Maid Of Honour

My alarm sounded at its usual time that morning. I woke up hastily, and lulled my young one into slumber, satisfied that he had done his job of waking me up by howling his heart out.

It was dawn.
An urban alarm clock was something beyond my understanding. My two year old was assigned the duty of waking me up every morning. As I walked towards the slum bore well, I felt happy that my son was already a responsible lad, even when he couldn’t speak properly. I hurriedly washed myself and made my way back to my shack. My breadwinner lay there deeply engrossed in his dreams of fairyland, as I prepared myself for the drudgery that was about to begin. I changed my sari with the only other one I had, that was hanging on the wire in my shack, from one corner to another. I quickly shook my elder daughter out of her sleep, and pushed her out of the hut, so she could freshen up. In the meanwhile, I kneaded some dough and baked some rotis for my husband, who slept in undisturbed peace. I carelessly kept some milk in a tiny glass, for my two year old when he would be awake. With that done, I rushed outside and stole a pair of slippers from my neighbor’s house, and walked away. I knew there would be a long battle of words over the same when I would come back, but I had no other way to save myself from blisters in the scorching heat. On my way, I saw my ten year old daughter chatting up with a friend of hers, and I went up to her and deposited a tight slap on her face. I chided her for wasting time when we had none, and ordered her to immediately accompany me to work. When she tried to reason, I pulled her by the arm and walked away with no further explanations. The last thing I wanted my daughter to do was spend her day gossiping her heart out.
Work was just a ten minute walk away for me, but light years away from my life. It consisted of towering buildings and mansion like houses, something that I don't even dare to dream about. As I reached my workplace and rang the doorbell, my daughter begged to be left alone. My motherly pangs of affection were just about to let her walk away from this torture, when the door opened and my employer stared at me with angry eyes. I forgot all about being a mother, and stepped in with my daughter cowering behind me. The day of drudgery had begun.
‘You have decided to come late every day, and you think I’ll tolerate this kind of behavior?’ my employer barked, as she peered at my daughter’s tiny figure hiding behind my thin frame.
I mentally wondered how I had run late when my alarm had rung correctly, and I had done every activity after that with a quick pace. I confidently told my employer that I couldn’t be late.
‘Oh, so the clock in my house is lying? Don't give me such weird excuses, and get to work right now!’
I mumbled a curse under my breath, and turned to look at my daughter who seemed frightened. I whispered something into her miniature ear, and advanced towards the kitchen to do my job. Wash the utensils.
From the corner of my eye, I saw my daughter pick up the broom and make her way to the farthest room of the big house. The delicacy of her tiny hands contrasted very well with the rashness of the broom. As I picked up the first glass and applied soap on it, my daughter was stopped by my employer and told to keep down the broom.
I rushed to her defense and held her hand in full support as the lady spoke in a surly tone, her bespectacled glare making her look like a tyrannous monster.
‘How can you make her work? NO. She’s not going to do your share of work. If you can’t do your job, then leave it. But nobody else is going to do it for you!’
I stared at her face for some time in utter disappointment, and realized it wouldn’t be of any use arguing with her. The monster probably derived pleasure out of watching me slog in her house, and couldn’t tolerate the fact that I could use some help.
I patted my burden on her back and told her to wait outside the house till I finished the work. She stared at me with innocent eyes, and walked away.
I resumed washing the utensils as I recalled the day my daughter was born. My husband couldn’t be found and so my neighbors helped me give birth to her. They had to arrange for a dai at the last minute, because my husband vanished just two days before the delivery. My in-laws had expressed sheer disappointment upon giving birth to a girl, and had left me weak and unattended because of the same. Seema was born malnourished, and weighed quite less. As she grew up, I came to realize that she was a weak child, and couldn’t lift the burden of going to school and studying. Studying, after all, is a very tough task and she wouldn’t be able to do it at all. So it was decided that Seema would help me in my work, till she turned sixteen and then she would be married off to a nice household. Till then Seema was a burden I had to bear. But what my employer did was an act of pure insanity and meanness. She probably doesn’t realize that not allowing my daughter to work meant lesser money, which means I can’t save up for my son’s education.
Rich people can never understand.
I went on to sweep the floors of the lady’s house where she lived a lavish life with her two daughters. Apparently her husband worked elsewhere. As I swept one of the daughters’ rooms, I was rebuked by the lady for not doing my work properly. I argued with her for five minutes trying to tell her that I was doing my best, but then kept quiet lest she fired me. I couldn’t afford to lose this job.
Soon I was out of one monster’s house and was walking towards another monster’s house. Unfortunately, there was a hoard of guests at their house, which meant a million utensils for me to wash. As I washed glasses and spoons and cookers and crockery, I wondered if my son would be awake by now. He was a darling, but I never had the opportunity of spending quality time with him. He was probably sipping the milk I had kept for him, now. My thoughts were broken as a glass plate fell from hands and broke into pieces. Monster Two barged into the kitchen with fuming red eyes, and blazed at me for having committed the gravest crime of all times. As I tried to apologize for my mistake, she threatened to deduct money from my salary. I whined in front of her like a baby, and she excused my mistake after showering me with choicest abuses and walked away. I sadly continued working, and left the house with dejection being the prime emotion on my face.
It was lunchtime. I walked back to my house with quick steps, as my daughter tried to keep pace with me. She kept asking me irrelevant questions about this and that, which I answered mindlessly. My heart was actually longing for my beloved son, whom I cuddled to death when I saw him trotting on the road with that tiny shirt on him.
I fed him some boiled pulses, and kissed him a million times before I left for work again.
I told Seema to look after him, and even serve my husband if he came home for lunch. That drunkard.
Work was the same old song again. Monster number three reprimanded me for trying to break the handle of her cooker, as she thought that would make her give the cooker to me, which she said was my real aim. God!
Monster number four hinted that she thought I was being paid a tad too much and she should probably pay me a little less.
I smiled to everything and made my way to the last monster. Nothing mattered to me more than finishing my work and going back home.
But monster number five was probably disapproving of my intentions, and so she created the worst ruckus she could have.
As I swept her room with undeterred honesty and sincerity, she came up to me and demanded to frisk me. I suddenly froze, and demanded to know the reason for such disrespect.
‘Disrespect? What happened to your respect when you stole my clip and took away my hairbrush home with you yesterday? You think I don't know anything? You greedy and selfish people will never learn to be honest! Stupid thieves!’

