As the train left….

She clenched onto the window as the train drifted away from the congested station.

She wanted to run back and gather her belongings and dispose it far off from the crammed station.

She wished for someone to stumble on her belongings….

But with time she had mastered the art of hiding things, including her own feelings.

“There was a bomb blast at the last station. Terrorist attack, once again.” remarked someone, all aghast. 

She clenched onto the window, even hard….Once again, she was able to pummel all her emotions back into her soulless heart.

#95words #microfiction

Genie in the bottle…

She rubbed the old lamp. Genie appeared.

“What is it, that you desire? 

She fumbled in the dark, for her mother. The wet pillow, once again testified her agony.

“Make all her pain disappear.”

“Think before you wish. Your eyes could see, next time you blink. 

Then why, ask for her tears to disappear, when your eyesight can end her pain, forever?”

“My vision can lessen her pain. 

But, soon she will find something to replace her pain. 

Don’t let my wish go in vain,

take away her pain!!”

Genie granted her only wish, making their lives filled with bliss!!!


100 words

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The heart wants what it wants…

“The heart wants what it wants.” I tried consoling my insatiable hankering. Guilt was shooting bullets at my fragile heart as  I opened the refrigerator. 

The luscious chocolate bar was staring at me. I stared back, ruthlessly at it. 

“You win, I lose. Yes, I will have you.” 

I reached my hands for it. Just then. Interruption!!!

“Mumma, I had kept a chocolate bar yesterday. Hmm.. there it is. Thanks Maa, for holding the door.”

“I win, you lose!!” I wallowed in pain. 



This is my 8th blog for #MyFriendAlexa. I’m taking my Alexa rank to the next level with Blogchatter.

The last ballet….

A poignant smile enlightened her face, as she hung the telephone without any haste. 

That one ring, tore her apart, yet managed to join every broken pieces of her heart. 

She cried, she laughed, she danced and pranced, as her pointe shoe left little red marks. 

The berries and the chocolates which she had ordered for the celebration, remained untouched. 

“Alas, that man has been served.”

She collapsed with a thud……


(71 words microfiction)


This is my 7th blog for #MyFriendAlexa. I’m taking my Alexa rank to the next level with Blogchatter.

Yes, he wanted to be a rustic again….

Year 2020 

The cities have already been taken over by multi storied buildings, skyscrapers, giant glittering shopping malls, multiplexes, touch screens, Ac coaches and buses. 

But in the same year, back in a small village, life still chose to move at a slow pace. 

And one little person despised his slow life. He had been to the city once or twice with his parents. And since then, the city life kept on intriguing him.

Nothing about the village seemed to please him. The dusty roads, the mango orchards, the muddy puddles, the bonfires,the pakoras, the old school with its never ending green field, the house he lived in, the mango tree in his backyard,everything had lost their charm. 

All he wanted, was the charismatic city life.  His heart yearned to go back to the city. 

The quintessentially arcadian landscapes of his village had somehow lost its essence to the sparkling city. 

What a life must one have in these cities? wondered Little Arya. 

And one day his prayers were answered. 

His father wanted to expand his existing business. So it was good bye to the rice fields, good bye to the lush green grass, the mango tree, the orchards, the old school.

This mesmerising city eluded such extravaganza that his little heart was filled with joy. His house now was one third of the size of his home back in village, but equipped with all the modern facilities. He fell in love with every inch of that house, almost immediately. 

The malls, the cool air of cars, the skyscrapers, the school, in fact everything about the city fascinated him. He was happy that he was no more a rustic.

Days passed by, as Little Arya prospered in the city. Days turned into months. 

But, after a while, he felt a strange emptiness in his heart. It was, as if he was missing something big. But, he was too little to understand what….

His daily routine which initially seemed so exciting now no more excited him. He woke up to a fully furnished house, got ready, sat in his Ac car, went to school, studied, came back, ate, missed his parents as they were busy with setting up the business, the touch screen Mobile which had become his best friend, now lay untouched on the table, the tv no more excited him, the nanny became his soul mate, evenings disappeared into nights after hopping from one activity to another. Monday’s for drawing, Tuesday’s, Thursdays and Saturdays for maths & science, Wednesday’s for dance classes, Friday’s for swimming, and never ending Sundays. 

