From The Quill

 You speak your mind I am offended. You don't speak your mind. You are spineless. You have an opinion Let me hear it. Oh, wait, you don't like mine? I am offended! You identify as another gender. That's not "normal"! You are tolerant? You must be spineless. You like a dynasty? You are one of them. Colour, food, place, attire  It's my way or the highway! Your hobby is art? Don't end up in jail! Diversity? What is that? Agreeing to disagree? Isn't that for fools? Look at me! I know it all,  And if you don't agree,  I am offended! © Suranya

She was the eldest princess of the kingdom. Her childhood days were spent making garlands with her mother, singing praises to her lord, lighting the lamps and reading the religious books. At times, she would play house. At nine, she started her lessons. Unlike her brothers, who went to Gurukul, her Gurukul was at home. Because, unlike politics and war, her subjects were sewing. Cooking, calculations of groceries and at times defence. Unlike many of her sisters, who loved their swords, she preferred the sewing lessons. She waited patiently at the jharokha as her brothers and father finished their meals before she could have hers. Politics and discussions never caught her attention. At fourteen, her father had declared the wedding. Arriving at the new home, called the royal palace, married to the crown prince, things didn't change much. This was a test of all she had learned.  Each action was scrutinised. After all, she was the future queen. Some she passed, others she failed. On the...

"It's just a misconception among people that just because it's rare, it's not true. Just because you didn't find one doesn't make it unreal. Some people in rare, precious ways do find the love you often call true." I looked up at the crowd. "... and that's what their love was all about." I ended my story as the crowd appreciated with smiles and claps. Some of them, I even found blushing with hopeful eyes. I nodded and thanked them. I got up to leave as someone stopped me. Newlyweds. Hand in hand. "Your stories are amazing. Write ours someday," they said. I smiled silently. "No. No. She only writes fiction." My friend dismissed them quickly. I agreed with a nod. "I only write fiction" But, do 1? I stared at the happy couple hand in hand. "Like this one. It's a fiction, right?" She smiled, adding. Was it? Someone in the crowd, perhaps, knew it wasn't. I had connected with a lot of people and relat...

"Are you an insomniac?" "No. That's a major problem. Mine is different." "And what's the problem that keeps you awake all night?" "I am a daydreamer." "Umm... Okay and....?" "You don't know how that is, I assume" "Not really. Is it bad?" "It makes me happy and sad." "Together?" "Yes. I imagine what could have been. It makes me happy. I imagine what could never be. It makes me sad." "Why do you do this then?" "When you dream with open eyes, it really is beyond your control. Those songs, stories, pictures in my head, are all like small scenes of a play." "Then you should be aware that those are just imagination." "Well, I try. But sometimes even my own thoughts scare me." "Why?" "Because I sit in the darkness and I can hear his voice in my head. I smile. I laugh. I have a mental conversation with him..." "What if ...

 Mujhe sirf gulab ke khusboo nahi,  Kaate bhi pasand hai;  Jab Phool murjha jaate hai  Kaate tabh bhi chubhte hai. Phool sapno jaise kuch der rukhte,  Aur kaate haqiqat jaise reh jaate hai. Kyunki shayed pyar issi ko kehte hai,  Jisme sirf khushi ke muskaan nahi,  Gham ka bhi hissa hota hai. © Suranya