#450 – Write

Write, when you are happy
Write, when you are sad
Write, when you are free
Write, when you are busy

Write, when you want to express the tears of joy
Write, when you want to shed tears
Write, when you want to live in your future
Write, when you want to forget the past

Write, when you are excited
Write, when you are frustrated
Write, when you are well
Write, when you are sick

Write, when you want to appreciate your friend
Write, when you want to scold your enemy
Write, when you want to pass
Write, when you want to fail

Write, when you are feeling high
Write, when you are feeling blue
Write, when you are able to write
Write, when you are unable to write

Write, when you want to celebrate
Write, when you want to lament
Write, when you want to be yourself
Write, when you want to be anonymous

Write, when you fall in love
Write, when you breakup
Write, when you dream
Write, when you live

Write, when you read
Write, when you write
Write, write and write,
Until your last breath!

Writer’s block…I was unable to do write properly from the start of this year. I thought writing 50 posts in 2013 is going to be tough. I gave up, almost. That was when I read about BlogAdda’s P.A.U.S activity. I liked the concept. I started writing. And see, what has happened now. Not just 50, I am sure of writing 75 posts this year. I am happy to be back. I am glad I dragged my friends in (Ayushi and Simran was facing the same problem.), and this activity helped them as well.

450 posts in 4 years, 2 months and 10 days, which is something I am proud about. The journey is a mix of ups and downs, smiles and tears, still a sweet one and without Few Miles, I am nothing. Today, I am glad to have published two of my short stories – ‘The Last Date’ & ‘120 Minutes’ in anthologies. I wish that in near future or before I turn 30, to publish my first novel. Stay with me my dear readers, friends and well-wishers.

Thank you all! Let’s celebrate!

Life is a mix of both: Sweet and Sour!

This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 41; the forty-first edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton. The theme for the month is “SWEET AND SOUR”

Dreams crushed. Self-confidence lost. Do we have a life now? Or was it just a crushed dream? I wonder.

Wires and tubes are running all around my body. Huge bandage is wrapped on my head and I cannot see anything clearly. Is this what people call as ICU? Definitely, this is a new place to me and for her. She is afraid of injections itself; I have no idea on how she is going to handle this life’s misery.

Is it our mistake to board that last bus to my place? Or is it my mistake for being unable to protect her? Or is it God’s mistake to create humans unable to withstand animal attacks? Whom to ask, God? I doubt if God still exists?

Heart rate increases. Alarm beeps. A team of five nurse rushes in and an injection (Morphine) is given. I doze off; slowly and painfully. The horrific memories of that ill-fated day occupied my mind: the day when our dreams were shattered into pieces and life became nothing.

Whom to blame? Boarding that last bus? Deciding to go to my place at that time of the night? Calling my parents on our land phone getting permission to bring her home? Taking her out for a movie? Visiting her place speaking with her parents and getting their acceptance for our relationship? Coming to Mumbai in search of her? Deciding to breakup for the sake of our parents’? Or falling in love with that stupid idiotic cute little devil?

I do not have an answer for this; but of this, I am sure: they are not human beings, not even animals’ as animals would not hunt that way; they are something which words cannot describe. They shattered our dreams. Had I known this I would not have boarded that bus, tinted windows and curtains and those 8 bastards who would even f*** their M***** if their loins are heated up.
Alarm beeps again. The team rushes in again and injects another dose to keep my heart rate under control. I calm down.

They laid a trap for us. The bus occupants had everything planned. Apart from the driver and the conductor, others behaved like they were passengers. We even paid Rs 50 as fare. They then started teasing her and it led to a brawl. I beat them up but then they brought an iron rod and hit on my head first, face second, then on knees. I fell down in pain and they took her away. From where we boarded the bus, they moved around for nearly one hour and 17 minutes. She even fought with them, but those animals hit on her head with the iron rod. She passed out. And those M***** F****** raped her; brutally and repeatedly.

They snatched our mobiles and tore off our clothes in order to destroy any evidence of the crime. And after throwing us off the bus, they tried to run the bus over us but I pulled her away in the nick of time. No one came forward to help us for about 30 minutes, finally a police man helped us; he took us to the hospital in his own jeep instead of waiting for the ambulance.

What happened to her? Is she alive? Alarm beeps again. This time my heartbeat raced like a tsunami. And I…

…after three days: conscious and okay, for the first time, I felt ashamed for being born as an Indian; cut me into pieces or set me on fire for saying that, but I meant what I said. I felt ashamed for being unable to protect her and for so many wonderful human beings, who ran away from us fearing that they may become an eyewitness for the case if they help us instead of lending a helping hand.

I asked a nurse about her condition. She first resisted, but then said that she has undergone a major surgery to remove her gangrenous intestines and she is unlikely to recover. I do not have a big heart to hear what she said, so I requested her to keep me sedated until she recovers.

…after seven days: I woke me up hearing that she is recovering well. She has undergone another major surgery and a bionic intestine is now stitched. I hurried to her bed in a wheelchair and whispered her name. She opened her eyes, I held her hand and said, be my life forever.

…after seven years: we are married, living happily with our kids now. Maybe, life cannot be only sweet and not definitely be sour; life is a mix of both: Sweet and Sour love story.

The fellow Blog-a-Tonics who took part in this Blog-a-Ton and links to their respective posts can be checked here. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton. Participation Count:25

This post has won the second maximum number of votes in the contest, since I am the hosting marshal, I have passed on the BATOM to the next eligible winner. See the results here.

PS: The theme for The Write Tribe Festival is Seven. This post has 777 words and has several sevens in it. Find them out. Good Luck!

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Dreams crushed. Self-confidence too. Do we have a life? Or is it a crushed dream? Stop by: http://t.co/mVSlljdqjs #WriteFestival #Blogaton41
— Someone is Special (@FewMiles) September 1, 2013