Friday, May 09, 2014

In Thier Coyness

In dull light of the room, he slides towards her. All but she took a deep breathe. He caressed her cheek. 

Her eyes closed and opened when his breathe brushed her soft lips, and then tasted. She heard his lips, and he felt her soul.

Tuesday, May 06, 2014

Stitched Strings

Dear Mind,

Last time when we met one another, there were no strings attached. You have witnessed everything. I am today just pouring myself out. You remember first time. She was at an Opticians shop, trying new glasses. That geeky spectacles on her made her more reliable person than she truly is. I always wanted her to read me through my poetry and stories. She played a major role in my writings. And obviously, she knows that. That night I was crossing by the shop, when she saw me. She called me up, and I was astonished on that. A few chit chats and she selected her pair of spectacles. To my another surprise, she asked for my notebook of Poetry and Stories. I could not be happy more. I gave her my notebook to my world, and she liked stories and poetry. She even recognized the story involving her. A realm in the stories involved her, all she had to do is relive that in real life. I was looking for a Friend, to laugh loud again.
But, misunderstanding played another mysterious role between Us. She could not get enough replies from Me, I could not get enough smiles anymore. We broke apart. She stayed alive, but dead under the skin. She still snick in the proses and poems I write. It's been almost two weeks since last we talked. Yes, I do Miss her. But I miss more of Me, that she took tearing me into pieces. She will stay in my stories as a Character. There is no Death of Real Character in Fiction World. That's how writer's play with Life. Strings supposed to be attached by knot. One can try stitching as well. Stitching stay longer than knots. But this time, no strings actually stitched. All I request you today, please stay close to me. You know me, I don't have mind to think on life again.

From Heart.

A letter from a broken heart to his beloved friend Mind.

Note: A work of Fiction involves stories, surrounding reality.

Sunday, May 04, 2014

First Sight

In the dark of night, he was driving calmly. With classics on radio channel, Rachit hymned along, and Ayanna kept looking at the silence of streets. Lampposts were proving to be new path providers. In between these lights, the moon managed to show up out of the silver canopy. Some were walking back to their land of night; others were fighting the night for some shed. She watched them all, and he was still filling up the void of silence with hymns. She tended to share her day with him, on all nights, but not today. It was their first dinner out. Besides, eyes meeting a few hours ago, they talked only while placing the order. In the coyness of being together, she could not utter a word. He could not take his eyes of her.

A few turns and signals later, they would reach home. On the last turn towards the left, she saw an ice cream vendor. “Chocó bar” she said finally. He shunned Kishore Kumar, looked at her for more detail and hit breaks at the corner. A breeze was passing through her hairs. To handle them, she rolled them into a bun. Those earrings were revealed. Her scruff created a motion of standstill for him. He might not catch her words, but he wanted silence to prevail for a while. “I will have a chocó bar.” she said again. He sighed at her voice. He pulled out some money from the dashboard and rushed to vendor, she pointed. Weather played along, as the shinning moon hid behind the heavy clouds. He returned with two bars and drenched clothes. She instantly pulled her pink dupatta to wipe the forehead of her husband. He held her hand and kissed them. “I was waiting for your voice to command.” He said. She hid her face in coyness. It was Love at First Sight in the Night of shinning Moon hiding behind the clouds of Rain.

Monday, March 10, 2014

Just for a While, Be My Life

Just for a While, be My Life.
You Close to all My Destinations,
I Stand on Road to You.
No Rushing, but Slow Walk.

Eyes, they go through Dermis,
To reach into Your Soul.
All Truth under the Closet,
Don't Speak to Them,
They Tend to Reveal in Silence.

In Deep Silent Night of Rain,
Let Our Silence be the Loudest,
Under the Shade of Trees,
Just for a While, be My Life.

- Gulfam


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Monday, March 03, 2014


बहुत दर्द है  इन  बाज़ुओं  में, 
एक  लम्बे  अर्से  का  भोज  उठा  रखा  है,
खामोशिओं  की  रंजीशो  में,
ये  सफ़र  दूर  तक  तेह  करने  का  दर्द  रखा  है.