The huge sky rise had limited playing space, the kids here were more engrossed in screen games than the green grass. Thinking about all this, Little Arya felt asleep. 

In his dream he saw himself running through the dusty roads, playing hide and seek with his friends at his old school, stealing fruits in the orchards, climbing the mango tree in his backyard, fighting over the last piece of pakora with his father. 

All of a sudden, he felt light. That emptiness started fading. 

Yes, he wanted to be a rustic once again…


This is my sixth blog for week three for #MyFriendAlexa. I’m taking my Alexa rank to the next level with Blogchatter..

Pretence or love??


She looked at him all amazed.

He was the heart and soul of the party.

Jovially surrounded by his friends.

She sat there looking at him. Her two kids played with each other, while she tried to hide her tears. Her eyes still fixated on her him.

What went wrong? She contemplated.

When the whole world finds a friend in him, then why can’t she?

Is the world wrong or is she??

Why can’t she love him like before? Or the day she met him for the first time?

The first time when their eyes met. Was it love at first site or did she just just assume so?? Where did she go wrong in judging him?

There love story was one which their friends could swear by. Something that could aspire generations ahead. Then what went wrong?

Why was she sitting aloof, away from the sacred crowd hiding her tears??

Abhi was the man of her dreams. Sheetal never imagined that she could ever find a life partner like him. They were head over heels in love from the very moment they saw each other.

They got hitched pretty soon.. rather too soon.. may be, they should have given more time in knowing and understanding each other rather then jumping in for marriage.

Only hell knows how eager she was in getting married. And so it happened.

Love. Love. Love. Love in the air. So much love that she couldn’t hold with two hands. She felt blessed. Lucky.

But then, one day, they had an argument. Abhi lost control and hit her for the first time.

She cried, he too cried. They kissed and made up. She thought of it as an one time thing and forgave him.

Love wins.

A few years later, the same thing was repeated. Abhi lost control, couldn’t manage his anger and Sheetal had to bear the consequences.

She forgave once again for the sake of love.

Time passed. She gave birth to two beautiful twins. Forgot what happened in the past to decorate her future.

But, yet again. The same thing happened. But this time, she couldn’t forgive. She just couldn’t. Every time she saw Abhi, she shivered. Every time he came near, she felt suffocated. Communication collapsed to zero. She hardly talked. He tried to speak. At times she spoke, but soon succumbed to the ongoing pain in her heart.

She wanted to leave him and go. End the so called fabulous- too good to be true love story. She had a flourishing career. Financially secured. She could have easily filed for a divorce. But her twins loved their dad like crazy, unaware of their ongoing Cold War.

Sheetal herself was from a broken family. She knew the pain, she could feel it till date. She didn’t want her kids to feel the same. She wanted them to have a daddy.

So, she sat their wiping her tears, hiding her tears, watching her husband enjoying the party.

His friends saw the fun Abhi in her husband, while she saw the punches, the thrashing, the beating, the abuses.

How could the world not see the dark side of Abhi? When she could feel it gruelling her every second. Was she wrong? Or the world was too blind to see? Or was Abhi’s pretence camouflaging the real Abhi?

She didn’t know whether she loved him anymore. But, she wanted a father for her twins. Cause, Abhi was a wonderful father. And she didn’t have the heart to take that away from them.

P.S. This is a fiction or may be a reality in many households. Women adjust a lot for the better future of their kids.


This is my 5th blog for #MyFriendAlexa. I am taking my Alexa rank to the next level with Blogchatter.

The fast and furious #MyFriendAlexa

I love to drive. I simply love it. Driving to me is like an expression of freedom. It saves me from the hassles of searching for an Ola or Uber, waiting for them to arrive, often wondering about, what if the driver misbehaves, etc. But this blog is not about Ola or Uber. It’s about our mismanaged traffic.

