, they tuned in to one song, encompassing the other notes. The mesmeric music drew me out of the shed and drenched my body. The fresh wind hugged me tight and rejuvenated my senses. I could hear the exciting thunderous sound reminding the creatures of the fresh spell. The voices of people articulated Godly chantings and expressed gratitude of being awarded with such a blessing from the Heaven. The horns of the vehicles intruded the music played by the nature and my feet longed to dance on its beats!

Patient Nature and Busy Mortals.

The sun shone brightly, waiting for the city-dwellers to complete their errands and wait for the peaceful sunset. The trees, a small garden to the right of the road, held high and spirited, wavering on the beats of wind and glee. The leaves and cables capped the tree, the branches served as a hand for the rest, the hard trunk, scratched massively was diluted with pain with time. A gardener with a light grey hair, bowed and watered the plants in a thrill. His stable hands hurried the pace and went on with his legs to the other side of the way. The greenery was revived, despite the heavy light from above, the water on the floor displayed tiny dust particles and a clear sun on the sky. The scene was mesmeric, the birds gathered around to have a clear-sun view and simultaneously quenched their thirst.
To the left of the vegetation was a road, unpacked yet unclear, busted with two, four and six wheelers. The busy human lives, hoisted with ambitions and deadlines, neglected the beauty around and absorbed themselves to the fast-forward lives. Their hands held accessories, their shoulders leaned due to heavy bags, eyes focussing on the front and lips blurting the unbeknownst office secrets and rumours.
And, thereby stood a rickshaw-puller with hope for request and a reliance to earn a few pennies by dripping a few more sweats. The afternoon was at its peak and so his questing eyes displayed mercy, with tattered clothes on his body, and his frail legs slowly paddling the heavy vehicle. The pedestrians overlooked his needs and accelerated their walks to reach their destinations. The scent of tea and coffee smoked the air, attracting the pairs of eyes to the small stall of hot beverages. The hot wind assisted in captivating the men and women to their humble set-ups.
The nature communicated silently and the mortals enunciated loudly, suppressing the thunderous sound of vehicles. 

An account on plane trash in the Desert.

"I cannot die so early for I have lot more to achieve"- my conscience replied my mind which couldn't absorb the trauma. My body was shivering with fear and anxiety, but, my pounding heart was sure about my survival. The sun was up on our heads, drinking the energies and burning like a fireball. But, our busy hands and faith in ourselves would build a shelter to save save us from the dreary sun.
The brown land under our feets, the hot air brushing our skin with irritation and the tussle between the fear and faith in our hearts seemed unusual and scary. All 25 of us had divided our tasks; some would help in building the shelter and others were focussing on signalling the outer world of our existance.
"We can make through it" was our watchword that was trained by every mind and spoken out by every mouth who was going through such a fret. Our shelter was prepared within two hours, all we could do was just to stay calm and ear for the sound in the air. The strong loo, trespassing sand seemed so ususal now! Every drop of water was being saved, every starving stomach was ignored, minds were prepared by self-talks and our ears and eyes were all up,  hunting for a hope, happiness and a strong desire.

You are Special!

Long time ago a greek philosopher named Plato had determined the existence of perfect men and perfect women on an island name atlantis. What was the secret to their perfection and uniqueness? Is it possible in today's date? Well, yes.
The secret to their perfection lied within themselves and not outside. They had learnt to recognise the magical gifts and power within them. The had sacrificed the minor things to perform the major tasks. They had mastered the art of expressing gratitude and loving unconditionally. And most importantly, they were born unique and retained their uniquesness till the end.

Today, our education system, our mentality and intentions have distorted our inner world. We are strange beings who want perfection without practice. We are complex creatures who love simplicity but try to be complicated. To touch our buried souls and hear its voice, we need to calm ourselves and need to realize that every hurdle can be turned into an opportunity only if we start loving ourselves without any reason and begin introspecting.

We are responsible for serving three houses- our mind, body and soul. We are ought to provide them sunlight and let them communicate with the nature. For this, we have to come out of our busy lives and give some time to rejuvenate them.

The time has come for us to realize,
The day is near before the real demise,
Wake up and gather the three golden rules for a perfect life-
Think Positive, Think Rationally and Introspect.

A Melting Ice

A Melting Ice

She throbbed the door and opened it wildly. Pairs of eyes stared at her. She was walking towards her fixed bench, unnoticing the glare of the teacher. "Nikisha" said the teacher, " how many times have I reminded you the importance of discipline?". She took out a small notebook from her bag and ignored those trifling words.
Her dark brown eyes were fixed at the blackboard. Her beautiful wavy brown hair were tied up with a blue band.
" Happy Birthday Nikisha!"- whooped the class and so was written on the board. She did not dare to look around. She was now eighteen and had suffered a lot, had no friends, had never celebrated her birthday after her parents' death. A tear trickled from her eye, shadowing her strength and enhancing her emotional front.
No doubt, she was bold and beautiful, skinny yet daring and rarely uttered a word. A few girls hugged her and bestowed birthday cards to her. She smiled like a baby and started blushing. She had never experienced such a pleasant surprise. A kind gesture of her classmates had melted her cold attitude. She embraced it and realized the essence of love showered by her friends, which made her soft and kind, for the first time in her life.