From The Quill

 Log Puchte Hai Mujhse, Kyun Ishq Hai Tujhse Na Dekha Tujhe Na Jaana, Toh Kaise Har Tabeer Mein Hai Tu? Log Kehte Hai, Maat Kar Aisi Nadaniyaan. Unhe Kya Pata Tere Ishq Ka Nasha, Chadta Hai Toh Utarta Nahi. Jaise Kesariya Ho Tilak Ka, Ya Rang Chadha Ho Mehendi Ka Iss Nasamajh Dunia Ko Dekh Ke, Yooh Hi Muskura Lete Hai Hum. Ye Zaalim Duniya Kya Jaane Ishq Karna, Ishq Toh Tu Hai, Jiska Wajood Mere Nas Nas Mein Aise Basa Jaise Phoolon Mein Titliyaan. Wasl Tere Ishq Ka, Mannat Tere Preet Ka Kahi Mere Dil Ko, Fakira Na Bana De. Tujhe Paane Ke Liye Har Din Dheere Dheere Khud Ko Kho Deti Hoon Main. Jab Har Din Sanjh Dhalti Hai, Kahi Uss Andhere Mein Tujhe Paas Mehsoos Karti Hoon Main. Shayed Duniya Ke Liye Teri Koi Wajood Nahi Par Mere Ishq Ka Rab Hai Tu. Aur Rab Ko Paane Ke Liye, Unhe Chahne Ke Liye Kabhi Kisi Fakira Ko Dekha Hai Insaano Mein Unhe Dhundte Huye? ~ Suranya

 "Will I ever find love? Be brave enough to hold on to it?" Her tears gave way to heartache. She had lost her heart to someone she shouldn't have. "What will the picture of a Chauhan Prince do in a Mughal Princess's room?" The words from his letter resonated in her ears in his voice. She never knew that he hadn't written that to her. Neither did her pleas reach him. She was tired. Tired of running from her feelings and emotions. Tired of being the perfect, composed, inspirational figure everyone looked up to. Tired of being only a princess. She wanted to be HIS princess.  But there he was, thousands of miles away in Bundi. Perhaps the news of her accident and recovery never reached him. Neither did her pain nor love. There he was, with his wife and children. Why would he remember her? The mere existence of her in his life was perhaps about the politics of the land. She didn't care about that. Her heart ached every time he was home. His home. His fami...

Every night in the darkness and silences and my own heavy breathing and beating of the heart fast and faster, I find you. The lights burn far away in the sky, their shine fails to reach me. I close my eyes. And I see your silhouette there. Why don't you show your face? I wonder, never aloud. I hear you speak. Of love, dreams and spirituality. Among other things. You tell me tales. Some I listen to and keep with me. Others I jot down to tell the world. You smile like I want you to. Your happiness reaches those deep brown eyes. And you smell like coffee and freshly plucked sunflowers. You talk of her. And when you do, your eyes shine like pebbles in the darkness. You talk of your story. Then, somewhere between the trances of dream and reality, I lose you. Slowly, then all at once. And I wake up to sunshine and pieces of notes spread across my floor. I gather them and start writing your story. In my words. ~ Suranya

 Har balidaan ka ek bohot bada uddesh hota hai,  Jo hum aur aap kabhi samajh nahi paenge.  Shayed Panna Dhai, Rani Karnavati,  Meera Bai aur Jaivanta Bai ke balidaan ke peeche,  Unn hazaro stree o ke Jauhar o ke peeche,  Uddesh tha ek avatar ke janam ki,  Ek Suraj ke roshni ki... Uske Pratap ke chaaro or phelne ki. ~ Suranya

Some days give you a strange feeling. An emptiness. A sense of being absolutely cowardly towards life. It makes you ponder how small and insignificant your problems are. They always have been. Money, love, fame, success. That's all we know in life. With a pinch of selfishness. Greed. And lust. But is that it? 450 years ago, on this very night, Chittorgarh was in celebration. What were they celebrating? Their last day on earth. I must be joking, right? Well, I'm not. I once read a poem by Abu Talib Karim that said: The way of the world is not worth seeing a second time, not a man looked back when he left this heap of dust." But I still wonder. What about those who still had so much to see? That new bride who took the sword in her Alta-clad hands, the princess who perhaps dreamt of a prince. Those children were clueless. A leap of faith. A battle for blood. Of honour. And bravery. The Fire God engulfs it all. The human of flesh, blood and bones. What about the soul? The unna...

