fledgling

The snow of the mountains, still Bear the scarlet stains of your final act, The crisp, solemn winter air of Pinglan, still Stands a witness to the last moments of greatness. Even on your human case crumbling, The brilliance of your sacrifice Shone through the valiant bullet wounds. No matter the ages that trudge through, The rousing drum of your strength, Bravery amid paralysing pain, Strength amid the chaos, The sincerity of your offering, Like that of the great Kunwar Singh, Will echo in my heart for a lifetime. Your willing welcome of the last second, Pushes me to transcend the trivialities of life, And readily sacrifice what man holds on to, For a purpose greater than myself Or anything that I call my own. The unfathomable love and pride you nurtured For the soil that we shared, Stirs my soul to rise to the occasion, And fight till the very end,  Even if it meant sacrificing myself. As you arrived home, after months of separation Wrapped in streaks of saffron and emerald, Our heart

The little specks of pearl in the sky Glowing and fuming, With the vapours of our memories.  In my swollen, glistening eyes, I saw the flare of your pyre in the stars, Like a spangle caught in my tears, The light of our love stretches its arms. I never knew a pain greater,  When my fingertips caressed your cold, grey folds of skin I never knew I could feel so broken inside, With scalding memories and a heart wanting justice. With last words untold, goodbyes unsaid. I never thought the day would come,  When I came home to your warm smile and open arms, But would instead be greeted by your empty chair. I never thought I would shudder and hide at your sight, Until you lay in the icy coffin like a child, Oblivious to our cries and wails. I never knew I would so badly yearn, To hear you call me one more time. I watched you become a child again. I never minded your faltering memory, Your greying eyes that often stared out in the open, I was content, With your pupils carrying a little bit of

The past couple of months have been a roller coaster ride. Several things had come tumbling down for me all at once - a nervous breakdown, the death of a very dear loved one, and now, testing positive for COVID-19.   How it has been   Day 1 was not by any means forgiving: I almost collapsed the moment I got out of bed, with fever, chills, severe dizziness and a flashing headache. The virus had caught me off guard and already begun wrecking my body. I remember feeling optimistic at first, that this was just exhaustion was taking a toll on me (for the previous week I had been working long hours) then slightly apprehensive as my brother tested positive the very next day.  I remember making a casual joke on testing positive right before taking my test. But then, two days later, I found myself going to bed with racing thoughts and mixed feelings - I had just received my results. That night was probably among the most anxious I've spent in my life. The first few days were the rockiest –

The Illegal (2019) Cast : Suraj Sharma, Hannah Masi, Shweta Tripathi, Jay Ali, Iqbal Theba Director : Danish Renzu Synopsis : Hassan, a young filmmaker with a heart full of hope and dreams, chases the nectarine American dream, only to discover a different reality ahead. Rating : ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ "Gives even the numb watcher a lump in the throat" The Illegal is the riveting tale of Hassan, a Daryaganj boy chasing his immigrant dream of graduating as a filmmaker, determined to make his mark, but instead is left a broken man with crushed hopes. A tale bravely told by Renzu for sure.  The sheer talent and soul put into the film is evident from the impeccable screenplay and the raw emotion, which carries the film forward. If The Illegal isn't the best portrayal of an artiste's life - his complicated relationship with passion; the internal  conflict of choosing between listening to the brain and soul; the tremendous courage it takes to still march towards the path of your dreams, desp

Phew!  It's been a year since the word 'lockdown' entered our lives, and yet the battle continues.  The lockdown may not have been awesome for many of us. For the majority, it may have looked like endless nights of Netflix and depressed days.  But thankfully, in my case, the lockdown gave me food for thought – I wanted to seize the empty hours and make something of it that I will be proud of. I had already spent a few depressed months right before lockdown, not having the time to try out all that I wanted to. All of a sudden, my packed daily routine took a leap and now, I had all the time in the world for myself. I embarked on a transforming journey of truth and learning, with my share of successes and blows.  I'm going to share with you some skills that I picked up during the lockdown. Feel free to add some to your list too! Photo by author 1. Calligraphy Calligraphy was more of an accidental skill I learnt. I had always liked watching videos of calligraphists, and the