ईमानदारी  का  असर  समझो ,
खोये  चैन  का  इलज़ाम  देखो ,
रोज़गारी  की  तलब  की  कशीश ,
के  लम्बे  अर्से  के  बेरोज़गारी का  दर्द  है,

बहुत  दर्द  है  इन  बाज़ुओं  में ,
दूर  तक  खाली  हाथ  उठा  रखा  है ,
खामोशिओं  की  रंजीशो  में ,
ये  सफ़र  दूर  तक  तेह  करने  का  दर्द   रखा  है .

थकावत  भी  बहुत  आँखों  में ,
डगमगाहत  है  कदमो  की  लैह  में .
चन्द  लम्हे  की  ख़ुशी  की  तलाश ,
से  पहले  की   हर  रोज़ा  का  दर्द  है .

बहुत  दर्द  है  इन  बाज़ुओं  में ,
एक  लम्बे  अर्से  का  भोज  उठा  रखा  है ,
खुशिओ  की  रंजीशो  में ,
ये  सफ़र  दूर  तक  तेह  करने  का  दर्द  रखा  है .

- गुलफाम 

Tuesday, December 24, 2013


Winters always carry the string of Love wrapped with fog and cold waves to keep lovers closed in arms of one another. However, for Daksh love is not around anymore, rather love for work. Like other days, he found himself late for his work. Rushing to the stairs at old railway station, he encountered a girl. He dropped his bag with a book of Nicolas Sparks slipped from her hand. He picked book to apologize.

“Oh I’m sorry.” He said when picked the book. However, he stubbed her. Kanika, his reason for present love lost from past.

“You are late like always.” She said when they stuck their eyes to each other.

“Nope, I have not changed.” To this, they moved to the platform, but on split steps. Kanika took a corner of only bench on the platform. However, Daksh kept checking his watch. There was not any sign of next passenger to Amritsar. Kartarpur has never been a railway station of regular trains. Therefore, people know a few numbers of trains that passes through this station.

“Saala, when would this passenger train come?” he murmured. “This country has no future.” It was silence around enough that even station master, coming out of his room, heard him.

“You should start coming on time, may be you will see a change.” The master said. He knew that Daksh always miss his first passenger to Amritsar.

“It’s so cold,” Kanika said at last. “Uncle, aaj chaiwala nahi aaya?” she asked further to the Master. Daksh looked around if there was any Chaiwala. He could not find any, and then finally lost to fog covering the station and nearby area.

“Arey, there he is” the master pointed to chaiwala. “Get two cups of tea here.” He ordered. It echoed in the fog of silence, where a very few people were waiting for the chariot of their respective destinations. Under the hazy light at station, Kanika kept her eyes more glued to The Notebook, she was reading. However, her intention was to ignore Daksh.

On same bench, but grabbing the corners they looked at one another though. On right, Daksh had nothing, but rubbing his hands to keep heat in the body. It was silence around which prevailed until chaiwala interrupted.

“Saheb Chai.” Chaiwala said while pulling out a cup from his steal cup holder, and moved to Kanika to handover her cup of tea. She did not have one-rupee change to pay, but Daksh paid for her as well. She pulled a packet of cookies, offered to most ignored person to pay her gratitude. Although faltering he refused twice, and so she did not proffer to him again.

“Nicolas Sparks” he said to her when picked a cookie. “He never left you uncovered under any circumstances.” She roused her eyebrows to his statement or because he finally pulled out one.

“I also read other authors.” She replied, while sipping her chai. “Like?”  He asked further. The old fronds of trees were falling with cold wind. She draped herself again with shawl and stopped flipping of pages with cup of tea. On only platform on the station, ticking stopped to show them that they were moving back to talks.

“Paulo Coelho, Jennifer Cruise, Jhumpa Lahiri, Smita Shetty” she paused. “And recently Daksh”. He spilled a little on his name.

“Did you just say my name? I thought I don’t have you as my reader.” He said. Certainly, he got one reader he was waiting for months to be in his list. Nevertheless, the booklover had ignored the fact of being favorite reader for a writer.

“You were true if you had not used my name in your story ‘Ripples of Love’.” She continued further. “Who were they, Hero and Heroine in the story?” He looked at pages of book.

