Snippets of the mind by Gagansvaid

Rashid follows an old man. From the old man's manners, Rashid picks up manners. The way he reacts, the old man; similarly this young boy reacts as closely as possible. Rashid doesn't critically follow him like a mirror image but draws in his mental picture, the appearance of the old man. The young boy talks to himself while walking the lane with little steps. He's getting noticed for following the man. This Rashid doesn't know. For, the boy is in the land of his makings. He murmurs, "How many decades, oh my God, how many uncountable years, he has walked these lanes...I come to this market rarely. My Baba is always seen here." Now, Rashid sits by near a kachori (Indian eatery) stall next to the lane where Abdul Baba goes through. Now, he sits alone other than the little crowd that's busy enjoying the kachori . He's alone, because his world was destined to Abdul Baba. Now, he was left to sit with his own self; unknown of other occurrences in th

Magician's eyes, Colorful portrait, The manner she looks, dignified enough.  I lament naught, On losing her; I celebrate, for having known her. Magnetic, my patience; While attuned she was, To this holy spirit of love, I got to know, wasn't it for me, Still, I loved. Roads were blank, While I saw her appearing, Chirping in my silence, Her affectionate disposition towards me. I walkest alike, a caricature of love, That intensified it's holiness, whilst I thought of her. I sung songs, I heard them whistle, From long a distance, unto heart's intense being. A sole twinkle awakened in me, Lightening and dreams, That I witness today too, While I move, Ahead in the roads, Of smile and melancholy alike. Moving with dreams,  broken but aligned, With parallel bonds of hopes destined.

The best thing about life is that we know we are losing in one place. The funniest thing is that we still carry on doing that job. The only hope that pertains is, to get out of the loses. Hence forward a road towards victory. To comment on my city, is to comment on it's people, the linguistics, the aesthetics, the dreams of Delhi. Delhi being the capital of India, makes my comment on India as a whole. Not merely the Delhites- who live permanently here, but the Indians who reach Delhi to follow the race against time. The race to create an identity of oneself, to get what belongs to us. We get opportunities, but in metropolitan cities, such is Delhi. Income Tax Office(I.T.O), the office in general but known widely as a bridge followed by a road where it is located. The road that links East Delhi to the Central Delhi; is one of the busiest roads in Delhi. There's a bus stop where in every five minutes, develops a thunderous crowd. The D.T.C buses fill with passengers, few step

Day-1 I walked and stood still, I was waiting for a bus to drive me back home. At an interval did I stop. I stood blank for a moment, as a pause to my walking. I glared with wide open eyes until I saw no bus in the vicinity of the passage that was visible. I carried forward with thoughts other than of bus, but the dreams. After reaching another bus stoppage, I found a bus criss-crossing me. I couldn't have asked for more. A blessing had been offered to me by the sun dazzling spirits that sensed to me, reached to me. I got into the bus and in the crowd of the bus seeking youth and old alike, I reached my home. In the meantime, I had dreamt with freshness, about almost everything that flew it's wings in my minds' personages while I walked past the bus stop's. Day-2 I stood like the other passengers who were my college friends. Well, many of them were familiar faces, whom I saw daily alongside me. The students who were waiting for their bus to drive through the bus s

Love isn't about gifting precious diamonds. It's neither a flame for people to rest their lives upon. It's the essence of long dealt freedom. When the mind or heart isn't shy to express to the world it's very attraction. Whatever it feels, it easily expresses. Love the world and so does the world love you. The patches are green, the moisture in the air is softly drenching the cheeks of sweat. The walk maintains with the equilibrium in interest paving the traveler ahead. It's not that the road is very clear and smooth, it's about experimenting and the love of doing that. Blending the art craft to one's soul and transcending the beauty of nature into one's patient mind- transgresses the enormous textures to the real world from the artificial colours that occur. Such is the highness and glory of art. It emulsifies the artist with similar equations and enlightens every roadway and road past that we move and comrade with added notches of learning and pe

An artistry imagery holds the guild to make perfection out of a raw thing. The unacceptable of the less done works, and over emphasis of one’s down pouring heart; gives to the world light to nurture and feel affection in and apart. Thine appearance of charm elongates, trustful incarnation of thy soul. The way you feel, you tend to show to the people around. For, they form the world out there and an audience to the artist’s craft. Songs of thine optimism and pessimism alike, make an innate picture of love and it’s dismissal. The space given to each thought carves out of you, an artist and such art adoring portrayal. Portrayal of life that is but there, the sun that glows and endears. The night that befalls and the trees respire the shades of silence and rescue. After, the attaining scorching heat that mumbles upon in deep frenzy and solitaire. Each emotion is equally felt and passed through one’s acceptance of life here and there. The opinion making is the one that is referred as when

