When you leave things behind..

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A friend of mine once told me that whenever someone visited him, he wished they would leave something behind, so that he would always have a part of them with him.

You might never know how much you mean to someone because it’s impossible to measure how much of them you took with you before you left them.. But perhaps if you come back to them, you might just know.

They say walls have ears, but did you know they could speak as well?

After my 6th grade, I left my humble home in Trivandrum (renting it out temporarily) to the fast-paced life in Chennai-one of the fastest growing metros. Five years just flew past and I had to return home for 2 days to attend a family function. When I entered through the gates, repainted many times, there was this rush of familiarity, like embracing an old friend. I saw the platform beside the car park area. The day the cement was laid afresh, my dad and I wrote the date on it-30/9/2000...no matter how many times it was painted on, it was still visible. As I walked down the steps I recollected how I used to run up and down, playing, laughing as a child, my pictures being taken. The hibiscus plant waved me a Hi -"Do u remember me? You used to pick one flower from me every day." I took a walk around the place, the water tap beneath which my pet cats used to sun bathe, the moss gathered brick wall from where I used to pick giant red ants and examine them, the washing stone atop which I used to stand to wave to the neighbors beyond the wall. I confidently walked barefoot on the stones because I knew these grounds had made my feet strong. As I entered the house, I could hear the walls talking to me-"Welcome back". A sudden rush of memories.. "This is the spot where you used to swing with your nanny, this is where you used to play hide and seek, this used to be your study table, this is where your cradle used to be hung.. Do you remember?" I do! I do! I remember everything! Everything is still the same! I’ve come back home! I never knew I missed home so much, I was so caught up with running with the world..

It happens to all of us doesn't it? But the best part is, home is always where you left it, how you left it, its somewhere you can always come back to, to be yourself..

WHO SAYS YOU CAN'T GO HOME?

Man & Animal

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They say not to get too close to a Libra because you tend to get too close.. But that’s just between people.. But it’s amazing how intimate u can get.. Not only with your own species but with others as well.. That’s because love is not spoken.. it’s just felt, for instance think of how close man can get with his canine friend.

How is it that an animal can sense affection from a human? Does it see it in your eyes, or the way you touch it, or is it able to smell the scent of your care? That would have been so much easier to find out, if only animals could talk. But it makes one wonder.. Is this proof that humans evolved from animals, proof that we are all connected to each other in a circle?

Man and animal, especially dogs, have a very good wrap out. No wonder a dog is called man's best friend. Sometimes a pet is treated like the member of the family, giving it the liberty to be more of a man than an animal and very soon they begin to see the animal as a human; and what happens when the animal passes away? They mourn its death just like you would if u lost a family member.

Sometimes I think about my cat Lily for whose life I cried continuously for three days and so I came to know what it felt like to lose a pet I loved, or rather, a feline friend who always thought that wherever you went was the right place to go and whatever you fed her was the best food.

LILY CAME WHENEVER I CALLED HER, UNTIL ONE DAY SHE DIDN’T AND THAT’S WHEN I REALISED THAT SHE COULDN’T EVEN IF SHE WANTED TO.

for a poetry contest

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A WALK CALLED LIFE
A healthy mind in a healthy body, with that thought at five I rose,
To walk to health and jog once or twice.

Little did I know as I stepped out; a journey I began….
An unveiling of a fine example of life itself.

We are in darkness,
A vision extending to gentle outlines of human life, whispers of light,
a touch to warn us of a rocky path ahead

The eternal stillness is gone,
Life awakens from amidst the branches,
Golden rays begin to fall, illuminating the wonder of the universe.

Familiar faces, and many unknown,
Afraid of questions, conscious of loneliness,
I walk, getting lost in the herd. Listening to stories of strangers:
Of their love miles apart,
Of momentary refuge and running away from truth,
Of impressions, prestige and positions,
Of work, family and children.

My life has just begun, a walk of life,
A walk of purpose, a walk to remember,
A walk down memory lane and up future avenue.