 “What do you think who were they?” he asked her.

“I have no idea, that’s why I have asked you.”

“She portrays you.” He said while putting his empty cup down. “You see these pages with traces of the round, marked by chai.” He pointed to the book, and she rolled her eyes to the pages. Meanwhile, the station then started to have more commuters.

“They are the smudges of love in life.” He completed, but she stayed her eyes there for a while.

“Then why did you name their daughter on me in the story?” she was getting involved to the box of secrets of story. An old fellow asked her to pick her belongings. She picked her book, and slid towards him.

“I don’t know if you really liked the story or what, but why are you getting more into the behind the story?” Slowly the fog disappeared, with sun coming up to brighter. Station had an announcement for coming of train to Amritsar from New Delhi. “To be very true, Kanika is a beautiful name.”

“It was you who walked away that night?” she got some heads turned to her. However, She looked away to make it absurd for others to keep on waiting for the train. A minute later, train entering the station, horned. He picked his belongings as he did that night. She kept waiting for any reply, but she closed her book.

Before he could board the train as routine, he turned to her again. “But you never stopped me.” He paused. To this, she had a reply. However, she did not say anything again.

Winters are not about the falling fronds, on paths to make crunchy sound by footsteps. Winters are not either about the nights under the blanket to save oneself from cold winds. Winters are the touch of the sun on the dermis when breeze romances with the body. Winters bring in the love, under the tree even with falling out old leaves; however hope of new life ahead.

Tuesday, December 10, 2013

Ripples of Love

Clear sky with white lining of clouds, under the blanket of the shining sun, he looked around to find his adored song of life, Geet. It was very crammed full with people here and there with bags of shopping. Some women with men to hold the bags, and some people were in-group holding up bags for themselves. He inspected his pockets to find his mobile.

“Gita, you need to stop….” Rachit heard and thought it was Geet, when he pulled out his phone. However, to his eyes, there was not any Geet around. He tried to call her, when he ended up no network coverage every time. “She supposed to be here.” He said to himself. He started moving to place she could be entering the market place.

It was not like lost always. They both were one as an essence to ignore the world around. Cipher and songs they listened as one, on some tapped foot and other they just counted stars all dark. Clock had sound on wall of their house, but to them time was never ticking. He goes to his habitual work, once dropping her at her workplace. However, last night…

“You never told me about these friends of yours.” He asked when saw a picture of her. In the picture, they were her friends, who she is not familiar with anymore. She was like other days preparing for the dinner.
“I suppose something need not to be told but interpreted.” She kept stirring the pan. “Perhaps, you don’t need to know a few things.” He stood dazed. She insulted the trust mayhap. Then he walked away for wrangle to end there only.

She noticed him go, but did not utter anything. She wanted to share something to him. A life, he might be waiting to hear. She had placed an envelope on table. A number of drops fell down her dimpled chicks. The special night all together called off. He walked streets for a mile. Then on roadside, he halted to reinvestigate his move. For all love and trust, he himself reminded of days of their past together. A beautiful house they bought, with a room for the kid, he wanted to have to make his life complete. Kanika as name decided for the girl and Ranveer for the boy. They both were at different places, but still going through same thoughts. Late night, he returned to house, and found her on bed lying. He took sofa for the night.

Next day, everything was on its place, but Rachit on couch. On his waking up, he found blanket over him, and a note on table. The note says:

“Going to market for groceries”. She certainly had forgotten the previous night, he thought. He saw the envelope addressing Geet from Dr. Sethi. The envelope contained a report that stated the condition of Mrs. Geet Gupta. He jumped and rushed to the bazaar.

Back to Marketplace:

She was, with two bags of some groceries and vegetables in hand, standing on other side of the road. She found her beloved perplexed in the crowd. She stepped towards him. He saw her walking out of crowd. With no delay, he swiftly walked to her, and hugged her. Astonished she treated him to a coy smile.

“Why did you not tell me?” he said at last. “Because I wanted it to be a surprise for the last night.” She replied with wet eyes.

“I am sorry.” He cleared her eyes. “I love you and Thank You.”

Note: This is a Work of Fiction. Rachit and Geet are fictional characters.