New tastes did occur, as the days moved closer, as one can say that the college days were coming to their closure or towards the destined treaty that exclaimed that one fine day the conclusion bells would ring. I had got a new taste for drinks like, drinking Gatorade, Fanta other than Pepsi. I had started liking the milk shakes; something I didn’t do long back. You can refer to the passing times as the real transformer. I have started gaining interests in varied activities. A man gets tastes as and when he lives through different emotions and times. Figuring the people, different mood or simply revisiting the settings of the progressing country. One moves around one’s country and nears about knowing the texture, the composition of what rings the hearts of people, the minds of people

Love me not for what naught I have in me. Rather love me for what I possess in me to offer to you. I won't disagree on the fact that I am a novice, yet I am looking forward towards the light. The light that I see isn't the one buzzing in commotion over any funeral pyres burning head-long, it is my own beauty of civilized manners. The manners that off-spring out of the silent me, over the threshold of my mentality. In confusions and distortments, in lineages and orderliness, I am transformed rather metamorphosis occurs for the material good of myself. I had far long visualized a scenery and a dream in my minds' space of wisdom, wherein I had outlined my standing in life. So am I here, lightening the stars with that twinkle and hubbub, that it rings to me, reaches to me in the dialect of love. Love has no individuality of it's own, for it is universal as the sunlight and not just a lantern. When love rings itself, it reaches it's vibrancy to all men, not after looking

Eyes ask for a closure, Mind envelopes a distant cynosure. What is very much liked, No more is in the capacity to write. When a lot is said, believed and sensed, Mind blows away in unlinked cadence. In the morning sing the birds, They wake me up, and forbade, Me of any further sleep. My heart ceases the left tendency, Patience and rightful reflection, Occur to me, While I remain a distant weaver, To understand my state of irony.

Dusky-the texture, people moved across, it was the hubbub of the street. Eatery shops endeared the sight of freshness in their makings. Boys cracked jokes, ate the pastries, the chocolate truffles in a palate wherein all shared with care and affection. Attorned, the white ironed Kurta that did downpour from their necks down to the knees, as the air blew with cadence in it's forthcoming. In no time two auto rickshaw drivers mocked the arena of the street side. They infected the flow of people by colliding with one another in the street that looked like a little artery that is to a human body. The crowd including the shop owners and the kids enthralled with great sharpness in face and manners, to witness the further involvement of the two drivers who came out with uncanny beard, on either one's face. The shop owners had got their food for the hunger to disseminate; they were far too bored to sit at their shop's that had no buyer for distant ages. It was time for entertainm

Two boys were walking down the street after playing for nearly two hours. They were getting back home. It was Srinivasan's house and Rajkumar's mother was a servant at Srinivasan's home. The two boys got together well, fighting, playing, arguing and continuing the play with the football.  Rajkumar had been a frequent visitor to their home, an area full of plants, a swimming pool being an attraction for the wayfarers. Still, the two boys went for an even bigger playground to practice. Srinivasan's mother was well acquainted with the fact that Raju's mother was a servant and so was her son to be pictured as one. "Raju merely picks up the ball and brings to my son, as my son is a very good player. He's intelligent that he makes use of this loafer, who does naught a thing else than sitting at the veranda with an old yellowed thick textbook in his hands. What a trouble is to look at him, he's so dull and compose." She whispered to herself, in a hig

Hurt and Disregard! Her love was real, In the realm of her charm, Composed that vigour to know me more, To chant my name, for love did engross, Us together, Still she goes to never look at me. I ask her, Dearest Lady; Had you been silent, To listen to thyself, I am certain, you could have carried, The truth, that you are wary about, Unknown about. If any day, you pass the street we walked, Be calm enough to bring the rays of coldness and paleness that you shall find in there. For there floats my heart's arch, My waiting for thee of several hours, When one thine look could make my day, My sustenance lively and shine on my way; Dearest, look at me once; you shall know, Why this heart prays and dies in the ocean of pain.. The Farewell If the sun rays could satisfy, Why not you purify; Thy hearth of it's affection, My beloved! I kept on the clock, To note if you were seeking, My attention; That you weren't, My beloved! I could fall aback, Thousand stars, could r