The shores are too small to aweigh my anchors. So, let's keep sailing.
Facebook page : The Whimsical Pen
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Courage braved all odds, he sighed blinded by the glow of victory, relieved with the end of his woes but life smirked at bay.~Shibani
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Vapid hour. ~Shibani
Humdrum moments fill my life up to the brim,The meaning of adventure has shrunken, it seems.Everyday even the time drapes the same moments,Adorning emotions so despondent.The more rare is the word 'new'As much as it's hopes of being true.The zeal too comes packed in tedious wrappers,That everything has to wait for 'sometime later'.The Heavens aren't as generous as people preach,They have unswervingly dismissed my wish for some moments of relish.I wonder hard every fine day,If I never find the 'road less taken' way.If my raggedy journey will only be about this doleful euphoriaThe day is not far that my future will just be a forgettable nostalgia.
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Their photos in her Facebook account portrayed the smiles of a love story.But the recurring picture credits recited the bliss of an admirer in disguise.~Shibani
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The wrinkled dreams. ~Shibani
'I want the file on my desk by today itself,get it?', curtly I shut off my laptop screen with frowned lines. Moments later I realized how frustrated I am with my dream job. Yes, I am a member of the distressed debt group in Goldman Sachs, one of the reputed banking firms of the world. I am also one of it's highly paid employees yet one of it's frustrated servant. That day, on my way back home, I stopped at a cafè in the outskirts of the bustling city just to calm myself. Interestingly, a boy, merely 17 years of age came upto me to take down my orders. Then what? Mr. Inquisitive had settled in me and I asked him about his presence in the cafè. His reply really sent shivers down my spine.''Sir, I belong to a lower middle class family, I too want to continue schooling and step into the banking world. That's what I had dreamt of, day and night.'' I cut him in between and asked him another question, for which I really cursed myself later,''Why don't you pursue your dreams boy?'' His cold expressions were enough to make me realize how bleak my question was!Braving his tears he replied,''Sir it's not my choice neither was my father's. He dearly wanted his son to be a tycoon in the investment world, the dreams which his tirring eyes weren't able to realize. He wanted to revive the corpse of his dreams through his son. Alas! Being a bird wasn't enough for us as our wings had already been chucked off. Both of us inherited poverty and crushed dreams. I just wish this 'legacy' breaks.''I stood silent, somewhat terrified. Meanwhile, he went off to satisfy another stranger.His story brought alive glimpses of what my father had said to me once. ''Beta, if ever in your life you achieve your dreams, always respect and cherish them even if it demands untirring patience because remember while you were gifted with a chance to fulfil them, many were even terrified to have dreamy thoughts lingering their minds. So respect your work and your life, always.''The boy again interrupted my thoughts with the bill. Across the main desk was a man in his late fifties, grey hair, eyes beaming with the despair of a man with a baggage of his unfulfilled dreams, smoking a cigar, like the smoke rising from the pyre of his dead dreams. I stood up, paid the bill and even slipped some extra dollars to the boy.I left the place with a certain calmness that made me respect my life even more.
The Vibgyor Spatula.~Shibani
'Baba,Baba amar oi khelna ta lage',petite glimpses of my childhood, when I used to straddle along the 'para r mela' with my Baba,came alive today when I was just teasing my leisure time on an isolated bench facing the amusement ride that goes 'weeeeeeee!!!!'. As a child, I used to have been utterly fascinated by these rides, the colourful balloons, that electrifying atmosphere was nothing less than a fairy tale for me. I even reminisce times when I had cried my throats out to make my family regret of making me miss the 'mela'. But that day, like any other day, yet newer than those older days, made me realise that I was fascinated no more. I wasn't there to enjoy my leisure time just rather to spend it. I wasn't there to be grumpy for presents anymore. I wasn't there to enjoy the rides and all other 'riches' it promises. I wasn't there anymore because I really really wanted to. Instead, I was just there. I was just there depressed, burdened, tensed, thinking how childish the kids are, in a nutshell, I was being 'adult' about my life. I was being a girl that norms define and heart defies. Even if I had tried darn hard to fit into my 'societal cocoon', instincts tend to escape through the roughly built weave. Suddenly amidst the clatter of soul and society, my eyes wandered into the colours spilling all around me, like born out of a rainbow. Realization dawned upon me. I was trying so hard to be an adult that I almost forgot that I was even once a child. Could I not be innocent again? Could I not be fun again? Could I not just go 'weeeee!' on these rides again? Could I not be grumpy with my parents again? You know what, it wasn't anymore a matter of 'could I be?', it was actually me. Being what you are is the easiest thing one can do as opposed to be someone which you aren't. Time is transient, what is permanent are the moments that you live in time. Change is inevitable, but changing to change is totally evitable. In the quest of growing up, I had completely shed the Vibgyor spatula, I had promised to paint my life with. Ageing is not about dwelling in a grey place, instead it's about embracing all the colours with experience. 'Jhal muri, jhal muri', the calls of the jhal muri vendor made me retire from my thoughts. I smiled, giggled, chuckled and laughed. I don't know why I did that may be on the newly learnt lesson. I brought some balloons for my Baba as he used to do years before and took my steps back home. I captured the whole picture of the 'mela' in my eyes, something meant to be forever.