A sense of self-esteem suddenly came over me. It was as if my soul was crying its heart out at being accused of thievery. I shouted at my employer with anger in my bloodshot eyes, and told her in plain words that I hadn’t done it.
‘That’s it! I won’t take in anymore! I haven’t stolen anything from your house, and how much ever you might want to blame it on me, I will NOT admit to this! And I won’t work in a place where people think I’m a thief! I’m leaving!’
With those words of pride and self respect, I left the house turning a deaf ear to all that Monster number five said to me after that. For a nanosecond, the realization of losing a house’s work pricked me, but it was soon overpowered by my need to be respected for who I was.
My steps quickened as I began to near my house. Tears started welling up in my eyes, as I turned across a bend and entered my house. My son clung onto me immediately, and I sobbed as I hugged him. I wept at what life was doing to me.
Thievery? Was that what people thought I did?
I wept even more when Seema asked me if I was okay. I nodded to make her feel fine, but deep down I wanted to cling onto someone and cry my heart out. I wiped my tears and pasted a plastic smile on my face, so that my children would smile. They smiled, and Seema told me very casually that the neighbors had shouted at her for having stolen their slippers, and that her father hadn’t been home since afternoon.
I swallowed that bit of news and stared into the falling night. I needed him, and he wasn’t there like always.
As I put my children to bed after feeding them on leftover pulses and rotis, I sighed at my life. When they went off to sleep, I went to my neighbors’ house and left their slippers there. Then I walked to the roadside bench, with sore eyes and a sullen face.
I stared at the tiny stars in the sky, and wondered if I mattered even that much to anyone.

