From The Quill

 What happens when the Sun Falls in love with Grey Clouds? A Rainbow. ~ Suranya

You pat me to sleep,  Every time I cry alone.  Your warm hug fills my heart  Every time I fail. You come to me,  In the darkness and silence.  I feel you near me  In every gust of sudden wind.  In raindrops and the smell of roses. They light lamps and pray to God.  They are scared of spirits descending  Tonight, on Chaturdashi.  But the naive men don't know  Some spirits don't even leave.  Do they? ~ Suranya

People love music. Some catch the notes. Others,. The lyrics. And I wait for a story. A story that unfolds in a song, Emotions confessed. Perhaps some regretted Reason I love Folk songs is that they always convey a story, perhaps a story from history or legends, long lost in the past. Then there are the romantic tunes, Songs that make your heart ache. Or perhaps take you on a trip down nostalgia lane. There are some songs you carefully avoid in your playlist. But never delete them, I wonder why. Hope? Or the habit of holding on to memories? Or perhaps a reminder that the people and places are not ours anymore. Sometimes when you brave your feelings to listen to them, they take you back to places where the song doesn't feel the same any more. Is it because of the people and places we associate with them, or perhaps that one person who gave us that song? Some songs make you feel like you are in a scene of a movie. Certain songs you prefer to play on your long drives, sync and imagine...

She was the Sea. Unsteady. Never-ending. Turbulent. He was the Shore. Calm. Composed. Sorted. He was her reason. To come back again and again. To hold on and let go. All at once. Never together. Never apart. Some love stories live forever. ~ Suranya

I love those places where signal strength is low, Where phones don't work and you are truly alone. I love those (places) the most where the arches speak, Domes speak of stories long forgotten in History. In them, I see His stories, the past that I seek. Once Upon A Time, I had this feeling. I chanced upon the perfect place Dreams came true there, so strongly I felt! The water of an unnamed Lake met the gentle breeze. The white stoned Domes, standing in silence, For a few centuries. A silence full of noises, of a past that haunts. There was also a lamp flickering, fighting the wind. A plaque, attributed to a Braveheart and his kin. There I was, sitting on the marble, staring at Him; What remains of Him perhaps, a name, fame, ashes and memories Immortal deeds, innumerable stories, waiting to be told. The silence there spoke, more than anyone else ever did. They say people are granted a new life, With every life-altering moment. Do you know,  They sometimes meet themselves as well, I...

Her coming back to his shores. His letting go of her waves. Never together. Never apart. Since eternity. Bound by reality Love splashes Between the land and the sea. ~ Suranya

Waking up in his hostel dorm, He smiled at the gift on his bed. "Happy Birthday", it read. Frowning, the orphan looked around. Abandoned, he had no birthdays. The roommate peeped in. " I found a brother on this day, So Happy Birthday, Brother." Tears swelling, he had hugged. His newfound family. -Suranya

 She had chosen the fire altar, her self-respect before her father's pride. The mute spectators saw her walk up to the Havan Kund, in her fury, as her father ignorantly continued to hurl abuses at the one who remained in her heart. The greatest of the men was scared by the hurt in her eyes. Her black hair darkening the day as it flew in the gust of wind, her red vermilion as powerful as a thousand Suns, she had smiled at the crowd sarcastically. Cursed them all for their silence. And she had for once thought of him. The one who was part of her soul. How will he survive? Her death would devastate him. But her self-respect didn't let her love come in the way. Her soul was now impure with the insults her father had hurled at him. This soul deserved no life. So before jumping into the altar, she had stared up towards the North. Towards Home. And she made a promise. In another life. In another time. Perhaps. But she will always come back. To him. For him. Because she would always be...

 Tall and proud, reaching for the sky,  Alone and unique, the Mountain stood,  Lofting over the clouds.  The River down in the valley,  Fell in love with him. But rainfed and non-perennial  She could see him only from afar. He was rugged, lifeless and cold.  Ignorant of the river,  So she turned bold.  She found it hard  To climb up his steep sides.  But to reach him was her aim,  The River tried again and again.  So she turned herself into rain,  Drop by drop, she reached his terrain  Turning herself into snow  For his majestic peaks. She decided to entwine herself,  Adding life to his greatness.  So she turned into a stream  And soaked him in her love.  The trees grew thick,  On the stone cold rocks,  The Mountain had life,  A gift from the River. Grateful in turn, year after year  He stopped the clouds  From taking her away.  And every time he stopped them...

