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

Ram Vyas, had been quite admired in his village. Not only the triumphs he had bagged to his name and also to the fame of his village. But in addition, it was to his self confidence that he had given wings to. After bagging gold medals in spreading awareness, to the offshore villages, or places where actual information could not reach. He aligned and solely electrified his village, after studying the very science and basis that makes a bulb to glow. It was his added vigour to bring the shine and glitter of the utmost serenity, upon the faces that usually carried a damp facet. What he did, how he did was instrumental enough to make him popular in his village and now, the media that had become occupationally strong to cover important issues, picked upon this man on their cover pages and in the news hour. Ram Vyas had a dream, it was sensationalized. In the house of honour, he entered the Rashtrapati Bhawan where he was being applauded for his work with the Padma

To lose myself to the world, As change is the basis of this sphere; Do I need to follow the lines, And wear a mask, Of the person who I never was? Is it justice done to the rightest esteem, I wonder and concord; To this newer world that develops, Each morning, every passing day. I thought, I could hold; On to the person I had been, But time is such a person; Affects me, and brings out the different me. Now, it's on me, to feel if the change has been, In the right direction or not, And go on swinging in my dreamland, To pay it homage for it's lost vigour and interest. I wish to mourn that person I had been, I loved him more than anything. When he was alone, when he was a failure, He was so perfect in his eyes, Set aside what the world called in it's cacophony of vices, It little affected him or afflicted him, Just because he was shy, soft and innocent to the core. He goes away in the bushes, As an answer to the chan

 "Cooler mornings and nights, When my arms in-take the blanket, Criss-crossing each other, Creating bliss and warmth in the sail; For I leave off to a voyage, In her dreams and therein, In flows the sunshine of my life. In the darkness and under the twinkling of the stars,  And the cold envelope of the incoming winters, Warm shelter offers up itself to me, In my blanket along her honest dreams."

"Why this heart beats faster, When I think- of being farther from you. When a day would appear, When I could not see your face, Your smile and your eyes. How could I set a foot forth, When I would get to know, That I am thousands of miles away. I shall be thinking, dreaming about you; all day and night, that shall fall. I shall be thinking of your goodness and well being. I shall want to be yours, in your arms; But I shall be far away, distant for this to actually happen. I shall also be thinking if you forget me, I know, you wouldn't, but just a thought comes up, Because, believe me Princess, I won't ever have this space for anyone else, than you. I would just wait for that fine day, When we shall be united as a force, And I shall work towards making that day enliven, I shall work every bits of my energy, That shall combine our lives, That shall bring you to where we belong, To each other. I love you this much, You're the reason for my breathe, The meaning of my

"Maybe, in this waiting; I shall feel what I never did, Maybe, this time that prolongs, And gaps between us, Shall bring us near. Maybe, life's many unseen truths, Shall occur to us; Maybe, we get to understand, The harmony of our Bond, Our Love! Maybe, we become the dreamers, In love, It is of love that strengthens us, In this waiting. That I cherish and also feel agonized about, But I want to feel it, As it comes to me; While I am yours; While my life is yours and yours mine, Let me not miss even a droplet of this purer feeling, Let me have it, Let me love you like never before, Let me be yours and you be mine, I am sure this bond is as profound and honest, As I feel it right now, And shall forever do; As I feel, it's immortal. I love you."

Sunita thinks about him gravely, just the way he wonders about her day and night. They live far off, still the love lingers as the most satisfying source, to combine their feelings and become a gift in each morning they wake up, similarly as the darkness enters; does the composure of the land. No, they aren't twits; just because they listen to the tweets of the nightingale in the dawn; the morning sky. They are merely wishful to bloom themselves, and each other's life with meaning and truthfulness. Truthfulness that they hold for each other. The world can't question them, their feelings. For, the world stands nowhere between the two lovers. What stands alone, are the feelings in bounty and that are also ever developing. Sumit, the boy; painted the image of his girl, as the sun gave the background to which the portrayal actually emphasized and took colour. There was something more to life, than mere work. It was the love for the work. The love that grew manifold,

Like other Indian festivals, Diwali or Deepawali, as it's called; brings the people of the Nation together. These festivals unite the different cultures that abound in the heart's and soul's of our people. Similarly, Diwali brings my family together. We celebrate, rejoice; every moment that comes up while preparing for the Grand celebrations. Days before this festival, we start decorating our homes. We shop, for artefacts, to handicrafts; to the things that take the form of gifts for our near and dear ones. The festive season sets and upswings the mood and the vibes, hence setting the feel for the pomp and show to accustom and acluster. India is an interesting country. The whole month of October-November goes in the festive season. Starting from the “Vijay Dashmi(Dussehra)”[Victory of truth over bad] to “Dhanteras”[Buy utensils, gold.etc.], then comes “Diwali”[Ramchandra Ji returned home], being followed by “Vishkarma Day”[A day to pay respect to

“ Over the upland slopes, Stoves the feeling; The shine of the stones. Flapped by the winds, Ejected with the fumes, Visits a dream, Flourishes the breeze in the room. My mindset asks, To where do I belong? I say, I am a Being; Of a place where, love resumes. With the tattered clothes that I wear. The shy demeanour, that occurs in my stare; While I romance my soul, And the winds that cross me, that I hear; I just can't let my life fall, I shall minstrel with the birds, And as they fly across, I do stroll; In the round abouts, that do appear, While I stand at the turns; Guessing the beauty across the hemisphere; The very green cover of the trees. I walk along them, My life is under the influence, Of a meaningful foyer.”