Was anyone bothered?
Did anyone care about what had happened today? Any day?
When there came no answer, I walked back to my shack and lay down.
I forced my eyelids into sleep.
My kids still needed to be fed, after all.
Tomorrow still had four monsters in the waiting, after all.

Been Tagged! :D

[This is after such a LONG TIME, that it feels AWESOME!]

You are not allowed to say anything or explain anything unless someone messages you.

Taken a picture naked? : - No. Never. Yuck.
Made out with a member of the same sex? : - No no no!
Danced in front of your mirror? : - Yes (Can you believe it?)
Told a lie? : - Yes

Gotten in a car with people you just met?: - No
Been in a fist fight? : - Yes!
Had feelings for someone who didn't have them back? : - Could it ever be a 'no'?
Been arrested? : - No

Left your house without telling your parents? : - Yes, but I just went t the terrace to contemplate on suicide :D
Ditched school to do something more fun? : - Hell yes!
Slept in a bed with a member of the same sex? : - Yes, every night. :

Seen someone die? : - Yes
Kissed a picture? : - Yes. Teenage is embarassing. :
Slept in until 3? : - Yes..
Laid on your back and watched cloud shapes go by? : - Yes, oh, dreamy me... :)
Played dress up? : - Yes!!
Fallen asleep at work/school? : - Yes.
Felt an earthquake? : - Yes, it was so much fun!!
Touched a snake? : - No. Ew.
Ran a red light? : - Yes.
Had detention? : - No, I'm a GOOD girl. :)
Been in a car accident? : - Yes
Pole danced? : - Yes. Sheesh.
Been lost? : - Oh, yes.
Sang karaoke? : - NEVER. EVER.
Done something you told yourself you wouldn't? : - Yes

Laughed until something you were drinking came out your nose? : - No. I can't imagine what that must feel like. Wet, I guess. :
Caught a snowflake on your tongue? : - No
Kissed in the rain? : - Aww...no.. :(
Sang in the shower? : - Yes :D
Got your tongue stuck to a pole? : - No. How gross that is, anyway. 

Ever gone to school partially naked? :- No :
Sat on a roof top? : - No.
Played chicken? : - What?
Been pushed into a pool with all your clothes on? : - No!
Been told you're hot by a complete stranger? : - No.
Broken a bone? : - No..
Mooned/flashed someone? : - No, hehe.
Forgotten someone's name? : - Yes, like a zillion times. 

Slept naked? : - Who do you think I am? Mallika Sherawat? NO.
Blacked out from drinking? : - No.
Played a prank on someone? : - Yeah.
Felt like killing someone? : - All the time, dammit!
Made a parent cry? : - Yeah..
Cried over someone? : - Oh, what a fool was. Yes.
Had sex more than 5 times in one day? : - This is not a sex machine you're talking to. Hell no.
Had/Have a dog? : - YES. :(
Been in a band? : - No, you think? :D

Drank 25 sodas in a day? : - I hate soda. Awk. No.
Shot a gun?:- Does a toy gun count? :P :D

Whoever wants to do it, can do it.
I realise, I've been such a good girl. Aww. :D
Things could change now, though. :) ;)

The Love Of My Life

Note: This is the ugliest thing I've ever written, not literarily but emotionally. I have hated myself for writing it. But still, I'm posting it for some reason. Please don't hate me after reading it. It's unethical, it's wrong, and I know it. And lastly, nothing about it is true.
Please forget it if you hate it.

