About Her

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India
Little Moments Of Bliss is a silhouette of a feeling that resides in my heart. A software engineer by degree, a writer at heart, and a teacher by profession, I'm all that I never thought I would be. Pretty pictures,a poem that blatantly refuses to rhyme, a text from a deranged friend, a sudden gesture of love, its these little things in life, that matter and sprinkle bliss. Grace the couch and share a cuppa!

February 1, 2012

Dilapidated

His sleep had probably become the only time peace and calm visited him. His wife gently ran her thin, pale hand through his hair. Those translucent veins evidently tried to run through the gaps between her fingers. He let out a sigh and opened his eyes. This was a beautiful customary routine. She would wake him up with the same teasing ruffle of his hair and even if he was awake, he waited for her gesture, it assured him of her love in a complacent way. She spoke a million words in that little soothing moment.

Another day full of hopeful prayers. Another day of an incessant struggle.

He bathed, got dressed, a crisp blue shirt paired with semi-black trousers that miserably failed to hide the bloat he was carrying around himself. His hair were parted on the same side his mother used to do them, carefully disguising the grey strands and the bald spot on the top. He dabbed a few drops of coconut oil to keep them in place. His shoes shone in an egotistical middling manner like they didn't have a care in this world. His wife nudged him with a quick breakfast and he rode on his quest.

The guard at the door greeted him with a refreshing smile, but then, smiling and bowing down to the people rushing through these glass doors defined his job description. An uncalled whoosh of air wheezed into his shirt from the ceiling airway, making the hair on his chest rise. He could barely cease the inappropriate act of rubbing his chest publicly in a hurried fashion, eyeing every corner of the well-lit hall for cameras ensnaring his manners like a vulture. He placed himself on the velvety sofa, admiring its comfort in a secluded indifferent corner of his brain.

"Registration Number 1509 ?'

'Yes, yes, that'd be me, M Sreesaran'

'You may go inside.'

A breathed in paunch, synchronized documents, neat laces, toes struggling to stay in place, and he felt as ready as he'll ever be. His interviewer looked as a sybarite at first, but the proceedings were smooth. After 3 uneasy hours of anticipation, wanting to grab every hint of hope that flew in the air, he was informed that this job wasn't made for him.

He took the same bus back home. At the dinner table, his daughter grunted 'Are we having yellow dal again ? Why is this never up for debate daddy ?'

There lay merely one string on his monochrome bow, unemployment, and life played it in different yet, recurrent monotonous tunes every single day.

40 comments:

  1. Very tight, and very powerful. Loved the gentle use of tone to get the grittiness of the story across.

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    1. Thank You Subhorup :)
      The gentle tone never parts ways with me ;)

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  2. Brilliantly written but made me sad :(
    guess life is not always a bed of roses

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    1. Mostly it is what we make it of.
      I didn't intend to make you sad but in a weird way my write-up will boast of it.
      Thank You for reading Purvi :)

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  3. you have magic in way u wrote...so beautifully u penned misery of many a houses where this is a reality...sigh

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    1. Unfortunately, it is a harsh reality in many households.

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  4. Harsh reality beautifully written.

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  5. Sadnes for the guy you mentioned.:(
    You are commendable here.:)

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  6. Very well written! Almost a graphic account of a harsh reality!BTW ,your new profile pic is nice:)

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    1. Thank You Rahul sir ;)
      I thought people might need a little change from my pink flower :)

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  7. Nice way of etching the details....:-)

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    1. Thank You for reading Giribala ;)
      You have one awesome blog to your credit ;)
      I loved it :)

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  8. Lovely post like always . I think I've told you enough times but i think your blog is beautiful :D

    Picture change I see :) Nice :D

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    1. Thank You gorgeous :*
      I love it when people notice the picture change :D

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    2. Oh, I noticed it too, you know. :P

      PS: Going by the pic, your blog name should've been 'serenity'. ;-)

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    3. ;) Okay, so you're not just good at spooky tales, you can flatter people too ;)

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  9. Amazingly well written. I love how you use the apt words. This writing made me a bigger fan.

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    1. Thank You Sam, Your words mean a lot :)
      And I'm not saying this just for the sake of replying with something nice :)

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  10. Sad but powerful! :)

    Picture's cool too!

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  11. so did you go to any publisher yet? no I mean it.. do you remember the "writing a book" idea I had given.. ?

    loved it.

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    1. haha :D That is so sweet but I ain't that equipped yet Ananya :P

      Thank You so much :)

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  12. For some strange reason, i am inclined to believe that this post is more of a non-fiction. May be its your writing style especially peculiar use of words. Good post!

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    1. This post is a result of my restless mind and has nothing to do with any real person Maverick ;)
      Its pure fiction :)
      Thank You :)

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  13. Well written. Loved the final line.
    Nice blog, you have here. As BluBluBling said, it's beautiful. I'm glad that I stumbled upon it.

    ~Nikhil[/cmus]

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  14. That was beautifully narrated I TELL YOU!!
    The burden on his shoulders...the love of his wife...ALL captured beautifully

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  15. Very nice. Always a pleasure to read your writings. I hope your doing well. God bless!

    Diana

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  16. Loved your effortless style. The words woven together to form a natural flow with a subtle undertone of life. My first visit to your blog and i can safely say not the last.

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    1. Only a blogger can understand how much it means when a blogger says he'll come back and want more :)

      Thank You :)

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  17. This is indeed the story of many households today. Your thoughts just seem to flow like water. Great to read :-)

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  18. beautifully rytn swthrt..sad bt true..

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