Reaching home at 4AM, Esha ran to the bathroom. She turned on the shower. The water was cold and prickled her soft, hot skin like raindrops. It trickled down her red dress to the floor. Her eye makeup was smudged. It dripped down the cheeks. She did not care. She closed her eyes and let the water cleanse her body. Slowly, she slipped out of the dress and let the water droplets touch her naked, exposed skin. It erupted into goosebumps. She rubbed at her red lips with her painted nails; her ruined makeup, waist, hands and every inch of her body that was touched needed to be cleansed. She breathed in, heavily, letting out a sigh, as silent teardrops mixed with the water. Only those were salty to taste. She sat down on the tiled floor, unaware of how many minutes or hours had passed by. The water flow decreased. She wearily turned off the tap. The dry clean towel waited to drape itself around her naked body. She had finally cleaned the sins of the night. An escort had walked in. The mother...

The bride's relatives sat talking of a female trafficking racket busted in the city. She sat silent, watching them say how sorry the state of the country. They made her smile. Not all girls were sold the same way. Some transactions were more elite. Sitting pretty among her belongings was her price . The 'educated' called it Gifts, not Dowry. © Suranya

With every Sunset  There is a Sunrise. With every end, A new Beginning. And with every shattered dream,  Hopes to find new ones. ~ Suranya

His eyes stopped as her's met his. She looked away immediately, but the smile in her eyes captured his. Homecoming was now worth it, he realised. ~ Suranya

 The vermilion on her hairline doesn't give you the right to abuse her soul.  #MeToo has been doing the rounds. We don't often talk of abuses. Like that relative whose touch is uncomfortable. Or perhaps those guys who hoot at you. And the most obvious ones. Abuses in relationships. Marital Rape and Abuse, physically and mentally, is something that is less talked about. We all talk of rapes, but those inside closed doors without the consent of the bride are called as valid by society. Why? Putting vermilion on someone or signing a few papers doesn't make them your property. The issue of abuse is not only physical but also mental. Many across the world don't face scars on the body, but the scars on the mind remain. Society doesn't do candle marches and media coverage for them, nor do their own families support or protest against it. No, such crimes are not normal. A man, a lover, a husband has no right to be forceful to anyone as their property. It is important to tea...

 A little bit of heaven, A little bit of hell, A pinch of love, Before I sail. A little bit of hope, A little bit of dreams, A life of Purpose Is all I seek. ~ Suranya

Pinki was uploading a picture on Instagram. Rahul was updating his Tinder bio for the weekend. Mom was checking her Twitter followers. Dad stared at them and updated his Facebook "Getting Bored." The dining table was silent with socialising. ~ Suranya

The historian saw carnage. The writer heard an untold story of sacrifice. The traveller felt something in the wind. The tourist found a perfect guide. The photographer clicked a perfect shot. The art lover witnessed some spectacular monuments. Then there was I. I touched the broken pillars and arches. And found a tear drop on my cheek. ~ Suranya

IF SOMETHING SCARES YOU,  BE IT AS SIMPLE AS DARKNESS  OR AS COMPLICATED AS LOSING PEOPLE,  THE BEST THING TO DO IS FIGHT. FIGHT YOUR FEARS. FIGHT FOR THE PEOPLE WHO MATTER. LET GO OF YOURSELF. HOLD ON TO PEOPLE. -SURANYA

She spoke like his mother, Smiled like a child. And stared like a doe-eyed deer. His instincts told him she was trouble. But his warrior heart wanted a taste of the dream. Because his life was full of bloodshed She brought a handful of hope,  With a pinch of Love,  Enough to mend his broken world. - Suranya

The sun sets on Chittorgarh. The darkness engulfed Mewar in fear of the Turk Invaders. But people often forget that every darkness is welcomed by a new day. The sun rise on Mewar's fortune was called Pratap. Her son, Saviour, the Maharana. Pratap. ~ Suranya (Written while witnessing a Sunset at Chittor)

 Timeless Souls, eternal and immortal. They needed no names to survive in History. ~ Suranya