 Jiwa was the luckiest bride. Or so her friends had said. She was getting married to the bravest of the brave. The chief warrior of Chittorgarh. Patta Singh Sisodia was indeed so at seventeen. She had caught a glimpse of him from behind her veil as she blushed to herself in between the ceremonies. The wedding night was an anticipated one for the new bride. And there she was sitting among her friends and relatives who teased her endlessly. Then, there was a thundering noise that shook Chittorgarh. There was a commotion at one of the gates of the fort. People were running about. She was left alone by the ladies who went to check on the development, worried. All she could hear was "Coward... bombardment... Wall... War" and she had immediately got up and reached for her sword in a reflex. Some of the ladies gasped at the new bride as she made her way out to the corridor. Sword in hand, she stood at the door, her face still in the veil as she asked to no one in particular, "D...

I am not a sea person. So every time someone planned a vacation to the seaside, I sulked. My memories of the place were back when I was 5, with a twig in one hand and a plastic mug in another, trying in vain to make a sand castle, and getting impatient. After several tries, when the castle finally stood and I smiled in glee at the appreciation from the adults around, a big wave washed it away. I had cried while my family had a hearty laugh at my attachment to small things. I had imagined that castle to be like the one I dreamt of when I read fairytales. After two decades, I was standing at the same spot, like nothing had changed. I was still attached to small things. Cried over losing them as much as I did for people. And there I saw a little girl in my spot. She was making a castle, and the wave suddenly washed it away. She didn't cry. Instead, she picked up the spade and bucket and walked a little further away, where the waves were yet to reach. She started making a new one with ...

 In the darkness of the night,  I travel through time,  And meet you at Eternity.  I walk across the mountains,  Of the Abode you call home.  I explore. I live. I love.  I liberate my soul of a thousand emotions. At dawn I wake,  With a smile on my lips.  And tears in my eyes.  You save me.  Every time I fall  You enlighten me  When darkness engulfs.  You make me live, With every breath.  You are in everything and nothing.  Yet they seek you in Temples and idols. But you are in Nature.  The Soul is Your Shrine.  You are Love, and the Lover. God and Devotee. Science and Belief. You are them.  You are Me. © Suranya

He had done what he hadn't done ever in his life. Dropped straight at her house and proposed marriage. Pratap was not very optimistic when it came to love. Yet, he had taken a chance. The moment he had seen the best friend of the sister of the bride at the engagement ceremony, he had walked up to her to strike up a conversation. Ajabdeh Punwar was an awkward soul. She talked of things beyond his understanding. And that is why he found her magical. A mystery that will perhaps take a lifetime to solve. He had the longest conversation with a girl since his last relationship. He listened to her as her eyes sparkled like the universe was hidden inside her with all its mysteries. He had done the most impulsive thing ever. Dropped her off at her house. And when her parents were at the door, he had proposed a wedding. It was inevitable that they were shocked. And Ajabdeh, her eyes were angry. Disappointed perhaps. Did he come across as needy? He didn't care. He had urged his parents in...

Kuch jawab dhoond rahe thee Kayi dino se mera mann. Par Sawal kya pooche tujhse Pata nahi tha. Aj teri akhon ne jaise, Zindagi ke saare jawab de diye. - Suranya

Cleaning the Attic, I found Grandma's old trunk. She smiled at it before carefully checking through the contents. There was a brown paper envelope, almost at the verge of tearing away, placed neatly among other things. And in it were a stack of yellow papers. Small rectangle ones with fountain pen ink stains on them. She smiled, moving her trembling hands over them. In affection and love. Letters from Grandpa while he was away at work. She would wait for months to hear from him. Sometimes three, sometimes five. Grandpa would travel miles from his workplace to the town to post the letters. The red post box was his way of letting her know that she was being remembered and missed. Some of the letters arrived on time. Some were lost in transit. He then waited patiently for a reply that arrived a month later. Or maybe two. Depending on when Grandma could manage to lure his nephew to the post office by the promise of some sweetmeat or laddoos. In those days, the ladies barely stepped out...

 One night, in the solitude of my soul, I had found a pen and paper My heart was heavy and sorrow aplenty. Lessons and memories, people and places Disappointments and regrets. At dawn, they all wept through the ink as stories. Like a phoenix, a Writer was born, From the ashes of suppressed emotions. ~ Suranya

 I stand the test of time, in the glory of the past, I stand to witness blood, love and lust. I witness power struggles, mighty and mightier. Worn from age, torn between ego, I look scarred. I once stood lofty, as tall as none around me. The queens gossipped on my roof, and kings appeared on the windows. The children giggled, playing hide and seek in my corridor. I now lay abandoned in silence, waiting to tell stories. I was once a happy home now a monument to preserve, In memories of dust. ~ Suranya