‘Papa, hurry up! I don't want to miss the bus again!’ my son cried from the doorway, as I rushed to grab a muffler for myself.
My wife hurriedly handed over his tiffin box to me, and leaned forward from the kitchen door for a peck. The love of my life she was.
I backed off, unusually startled, and scurried off to the door without looking back. I heard her chuckle, and was relieved she didn’t take it too seriously.
Rohan made a grumpy face, as I clutched his hand and we began to walk toward his bus stop. I ruffled his hair with affection, as he skipped along, gripping with excitement. His school was taking him for a picnic to Lodhi Garden.
I could die for that smile on his tiny face. Priceless.
As his bus stop came closer, my pace quickened. I wanted to reach there fast. I kept touching my muffler again and again; making sure it wasn’t looking shabby.
I was glad Rohan wasn’t asking me his usual silly questions. Like why do dogs look down, and why do ditches stink and why does winter feel cold.
Of late they had begun to irritate me, instead of amusing me.
I shrugged as I wondered why.
We reached the bus stop fifteen minutes earlier than the scheduled time, because apparently, I had made Rohan miss his bus yesterday, dilly dallying at home. Rohan had used these words.
I felt like an idiot standing there with my dreamy son, when nobody was to be seen on the roads. We had no companions, but even the other school kids weren’t to be seen.
Not even her.
No sooner had the thought crossed my mind, than I saw her tiny figure appear from the bend down the road.
It would take her about five minutes to reach here.
Five minutes, twenty three seconds, to be precise.
As I looked on, numb; Rohan caught hold of my hand, all of a sudden. I shook, as if I’d been snapped out of a dream. A stray dog, probably on its morning walk, had scared my son.
My son.
I held him closer to myself, to reassure myself, more than him.
I had a kid.
Nevertheless, I looked up.
I could see her face very clearly now. From the last few days I’d spent thinking of her, I’d concluded that she was probably in her last year of schooling,
That sway in her walk, that emptiness of her bag, that blue kajal that was so intoxicatingly magnetic, those lanky footsteps, and those dirty shoes – they explained a lot of things.
She came nearer with every passing second.
And she looked straight into my eyes.
I missed a beat, as she walked past me.
I still had my eyes closed, and was still overcoming the effect of her presence, when I heard her say, ‘Good morning!’
I turned around. So did Rohan.
Her smile froze me. I searched for words, but they wouldn’t come out. And I meekly wished her back. I then drew my son closer.
She smiled again, and then made her way to her bus stop, five meters away from mine.
I mean, from Rohan’s.
Rohan.
He looked at me puzzled. He then glanced at her, and then back at me. Then he promptly asked, ‘Do you know her?’
I ruffled his hair once again and said, ‘No. But when someone says good morning, always wish back. It is good manners. Only bad boys don't wish back.’
He contemplated on what I said, as I did too, and then enquired, ‘But why did she say good morning?’
I went speechless for a minute.
I next heard a screeching of brakes, and my son hurried away to board his school bus, that stood in front of me. I waved a mechanical bye to him.
My five year old asked difficult questions.

I sighed as I turned to go back home. Time for office.
Then I stopped, and turned to look at her.
She was looking at me intently.
She blushed pink and turned away, and pretended to take out some notebook from her bag.
I turned away too.

I jogged my way back to the house, perspiring in the bitter cold.
My wife was ready to leave for work. She gave me an alluring smile from the sofa, where she sat and sipped that wonderful coffee that she makes.
I smiled back wryly.
The love of my life she was.

Five days couldn’t wreck these blissful five years.
They wouldn’t.

I went up to her, and planted a kiss on her lips.
I love you, I said to her, more for me to listen.

She hugged me, and a serene smile swept across my face.
Yes, they wouldn’t.

P.S. : Told you. Please don't hate me like I did when I wrote it.

The Tale Of The Jungle

Each movement brisk, each look guarded,
Slow and steady, it trudges through.
The eye is swift, the paws are ready,
The night is dark, the sky a scary blue…

A slight rustle of the leaves of the bush
A predator on its usual prowl,
But tonight is going to be different,
The weakling springs to action, and growls.

‘My prey, what cheek? Who dared to dare?
Thou art to die, thy end is near!’
The weakling maintains a profound silence,
No silly movement, it wants to steer.

The predator looks around,
Terror strikes his killer eyes.
As the weakling pounces and dives,
The trees tremble, thunder the skies!

