Say it with pictures

Recently, bloggerville was taken by storm by Mez's post on crush dedications.

It gave people a chance to express how they felt about their fellow bloggers and earned mez a whooping (and well deserved, for coming up with such a brilliant idea) 269 comments :D

personally I thought it was a lot of fun and spiced up the blogger scene and also added a bit of intrigue to a lot of lives (what with all those guessing games with all the anonymous comments ;) ;) :D)

This post gave me an idea.. since I love using pictures and personally think a picture can sometimes say a lot more than we can ever put into words, so, I have come up with my own version of the crush dedication and with mez's permission(it being an extention of her idea) here it is:

if there is any message you want to send to any co-blogger...it doesn't have to be a crush dedication or even something nice.. could be that you are pissed off with someone.. feel free to leave absolutely any kind of message in the comments section of this post

the only thing is this time, use pictures to say what you want to say

Use google or any other source to search for the image you think suits your thoughts or views and leave the link along with the name and link of the blogger you wish to dedicate that image to in the comments section of this post

i'll forward the message to the recipient through their comment sections

of course it will be preferable if you leave your name, but if that makes you uncomfortable, feel free to leave an anonymous comment :)

and yes try to stick to images but if you want to supplement them with a few words you are most welcome

all in all, I hope we all enjoy this little adventure.. I am already soooooo excited

so I guess i'll just shut up and let the pictures do the talking :)

PS: sorry for having had to discontinue writing a daily post on my other blog.. but now I AM BACK WITH MY DAILY POSTS!! :)

Bicycle of life..

The watch on his hand struck 11:30 pm.
The street was empty as was expected in any small town at this ungodly hour.
She felt a sharp prick at the back of her hand as a spirited mosquito plunged its sharp suckers into his soft skin and drank its full
The street light flickered and then pooof.., it was gone, plunging them into a pale pearly world, where the full moon was a great overflowing beacon and the stars its tiny companions..
A single furrow of sweat flowed down his leg as he prepared to strike the pedal on the shiny black bicycle. She clutched him around the waist, her breath coming out in scared whispers, as she balanced precariously on the wobbly carrier. He pushed his foot forward and struck the pedal nervously. The bicycle lurched a little and they whooped as they almost lost their balance. But then his feet were kicking the pedal faster and off they went, two little kids learning to ride a bike again. The bike gained speed, and the breeze flew through their hair sweeping out the fear and the nervousness. It started with a giggle and then turned into a full bodied laugh as his guffaaw joined her tinkle, dangerously shaking their fragile little ride. But there was no stopping them as they took a graceful curve around the park, zigzagging on the milky road, whistling up at the dancing stars. He began singing an old romantic number for her, she blushed and lowered her head to his shoulder shyly, hugging him tighter and giving him a little peck. He whispered something to her and then they were both laughing again, completing their little circle around the dark dense park.. they got off the bike. He took her hand and raised it gently to his lips, sighing "you know, ever since I met you I have wanted to ride a bicycle, with you in the back holding on to me just like this.. finally.." She smiled up at him in that way only people in the first throes of love smile and they walked hand in hand back to the gate.. two people radiating young love's innocent pink glow..
She is 45 and he is 49 and they have been married for over 22 years.. and after all these years their love has only grown younger. They are crazier about each other than many of my "madly-in-love " young friends.. They are the reason I am such a hopeless romantic 'coz they are the reason I believe that one day I'll love someone just as crazily and be loved just as much in return.. they are my parents...

PS: Congos dad for finally having fulfilled your long due wish and for making it so perfect for mom and thanks both of you for making me realize how important the little things in life are and how fulfilling it is to let go of fear and doubt and to give ourselves so wholly to someone else. I love you both more than I can ever tell you..

Rosy day..

