Utopia

I had smiled at the twins The beautiful children I had borne They had been covered in pink robes That matched their skin tone. My little twins had my eyes Yet they both saw the world differently My son loved the big fluffy monkey My daughter loved the kangaroo and her baby. Then came toys that weren’t living Toys with wheels, toys with lights Their strives to get to the best model  Led to some noisy, violent fights. At night, I would sit by their bedside And listen to stories of their developing acumen There would be pauses for my advice in some Where I would suggest them to do what is human. As my twins grew older They looked more different from each other My daughter’s body experienced changes That differed her from her brother. My daughter’s dresses fitted her curves perfectly My son’s broad shoulders lifted his blazer flawlessly. My daughter preferred to keep her eyebrows aligned My son preferred to keep a beard on his jawline. ...

Dear Diary, Today is a Wednesday. Wednesday is for weddings. WEDnesday. I didn’t know what ‘nes’ is. But when I had said the word over and over again, I understood it. It’s actually Weddings Day but because the big people are always in a hurry, they started calling it Wednesday. Earlier when I used to wish my mother ‘Gumorning’, she corrected me saying that it is ‘Good Morning’. When I asked why everybody else said ‘Gumorning’, she said that because they were in a hurry. When I asked her why they were in a hurry when the entire day was left, she said that she was busy and asked me to go and play. So that’s how I know Wednesday is Weddings Day . When two people decide to stay with each other forever, there is a wedding. My parents had a wedding long ago. It was even before I was born.  There is a picture of my parents’ wedding in their room and my mother is wearing red so  I asked my mother to dress me in red today. I had decided to go around the house and celebrate ...

Dear Me, I understand what you are going through.  I saw it happen, all of it.  I was right there, all through it. So dear one, you don’t have to tell me All that you have to try and explain To anyone who would care to listen. I was born the day you were born Yes, we both don’t remember that day But I remember the past, as far as you do. I would smile, beam with joy When you were praised, applauded I beamed at the world, when it recognised you. I tried to tell you how proud I was When you had worked so hard, done so well When nobody else realised, nobody else cared. I understand why that exam didn’t go well I know those words that had stayed in your head I understand why you lost your temper when you did. I was there those nights when you were lying awake You curled up in bed and I hugged you tight Each time, I began- “It will be alright.” I understood your tears, I wiped them for you I let some roll down into the...

Elena’s hair had been combed and she had been put to bed in her sleeping gown. It was unclear at this moment if this happened for real or it was so deeply embedded in a guilty mind that it taken the shape of reality. However, Elena was nowhere to be found. The little girl had looked everywhere in the house but Elena wasn’t there. Her mother and father suggested places where Elena could be but the little girl had already searched those particular places a number of times. Elena wasn’t where she was supposed to be & she wasn’t even anywhere else. Tears sparkled in the eyes of an eight year old girl as she stood looking at an unoccupied bed. She had earlier not wanted to waste time crying but now there seemed to be nothing else to do. The tears rolled down her cheeks, the sobs made their way in her breath and eventually, her cries had brought her parents. They scanned the cupboard & lifted objects around the room but everybody knew Elena wasn’t there. “We will get you another dol...

“Where are the pegasus?”, a child asked her mother. “It’s too late to question,” the mother said and narrated a story.  "There was once a strange creature He lived with others of his kind They were considered different As they were difficult to find. They were beautiful horses With the ability to fly  They could run with the wind Yet you don’t see them in the sky. They had families and friends They felt happy and sad They knew kindness and love They could be good and bad." The little girl thought about them and said- "They seem to be like me Just hooves instead of feet Doesn’t the desire to fly Make all our hearts beat?" Her mother replied- "Yet the hooves instead of feet Made them a separate entity The wings instead of hands Gave them a different identity. They were them, we were us They could fly, we could not They were asked ...

132cm in height, weighing less than 30kg, I am a ten year old girl, in her first year at boarding school. My orange coloured house t-shirt is hanging on my frail structure, reaching my knees. My hands firmly hold the size 5 basketball. I am the smallest in size amongst the fifth graders who stand facing the two sixth grade girls. The coach has said, “The best way to learn is to teach” and the two seniors have taken the responsibility to teach a group of five fifth graders. I have not been much of a sportsperson before and my height plays to a disadvantage in this particular sport. In all, I am not a good player. But like every other little fifth grader, I dream of scoring impressive baskets and making my team proud.  One of the seniors has decided that we will divide into two teams and learn how to play a game. “We’ll choose one player at a time,” says a sixth grader to the other. They begin to choose.  Each of the two girls, hardly a year older than us, chooses one girl ...

Once I was crossing a bustling market and I saw a man selling bubble making machines. He was blowing the bubbles into the street to attract children. He was surrounded by kids, some of whom were awed by the bubbles and others who were jumping to catch them. Then I saw a little boy gleam at a rising bubble. He jumped and caught it in his hands. However, he stopped at that. He kept his hands shut and felt happy to have his bubble. “What are you doing?”, another kid asked him. “I am keeping the bubble safe from people. It is mine and I love it,” he answered proudly and continued to gleam at his closed hands. After a minute or so, he got curious to have a look at his possession. He peeped through the spaces in between his fingers but didn’t seem pleased. Then he separated the two thumbs bit by bit to have a look at his bubble. Eventually, he was staring at his cupped hands but there was no sign of the bubble. He began to cry. The man blowing the bubbles had observed the short incident a...