“ The sun comes up, As a fruit of love, Delight, naught decay. Frost chirps when, The winds are flying, Amidst the chill and shiver. Children play, Wear the woollen dresses, As the morning stems; So does their excitement. Lingers the atmosphere, Of shower and fruitfulness, As the winds of cold; Get a hand of the warm sun breeze. Rooms get aquainted with, Warmer blankets; Bonfires are but blistened, Affectionately. Coldness pervades and dances with hotness, The dreams calligraph and become of poetry. Life shines, as paleness distinguishes, Only to reappear as warmness, As the winter conglomerates, Us; the warmer beings. Such is the portrayal of such an environment, When our solitude gets a name and alike, a companion. It's related with life, The so called months and weather patterns that develop. Charm formulates as do the streams, Of understandings; As December enters and November plans, The dream.”

"At times, I fall apart, At times, I tear apart. What makes me, What builds me, Is it my face or is it a mask? I go on to question myself, On and on, I go. Am I to be the one for you, Or am I to dissuade away in the flying ashes, Up above the air. I move up the sidelines, the truthful imagining, Of the solitaire; Outlining the holy stair; That cultivates and leads my Being! The life develops of paramount importance, I think, I believe; Things can be fine, and nicer. From the days in agony, and pain; When confusions stain and penetrate, Do I tell myself that, Life is a beautiful trail, And a heavenly sail. From the days of merriment, excitement, When the roads could cling to the heart, with pride and joys; Do I yell at myself, Life is a beautiful trail, And a heavenly sail."

“ Newness of life, manners occur; Portrayal of life from yesterday differs. A bird like charm, a will, a heart so warm, Even could counter attack a storm. Your life, becomes someone's greatest prize, A dream becomes a beautiful flower, In form of a blessing comes this today. I said, to myself; This life could churn, Romance and understanding, Fulfill the aroma, the nature; With freshness along, Around the presence of ours, There existed truth and solace, Of a far higher note, The altitude of love could be enhanced, In this lesser a time, That has passed, In the streams of life.”

Many a times in the day, I wish to give myself fully to you. In the morning hours, I tend to walk with you the passages that lie in front of me. As you aren't around, I catch up with your thoughts and in this way, I let the time pass. Until, I get to see you. Over the past days, I never knew that I could be this closer to you. "For a moment, I had thought to let it be; I thought that I liked her as a person and we were friends, that it was alright. But no, the time didn't leave us alone. It walked with us. While walking with us, it brought us closer." It is some blessing in this world, that two people feel equal and their values of love intertwine. That, living without one another is next to difficult, but we have to walk in this life. There are other needs of life, there's a career and a dream to fulfil. The dream that has brought us till here. We have met up in this place, while searching for our dreams to come alive. She wishes to pursue 'Mass c

Whenever dreams become affluent, We find this world from a different perspective, We look for and towards the goals, The paths that can outshine our little steps, As we pave them towards our dream lands. For what attaches to us, Is a feeling with a rich embroidery of, Artifacts, and we feel that; It's significant enough, to follow; What appeals us the most, And where we can find, our life to grow, Enhance it's picture and glow it's personages, Like a reminiscence. When the birds sing, There is applaud in every other creatures' mind, When the atmosphere of tranquility develops, We form a silent sigh; We can feel the rhythm of the sands, We can feel, where our life is transcending to personify. There's a picture, to which we spring; relate. There's a fragrance to which we entertain, Life is to follow the path and not abstain, But level it to the common field of labour, To toil and not dream devoid of it.

Face is like a downfall, The breathe ceases to exist, Hurt and pain are like an expression, That translate, Along the stream of life! I say to thee, The manner you look deep within me, As if searching for your love, That you feel belongs and attaches to me. Those curious eyes, That dream about me; The love that occurs, Is like a string, a wave; it's a sea. Across an ocean, We flow along, Life-boats in our custody, We prolong. Into a land unknown, We walkest, There's what connects us strong. I search for it, In the streaming skies, You watch alike, The breeze the wind-shines, The lightening surfacing the land, Of our dreams. I know, This is a connection; Let's give it a meaning, Let's not divulge away, We can be one, A spirit of love, An incarnation of glory, Shall every little footstep of us, Embark upon, The fruit of love, Dreams and imaginations, That build the nestles on the trees, That rub against our eyes, Our dreams.

Long ago in dreams, There imagined a girl; Who thought of the trees. That was presumably, thousands of years back, That she lived; I am glad, she isn't here, To see what has happened of the streams. The industries flourish, People, in popular culture, Dive with the sculptures, Of God's and Goddesses, Into the seas. Eyes water, As do the dreams, With the tides that blow, Destroying the surroundings. They blame the same God's, whom they immersed, Into the seas; Then happens the blame-game; I wonder, Who talks of the trees? Don't we now dare to dream, Is that girl, hiding her face; To save her eyes from the reality, That she wishes to not see. For she knows, the ethos prevailing, In this modern world, Led her no space of her own, Or  to any other species. The trees are near, the road to dampness; No longer the seeds perpetuate, the growth does cease, Whilst deluding into the sands, And going a