god's own house

Once upon a time in the mountains was a huge temple. The temple had devotees all over the world. A lot of people sent money to the temple. The temple was situated near a stream and there were trees all around the place whoever came to the place was forced to say, “this is god’s own house”.
There was huge orphanage right next to the temple. The children were given good food. The temple also had a school to which these children went. Other than this there were several other things that the temple did for the people like opening hospital etc. but the story that I am about to tell you today is about the school.
The school was totally dependent on the temple for everything. The temple gave the money. The teachers that taught in this school were all devotees. The school taught these young minds all beautiful hymns. They were taught to be humble, obedient serene. Nobody thought but everybody tried to make them different from the rest of the world. And should it not be the case, after all these children were living in god’s own house. So thus these children were given best of food, best of clothes and best of education, according to the people associated with the temple. These children were taught how to sit in one place for hours. They were given loads of books to read. These children were the humblest children of the whole world. They hardly uttered in front of the adults. All they said were beautiful hymns. So they did nothing that other children did like running or shouting.
To go up and down the hill on which this mountain was situated, there was a small train kind of a thing. It was made up of wood. To moderate its speed it was tied with metallic ropes.
One fine day when children were coming down in that train. Nobody ever told me why they ever went up. So when they were coming back one of the ropes broke. A small child opened his mouth to shout but an older kid sitting next to him comforted and said, “There is no need to shout. God is not hard of hearing. He can hear what we say only in our hearts. So lets pray and soon we would get help”. Soon one more rope broke and the speed increased. Then one more rope broke and the speed was dangerously high. A neo devotee was standing outside the temple admiring the beauty of the place. He noticed the train coming down with this breathtaking speed. He started running to save these children and at that moment the last rope also broke off and the train started coming down in a free fall.
With great difficulties and lots of shouts the young man could save these children. This was the first time the mountains heard these shouts. And after that this place got used to such shouts: shouts of glee, of kids chasing each other, of a child falling and crying. You know why; because that young man became the principle of this school. And to make that happen also he had to shout a lot. ..

FOOTPRINTS

On a long road I walked
And a long stretch still lying ahead
The journey had been tough
But I followed the footprints
The footprints of my guide
Telling me the way
In the darkness of night
And during bright sunny day
My guide is very wise
He allows me to think
Constantly he tries
Not to drop any hint
Of what may happen next
In either picture or text
You wonder what kind of guide he is?
What footprints he leaves?
Deep inside me he lives
And question marks he gives
Following them I move ahead
Searching the answers, moving to the end.

rainy day love story

I wrote this story in the august of 2002, now when I read it I felt like making some changes. But could not do that because it showed the thinking of Richa in that year. Instantly I felt like hugging her and saying well written darling. I also liked it because it shows how I have changed and how I have remained the same.

That was a terrific day, terrific in all sense. And the year, yes the year was also terrific or may be terrifying. A year I would always remember. This goes back to the time when I entered the university. One side journey used to take me two hours.
Oh, I forgot I was talking about that day when the monsoon was in its full vigor. It was raining for the last two days. The rain was pouring down as if it would never stop. Everywhere there was water. Almost everybody was fed up of this. But I am one of those who actually love rain. And I make it appoint never to frown on this beautiful natural phenomenon.
So, that day also I was enjoying the weather to its utmost. But as the winds were making the umbrella a useless possession, I had to hurry a bit. Thus I boarded the first bus that came to my sight. It had just one empty seat.
After spending a few moments in taking care of my belongings, which consisted of an umbrella, my handbag and an extra polybag, I started noticing all those who were on that bus. My companions for the next two hours.
Two friends on the back seat, who were continuously chatting,” such useless talk “ I thought (completely forgetting what kinds of things I talk about when I am with my girl friends). An auntiji, who was sitting next to these girls, seemed to be taking a lot of interest in them. A uniformed man was sitting on the first seat, soaked to the skin. The old man sitting next to me, was fast asleep, totally oblivious to the surroundings. Opposite to my seat was a boy who had his face in his hands.
I was on the window side and enjoying the “view” outside, though the view consisted of nothing exciting except the hustling traffic. But today there was stagnant water at a lot of places and the people on the road also seemed interesting with their Sherlock Holmes overcoats (or perhaps just raincoats).
Was I imagining or that cute guy was actually staring me. Just to make sure I gave him more than a glance.
He seemed to notice this and was a bit embarrassed; he started looking out of the window. Even I started looking out of the window with the intention of not giving any wrong signals.
But there was something that made him look at him again and again. And in this way we kept exchanging glances. During those two hours I think I came to know him fully. Just by looking at him, hard to believe! But that’s exactly what I felt. His name must have been rahul (or may be raj or anything). Name is hardly important.
The time flew away swiftly. And now my destination was about to come. He was engrossed in this hide and seek of eyes. His eyes were shining with something very innocent. Then I started concentrating and memorizing his features, his face which I may never see again. And those eyes which I loved dearly.
After five more minutes I collected my belongings and hastily got down the bus. I was able to steal a quick glance and his eyes; they were the symbol of astonishment. He was stunned. But then did he plan that we would spend our lives sitting in this bus. Though I would have loved that.
Twenty years have passed since then and I have not seen him ever again. I have got my life and my family to take care of. But still sometimes, I remember those eyes, which led me to a love story of two hours.

my writings

my writings