"Kya baat hai maedaem ji rosy day hai ke aj??", the remark followed by raucous laughter made him turn in his overcrowded seat and crane his neck to look at the source of the commotion.
At first it was just the mammoth crush of bodies indistinguishable from each other, so often found in a crowded roadways bus. Then he saw it.. a slender hand rising up from amidst that falling circle of a loose maroon sleeve, a hand with long sculpted fingers, a hand meant to create art, a hand which was an art in itself, and in that was clutched the most beautiful rose he had ever seen. He could see the sun from the nearby window glinting on the cellophane sheet wrapped around the rose. He could see it slide like honey onto the smooth skin of the hand he couldn't take his eyes off. he had this sudden urge to taste the honey slithering down that hand, to catch it before it slid down to the circle of filth gathered around it. He became aware of the callous mirth on the faces surrounding the hand and the rose... his rose.. they were like weeds slowing crawling in around his rose, ready to drown it in their wicked canopy, to strangle his precious ruby into a piece of burnt coal.
The bus lurched to a stop. The hand disappeared under the fallen crowd, to emerge a minute later, twisted and harassed, but with its delicate cargo still safe. Something licked at the back of his head.. what was it the boys had said ..."rosy day...". His half closed eyes snapped back open with a sighing "Oh!", it indeed was rose day.. It wasn't his rose.. it was a rose that girl with the artist's hands was taking for a lover. But of course! the perfection of the softly enfolding petals, the deepness of the deepest red like the blush of young love, the protectiveness of the hand's stance, for who else but the truest lover. He sighed softly, to his surprise, and closed his eyes again letting the music from his headphones drown out the fishmarket sounds of the yellow and green bus, and to soften the immutable sense of disappointment he inexplicably felt at the realization.
He had dozed off without even realizing it. It was the feel of warm honey against his arm that woke him with a jolt. He saw the lips move, lips that rivaled and matched the rose to a T. He saw the other one of those pieces of art move up to discipline a stray snaking strand behind on ear, and then pointing towards his. "oh! I am sorry I err.. forgot to remove this.. sorry err.. I errr.. couldn't hear you", with an embarrassed grin he tucked the earphones out. "were you err.. saying something to me?".
She lowered her eyes slightly taking in the loose T-shirt with a nirvana logo, the baggy beige pants and the MP4 player with the headphones still hanging from it, almost reaching the ground, and she looked up and smiled slowly.."I was just wondering if you could help me put my bag in the carrier, I errr.. would have done it myself, but I really don't want to spoil this rose".. "Ya of course! "he said half heartedly getting up to lift her bag and putting it in the over head carrier with a louder than necessary thump. "By the way that's the most beautiful rose I have ever seen, You must have woken up real early to get one like that on rose day, and I saw how dearly you protected it there in that circle of rascals.." He said, lookin down into her eyes as he got ready to sit back " your boyfriend is a very lucky guy, I hope he knows it", he added rather wryly and quickly turned his face away from her, sitting down, to hide the unexpected expression that had risen out of no where in his eyes. What the hell was wrong with him?? Had he gone nuts? feeling jealous for someone he had barely met.. "phew!! get a life dude!" he said to himself.. "err.. boy friend?" She asked.. He could hear the embarrassed confusion in her voice.. "well, it is Rose day.. and you are taking this for your guy right? I mean err.. are you married? I am sorry its just that you don't look like it.. hey I really didn't mean to offend you lady..", he stuttered in a single stream. She shook her head from side to side slowly at his words, her hand reaching up to her hair again, to hide her embarressement, "no, no, U kind of have it all wrong, I don't have a boy friend and I am certainly not married..". "Then the rose...??" "Oh! this.. its for my mom, she is not well, so i decided to take this for her, it completely slipped my mind until those embarrassing comments by those guys by the door.. I mean.. if i had any idea today was rose day, I would never have made a fool of myself like this... " She laughed self consciously.. and he joined in with all his heart, he swore he saw the mist lifting from around him as he sank back in his seat with a smile on his face and a rose coloured twinkle in his eyes.. "so, what did you say your name was again?.."
he asked, inclining his head towards the girl with hands like art that held a rose just as perfect..

This had been lying unfinished in my drafts since rose day, I loved the concept, but I am not entirely satisfied with the end result.. wish I could have done better justice to it. I invite any of you who would like to take it up to use the concept and come up with a better story.. do post it on your blog and leave the link in the comments.. take care

Gugu...