To a walker, to a jogger, to a runner, to a driver,
The signboards mean the same-
Go slow, U-turn, detour, stop.

No matter how far I walk,
At the stroke of six,
I am back where I started.

Travel miles, earn big,
But nirvana lies in familiar sounds,
A gentle reminder,
Earth is round and what goes around comes around.

this struck me one fine evening

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THE SEVENTH LOOK ALIKE

Margaret was a gifted child. Her parents knew of this when she identified faces with superb accuracy. As she grew up to be a ten year old she could remember the people who had come to see her when she was just three or so.
The human face fascinated Marge to a great extent. She got to sketching and made wonderful images of her mom and dad, friends and even herself just as she sees it in the mirror every time before she leaves for school. Her favorite person was Mr. Jerry, her science teacher, who recognized her gift and put it to test. He was doing his PhD in forensics and she was of a great help to him recreating faces from skeletons. She looked up to him as her mentor.
On Marge’s thirteenth birthday, Mr. Jerry was an invitee. Her parents had decided to surprise her with his presence. Margaret was greatly pleased to have him there. He presented her a sketch book and paints. As she sat unwrapping, Mr. Jerry knelt down beside her and said “You know Margaret; they say that there are seven people in the world who look alike”. Marge turned to him in innocent surprise and exclaimed “Really? Are there really seven people in the world who look like me?”

“Why don’t you try and find out for yourself?”

These words uttered by her mentor rang in her ears and lingered on… it went from a thought to a question to a possibility and finally to a mission. Marge was determined to find the seven people who resembled her. This was not a game of some kind that fizzled out as she grew but became more and more of an obsession.
She found the first in her high school at the age of sixteen. The second was the paper boy who delivered papers to her grandmother in Oklahoma 206 miles from her home at Dallas. She found it hard to believe that a boy could resemble her but she had to trust her eyes when she saw it for herself. “If little Marge was a boy, she would look just like that”, said her granny.
When she turned twenty, she started giving advertisements in newspapers. There were many who responded but she was satisfied only with two responses. One was a young Spanish girl and another was an Anglo Indian. With the little money the University provided her for her education she couldn’t possibly think of meeting up with them although she longed to. But she made it a point that someday she would, so she maintained contact with them.
For a girl with an undying determination, she managed to find four look alikes. But the heat was still on, she wasn’t willing to stop in spite of all the work she had at the University. She wrote to journals, newspapers, local dailies and communicated through the internet desperately hunting for the remaining three.
She met Don Silverman in her undergraduate years. She thought she would be wasting his time committing to a relationship but he insisted otherwise. Marge and Don got along really well after that.
On a chilly autumn day they were seated in the park.
“Don?” She wasn’t looking at him. Her eyes were transfixed on the falling leaves.
He turned to look at her.

Knowing this she asked, “This hunt of mine, does that bother you in any way?”

“Not at all”, was his prompt reply.

“Do you think its stupid don? Do you think its going nowhere? Do you think…?”
Her flow of questions was suddenly choked by tears.

“Shush! Whispered Don and wrapped her in a warm hug. After a long pause, “You know what Margie?”

“What?” she sniffed.

“I loved you as and when I laid my eyes on you and then when I heard about this search of yours, I loved you more, and girl with each look alike you find; I get to see another you, those grey eyes, those chestnut brown locks, that adorable nose and that heart melting smile. I love this crazy thing you do and I’m crazy about you. You hear me angel?”

“Loud and clear”, Marge smiled…those tears just disappeared into thin air.

Exactly two years later, Margaret found her fifth when she went jogging with Don. The woman just happened to walk past. Out of the five she found, this was only the third she got to speak to. At the end of the day Don could hear her say to herself, “So miracles do happen”.

A week before she left University, she got a mail sent by a ninety year old woman from England claiming to be her look alike. She printed the address and photograph, marked it as ‘6th’ and put it into her bag.

Margaret finished her education, successfully completed a well appreciated project, earned plenty and married Don.

“So where do you want us to go for our honeymoon?” Don asked.

“I don’t know, you tell me”.

