Snippets of the mind by Gagansvaid

Sheetal looked around in merriment. She had got admission into the course of her choice. She kept wondering for days and nights over why she had wanted more out of her life. The girl with dreams, did pray to her God; to grant her strength and dreamt of getting into a college that came daily on her way; while she was visiting the city's hub. At times, shopping stationary and at the other times, few textbooks. From childhood she had heard that getting into that college was to get decent marks. Now that she had been admitted to that college, she wished to get admission into a college of greater esteem. Then she murmured, is getting name and fame, the only basis of life? She still tried, to get the other college as it was bestowed with a greater reputation. Sheetal anyhow couldn't get into the other college and kept studying in the college that remained her dream from childhood only to be answered when she finally grew up. In the beginning, the days were very soft in the essenc

Robin was a young boy who had completed his high school and was willing to opt for Sanskrit(H) as his further subject of study. From childhood, he had developed an increasing interest to know the language and its history. Being born in the twenty first century he was accustomed to face the harshness and bruise to his mental enigma. His thoughts and aspirations were drawn towards what he dreamt usually in his day to day life. But his interests were referred as the most unusual of the lot. His friends were for the namesake of friendship instead of the amicable bond; they shared a bond of separation. Wherein, those so called buddies, had made Robin and his liking's as the butt of all jokes . How can anyone think of studying Sanskrit in college? This was the laughable anecdote that became customary in the school campus but now that he had passed his high school; he looked further to what he had wanted from long, to become a Priest. Robin was seldom beaten up and thus hurting his amia

The embers that seek out from her eyes. The eyes that look at me with that gentle stare and eventually pour out more and more sublimed thoughts, feelings. She falls near my foot, she calls herself as an actress. Stimulates enough space in my mind and body, that I know not if any other world exists other than in her. Her eyes move elsewhere, while I sit and keep at my book that I read. I know I can't read it anymore, so I see her images in my soul. My Poetry is life, she sits in it. I make her sit there, make her know that I care. I go away, far from her eyes. She gets mixed up with her friends. I still dream about the part of her that she had cultivated in me. The roads that I see, I follow. It's her gentleness that I intake. Her delicacy and vibrancy of manners decompose my thoughts about the world and put me sidelined thinking just about her. The roads offer the perfume through the roses that I hear are around. I am abound in her love or was it merely likeness? What kind of

It hurts you rather than obliging you. A sand cliff falls at you when you are enjoying your stay in the river shore wearing the life jacket getting the best safety equipment. It makes you feel low. Your intense is plastered with dissatisfaction and remorse. To no avail, the condition deteriorates. The person who had no matter to speak on, has found an ocean full of grief to share. His misery shall not lessen whilst he tells others about his fallen condition. It's about accepting ones fall at the time when it was certain to be your victory. Most of the understandings in life come at the stage when unwanted happens to you and inflicts you with more and more pain. The scale of disharmony increases and you fall into the pitfall that formed itself to take you in its trap. At this very phase, you are alone in your own world. You are accountable to yourself and none a person other than you. Your life is a stream of comfort at one phase and when the bad occurs then it is another state o

Her name was Geetanjali, and she was new to school as I was. As the days passed by I started getting attracted to her. Especially the way she presented herself in front of others; her mannerism impressed me. She was sweet, she was beautiful and an angel whom I could greatly fantasize to meet in my childish yet lovers' dreams. I was new to the Contemporary School unlike her, so I had less friends in those beginning days. To my dismay, whenever I found her near to me in the classroom, I couldn’t really talk to her. It felt as if I lacked the righteous abilities to tell her that I had started liking her. I was a 13-year-old and so was she. Her birthday came two weeks before mine, therefore she was older to me in a way. This information about the birthday I found written on the class bulletin board and I felt this could be the topic of our interaction. About both of us sharing the same birthday month.  One fine morning I had entered the class and found her sitting there alone. As I mov