The Direction Blog

  Anika has never felt this before. All that she can do, sitting outside the miserable ICU of the best hospital in her locality, is think about why hadn't she noticed the symptoms earlier. She begins to rub her palms and cheeks as a futile attempt at distraction from her own disturbing thoughts. The warmth that they produce is what Anika thinks will calm her down. But her trembling hands, incessant salty tears and the constant feeling of throwing up only add to her anxiety. Had she noticed her grandfather's rough coughing, impaired speech, insignificant memory loss and failure to balance himself on his feet a little earlier, she thinks, she could have saved him from the severity of the meningitis he is suffering from. Post dinner Anika gets ready to leave for home after helping her mother with the adjustments in the waiting room. With all the strength left in her shaky legs, she walks towards the lift. On any other usual day, she would have preferred stairs over the lift. But t...

It rained again. An unseasonal warm spell wettened the black roads at the sunny time of the day, for the fourth time in two weeks. These unexpected rains annoyed her. They brought an uncomfortable uncertainty to the weather; neither the sun exercised its might nor the drizzles brought any relief. She had never liked such uncertainty, not in the weather, not in her life. But today's rain, she noticed, was different. Something about this drizzle was different, unusual. The energy absorbed her within minutes. She felt devoid of her actual strength. She started sensing the presence of someone other than herself in the house. No doubt her paranoia had returned, or maybe it had become worse.  The rain made its presence felt in every room of her lavish apartment. This time she wanted to feel it, she wanted that presence to hover still in the air. She rose from her seat and walked towards the window. The afternoon sun planted soft kisses on her cheek. She suddenly felt strong, like a kid r...

She has seen it all, All that you want her to see, And you thought she hasn't, And all that you have hidden from her, But she has, She has seen it. Standing there on the road, Amidst the chaos of the city, Playing with the wind that caresses her face, She sees it all, She absorbs it. She sees the vivid colours on sale at the stalls, The peaceful clouds that float in the sky, The kids who cry for candies to their moms, And the wings of the birds, That only know to fly. She sees the way you stop, To let the cars pass by, She smiles she knows the cars, Are the problems you face, And as you wait for them to get over, She sees you, Sigh. She sees the dogs barking there, The mist that is consuming all of the air, The bells of the temples, That are sweet but loud, And the most innocent face, There in the crowd. She sees pleasant mornings turn, Into busy evenings through the day, She knows she is temporary, But permanent in her own way, How she loves to rem...

  “I’ll be right back,” said Mrunal, in an awkward attempt to excuse herself from the crowd. She grabbed a coffee from the counter and walked towards the window to get some fresh air. Standing comfortably at the sill with a cup of coffee in her hand, Mrunal stared through the clear glass window. She heaved a sigh of nostalgia as fond memories from the past rushed towards her like a gust of wind. She flinched and carefully wiped a tear rolling down her cheek, ensuring no one had noticed. Mrunal felt thankful for accepting the invitation and attending the reunion. She watched cars drive past her school. Innocently enough for the sake of old times, she started counting them one by one. When the numbers became too much for her to remember, she abandoned the task.  Mrunal’s school building overlooked a small basketball court, a parking lot where buses of all sizes were parked, an attractive floral garden, watchman’s cabin and a huge black gate. The long, three-lane Mumbai-Bangalore...

 A tinge of orange had spread across the sky and the sun cast long shadows. Everyday, the highest temperatures recorded in the city would reach new heights as if in an attempt to break yesterday's record. It was at this time of the day, the dusk, when all those mischievous little kids in the neighbourhood would escape their parents' captivation and run onto the vast open grounds, their playful screams and laughters filling the air of Mumbai. They would always plan their vacations beforehand and reserve majority time for play. Bhargav was no exception to this. Having helped mom in her daily chores today, he had won a ten rupee note as a prize amount from her. Besides being tall, smart, cute and a big boy - as he proudly called himself - Bhargav was a kindhearted 12-year-old kid. He never refused to help people in his leisure time, but he never compromised on his playtime either. Today, he was a bit upset for none of his friends had shown up on the ground and he found nothing int...

Boredom Thrown Away  I was bored. And maybe everyone around me was bored too. My mother, my father, my sister - all were bored. I guess, boredom was bored too. The same sun everyday, the same moon every night, the same waking up every morning and the same dozing off every night. In fact, the daily things between waking up and dozing off were same too. How repetitive! I know, repetition brings charm and emphasis; but that's in poetry, not in real life. Well, poetry is my life too, huh, but jokes apart. All days were alike as if they were cast out from a single metallic mould and all activities were rehearsed as if they were parts of the same play ignored by spectators. A notice from my college gave a major break to this monotonous routine. Inspite of submitting all my documents, I was called a week later to see those expressionless, straight faces of the workforce who faked the most unusual smiles on greeting the freshmen and freshwomen of the new academic year, to place in thei...