The Road Less Travelled

To, The Editors Subject:- From Dependant to Dependent 'Shut that tablet of yours and let us listen to the song out here!' I shouted. 'Miheer please.'- Mom 'But- '  'Please! Medhavi, do you have any headphones? ' 'No. ' 'Miheer?' 'Oh of course, I do. Here!' Dad just smiled.                                               *                         *                      * ' Miheer holds Grandma's hand. Its gonna get tough in here. Medhavi comes with me.' Its my turn to grin now.                                                *                         *                      * 'This the passport needs to be guarded at all times and costs. No patches, blotches or tears. Get it?' "Yep" I say, holding up the waist pouch. We both smile.                                                *                         *                       *              These above incid

Indirect Speeches                                I have been noticing this for the last few months.                                      When we are having dinner, my parents pull out the subject of some awkward college boy in our colony who hasn't even scored enough to pass his 12th standard. 'Hmm' I say and continue my eating. After a minute of awkward silence, my mom asks, "So what do you think you would like to do in the future?" out of air as thin as that on Mt. Everest. I give a knee-jerk like Senorita, because that is what I am thinking about. It takes me a moment to realize and then I give some answer. 101.                                      The next day it is my Grandpa. I am sitting on the couch with my legs up, watching some cricket match 9 years old, when he suddenly calls me. 'Let's go for a walk, he says.' I have to agree. We take a long walk and talk about the newest spin sensation in the West Indian team or something as vague.

But You Have To Walk On...  There comes a situation many times in life,  You have to walk on, though life stays stop.  For example walking to a class.  The class is extremely boring, and you know it all,  But you have to walk on...  You are walking down the road and there are shops all around,  Donned with Lays, Kurkure and others, begging you to come.  The shopkeeper looks at you and you almost change directions,  But you have to walk on...  Next you encounter a bus stop, with no people at all,  A bus comes purring and you have back away.  It is your favorite bus, which leaves you on your doorstep,  You almost stick your hand out to stop it,  But you have to walk on... Walking on you smell jalebi, someone making it on the side, Money in your pocket starts jingling, You are dragged towards the man, But you have to walk on... Then comes the class building,  A big black notice with the name stares at you,  You almost turn to the stairs,  But you have to walk on...  You see your fr

Old And New                                                                                                                                                                                                                                    A tharva danced around the house and suddenly dashed for the garden out of nowhere. I jumped from my place and just about managed to put my arms around his waist to prevent a 2-foot jump that he was going to attempt, something Herculean for a boy of age 4. Something fell from his hands and when I jumped down to get it, notorious 3-year-old Virat asked if he could do it as well.  "Virat, no!" his mother had to shout before he would have tried that and probably would have incurred an injury he would have shown to every friend with pride in his Bangalore day-care centre. Just then, my sister, The Menace, emerged from the background carrying Virat's not-even-an-year-old sis, Sarah, in her hands trying to balance her in every way po

                                 I Don't Know Why... I saw her that one night. A distant relative of a friend. She's my age. I talk to her, share thoughts. We play Monopoly and target practice with Nerf. I am sleepy. My friend is ill and she's the only one left to talk, except the parents, busy in politics. I change my clothes and come out to say goodnight. Some last words with her and I say 'Meet you tomorrow'. I don't know why. I wake up in the morning and she's still asleep. I peep, but have to go. That day I start writing my diary, at night. My last words are "I like her". I don't know why. Several days I write my diary. My last words become 'Miss You'. I don't know why. For some days I forget to write and there are no last words. After days I remember and write again. I look behind and read what I have written. I try to think of a reason behind it. I don't know why. It's a