(Pre-Script: I said i won't post anything till my net connection got back on its feet, but since that isn't showing any sign of happening and i was missing the pleasure I got from posting here more than I could handle, i am finally posting this from my slower-than-a-snail lab PC, trying not to catch the lab asse's eye (I am supposed to be running a java program I can't make head or tail of)

By the way, this piece is very close to my heart and since it is very long, I am going to post it in two parts.. This is the first one, the second would come up as soon as I can get my hands on a comp. with a net conn next.. take care and hope you like it.. Non-fictious post ahead: :) )

He came into our lives one wintery night, with droopy ears and empty eyes. His beige coat was turning a dirty grey in places and his open wounds were a muddy red in others.
It was his moaning whimpers that drew us out to where he was shivering and cowering near our big maroon gate. The sight was so piteous, that even my mother who is deadly afraid of dogs couldn’t stop herself from tsch tsching about his state, albeit from a distance. My golden soul of a sister turned her huge innocent puppy eyes towards mom and said “mumma, could I please give him some bread, nai to wo marr jayega ” . As was mom’s rule when it came to dogs, she was about to refuse, but at the precise moment he gave such a heart wrenching moan from across the gate that her heart melted and she told Vinci “jao de do, but dur se ok? Bilkul dur se.. chuna ni use”.. , and so it began, the little every day ritual of milk soaked bread slices thrown from across the wall at the adoptive dog Vinci had lovingly named Gugu. Muscle by muscle and inch by inch we saw his body grow, his ears rise and his eyes fill with light. Within a month or two he was strong enough to mark that area as his territory and to hold on to it. As it seemed was the rule among street dogs, specific areas of the streets were recognized as belonging to a particular dog and the dadas were ferocious in guarding their territories. Territory meant that all the food from all the houses in that part of the street went to that dog. Also, no other dog was allowed to wander let alone sleep in the dada’s area.
Much to my mother’s distress, Gugu had given in to following us around whenever we went for a walk. Every time my mom went for a walk and Gugu came so near so as to almost touch her ankle, she would turn around, scream, and make frenzied little attempts to shoo him away. I must say, it looked more like a funny dance to me than a shooing and inevitably caused me to giggle, which more than once got me a stern look followed by an angry silence from my mom. I on my part used to love the attention. It was almost like I had a pet dog, something I had wanted for as long as I can remember. Having him there, breathing down my ankle, the tip of his ear almost tickling the tiny hair on my leg, while I took my early morning vacation walks, gave me a feeling of being adored and even awed.
Now, as it happens, the other half of our street belonged to a bitch. So, every night as we took our after dinner walk, Gugu would accompany us till the middle of the street where the barking bitch would greet him with a snarl and send him scurrying back into his area.
He had taken to sleeping at our gate after his nightly meal and my mother, after a few failed attempts to shoo him away, finally caved in and allowed him this luxury. She even developed a kind of unprecedented non-touchy kind of affection for him. This went on for the whole of my vacation.
My vacations ended and my interactions with him reduced to a couple of nights every alternate week or so when I came home, but the welcome was always warm and his tail wagged just as ferociously as ever on seeing me.
Last winter, the bitch gave birth to 6 beautiful puppies, which became quite an attraction on her side of the street. I was smitten and spent hours photographing them with my cell, trying to make them come to me, and when mom was not looking, I even managed to tickle them and let them lick my toe.
The next month I came home to find that one by one, they had all succumbed to the bitter cold.Only the heartbroken bitch remained. May be it was her grief that made her lower her guard and little by little let Gugu come into her drab life. We saw them together, two lonely souls filling each other’s vaccum, comforting each other with a lick here, a paw there. One who had never known a family of his own, the other who had just lost her beautiful brood to Mother Nature’s icy quirk. We were happy our Gugu had finally settled down. There was a new spring to his cream paws, a sudden grace to the curve of his tail, a smart swagger to his little rounds. I could see the smile swimming in his watery eyes. May be in a few months, they’ll be a new set of puppies jumping around the lot, hiding behind the trees, digging out little flowers. Aaaaah our Gugu, a big daddy.. it was a beautiful fantasy.

A painter's gloves..

