Poetry

On the Streets… Dispossessed

In the streets I sitNot hoping to be richSitting without a bible Praying for my survival
I see people strugglingFor affection, esteem and fameBut all I ask for isSurvival, security and at least A name.

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The Solitude of This Shore

Not everything Can be captured In a camera
Especially What’s beyond The horizon
The place where Beauty is not lessBut reality more
The depths Of waterSolitudeOf this Shore

चल चलिये

चल चलिये एक ऐसे दौर मेंजहाँ अमन और इंसाफ़ होजहाँ हर गीत आज़ाद हो
जहाँ इंसान की कीमतज़मीनों में न तोली जाएपैसों के बोझ तले न दबाई जाएडरी हुई सोच में न भूली जाए

ज़हर की खानों में न दफ़नाई जाएचल चलिये एक ऐसे दौर में
जहाँ अमन और इंसाफ़ होहर गीत आज़ाद होविश्वास भराएक दूसरे का साथ हो

बड़ा होने का ख्वाब

खड़े है इस भीड़ में तुम भी और मैं भीमेहनत तुमने भी की है और मैंने भी
तुम थे उलझे किताबों में और मैं इन फैक्ट्री के पटाखों में

उंगलियां घिस रही थी तुम्हारी अपने कलम की नोक पे और मेरी इन अंगारों की झोंक पे
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I want to go home

A short fiction Excerpt written in 2018 by Varaangi Leekha. The story holds a momentary interaction between two strangers about the pace of life and time.

She was sitting on the pavement of platform no. 2, adjacent to the staircase coming upwards. It had been 5 minutes since she was there, waiting for the metro, when her eyes started to turn moist. She was wearing her spectacles, which she rarely wore in public, looking tired and sweaty. From a distance, one could make out that at that point in time, she was a lost mind.

Even though she sat still, stuck in a stream of overwhelming thoughts, her body language was pretty conscious. With the staircase just behind her, there was a huge crowd of people rushing in from all directions. She was looking down at her dusty shoes when a traveller reached out to her and asked, “Will this train be going towards the eastern-west side of the city?’’ Read full story →

My ex's house

Yesterday I went to my ex's house. While I sat on one of her new puffies, I kept staring at the corner spot where I used to sit. The place had never felt that quiet yet it hadn't lost its charm. Some of the old decorations that I liked had been discarded or stored up in some almirah. I could notice the new changes that had been made. I was glad to see the improvements and a little sad for the loss of nostalgia due to that. While I was making myself comfortable in that familiar yet new environment, she was preparing tea. I loved the taste of the cold coffee that she used to make but her tea was unbeatable. When she brought the cups of tea in a tray and served it to me, I noticed her properly, maybe after a very long time. Read full story →

The Little Coffee Shop

Inside the Bookstore

It’s been a while since I penned down a new short story, so forgive me for my rusty flow of words.

It was a day of sheer cold in one of the fastest-paced corporate hubs of India. Any guesses about which city am I talking about this time? None other than my very own city of residency, Gurgaon.

I recall telling one of my fellow cafe visitors the other day, “I wasn’t very keen on shifting here, but the city grows on you”, and I meant it with all my sincerity and slight sentiments that I have developed for this city. Coming back to this cafe, this one was a small and cosy one indeed. And this Tuesday, I went there for the 3rd time. I usually visit it when I need some alone time to focus on my work or when I need to conduct deep-rooted research on something.

If I tell you about the first two times, I might describe the first as utterly boring, and the second time as a story, I’d definitely want to share. But this particular one is the story of my third visit to the lovely Dulce y Libro on the top floor of a market in central Gurgaon, and for those of you who live around, you might have figured that the name of the cafe is entirely fictional. Somehow, the story isn’t. Read full story →

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