Snippets of the mind by Gagansvaid

Many a times, the paper was blank. Similarly, there was scribbling on the paper, the words that were cut. The paragraphs that were fully neglected after they were written with such charisma and grandeur. Was there a lot to gain or to lose, while writing? He wrote still, after his work was referred as holy shit. He drove still, even when he was told, he could hardly speak the language that he pretended to be perfect at, in the public eye. They all, said so. They all, poked fun at him as he tried speaking English with the intoning of his naive tongue. He didn't seek perfection so sooner; he was a seeker of love. Did anyone imagine that also, for a change? He never thought of becoming a writer, until his destiny called onto him. He never wanted to be famous, but to impress people and get a place in their hearts. Farrukh wanted that and nothing more. His charisma and passion wasn't to come in anyone's way, neither did he want to sit on anyone else's laurels

Beginning. He didn't really mean it or did he? That his friends were to react in a not so familiar culture. That in no time, Sharad was to be taken as a soft target. The strangest thing to configure was the fact that in friendship, friends were to be taken as targets. What was it, the bond to be called quite definitely? Did friendship have to mean, picking and choosing or taking sides, given it wasn't for teasing but offending someone, who really believed in the bond of friendship. What if friendship was meant to be one sided. Was there any room for such bond to prolong, devoid of any fake promises. The promises that were inborn to be broken finally when the tough time came or when there was time to take a stand for a friend. What did this word mean and from where did it originate? It was something to think about and ponder about gravely. With an intent to understand life and it's tendencies. To tell ourselves, what did our friendship with a person have to

Check my train status. Right now. C'mon! Open the window. On the address bar write www.indianrail.gov.in and on the top right corner of the page you need to click and select PNR status. Do it and tell me back in two minutes. In addition, see the seat capacity and choose a seat number if the option is given. Preferably, select the AC, sleeper class ticket. Okay, do it fast; I'm putting the phone on hold. Okay, brother. Wait, while I check and update you. Said, Rajeev to his elder brother Sushil who was enquiring for his aunty. In the meanwhile, Sushil kept the call on hold and simultaneously talked to his business partner over a quarrel.  At one place, Rajeev was waiting with the train details. No phone rang. He remained there, facing his laptop screen and feeling dizzy. Wishing to catch sleep, but it wasn't to be. His big brother had asked a favour, so he had to stand to it first than letting any other thought splash up. At the same time, Rajeev got to read the

Dreams. What are they? Imaginations, or something in tense ? Do your dreams make sense to you? Hmm... You have a slight chance, to turn things around. So, what do you think, can you make them real? Turn them towards the reality, from the mere thoughtful process they lie in. Tell me. Okay, James! Wait. Tell me one thing. Whatever you imagine, can you make that happen exactly in your life? Can you or not. Tell me. C'mon! Sir, I don't think so. It's like, first you have an idea only then you move forward. Imagination is the roadway to the occurrence of the events. Don't you think as I do? Hmm.. Okay, James. So, you mean to say; that imaginations and reality are far different from each other? Yes, I say so because everything can't be as ditto as you imagine. There's a gap between imaginations and the reality. How can everything be what you see already? It's something intense. Yes, you're right it is, Mr.Thomas! Oh, fella! James, I

You work for your very love of it, the way I write for what's closer to my Being. Many a times, I restrain myself from the truth. Until, I get to know the real picture and hence learn about the many wrong beliefs that I had led forth with. To let the Soul at peace, I often pretend and write complex diction. To make a feeling sense in a particular way, when actually it's not happening to me in the reality. When I wanna write as beautifully and end up portraying what I hadn't really felt, but only thought. Peace is to express oneself, when the feeling comes from it's very actuality. The nature of peace combines with the trustful imagining of life. Peace to people comes with what allures them and becomes their basis to live life. That's enthusiasm, that's passion; less expectation and more of the impression. To hone your skills in your talent you redeem it and gain the joys of life and feel satisfied. To contribute towards the po

Sunday in it's reality is a song, is a melody. Outstretches the week, To find the day off in it's versatility, A break to find, A day to walk the distant seas, The one's left distant, Their presence felt but not seen. Enough of time, To praise the greenery of the gardens, To follow the family, out on travel, The well known eateries, the thought-about galleries. Ice-creams and Chuski's never the same as with people. Balloons and the sceneries, Well expressed and photographed, When there's enough wishful appetite, To be clicked and to interact. In places we see not alone the artistry from it's outlining, In artistry we see the composition and the framed songs, Of the period when the art did minstrel. That's how we communicate with the buildings and monuments, Built from a time as late as the Thoughtful Movements, That oriented and churned in the sands of time. With friends, we walk, we talk, Enjoy the Sunday, A day off for everyo

Night comes with a shiver, Mornings are led with such crescendo; Of in-touching cooler vibes, From the wintery sky. In this living-room, Wall hangings spread a message of warmth; As the bulb inside them blazes, And enlightens the loneliness, Sending a hand of care,affection; That's how I take it. I switch the lamp on, Yellowish and orange like, Light comes to visibility, Such is the cover of these brighter waves; Settling over me and the sketches of the shadow, That become but mine, And the many things around me, It's now that I get to estimate their presence. A horse like figure, a toy-like water bottle, The hulk out of my figure that sits on the sofa, Engrossed into many thoughts or maybe those are ideas. As if with me, everything around me unites, To give a picture to themselves, While I write, like-wise they draw; Making their presence felt as I say so. It's winter, I start with a shiver; With my hands seeking woollen gloves. The l