The carriage of patience on the wheels of time traversing the aisles of distance on the ever oozing efforts ignited by dearth, yet filled with just nostalgia and the oblivion.So much goes on, yet we say,'It's just a rickshaw.'~Shibani
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A letter to my MOM.~Shibani
Dear maa,I am so sorry I haven't been quite writing to you since the last few days as I was really very busy with my assignments. Okay let's keep aside the mess and tell me how are You? How is baba? What about chutki? I totally curse myself for not being able to attend to your eagerness of talking to your daughter whom you had sent so far just for her sake. So selfless of you maa and so very selfish of me. I was just asked to do a very petite thing: Skype with you people at 8 that too with which I played spoilsport. Your mainu is a complete bonehead nevertheless how intelligent you think she is!Maa, all these excuses aside, never ever think your mainu doesn't need you anymore. In fact, she needs you all the more. In the morning, I am no longer awakened by your sweet rants instead my ears had to bear that annoying cuckoo alarm. Maa your mainu is not even asked what she wants to have for breakfast, just a dry plate of bread and butter bummed at our faces at the mess. Those delicious steamy trails of your food still tickles my nostrils and whenever it does I sob remembering the hands that made them. Maa, your mainu has been in the hostel since two years. You might think my mainu might have grown up into a genuine independent lady. Independent? Not even a lady maa. You are going to get a hard time marrying me off maa. Miss. Shilpi Bose is still your mainu maa whose even school uniform was taken care of by her mother until class 12. You won't believe what happened today. I could not even find my scarf and later found it dumped somewhere in the fuzzy corner of my messy room. Yes, it ain't a wonder. Your mainu is still a mess Maa. A rough mess awaiting to be cleaned by your smooth hands. See, I cried again. Moreover, I can triple bet that my letter is drenched by now. Maa, why do you cry so soon? Now stop crying or else your mainu will really not talk to you. Quite childish right? Still a good way to contain my sherni. Maa remember how I used to yell about little little things? Our fights which were like fireguns blasting off 'sarcasm' missiles, our morning and evening 'chai time' wala chats, almost everyday tom-tom wala evening rides, our gossips, ahhh! what a relief even their thoughts give me. I miss them a lot. Maa, does chutki help you out? Does she give you company? Does she look after you? I hope she does. Maa, I need to go. The mess people wants the students to stuff them with their inedible stuff. Maa, love you, miss you, take care. This letter will end here but not the letters to you maa. Maa, tell chutki not to touch my things, tell baba that I love him and you maa...just remember you have someone miles away praying for your smile to be intact. Yours lovingly, Mainu.
The undeterring resolve.
'And that is how the second world war came to an end.', the teacher finished her lecture, meanwhile the bell too rang declaring that we bid adieu to the school for that day. On my way back, straddling through the streets of my neighbourhood, I somewhat lost myself in the maze of my own thoughts. The second world war lessons were quite impressionistic and the thoughts incessantly kept invading my mind which made all my patience elope. After I had reached home, without even a hint of a delay, I rushed to my room and went on a hunting spree amidst the dusty pages of dad's old history book. The hunting spree was for facts that bear testimony to the ravages of the war and which stood in a distant universe from the narrow confinements of my knowledge. My dad was a keen observer and such a curious investigation by his otherwise 'not so curious' child kind of irked him. He asked,''Son is everything alright?'' Not keeping him in the dark anymore, I patiently explained him about my queries. As I embarked more and more into my explanation, I could see my dad's eyes widening with every sophisticated word I had uttered. Nevertheless, my dad was witnessing a gargantuan turn of events in his usually not so emotional child. As I wrapped up, I could see tears dancing in his eyes. That conversation with my dad still echoes loud in my ears. ''Son, the great wars of the world are not only exemplary for the innovations, endeavours that our books boast about. They were much more than that. The strand that connected both the wars was the undeterring resolve of the millions of people who had seen and felt those great mishaps. They were about the prodigious martyrs, the guilt of the leaders, the grievances of the minions, the victory of the victors, the defeat of the defeated. Son, the human race has been nourished with a never say die attitude which had helped them not only through these wars but also other disasters. The rise of the colonies in their post independence era, the rise of Japan every time they fall all bear testimony to the stiff resolve sown amongst us humans. Even if we see around Son, we can witness such struggles everyday. But they never deter growth, in fact enhances it. Son, when you fail in an exam you never give up studies, you even work harder. Son, these lifeless pages can never explain the pain people have experienced throughout the history of mankind. It is the perishable being that will help you feel through it.'' Then dad left. I was quite intrigued by his words. Suddenly, the tears that rolled down my cheeks brought me back to life. That day I could totally encapsulate the struggles of human race and the resolve to live through them. The lesson was nevertheless, endearing.
Their love declared to the world that they were made for each other.Alas, the paraphernalia narrated a different story.Love failed to conquer beliefs.~Shibani.
I, often wonder how ironical our life is.We cry and crave for the small little blue ticks on our messages when whole of the NATURE is painted in blue.~Shibani