Wordplay: The Reading Spot

"What are we, if not characters, from one story or another, playing our part, knowingly or unknowingly, willingly or unwillingly" - Sandip Khade You know how people get 'kicks' out of doing something daring, say, over-speeding on their bikes, or breaking dress codes, purposely attempting to get away with something illegal, etc.? Well, and I don't mean to sound like that guy , I've always gotten a kick out of giving to the needy; this could manifest in the form of giving money to the traffic signal dwellers, small community charity contributions, the monthly blood drive, or buying your practically broke friend his favorite energy drink when you sense a potential 'head-butt alert!' conversation vibe in the air. I groaned when I realized it's one of those days, and walked into our PG hostel's canteen area.  Most of our guy-classmates stay at this PG, since it's pretty close, and dirt cheap for its surprisingly un-pathetic living conditions. It...

"The greatest victory is that which requires no battle." - Sun Tzu This part of the forest is Much too quiet tonight To the majestic old noctuid, though, clinging on to life, It's no new sight. It rests near a pinecone, on a tall tree branch As usual, and waits for its Instincts to drive it to Claim morsels that may fit. Below its branch,  Moonlight glinting in its eyes, A young wild rat emerges from the bushes and Out of hunger, sighs. The pinecone quickly senses  Something off, however, And truly so, because it sees, staring back, A pair of red eyes quiver. The wild rat makes its way over A carelessly thrown matchbox  In dry litter, and slowly and steadily Up the tree, to the scared pinecone it walks. He triumphantly places his grown nails on The ill fated pinecone, but just over it He sees that, quite to his pleasure A little beyond him, an old moth patiently sits. Greed manifests  As he drools onto his paws, And he decides to spare the pinecone; He gently lets it...

S.O.S. *** Claire is seated outside the manager's room, flipping through the pages of 'The Daily Affairs'. She's already read the day's edition, but having nothing particularly better to do, she decided to give it a re-read. She's not much of a 'politics' enthusiast, nor is she into 'sports'. The national and international affairs are the only sections that catch her eye. Now, the newspaper isn't a 'happy' read, so Claire wasn't expecting it to be all rainbows or sunshine. Still, she felt the shivers caress her as she read the increasing number of med. student suicides; most of them occuring due to research failures. She has always considered herself to be among the lucky ones, since she, once upon a time, wished to enter the research field herself. Luckily, just one month into it, she'd decided it was too much, and too unbalanced, for her liking. Thus, each new 'research failure' added more fear into her mind, because...

When the knives bond... "I couldn't help it, Dad. He triggered me.", said the thirteen year old boy, Jon. "And how you control your reactions determines type of man you'll become." "But-....it isn't fair." "Such is life. Welcome to the real world, kid." Jon felt his trigger growing yet again, and he tried using his fist-clenching method to overcome it. His mother would be upset if he had another outburst. In fact, the whole point of this camping night-out, she'd said, was to help him calm down, and reconcile with his father. "Pass me that can of sand, will ya'?" Andrew said to his son, a bead of sweat rolling down the side of his head. He'd been at it for three hours now...finding the perfect place, the perfect materials. He wanted the momental monument to be perfect; just like his. He grabbed the can from Jon, tipped off its lid, and started pouring the grains into the foundation pit. "Watch, Jon. The light...

Ricky wasn't your average teenager boy that you'd call ordinary. He was, well, different. He did everything differently. Didn't go down, wasn't very social, didn't play many sports. He had very little inclination towards academics and the list goes on. He was unlike anyone else in his family. That's what he was aiming to become, after all. He hated his family, and wanted to be different.  His family wasn't bad, but they weren't the best either. Ricky was a different kid, but they didn't understand this. They tried to change him to become like everyone else, which deeply angered Ricky. He was born with immediate anger tendencies, which only showed now, when he was 14 years old. Even though they weren't physical, it was kind of abuse for Ricky. Despite all this, Ricky never showed any anger, frustration or sadness. For his family, he was the ideal punching bag to relieve all their stress.  He was blessed with one good ability though: he had a very ...

The violets are always redder on the other side of the fence... "Not everyone is as lucky as me" , I thought to myself, switching off my phone and setting it on the table. Maria, my sister, had called just seconds ago, and all she did was complain about her new neighbors. However, Maria has never not had a problem with them before, so coming from her this was no surprise at all. But its almost a stereotype these days.... " neighbors are obnoxious and interfering freaks ". I however, have never understood this.  My neighbors are this young couple that go by the names Michelle Jackson and Anthony Jackson. I have had absolutely no issues with them. They have always seemed like a busy, happy and peaceful couple.  They're the most non-interfering people I've known. Alright I'll stop with the praising....they seem so... perfect at times...I envy them. Like they seem to have the best lives ever. Peace, happiness...they have it all. Whereas me? God seems to hate...

They're calling you.... A Jog Through The Woods I put on my shoes, got out of the house Any later I wouldn’t move Closed the door and saw the scurrying mouse Scuttling over to the woods. I made my way into the coverts Went past through the fog I was busy that rainy night But just had time for a jog. I ventured deeper through the woods, Would have run if I could When I heard a quaint voice call, “Turn back, you really should.” I stopped jogging, turned around But, saw no one at all All these days when I’d ever jogged I’d never heard a call. I was in two minds whether to continue Or to go back home Had a lot of work to do  So, I turned back for home. Heard lotta voices on the way, They echoed off the logs of wood Whose cries they were, I still don't know, I’d heard on my jog through the woods.