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Friends

You are all unfit to be called human beings. You are all raving maniacal blood thirsty yet cowardly aliens masquerading as people infesting earth. How you walk, eat, talk, sleep, drink, touch your near and dear ones, lead a normal life, knowing very well you had hit someone on the road and not stopped, without even calling for help, back to your seemingly normal life is beyond imagination!!!!

Doesn’t each breath you take curse you, lash out at you that you hit and left someone without helping them? Doesn’t each morsel of food you take scream at the pain of feeding a body void of any soul, and feel ashamed for keeping you alive? Doesn’t your image in the mirror spit on you, puke at the mere sight of the face and body that had no sense of any quality attributable to any living organism that can think for itself? Did you ever look at dogs on roads lick the wounds of fellow creatures, even though they themselves were never responsible for them? Don’t your hands crawl to strangle the neck that bears the mind that thought of nothing before speeding on? Didn’t the scene of hitting them haunt your dreams, replaying a million times? Doesn’t the memory of those moments flash before you every second of your waking moments, to slap them hard in front of your eyes everywhere you go? Don’t your lips refuse to mouth words of obvious deceit and lies you must have told to cover up the dent? Or are the people you confessed equally callous, patting you proudly for not being caught responsible for the misdeed?

What did you do after going home that day? Wash off your body with acid imagining the running stream would cleanse you of the stink of your own actions? Did you scrub yourself hard with coarse sand to rip off all the pores on your skin and let the guilt bleed through? Or did you try to deceive yourself with the thoughts of the person you hit get up, shrug off, smile and get on with their journey? Did you have the guts to look at the next day’s newspaper?

What surprises me is why couldn’t they have called an ambulance? Understandably they were afraid and panicked at what happened. Unless there was real reason to deliberately hit someone, accidents happen, well accidently! I once read somewhere that we all have the courage to face consequences of our actions. They didn’t have. All they had to do in the least was call an ambulance. It’s truly appalling why they could not have done that and made the least attempt to partially rectify the consequences of their actions, which could save the life their reckless behavior almost endangered.

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Standing at the crossroads of life
I see so many paths winding into the horizon
But none marked where they lead to
Any could lead anywhere
I stand worried, bogged down by responsibilities
With others’ expectations of me
The worried creases on their foreheads
The stifled cries of those clinging onto me
All acting as counterweights to my heart’s desires
Weighing me down and tying my hands
My head aches and heart screams
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On the side of the road I see a mirror and an empty cup
And as I walk up to the mirror and stand in front of it
A wave passes through me
I stare at the reflection and wonder
As my life parades behind me
With all the people in it adding bits and pieces into the cup
I watch my parents, my siblings, my friends
And how their dashes of vibrant colors
Changed the hues in the cup
I see the dull shades of life
And recognize the bitter taste
I see my love’s drop of soul in it
And remember how the flavor of my life changed
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I look behind and no one’s there, the image a mirage has vanished
Leaving me with just the cup in my hand, now filled.
Looking ahead at the paths
With the cup of my life in my hands
I wonder if this was the recipe I was looking for my life
If I couldn’t boil off the blues
And keep the essence for myself
I shrug off the feeling
Drink the cup
And head into the horizon
Wait, I feel something in me
I think it’s the warmth of his soul
My heart and my step are steadier now.

I wish I was the morning rays caressing your face
Or the wafting smell of coffee disturbing you
Or the warmth of the cup dissolving in your hands
Alas, I cannot be any but am just someone
Wishing goddess a beautiful morning

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What can few cubic inches of space hold?

Does it have enough for all the memories,

for words both said and unsaid

Can it withstand the flood of emotions,

shoulder the burden of trust, and

And cleanse the ugliness of the naked soul

Can it preserve the radiance of the purest of

all gems, friendship

bear the emotional density of uncorrupted love

and can it, in return, share a little of all this

What can few cubic inches of space hold?

What price can ever be paid for it?

Last year a guy from France came to our college on an exchange program. We saw him in our college quite a few times and wondered from where did this fellow land from!? We speculated he was from Australia or New Zealand but could never have guessed he was from France.

He was eating in our own mess in the nights and thought, “Oh god! This fellow is never going to like the food here!” It was always rice or a rice variety, sometimes chapatis and such. We thought “What luck! He would have been happily eating his favourite food back home!” Luckily for him he got one of the best rooms in our campus with an AC too. Still the weather will be so different from his place that we could often see him sweating loads!

During his dinner trips he was usually surrounded by other fellows from our college and so we never ventured out to meet him. But one night we found he was eating alone and me and few of our gang went and sat next to him. And so started a great friendship with me and Peter Cagnoli. The fellows command over english is marvellous! I see his mail and am absolutely stunned at how beautifully he can craft words! He is one great guy!

Well there are some sort of people you won’t forget in your life… I am sure such people come across us in all walks of life… But a student’s life is one in which such incidents have the most easiest of circumstances assissting.

Now I have met a Keralite by the name Sajineesh. He is, what you can say, an average Keralite. He very regularly and meticulously goes to a temple (whichever is nearby), has a wavy hair, a bushy moustache, and has the typical malayaali accent. Anyone who has met one will remember how they pronounce “Office” with an emphasis on the first ‘o’ as in owe!

He is, actually sitting right next to me seeing me type these. Thankfully he isn’t such a “stallone” or “arnie” to take vengence on me and so I take that chance to write further… But ok, he is now staring at me so I will keep this for some further time…

Just to take him back on my side I’ll say he is a good guy!