Pre-Script: Long short story ahead... so beware!!! :D

He shaded his eyes from the glaring sun with one hand, and used the other to dip his brush into the blinding white paint. He was suspended on the outside ledge of the highest story of The Royale, which at 40 stories would stand as the tallest building in Shellsville on its completion.
He looked down to three stories below, where a blue scarf with silver birds flew in the wind, and a dash of red gloves worked against the pristine white they created wherever they touched the wall.
As if sensing his warm fond gaze, she looked up to raise her hellcat black eyes to his soft Grey ones, their gazes met and relived the secret laughter they had shared from the first time they had met, 18 years ago, as toddlers on a construction site just like this.
He left the brush on the platform and cupped his hands around his mouth forming the words "meet me at the gate after the night shift, there is something I want to show you."
That night, after everyone had left, they slowly made their way back over the fence, and up to the top, on the rickety service ellivator, as it creaked and heaved up the inky sky, against the white mammoth they had been painting.
As they neared the fortieth floor, he slowly slipped her scarf off her hair and tied it on her eyes, gently. She didn't utter a word.. If there was one person she could trust dying, it was him. He put his hand on her waist next to where her beloved red and white painter's gloves hung, and slowly took her forward to the very edge of the grill less roof. He softly slipped the scarf off and let her look at her surprise. Her breath caught in her mouth. There, spread before her, was the whole city.. down on its knees in a courtesy to its queen. Yes, there she was the mistress of the world, at her feet... their feet. She turned to him then, and he saw the light in her eyes, thinking how like the night sky they looked.. the fathomless darkness with the twinkling stars.. her eyes..
that was the first time they kissed.
And later, as they lay there, wrapped in each other's arms, spent and glorious, tucked in the warm blue blanket of the midnight sky decorated with a million diamonds strewn in a careless pattern.. their eyes sharing their languid secret laugh, they knew what they had was more precious than the world spread out below them. "I am leaving tomorrow", she said into his chest "hmmm.." he murmured burying his nose to smell the secrets of her black hair. "I mean I am really leaving to make my fortune. I don't want to just make buildings any longer, I want to own them.." she went on.. "but"... "no, please, I know there are a lot of questions you want to ask.. answers I don't have, or may be just can't give.. just let me go.. please don't stop me.. let me follow my dreams" "Go.." he said as he moved down to plant a kiss on that high forehead. She reached up a little to where her overalls lay discarded and from its waist plucked out one half of her favourite pair of gloves.. "there keep these for me will ya? then i'll have to come back for it, if nothing else", and their eyes met.. his, a soft forgiving Grey, hers, a determined dreamy black and they laughed out aloud..

She laughed out again as she stood on the 40th floor of "The Royale", thinking of that night she had spent there 30 years ago. Today she owned this building, and thousands like it in a hundred different cities and in over 50 different countries. She was The Queen. It had taken a successful career, a broken marriage, a sense of dissatisfaction, 30 years of running away from God knows what and a hasty visit to New York the week before, to get her back here.
She thought of the day before. She had dressed in a black suit and with the old blue scarf with the silver birds, tied around her neck. She had built up the courage to go to his old house and knocked, standing there, waiting for the door to open, she had thought of what she might say...
A lady about her age and with soft Grey hair had opened the door. "err.. I just wanted to know if Mr. Todd Goodingson still lived here? " she had asked. The woman had looked her up and down, then turned to go back in, saying, "Wait right here now would ya, don't go away.. i'll be right back eh.." She had stood there at the door for 5 minutes.. wondering, anticipating, fearing.. The Grey haired woman had returned with something clutched to her heart, which she held out to her as she reached the door.. It was a frayed old red and white painting glove.. "He always said, you would come back.. ya loved that glove too much not to.. he used to say.." and they had both smiled..
She felt the breeze play with her scarf, unfurling it in little circles. Her soft hair got whipped about her face bringing her back to the present.
As she clutched the glove pair in her trembling hands, she could almost feel his nose burrowing into her hair taking in her scent, could hear his laughter calling out to hers, bubbling in return.. She swung her legs around the protective grill to reach to the other side and in that last moment as she let the railing go.. as she heard the whoosh of the wind, she outran.. as she saw the Grey of the ground rushing up to hug her.. Grey like that of his soft enveloping eyes..
she felt no fear.. she felt no ties.. she felt no pain..
she was free at last..
free of regrets and games.. free of guilt and nightmares.. free of dreams and unfulfilled desires.. free of the weight of freedom itself.. and free at last of pain and the cancer her doctors at New York had told her, had eaten her body through..
And as she met her kingdom in that royal clash.. the gloves hanging high up on the parapet, gave a tiny flutter, as if paying one last salute to the great queen and her hearty king.

PS: hey everybody.. this above was my first ever attempt at a short story.. Its very amateurish.. but I hope you like it