‘Thou kill me tonight, my prey,
Thou art the King, Thou win…’
The predator breathes its last,
Defeated by its weakest twin.

The twin breathes heavy,
It trembles with dread and fear,
Victory it has finally achieved,
It rules the jungle, the mice, the deer…

It raises it head towards the sky,
The moon, the stars, all in reverence seem to bend,
It smiles, wryly, and then weeps,
And mourns at its sibling’s sad end…

The Writer's Desk

I stared at the blank paper in front of me. Surprisingly enough, it stared back with equal innocence, as if it were waiting to learn a lesson that it would never forget. I could almost make out its twirling lips, and the childish eye brows, and the playful eyes, through its ruled lines, and margin.
I lifted my pen and saw the paper jump up with excitement as I breathed out. The innocent smile had miraculously changed into a happy grin, like that of a kindergarten child awaiting a prize from his teacher. I smiled back with the serenity of the teacher, as she hands out the prize to a jumping kid. I stroked the ends of the paper like she would fondle a new student on her first day at school. The eyes looked back at me with admiration and awe. I uncapped my pen, and rested my hand on the paper making sure that I wasn’t hurting it in any way, or folding it from any side. Dog ears and crumpling edges, they hurt. The paper smiled gratefully, and stared at me with unconditional love. It was ready.
I smiled as a thought crossed my mind. My mind began to set itself into WRITE mode, and all that remained to be done, was pen the thought down. I looked at the paper one last time, and satisfied with the eagerness in its eyes, I began. The paper chuckled and laughed and gloated, as I wrote out my initial thoughts onto it. I wondered the reason for such hilarity. I soon realized that the whole writing episode must be a rib tickling experience for the paper, in its true sense.
As I continued to vent myself out, I briefly saw the paper undergo a mix of motions, best compared to those a child undergoes as it trudges through her initial years of schooling. It laughed boisterously at times, and wailed loudly at other times. It hummed playfully for some time, and acted snobbish the remaining times. When my thoughts paused for breath, I noticed the paper heave sighs of unrest, as a child would on his morning games workout. I ruffled its edges, assuring it that it was in safe hands, as it looked on hopefully. Then my mind began to race again, and I continued to cast my imprints on the once plain and white paper, now blue with my thoughts. When I ended, the paper seemed tired and rugged, like a fifth grade student returning home from a hard day at school. I consoled it by running my hands all over it, but it was all blue with color, desperate to tell a story, dying to babble something out.
I read it up to down, not even barring a single full stop or punctuation. When I finished my read, it seemed content and satisfied, as if its purpose in life had been fulfilled. Its smile exuded the confidence of a teenager narrating her experiences of her sleepover to a pretending-to-be-stunned father. I smiled knowingly, as it stared back at me with utmost happiness and vigor.
I then read it once again, like an examiner would recheck a student’s answer sheet, and frowned like the examiner would on catching a blunder. The paper seemed apprehensive now, and looked at me with shivering lips and fearful eyes. It seemed to have realized what it’s fate was coming to, and pleaded me to let it stay. It had the emotion a twelfthie goes through as she realizes that time to depart has arrived. It begged to stay on, as I tore it out and threw it away in the dustbin, wherein lay a million others like it.
I only heard a feeble cry, as the paper seemed to battle its way through the big bad world outside. Leaving the security of my desk was indeed very painful for it.
I grabbed another paper hurriedly, ignoring the paper’s cry as it made its way out of my cocoon. I nervously looked at the time, and wiped drops of sweat from my face.
I couldn’t afford to lose my job as the columnist. I must come up with something in another hour.
As I wrote again, the paper in the dustbin seemed to look back in nostalgia, and seemed to be calling out to me. It didn’t take me long to realize that it would be calling out forever, but I mustn’t listen. It must brave the horrors of the world outside.
That’s growing up.
And this was a farewell, indeed.

