The Seventh Sense

They stood still
And yet, they grew
Not hurried
Not hassled
No control
On what happened

The Canvas

It was just plain canvas

White and pristine

A brush in hand

I stood thinking

The Bridge

The cars sped over the bridge on the canal, sparing neither the bridge nor the canal a thought. That's not true, there was just one thought, to cross it before the stink overwhelmed them.

And yet, there were a few who walked or cycled on it. They had learned to ignore the stink.

The Reality of the Burden

On my head

I carried the weight

of guilt and regrets

In my heart

I carried the rock

of pain and hurt

The Extras

What is the plot?
Who are the actors?
What is the scene?
What is our character?

The Journey of Grit

It had grit. No, wait, it was grit. A tiny speck, one among a million, but only one in a million. 

It didn't know where it came from or where it will go. Nor did it care. It lived surrounded by family and friends and needed nothing else. When the breeze blew gently, it played with its friends, rising up, jumping high and then falling to the earth. It was thrilling, exciting and a break from routine.

The Mind Game

I had often wondered as a young girl, why the Vedic Indians who were far ahead in understanding the world, the cosmos, mathematics, and physics did nothing for human psychology. The tying up of mentally ill patients in temples, the neem treatment or just being resigned to fate when people in the family were afflicted with mental ailments hardly seems evolved and, in fact, it seems insensitive and crude.