(Photo by Nong Vang on Unsplash ) It was a still, quiet night. The air seemed untouched by the maddening chaos in my mind. I glanced at the night sky, and spotted a star glimmering in the distance. The unusually gripping sight brushed me back to a fragment of my past, a chapter sealed long before. A whiff of my past my naive self still lived in. A life I had long left. I used to enjoy observing the tiny flickers of light, while my heart filled with hope for tomorrow. They looked like little flames whose glowing tips waltzed in the gentle evening wind. Those quiet, fulfilling moments spent squinting at tiny specks of light, while savouring the crisp air with traces of floral detergent from the clothesline, were one of a kind. Something no productivity chart would ever be able to explain. It was something I was not yet accustomed to; living a new life with new people, making new memories. Those little joys and fears that would excite my younger self. It's moments like these, moments

My heart hurts with longing With a void of fresh wounds Nothing is of true joy Joy that makes me go hysterical Rather, it is a bland, trudging melody A melody robbed of its soul I feel the abyss buried in my heart  Slowly engulfing me To the very end. #50wordschallenge   

The numbing vacuum in my heart That pierces my heart like a million shards of broken dreams Gnawing at the very luminescence of my soul When tears refused to flow and instead freeze behind those kohl lines A stirring ocean of emotions, the torrents pushing the walls of my chest, threatening to explode into a million shades and hues in the sky. I lay, caked in the wet sand like a helpless mussel on the shore, Like a lost traveller with no compass, no star to gaze Like a song snatched of its melody A poet sans a word and soul Maybe this is what life feels like without you.

(Doodle by author) Those strokes hold some power over my soul. Every stroke of black ink on the paper carries my flow of zen. I feel my zen flowing through the bold lines of ink, as it seeps into the thin paper and leaves an imprint on the next page, like a faint footprint of time on a page left unwritten, a sliver of the blank pages of the future. I feel my throbbing anger, roaming curiosity and emotion trapped within drain from my veins and flow out like ink. It calms the raging storm within, liberates the compressed frustration, when emotion and doubt cloud my sight, when I cannot quite find answers to questions within. I let it take form. I let my mind and soul wander on paper, and they imprint traces of great wars fought in turmoil. I let the strokes clash into one another; some overshadow others, some lie far apart. Yet, the raw self cannot bear rules. I let the imperfections rule the paper, and that is what makes me raw, real and human. In the end, the wild strokes embrace and I

Words, those beautiful masterpieces, with letters carefully handpicked like fragrant herbs from a garden. A word can lift a soul and yet shatter hearts for good. The letters, if plucked with grace, strung together carry free emotion trapped in a heart, and some crushed under the weight of pursed lips. A word can be a weapon to glue souls together and yet rip them apart. Some inspire a warm flush of butterflies, and some a distant, forgotten ache in the heart. Many carry the smell of midnight oil and the scholar’s despair, of a battle left unconquered and unfinished. Infusing the beauty of thought in words is an art perfected by some over years, some a lifetime. I let the art soak in my blood and veins, sink deep in my heart, until I truly own and cherish it as a whole. I let it run through my fingertips and watch them create profound meaning, as the art sculpts clumps of letters into a masterpiece to leave an imprint on every witness. A pen, no greater than the humble pencil, has been

Hello readers, this is Maanasa here. I have a milestone to share with you - I just turned fourteen! Turning fourteen has been a confusing yet awakening experience. Speaking of confused, I have been pondering over how this milestone will be introducing me to an upgrade in difficulty and the urge that I need to push myself harder. If there's one word that could summarise my present state, it would be confusion.   I am confused now more than ever, of what the future holds ahead.  You could compare this with an eclosing butterfly, a painful yet meaningful transition of my true self. This year has been all about learning, unlearning and relearning what I have known all my life. I am in the thick of identity crisis and I'm still figuring out who I am, as I observe my younger self slowly chipping away and evolving into a more mature, future self. The beliefs and ideals I had depended on slowly began crumbling, with new experiences and new thoughts. Often, I am not sure what to believe

I still remember that night. I was about to finish my first draft, my very first post. That second of exhilaration when I pressed 'publish' – a beautiful moment I enjoyed alone in the liquid silence of midnight. Three years have flown by since that night. That first day still feels like yesterday. I am so thankful for the numerous opportunities that have been thrown my way, which helped me grow as a writer and hone my skill. Thank you Fledgling for nurturing my naive self. Fledgling was my origin, the birthplace of my thoughts. Over time, Fledgling became a witness of my growing, refining writing and gave me space to grow and correct myself. Every post has been a milestone for me, and it's been overwhelming, to see how far we have come.  The passion writing ignited in me has kept me going for three years, through patches of self-doubt and frustration. Sometimes, dry spells made me question why I was on this journey and if it truly was worth the effort. Yet, every time, that