 Silent nights. Raindrops on my pane. Sound of water falling to the roofs and lanes. I can feel my own breath. I can feel my thoughts. Sometimes they lack words... Proper sentences. Or verse. Most times they lack a listener. So the pen and paper listen. While I rant out my feelings. Lyrics play along, And Music does the healing. ~ Suranya

 Jai Bhavani! The ladies echoed in unison. Their voices reflected the true essence of women's power. Sacrifice. Bravery. Honour. Just like the Goddess herself. Only, these women carried their weapons in their hearts. It was love for their motherland. And honour for their soul. The echo increased. So did the burning of the wood, in the Kund. Thousands gathered before it. Hands folded. Nervous heartbeats. Scared smiles. But eyes full of confidence. Every Rajputani was born for this day. A few like them had the opportunity. In the crowd, a young, scared princess, perhaps of five or six, whispered, Are we going to die, Maasa? Her mother pressed her hand. We are going to survive. She reassured. How? Asked the daughter in dismay. The room echoed with screams and smell. Smell of burning flesh. Her mother pressed her hands again. In the soil of our motherland. Our ashes will perish in every corner of our land. And we will survive in her. She let go of her daughter and moved forward. Jai Bh...

Up in the snow-clad Himalayas, a Yogi sat. Turning away from life and all its emotions and attachments. He had lost love once. He took it as his own fault. He was cursed to be alone and serve the people and his purpose. He had sworn that no woman would again affect him as his beloved, innocent Sati did. Sixteen-year-old Gauri was adamant. About the only man she loved and chose to marry. Her soul was his. Before this birth and after it. She had always been his. How could he not accept her? She had started the hardest penance to get his love. After all, his was the best love any girl could dream of, with respect, loyalty and dedication. She had made it clear that love was always undergoing tests. And it's an age-old tradition of pain and separation attached to Love. But that love is true and wins over every hurdle, if they don't give in and quit. Love can be separated, not lost. Love sometimes needs to be won. And fought for. Held on to. She is hopeful that one day he will be com...

Facing dejection again and again The younger sibling rebelled Against the better older one. Tired of hearing he was of no use. Bibhishan was the black sheep of the family. So was Yuyutsu. Sibling rivalry was indeed deadly. ~ Suranya

He smiled at the dying figure of the teenager. He was now going to sit upon the throne. What Banbir forgot was that for every betrayal there is a greater loyalty. For every sin, a greater sacrifice. As Panna stood watching him kill her son instead of the heir prince. ~ Suranya

Five hundred years back, Miles away, her heart beat with his. Prayed as he fought. Smiled as he won. They needed no letters to communicate. Today, lying beside each other, keeping heaps of secrets in between, Couples become Strangers. - Suranya

The poor Hindu man was blessing the Muslim emperor. The taxes were removed. He could now go on a free pilgrimage with his family. The emperor was kind. He prayed for Peace. The Muslim man clenched his jaw, watching his Hindu king starve while he fed his people. Smiling slightly, he offered his King his own little plate of leaves. His King was fighting a battle for freedom. He prayed for Peace. God smiled somewhere as he led the King and the Emperor into a battle. He had his own hope. To teach people a lesson of patriotism above religion. Because each battle has a reason. And theirs was patriotism.  ~ Suranya

Watching the people around the classroom flaunting rakhis, He wished he had a sister. Standing at the hospital, His father prayed for another son. ~ Suranya

The fort walls were coated with soot. The scene of an aftermath was not new to the warrior or the king. Then what was it that made all the warriors go numb? It was a small chamber, perhaps in the lowest basement of the most magnificent palace he had ever seen. Filled with thick black smoke rising up to the grey, gloomy sky, the warriors had struggled to breathe as they made their way into the chamber. Eager to search for what they were looking for. Shocked at the sight of thousands of burnt bodies, they stood numb. Ashamed of their own deeds. The king, who was rejoicing in his win, was dumbfounded. The beauty that led him to this war was now an unidentified corpse.

 You have superpowers. It can take you to places. Make you feel what you want to experience. Travel back in time. And be in places you have never been to. To make dreams come true. And meet people you have never met. Feel emotions you have never felt. And it's all a small pinch of magic potion. Called Imagination. ~ Suranya