Just because the stars are invisible during the day, doesn’t mean they’ll not shine in the night.

Just because the darkness devours your steps, doesn’t mean that you’ll not find your way out of it.

Just because the daylight is too strong, doesn’t mean that a shady cloud will not cross your path.

Just because the good things take time, doesn’t mean that they will never happen in life.

Just like the seeds that are planted in the soil, lay invisible for quite some time, but spring to life when the time is right.


For the daily prompt: Invisible


Blush away

It’s not only the humans that blush. When the sun kisses the night sky, it gently wears a colour bright — some-what, peachy-orange-red kinds. A thousand flowers bloom in the magic of the night and blush out their beauties in the day, as passers-by of all kinds look at them in awe and amazement. It’s not every day or rather every night that the moon touches the river, but on the nights when it does, the river only shines the beauty of the moon.

Inspired to write for the daily prompts: Blush


I’d Rather… than

I’d rather walk or be watchful of my own journey than mind the steps of others on their journeys.

I’d rather run and flow and find out my path than sit stagnant at one place.

I’d rather reach out to the sky than stay stuck in my mind’s chaos. I’d rather scale out from my comfort zone and move out than keep everything intact as the same me.

I’d rather grow and try to live each moment in happiness than just live and allow life to pass by me. I’d rather wither away like a rose, spreading sweet fragrance  of happiness and positivity, than let my sadness and negativity affect me and dull my surroundings.



Incubating on ideas, inspirations and dreams is not enough. It is not a full proof plan as well. One needs to guard, keep a track and protect those by taking actions. Only birds can sit for long on their eggs to make them hatch, but we humans need to work harder than them by taking actions.

A Distant Dream

This is a story for Friday Fictioneers, which is hosted by Rochelle. Every week you are challenged to write a 100 word story based on a photo.

Thanks to Ted Strutz for this week’s photo and also to Rochelle for hosting the challenge.

Thanks to all the readers for their time, too.



“Why are you mad at me, Jonas?”

Not you….”

“Then who? It’s just the two of us, here.”

“I’m not…”

“Things happen. It’s nobody’s fault. Just chill!”

“…not mad at you. I’m mad at this stupid thing. It had to stop working, right when that lion was out… in action…at night. It could have been — ‘an epic shot’.

“Let it be, Jonas.”

Jonas saw — the prize money and epic shot fly like bats in the distant dark night sky.

The weather was good today. Clouds, rains and thunderstorms had been predicted after that.

Their tickets were booked for tomorrow.


Note: I didn’t notice that orange coloured tricycle (of some kind). It’s just night and the camera on the tripod, for the story.

Wrinkle lines

Wrinkles are not lines. I feel that they are — our documented journeys that we have taken. They are the pathways that we have created. They are the regrets that still bother us.

Sometimes I entertain the idea of not having to create such lines for myself. Very difficult! Too hard, not to fall into the pits of worries, anger, disbelief, unhappiness, jealousy….

However, when I have stayed there too long, too many times, I crave the warmth of peace and happiness. It is during these moments then, that I try to live as consciously as possible. I try to be in the moment – be happy, as if it was my responsibility to be happy and not for the happiness to check if I was happy.


In the city, among the street lights of the busy streets, noise cannot be stopped. It becomes a part of you.

At home, the noise that had filled you outside slowly turns itself into silent walls. It takes you in its embrace as you fall your way to sleep. And then the noise stops… pauses for a while, until the next day begins again.


A Story Left Behind

When I was shifting home two years back, I had to leave some wonderful memories behind. Spun in those memories were both people and places.

My neighbours were an old couple. Aunty was my favourite.

We had spent years talking together. A very wise, kind and a sensible lady she was. I didn’t want to part away without a token of love and appreciation to our wonderful bond that was created over time. There was only one question — what should I gift her?

I prepared a list of things that I could buy. They didn’t please me much.

Then I thought, why not gift a piece of art. I wanted to make something… some kind of painting.

One part of me strongly supported the idea while the other thought it was stupid. It opposed by saying, “What if she throws it in the dustbin.”

Amidst the chaos of packing my negative thoughts were trying to supress the positive ones. Finally the positive gathered courage and made a declaration: I don’t care even if she throws it in the dustbin. Peace prevailed. I got to work. Time was limited — just a week.

My subject was decided – a rose. I wanted it to be different, so I decided to paint it on a sheet of black sandpaper.

The end result was this


To tell the truth I was nervous about making it on the sandpaper. I had never tried that before. It was just an idea and I worked on that.

How strange it was when I had given myself to the process. The process is always a mystery as you don’t know what the result would be. Will it be good or bad? success or failure? But when you let your love and passion for something lead your path of creativity — you get something. You get — a result, failed attempt or attempts and satisfaction of some kind — in the end . The result cannot be a security or guaranteed but in the end you know you have walked a journey and taken some steps.

My art was slowly taking its form. I was skeptical but I continued and drew strength from my own lines. I had given myself into the process so there were — no questions in my mind, no ego in my heart or expectations from the universe or the process. I saw what my mind showed.

They say that the best way to gain knowledge is by sharing your own. I have always believed this and have found it to be true because when you share you become better with your own concepts. After that incident, I feel that if you want to polish your skill(s) of some kind — the best is to gift it away. Share it. Give it for free.

What’s the worst? The person might not like it or throw it in the dustbin. At least they’ll not tell you, “I threw your gift because I didn’t like it.” And if some day someone does say so then you know it would be best to give it a break, try sometime later or let it be a feedback to work on.

Anyways, coming back to my gift, I walked into aunty’s home. Very shyly I held the frame and told her, “Aunty, this is for you. I don’t know if you’ll like it or not.” I held the frame extending my hands to her. She looked at it. With a smile she said,“It’s very beautiful.”


Story Bond

This is a story for Friday Fictioneers, which is hosted by Rochelle. Every week you are challenged to write a 100 word story based on a photo.

Thanks to Sandra Crook for this week’s photo and also to Rochelle for hosting the challenge.

Thanks to all the readers for their time, too.

PHOTO PROMPT © Sandra Crook

Inside, the building, world’s rich and famous had gathered.

Outside, the perimeter of the building, a blue van was parked.

“We have clear visual, sir.”


A fly was spectacularly buzz…zz…ing! outside a glass window pane.

“Where is he? Do we have any info on him?”

“Who, sir?”

“Our agent… Bond!”

“Wait a minute! Is he real…”

“Yah…007… “

“…just like… movies, you mean.”

“Kid, don’t be jumpy about it. Get back to work!”

Another person interrupted, “Sir, he’s in.”

“Alright team! Get that fly back. Our golden boy with his golden eye is in with a licence to kill.”