The Nobel

I woke up in my lab that morning. I was lying on the floor. I just couldn’t recall what had happened last night, but the whole place was in shambles. Hydrochloric acid was all over the table, as if it were determined to make a sea of itself; and I could smell burnt sulphur around. My face itched with some salt crystals, probably Mohr’s Salt, I smelled pungent and my eyes were watering like they had been subjected to third degree torture. Most of the reagent bottles were on the ground, broken ruthlessly, with their contents already spilled out. The lab was in utter confusion and my memory a total mess. I shook off the crystals from my coat, and wiped my face with my dirty lab coat in a desperate attempt to sort things out. What had happened last night? It almost seemed like a hurricane had struck my peaceful abode.
I dexterously made my way through a completely dismantled laboratory that had been one of the cleanest I’d ever seen, some twenty four hours earlier. It no more looked like my laboratory. It seemed more like an ancient fort, dying a silent death. I shook my head at the unholy thought, and rushed up the messy staircase, that would take me to my house. I nearly slipped twice, because of a gooey mess of all kinds liquids on it. When I finally accomplished the task of reaching my house, I was surprised to discover that no hurricane had struck my place of resting. It seemed much like the place I had seen yesterday morning, before moving down to my lab. But the conclusion puzzled me even more, as I just couldn’t understand how my lab had become a scientist’s nightmare in merely twenty four hours, of which I remembered nothing. Intrigued by the mystery, I walked back to my lab.
I reached my desk hopping and jumping over pink and green colored floor, and looked around for a point from where I could begin cleaning up the mess. I threw one look at my desk, and the sight was too devastating to think of anything else. My pen stand had been wickedly broken into two, and my notepads lay there, as if they were looking for their identity. My rough papers, over which I had toiled the previous week, were all blue with Copper Sulphate solution all over them. I slowly picked them up, and began to squeeze out the liquid amidst the sheets, as I simultaneously threw my beloved pen stand into the dustbin. I caught hold of a rag from the window sill, the only dry object in my whole laboratory, and scrubbed my desk like a professional cleaner. I left my rough notes clipped at the window sill, so they could be dried, and referred to later. Although the paper was stained blue, and the ink had almost washed off, never mind the ‘Waterproof Ink’ sticker on the pen that owned it. I moved on to my reagent shelf, and realized that the rag was no good any more. And it was stinking more than me. I skipped up to my house, and came back with a handful of rags, and set my mind to work I wasn’t really used to.
An hour later I sat on my chair, and glanced around. My day as the sweeper was finally paying off, as my lab looked like mine again. At least it was recognizable. I sat there, panting furiously and tried very hard to recall last night’s catastrophe. I couldn’t remember an atom. I mentally calculated that I couldn’t have caused this chaos myself, unless I had a split personality, or I was clinically insane. Since I couldn’t settle for either, I decided that someone else had been here. I disappointedly realized that I would never really find out. I wasn’t ever good at Sherlock Holmes stuff. Nevertheless, I strained my brain to think of someone who could do such an evil thing, and million names came to my mind. It’s a bad bad world…
Since the time I had announced the topic of my research, I had suddenly acquired a whole new set of enemies, in addition to the already existing million. They all seemed terribly outraged, as if I had stolen away their share of fame and snatched away their Nobel Prize from them. My organisation dismissed my research as a mere fantasy, and refused to pay me for my work. That was my last meeting, as I had resigned that very day. I had offensively argued all through that meeting, trying to prove my point to the clan of idiots sitting in front of me. But they hadn’t paid any heed to any of my assertions. Today, they would be cooling their burning asses.
I smiled divinely as I realized that I had accomplished something the world thought was impossible. An extension to the Theory of Relativity was incredibly intelligent. Even Einstein would be proud. I was finally at par with the man I idolized even when I was in my mother’s womb. My dream of being another Einstein was finally coming true. It was a path breaking discovery in the history of mankind, and I could almost see myself walking down the aisle to receive my Nobel. I made a mental note to begin preparing a speech, as the day wasn’t too far. I recalled the previous day, when I had boisterously announced to my ex-organisation, after years of toil and hard work; that I had finally achieved what they had mocked me for even dreaming. I guffawed at my desk, as their gaping faces came to my mind. Their faces spoke of envy. Envy: because I had arrived at a place, where they could only dream of arriving.
As I played with the pen in my hand, the only undamaged one from the lot, I had a frightening eureka moment. I almost suffered from momentary paralysis, as I shatteringly thought about what had just occurred to me. I nearly died a million deaths in that one second, after which I reached for my locker, the only part of my laboratory that I had forgotten about. The heart of my laboratory.
I ran towards it, like I would be winning an Olympic Medal any minute, and stood in front of it breathless. I opened it in a split second, and shrieked in petrifying horror, as an ugly mouse jumped out of it. As the mouse jumped on my shoulder and leaped to the ground, I stood in bewilderment, staring at the sight unfolding in front of my eyes. My locker was as pink as a rose, a result of it being flooded with Potassium Permanganate. My research manuscript was in pieces, literally, and it spoke of last night’s horrors. A tear trickled down my cheek as I lifted my now-in-torn-state manuscript, and gazed at it with utmost love. For the last five years, I had locked myself up in this two storey house, away from those idiots who doubted my abilities, and toiled day and night for what now lay in my hands, soaked wet in pink water, and torn into a zillion parts. I cradled its remains, as I witnessed my miserable five years going down the drain. The research had been my religion, and I had worshipped it like a true deity, only to be rewarded by being allowed to witness its sad death. I fell to the floor, as my confidence decayed down, with the fastest half life ever. I wept and whined and cried and sobbed, shrieking for everything to be undone. Not even a molecule of hydrogen moved from its place.
I left my religion on the floor and stood up, wanting to be taken away from the lab immediately. I made a depressing decision to forget all about it, and move on. I couldn’t see myself spending another five, or even one year, or even a minute re-doing all my research. I wiped the uncontrollable tears from my eyes, determined to start life anew. I even had thoughts about giving up science altogether. Maybe being a scientist wasn’t all that great after all. I could do gardening, or sell eggs. Anything that didn’t require passion. Passion was synonymous to betrayal now. I turned to close my locker, wishing that I had got a secret lock or something installed; so that whoever had been here wouldn’t have succeeded in his cruel intentions. I sobbed even more when I realized that even if I found out who had done this blasphemy, I wouldn’t be able to retrieve my research from him. He hadn’t stolen it. He had destroyed it. Distraught, I looked at the locker one last time. As I was just about to close it, I saw a tiny brown paper lying in its farther corner. I picked it up disinterestedly, and opened it. What it read, was the cruelest thing I had ever read in any language or book.