My present city of residence is Kolkata. No matter how much I hate the gruelling traffic of Kolkata, it will forever remain my favourite city. But, driving through the city roads often makes me think, that most of us are untamed, unruly, when it comes to obeying and respecting traffic rules, and my list also includes the guardians of traffic aka Police.

  • We don’t like to follow the basic traffic rules.
  • We don’t like to wait, or give way to others.
  • We don’t drive, we race.
  • We love to overtake. Actually, we can’t bear the fact that someone can drive in front of us.
  • We don’t understand something as simple as driving in a lane, or following a lane.
  • We love to squeeze into any available space. We wish we as well as our vehicles, were more like Elastic Girl from the movie, “The Incredibles”
  • While driving a two or a four wheeler, we feel like fighter pilots.
  • We love to bribe the honourable police officers whenever we commit a felony.
  • Jumping signals, replenishes our adrenaline.
  • And honking would be our favourite pastime
  • And so on. The list is endless.

Anyone who has driven on the roads of Kolkata, would understand the dilemma of driving through our beloved city’s road. But, the same set of people, when they visit any developed foreign country, they are awestruck in admiration of the strict traffic rules, and how diligently the people follow them, or how courteous the drivers are, to allow the pedestrian to pass by, or how they avoid unnecessary honking.

Luckily I too had a chance to witness the organised traffic in few developed countries.

In Switzerland, I totally forgot that the vehicles had horns, Paris though very crowded, but nobody dared to break the traffic rules. In Dubai, I noticed that the drivers would slow down to allow the pedestrians to cross the roads and so on. Traffic etiquettes, I would say. Strict laws, strict and un-corrupt officers and most importantly, strict implementation of the traffic rules, along with strict penalty.

But once, I’m back in India, especially in Kolkata, all I hear is the buses honking, the autos racing, the bikes whizzing past at jet speed, all I read is about road accidents due to rash driving. If you notice, we have a traffic personnel at every crossing, almost at every signal. But, still, we are unruly. We don’t want to wait. We don’t want to learn to drive in lanes, even at places where there are well defined lanes and bus-ways.

You want to turn left, your left indicator is blinking, you are about to make a turn, when your car suddenly jolts as you suddenly brake. Why were you forced to brake? Cause some idiot wanted to pass before you. He was in so much hurry that he failed to notice your blinking indicator. You would feel lucky if that idiot chose to warn you by a honk. Otherwise, just count your blessings. And such idiots are not uncommon. You will find them waiting at every signal.

Red means stop. Even my four year old knows that. But cycles, rickshaw and police cars do not consider themselves as the part of the traffic. They can cross even when the light goes red. God must have made them accident proof.

Zebra crossing is hardly used. Bus stops everywhere. All you need to do is signal the bus. The designated bus stands have become the shelter for the dogs and homeless. Autos ply recklessly throughout the city, they defy almost all traffic rules, but still continue as one of the most important means of commute.

Kolkata can become an accident free city by following the traffic rules, be it the one driving or the pedestrian.

Yes, we are huge in number. We are one of the most populated nations, but that doesn’t gives us the green signal, to break traffic rules, or become unruly.

Waiting for a accident free country, due to rash driving.

This is my 4th blog for #MyFriendAlexa. I’m taking my Alexa rank to the next level with Blogchatter. Do comment & follow my blogs, if you like it.



The Tiffin Box… #MyFriendAlexa


The morning sunshine has been invaded by the rain. It was the perfect day to plant an excuse and prolong her stay in bed. But she woke up to her favourite smell in the kitchen. She knew what was cooking. She hurriedly got ready for school. Ate her sandwich, finished the tall glass of milk without any fuss.

The rain did not deter her spirits, from going to school. Rather today she was all excited about going to school. She could hear the raindrops thrumming on her blue raincoat, but she hardly cared. She hopped, skipped and jumped over the puddles to make her way to the deserted bus stand.

