The Way to my Heart goes through Platform No.4

                So,I take for granted you know about trains. The ones that still go "chuk chuk". The ones where you can hear aunties swearing like a badass if you step on their toes. The ones that zoom past if you're running with a bag full of papers and documents to try to climb onto the flooding footboard,and waddle along like a duck on a warm day if you are late for office. The ones you can look out of for twinkling lights; of the stars and sky-scrapers both. The ones where the guy can 'protect' his girl from the crowd with a shy hand around her shoulder.:P
              Perhaps the only place where one interacts with absolute strangers in a level of comfort saved for a close few. I,personally,have been told-1.That I have a manly nose.(Don't ask me how that is possible,or how that came to be said.)2.That my smile is sweet.(Faith restored in my obvious beauty:P) 3.Irresponsible teenagers like me will be the death of the nation. 4.Arre,if you want to get down at Bhandup,why are you standing in the middle? (followed by some hardcore martial art.)You get the gist. What my point is, do you think you'd talk so coolly with people you know absolutely nothing about? (except that they'd kill you in no time if you let your bag touch them) Conclusion: Trains are magical.
             You'd be lying if you say you didn't think that someday a late train would take you places undreamt of,places of mystery and adventure. If you didn't try to imagine a ride swooshing past humanity into the dark exciting world beyond. A train,an unusual recluse for your thoughts,for letting down your hair and saying,"Damn the world,Imma go to sleep." Trains,where you play cards with the upper berth kid. Where you eye the cute stranger. Where you may meet people you thought were past.(Fortunately,unfortunately?) Where you can pretend you look cool with the wind weaving through your hair. Where you get pamphlets about how to lose weight. Where you can sing all you want secretly under the constant chugging noise. Where you and your gang can chill with silly loud talk and selfies and it is okay. Where your hopes resurface and you smile as you buy the cheapest jewellery ever. 
              It is a sure-shot thing: to fall in love with this lemonade to the lemons life gives us. 
          P.S. I know you read NO.4 of the title in Hindi:P If you did not,board a train,NOW!!

Close your Eyes,and See.

                               I see it in your eyes,the deliciousness of not knowing what will happen next. I feel it as I breathe,a jump off a cliff,a scream tingling every nerve. A jolt from a slumber of restless living. A wordless challenge to surpass beliefs. Run. Run away from all you know. The words,the concepts,the lies,the ties. Run away to yourself. Blind speed. Look down and see the last of them on you,as you fly to you. 
                       The night is a personal belonging. Not when you are locked up in a curtained room with CFLs invading. But when every light is given death by the very flesh of your fingers and the churning energy stumbles to sultry cold darkness. When every footstep is thunder and capable of sending slight tremors to your spine. It is when you can embrace yourself without the manmade island staring,knowing. Without the incompleteness man lends to the night,when night escapes its prison of unnaturalness,does the soul breathe. Every element is exaggerated wonder,lended the essence of night. A echoing laughter across as songs cease over food on a late night with friends and family. The deadpan stare of frustrated thinker,in the dark of a starlit night. The muted tears of a pining lover,to finally let down the walls. The essentially warm fire of the chatting watchmen on a particularly frosty night. The lonely tune of a writer's content as ink forms words with casual abandon. The night does its duty. To shelter dreams,in absolute secrecy. The next time you look at the deep blue of the star decked sky,see yourself reflected.

Sewing Together the Shades

                    What perhaps is the most frightening of all is how easy it is to get lost,to lose oneself. The world immeasurably full of surprises,is a spinwheel of colours;bright and wonderful. It is like brushes and strokes of colors painted over one another,furiously passionate,so fast I can barely process them. Each stealing attention,bestowed with enchantment. But before I truly grasp its texture,it is gone,and the next color,just as entrancing takes its place. That is life as I know it,endlessly fascinating. Each color standing for a memory,a thought,a feeling. Making its place in me. Connected,but gone. In this whirlwind however,sometimes as you reach out to touch,you spin. Let the tornado of incidents carry you to places you never wanted to be. That,my friend, is our confettied weakness.
                        I like to think like they do in fictional stories. Exaggerated edges to each persona,each word. I like to believe in the magic of co-incidences,and intuition. I like to tell myself I know the solutions to mysteries of life,but have forgotten,and need to rediscover. My story is complete wherever it ends. But would you rather have a story already written:maktub,or a make-your-own-destiny kit? 

Step 1:The Unsure Hie

 Today,behind a keyboard,I see myself reflected on the screen.A little tense,a little excited.Celebrating writing through buttons rather than a pen.The flickering social media jungle providing a warm smile to this stranger:Me.An aftertaste for the expectations.
                             I say,I'll be the carried souvenier of the past,a handwritten thank you note,slipped inside a borrowed book.I'll be the subtle smile following a well illustrated comic strip.I'll be the fingertips brushing against barks of trees.And we will be the humanness to the technology infested world.We,who desire to be more than not dead.I will dare to be me,even when my heart throbs for refuge.