“How about we go to India, Spain and England?”

“Three countries?”

“Yes! A triple treat and a chance to meet the rest of your look alikes… and who knows maybe even find the seventh”.

“That sounds like a wonderful idea”.

The Spanish girl named Enya Rodriguez was very excited to see her. She was a bit tanned than her, had lovely black hair and a uni-brow. Marge fixed it for her and they took photos together.
The Anglo-Indian woman was in her early forties. Jennifer David was a nun in the Catholic Church. “God brought you to me and he will guide you on your quest. I feel blessed to have met you. Good luck Margaret Silverman”, she said and drew the cross on her forehead.
Margaret was glad she met these two but she was looking forward to meeting Julianne, the 90 year old lady. By the time they reached the right place in England they were informed that she had passed away only a week back. Marge was crestfallen. “If only I had come here first…”

Her daughter told them “Although you never mentioned about coming to meet her, she had a feeling that you would. In case she dint get to see you, she asked me to give you this note.”

Marge received it and read it, her eyes following each word.

It read-
“It is not everyday we come across someone who looks exactly like you. When I was young, our family moved to England. We lost our pictures when a few of our luggage was thrown overboard to stabilize the boat. As I grew older I was beginning to forget my past until that is, when I saw your post on the web. You may doubt if I’m your look-alike because how I am now, you may be nothing like it, but believe me child, when I saw your face on that webpage, I felt I was looking at myself again, seventy years younger, thank you for being born, thank you for coming looking for me and don’t stop till you have found all seven of us.”

Margaret pulled out the folded printed picture of Julianne and looked at it. She asked her daughter if she had another picture. She led Don and Marge to the hallway where was hung a picture of Julianne in her youth. Marge couldn’t believe her eyes and Don’s mouth fell open. The resemblance was one hundred percent. The human eye cannot spot a difference. The same grey eyes, the nose, the chestnut brown curls and that smile. That day was one day in her life Marge knew she would never forget.

Earlier with Mr. Jerry and now with Julianne words etched in her mind, she was really hell-bent on finding the seventh.

With Don by her side and the media’s support now, her search became well-known and everyone began looking for her seventh and final look alike.

A year went by and Margaret was pregnant with her first baby. Till the doctor rang her up and asked her to give it a rest she did not. Even at home she would search for hours on the internet.
“Honey! Don’t stress yourself out; it’s not good for the baby, said Don.
Realizing what she does could affect the growing baby; Marge stopped thinking about her and decided to drop the search once and for all. Although it was with a heavy heart she decided that it was for the best.
“Maybe I can pick it up where I left it much later”, she said hopefully.

Months passed by, the labor pains came. Don was a gem who helped her and was there at her every beck and call. The delivery was smooth and successful. Margaret gave birth to a healthy baby girl. When the nurse handed the baby to the happy couple, the little angel opened her eyes once to look at her life-givers, revealing its lovely grayness.

“Sweetheart?”

“Yes Don?”

“I think we found your seventh look alike”.

“I think we have.”

“Congratulations. What should we name her?”

“Julianne”

Bon Jovi sang-“When you want to give up and your heart’s about to break
Remember that you’re perfect; God makes no mistakes”

WHEN YOU ARE JUST ABOUT TO GIVE UP ON SOMETHING…JUST TAKE A MOMENT AND THINK OF WHY YOU HELD ON FOR SO LONG…….

STORY BY S.NIVEDYA






for my class magazine in the 12th grade

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LIGHT AFTER DARK
By S.Nivedya


Willy Stuart was the best video jockey in town. His speech was crisp, every word he spoke carried humor and he made his fans feel so good. The start of his career was rocky and he faced hard times. “No one wants a short black guy on the show.”

Its when Henry Jackson, the manager of ‘Talk Me Into a Song’ saw him making pedestrians laugh their heads out that he considered taking him into the show. Even after he was hired he suffered mockery and neglect from his co-workers. But Willy Stuart was focused on his work.