From a distance, she could see her school bus piercing through the torrential rains. Sadly, the bus appeared a bit desolate. Two of her friends had chosen to stay at home. Many others were missing too. Her face looked forlorn as she gazed through the window. But every cloud has a silver lining, and her was, in her school bag.

As the bus jostled its way through the unwanted rains, she could see the troubled passer-by. Soon they reached school to be halted by the fleet of buses.


Someone shouted, “Rainy day, Holiday!!!”


She was all ears.


Yes…It was…A holiday… Rainy day…Holiday. She heard it right.


HappyElated….She hugged her bag…………

While the whole bus was rejoicing the moments of a perfect holiday, she opened her tiffin. It was piping hot…intoxicating…mouth­-watering….Irresistible..Delectable..

So leaving everything behind, she plunged into the luscious noodles. They have never tasted like this before.

That was the best noodles she ever had in her life. The most memorable noodle of her life.

That was one day that will remain etched in her heart forever. She waited for more such days. But memorable things happens once in a blue moon.

I’m taking my Alexa rank to the next level with Blogchatter. Hope you enjoyed reading.





The story behind the blue door….

She ran and ran, till she could run no more. Tired and drenched in her own sweat, she found a place where she could rest. She leaned on the blue door, to catch her breath.

She wanted to knock on the doors, just to check. Who could be the owner of this pleasant place? Suddenly, the doors opened, like that in the fairy tales. She stepped inside, to see her initials scribbled on the name plate.

“No, no, it can’t be.. Does this house really belongs to me??”

“Yes.. it’s the house you were looking for. So you ended up landing at it’s door.” Said a familiar voice.

“But, never in my life, I had the privilege of owning anything. Everything I ever owned was either gifted or bestowed. The house I was born in, belonged to my parents. A pampered child I was, I must tell. My wish was their command. Only sister of three brothers, they tore the city down to find me a perfect match. Soon I saw myself getting married off to a wealthy man. His house was bigger than ours though his cars had the same number of wheels as ours.

Soon, I found love in the wealthy man. And he loved me back. His family became my family. We celebrated our joys together, we shared our sorrows together. Soon I delivered the the most beautiful creature in this world. Flying in the seventh heaven, I rarely looked down to see the earth beneath. Never for a moment I thought I was not happy.

But then, one day, we had a fight, a huge fight. We have faught before, well, it’s not uncommon for any married couple. But, that day, our voices lost their control, and all I could hear in the storm, was, get out of my house.’

‘My house, I wondered. Wasn’t it supposed to be our house? Aren’t we in this relationship together? So how come, it’s your house? If it’s not mine, then I chose to leave. Carrying my little one, I packed my bags. I reached home, my home, the home where I was born. They greeted me well, they treated me well, but at the same time, they kept asking me, when would I go back to my home?

But, how could I tell them, that, that was not my home, it was his home, where I stayed as his wife. It was his home, that I cherished and cared. It was his home, that I cared for as mine.”

“But, that’s your home my child. You disowned this house, the day you got married.” Was my father’s stoic reply.

“Confused about my house, I cried, I wept. I knew I had lost my self respect. But sitting beside me, was my angel. She could understand every word that remained unsaid.”

“Come back home, my dear.” Begged my better half. With a happy and a heavy heart I left the place where I was born.

The search for my own house, never came to an end. Time and again, my existence was being questioned. I covet for a house, that I can call as mine, where I can live without the fear of being chased out.

Now you say, that beyond this blue door, is the house which has my name. But, I’m too scared to enter, to see it’s splendour.”

When all of a sudden….

“Mumma, wake up. The lawyer must be waiting. Don’t you remember, we are going to sign the deeds of your house.”

“My house?”

“Mumma, now hurry up. We are getting late.”

“My daughter has bought me a house with my name. After all these years, I finally have pride over my head. She made a promise, which she has kept.

“Mumma, I will find your house one day.” My angel had said.

“Can I paint the door blue?” I asked.

“Mumma, it’s your house. Paint it, in the color you want. But make sure, the blues of your life remained locked outside the blue door.”

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