Unethical

Balloony!

Decorations were on place, on every nook & corner of the big, brightly-lit hall. Colourful Balloons bubblingly hung from the ceiling, and at one corner you could spot a kid being given a balloon by his tall-father.

She was the bride-to-be. Looking beautiful, innocent, and cute. If there were things in universe standing a testimony to the artistic calibre of God, she sure was listed. It was her day today.

The kid having the balloon had now been circled by many a jealous kids, who eyed the balloon in his hand & his face alterningly. Being in possession of the balloon was no less than being gifted a plucked star from the skyline, and the kid maintained his proud poise staring at the pink heart, the thread to which he held clenched.

Surrounded with her near & dears, she greeted me with a warm hug. I was her relative, to be preciser- A cousin sister, of some 'n'th order.
We talked & gleed, and then she introduced me to him. A warm handshake. Hello. Did he just dive into me?

'Beta, come and take your lunch first' insisted my uncle.
'Yeah, Uncle.'

Taking the platter, I simultaneously interacted with other relatives of mine. Was I being spied by him?

The kids were a jolly clutter. They were laughing and cheering, playing with the heart. The kid had let go the thread, and shared the joy with others.

Amongst the hustle in the party room, his eyes followed me, & my attention was being caught by him.
The photo-session commenced. We all hogged near her. I stood next to him. He turned to look at me, and thinking it would seem odd, or might be caught in the shots, reflexly eyed the cameras instead.
Cheese.
Did something click??

The kids jostled, ran in the hall. They had befriended each other knowing nothing about the other. Carefree, they lived in the moment of the game they were presently playing.

Amidst the dancing, his eyes met mine and he shook away from the transfixation. Was that an interaction?
Repeated instances of such kind happened during the course of the party. There was something intriguing in him, something that kept me bounded. Was that magnetism?
I had never met him earlier, I had till now not conversed with him except the voiced 'Hello', but there was some connection we were fixed with.

Confetti! 

Silver-golden confetti showered on them. It must have felt like being drenched in the first snow-fall of the season. The balloon had bursted. The kids were speckled with the shiny pieces of paper. Giving a last laugh, they searched for their parents and disappeared into their own world.


Knowing, a conversation could not be materialized, or rather was Absolutely UNETHICAL, I left.

But he had to stay.
Afterall, he was the groom-to-be.


Disclaimer: This is Pure Fiction! 

True. Sincere. Just.

Amidst the hue and cry of scams, communal-ism, injustice, and political ill-will; the silent optimism might be missed but not ignored.

Every year the glory of the past that our country beholds brightened me up, made me believe that how-so-ever untidy or faulty the present is, it would transform to shine in the future. 

This time too, I feel the same. Only, the feeling was deliberated, and appeared more like a fantasy world of the Grandma's stories. Period.

Indian Tiranga

The desire to change it for the better still fumes, and so, I do what I can do best.

Do my duties sincerely.

Just think, What if everyone whole-heartedly did what they were meant to do?

True, Sincere, Just - My Future, My Nation.

Unanswered!

‘Tele, you have a post.’ said my Mumma and entering my room, where I lay absorbed networking with friends, kept that envelope, the yellow colored one, on the side table. Without allowing the neck the cumber-some task to turn, I enquired, ‘Who’s the sender?’

Check it for yourself, announcing, she exited.

It’s New Year 2011, and I got a post!

Friends weren’t sending me any gift, I knew. I never gave them any. Admit Cards had all been received. They too have to be printed now-a-days. No correspondence was expected from any University. The Summer Schools and Research Conferences were not worth being on the list of Dad’s expenditure, so I hadn’t applied.

Curious, turning to the bright-yellow envelope perched on the table, stretching the joints gone lazy, It is a Card. A Greeting Card!

In the times of SMS’ and emails, or rather merely Scraps & Tags, there was a greeting for me, from an Uncle.

Initially I hated to see my name mis-spelled, but you can't hate someone for loving you.

Uncle, who had lost his 24-year old son to destined death, many years ago. 6 months ago, when I had been back from Netherlands, and the newspaper had that piece of reporting, he had called me. He wanted to meet me and gift a memento of motivation. He had dropped at my place then. In his mid-fifties, with half-grayed hair & proud-happy eyes with a deeper seated sorrow, he had tried to see his son in me; tried to bask in the glory like a parent; tried to store the exhilaration to pass his fore-coming days.

This New Year he had not forgotten me. I, too, hadn’t. He sent me a card wishing me health & happiness to tame more successes. The heart gave a silent beat of sympathy, I felt blessed to have received their wishes.

24 days after the scheduled 1^st January had come, I hadn’t still called him to Thank, or written to him. Amongst the pile of papers of my internship letters, log-book, and my write-ups, the envelope stroke out. It was distinguishable all this while, but probably it was lying low on the priority list. The love and blessings that are showered onto you unexpectedly from unexpected people, are rather less reciprocated & valued only occasionally.

I sent him a message right now:

Hello Uncle. Hope the Year has had the happy beginning. Wishing you and Aunty health & happiness. Regards & Wishes- Telly.

Tele says: Being un-answered does hurt. Doesn't it?