‘Talk Me Into a Song’ started out as a radio show which later earned its own place in a TV channel. Willy Stuart was the best RJ then and allured thousands with his voice. A man who never came out into the limelight, known to America as just a voice, his fans were dying to see how he looked. Now was their chance.

Henry Jackson had Willy to thank for that but he simply responded saying-“Nothing to it Jack, it is what I love to do and it’s what I do best”. Willy’s first few years at TMIS were tough. The other RJ’s used to tease him and pick on him for being short and black. He used to feel dejected but later he got used to it. When TMIS went on screen for the first time, his fans were disappointed because Willy Stuart’s crispy grave voice didn’t belong to a muscular, handsome, tall white body. His first caller’s response was “Oh! Willy, is that how you look?”, Willy’s constant smile faded. He walked up close to the camera, brought out that smile again and replied, “Yes honey! And I am loving every moment of it”. To another dejected caller he asked, “Why do you wear black for formal occasions?” She replied, “It makes me look sophisticated, calm and collected”. To this he exclaimed, “You wear black dear, but I am black!”

Though Willy handled things well before the camera, he felt bad, he didn’t feel himself, and he wished he could go back to being just the voice that America was fond of. Henry Jackson was very understanding and asked him to keep up the good work. “Its been years since the conflict between the whites and blacks took place but the discrimination still lives on. Why do people have to be so thoughtless? Its not that we chose to be black, we just are. But we’re humans too, we have our feelings and rights and place in this world.”
Henry placed his hand on Willy’s shoulder. Seeing the contrast of Henry’s white arm on his dark shoulder only made him feel worse. “Look Willy! I don’t care what size shirt you wear or what color you are. All I know is that you have talent that others failed to see in you. That’s why you are here. Others saw what you look like, I saw what you got and someday I am sure someone else will too. I suppose that’s when your biggest question will be answered…whatever it is”.

“Mommy! Why are you white and why am I black?”

“It’s because I married your father whom you look a lot like”.

“But why aren’t both of you the same color?”

“Because we didn’t care how we looked. All that mattered was that we had love in our hearts for each other and you”

“Then why are we living separately? Why do I have a tutor at home?”

“That is because nobody likes to see a white with a black.”

“Mommy”

“Yes dear?”

“Will I always be black and will you always be white?”

“Yes honey! Does that bother you?”

“Yes, because I can never look like you”.

“That’s not true at all”. Young Willy’s mother got up and turned out the lights. She sat beside him and held his hand, “When you turn out the lights, you can’t see I’m white and I can’t see you’re black. We are one with the darkness. You and I are just the same, we will always look the same when you close your eyes.

Willy Stuart was back on the show the very next day with his familiar smile, but this time, he had absolutely no regrets.

‘Once in a lifetime we are touched by an angel who turn our lives around not by granting a wish or holding our hand when we cross a busy street, but by showing us the light in the horizon when we see only the night'.

WE WANDER ‘ROUND IN THE DARKNESS BUT EVERY NOW AND THEN, A LITTLE LIGHT SHINES THROUGH!

another entry for the contest

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A TRIBUTE
Secure within a cocoon
Safe and unharmed
You sheltered me from cold.
Cozy in a shell, in trouble-free deep waters
I was the pearl within your oyster.
Slowly you showed me the blazing fire,
But never let me feel its heat.
But how long do I hold a rose without bleeding from its thorns?
Now as the curtain rises,
You have to let me go,
Even thought it’s hard to say goodbye,
Only when I disappear from the edge you can see,
That you gave your angel wings to fly.
I dedicate this poem to my mother

life is a lesson

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as a child i understood that life teaches you many lessons that makes you stronger along the way and i loved to write about it...so along with expressing my thoughts as poems, some of them manifested as stories...i wanted people to feel what i felt, i wanted them to see the beautiful world through my eyes...the little joys that life had to offer. There are a lot of things i wish to share with you but because i moved thrice till date, i lost a lot of my scripts during the shift. What i will be posting are what i have luckily retrieved and what i wrote in the recent past....
Do let me know what you feel about them and how i can improve in my expression! Thank you once again for your support!

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