‘Maybe being another Einstein isn’t all that easy after all. Einstein would have surely had a lock on his ‘lock’-er. That’s what they are for. Too bad our wannabe Einstein didn’t realize that yet.’

I crushed the note, and wept for my life. I wept for my dead research. I wept for my destructed lab. I wept for my pen stand. I wept for my five years. I wept for making a decision to sell eggs. I wept because I would be following it. I wept for god to see. I wept for myself. I wept for my Nobel.

Maybe the note writer was right.
Maybe there never could be another Einstein.

[Whoever said that science was boring :P I did, before I wrote this. :D]

Aanchal speaks

This is your post Aanchal. What is called a guest post. Thanks for it. :)

Imagine a pink A4 size sheet, just like the one you gave me. :P
Here goes:
Abhilasha, you're a wonderful person to know. And if I had to define you in one word, it'd be "fascinating". Or, or, "different". :D
We haven't known each other closely, but whatever I know of you, is that you're an amazing confidante and a good friend to have. You're calm and probably a good decision maker. You don't try to talk senseless unlike me, and trust me, that's a good thing. According to the few things that Disha tells me about you, I can say that you're very empathetic and the perfect person to talk to when you're low.:)
That's it, I guess.
I'll miss you.
I'll miss everybody who's leaving!
Sigh.
Miss me too!
Love, Aanchal.

[I thought the idea of a guest post was extremely silly, before I did this. and it isn't all that silly, you know..]