Skip to main content

Carnage

Untimely events shape the outcome of many circumstances. These events can alter the setting of any entity.

The constant splatter of raindrops seemed as an intruder in the otherwise quite graveyard. The shower seemed to challenge the stillness of the graveyard with its thunder and lighting. These events however made no difference to the lone man standing by the freshly marked grave. The grave served as nothing more than a door unlocking the innocent dreams of the past..........
The shrieks of joy served to create an electrifying atmosphere in the playground. This joyous kingdom of innocence is probably the only place where celebration of life never ceased. Waqar trudged along the muddy path towards the playground. Following him Aaliya walked hurriedly to keep pace with him. On reaching the playground Waqar searched for his closest buddy, Padma.
Padma on seeing them, rushed to join her buddies. The trio basically inseparable joined the other children in the game of hide and seek.
A bolt of lighting bought him back to reality. The irreversible present seemed as a huge question looming in front of him.
Filled with frustration he walked away from the grave.Death seemed to have immortalised her. As he continued to walk away he threw away the piece of paper which had lead him here.
The past continued to reel down as flashes in his memory as he trudged forward the muddy path again.
A few yards behind him the rain continued to bury the past which he had thrown away.
The telegram with words,
"Padma killed in riots. Start immediately"

With the words blurring away with the water splatters the inevitable seemed to carry on in an uncertain manner,with a hope for something better.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Comments

Priya said…
a beautiful extract...really touching...somehow, i'm able to connect with it...the feeling of having lost something that one once had is a bitterness...it later turns to become sweet, considering the fact that atleast once in your nlife time you did possess it...!
but i'd have appreciated if i knew where it came from...
sift said…
nicely written. but you seem to have a lot more to say...
you must read sadat hasan manto. His short stories and plays are brilliant.

Popular posts from this blog

THE DEBATE WHICH IS ON.....

I may receive much criticism for the posting that follows. I strictly base this writing on what I consider is my understanding of the subject; what I have witnessed from my briefest of contact with real rural India and which I have debated with myself a million times. 33% reservation for women!!!!!!!! This has been taken up as the call of the hour the need of our times……I say why not….. QUESTION: Women have always wanted EQUALITY in our society; so why now this 33% reservation………. THE REALITY: EQUALITY has for long been the passion of women’s movement worldwide; just like other how everyone who is socially conscious longs for peaceful, just, equal world. But is this so in the real context. What we long for needs time for achievement. But progressive aspects like “EQUALITY” happen only when De Jure and De Facto fall on similar planes ………… In reality women lack equal footing in many cases, this 33% would be a boost towards achieving a push forward. Also women Panchayat leaders are looki...

Everywhere we see the glaring images of people groaning in pain, incessant scenes of confusion, bloodshed, personal tragedy of families and so on. ...

A view of greenery, The silence of nature, But there is nothing “Natural” about this scene. Instead of chirping, All we hear is the hissing of the burning tyres. It is a scene after a serial blast. As time progresses we can hear the lower tones Of humans moaning out of pain. It is a scene of death. A murder of human spirit. A murder of humanity. A murder of the democratic spirit; Anything-aspiring equality; Anything inspiring truth; Or striking the soul for a change: Why is violence sought out? Why is it seen as the means to attaining Equality? Is “Bloodshed” the means to a fair end? Why is the act of disillusioned humans regarded as ‘glory’ by groups?

My hobby

Hidden by layers of books, Beneath the shelves, Lay a forgotten hobby of mine- As I blow out the dusty cover, Preserved are the strings of joy; Reminding me of a forgotten promise- The promise to pursue this hobby!