The Book and the World

Dear World,

As I see through the windows of the shelves you’ve kept me in, you’ve changed. I see that you need me less now, for you’ve made friends of your own. I see you’ve grown, you’ve grown to be what I pictured you to be. But in spite of the wonders you’re doing, is it right to forget me?

Since you’re drifting away and ahead, and discovering more of you, I find it inevitably essential to remind you that my inner strength is still the most powerful. I’m the creator of a million minds and perhaps, yours too. It’s sad for me for I’m fading away, finding new places in the corner of metal shelves rather than hungry minds.

The consciousness that your people need should be fed by me, and I’m continuously eager to implant more aspirations in you. I am seeking more pair of eyes who excitingly seek knowledge, for I have plenty. But also, I have a world of my own to offer. I have a million stories waiting inside to erupt to make way to the people and make memories over cups of tea and coffee. Gone are the days when you used to cherish my company. I don’t have a tongue of my own, but the words that I offer talk more than what people do. They tell not just tales, but offer words of wisdom.

I miss our friendship, as it was when I was awake. The isolation from you feels more like an abduction and makes me restless. These glass windows are more like cages that allow me to see my deterioration. Every day, I see the children peeping through to me wondering what do I contain, but I wish there was a way to tell them that I contain the world itself.

I want to tell you and these children, the tales of wisdom, love, and freedom again. For I have stories to tell, both real and unreal, some witnessed, and some not. I have mysteries contained in myself, but how do I say this if you’re turning away.

I see you finding your time in the television by the door, with your eyes eagerly luxuriating the videography it offers. But I want to remind you, that I’m no less entertaining. For I recited poems, stories, and fairy tales when you were a child yourself.

It saddens me to know that I’m not a part of you anymore.  But I wish, that someday and sometime, you’ll pick me up again. You’ll flip through my pages and read my gallant tales of heroism. You’ll read the tales of the characters I created and recite them to your children too. I wish you’ll return. I wish you’ll wear off the dust that’s been settled upon me. I do nothing but wish for your eyes to know more, through me. I wish.

Your lost treasure,

The Book

f13eee63daf3dc1e354f280cd3a83b57-Vishal Tripathi



To The Door of Happiness

A rough day at the training ended, and luckily it was the final day. Two days later, we had to run ourselves into the battle against the enemy nation with a 50% chance of returning alive (luckily again). We were being instructed.
As we all prepared ourselves for the war, we packed our stuff along with the emotions but the one thing that we couldn’t pack and leave was memories. But it was in some way, positive for us because we had to have something to motivate us to return alive, return alive for someone who’s waiting. As we entered the battlefield, all I could think of was my daughter, whom I promised to be there for her birthday which was a week later. But to keep that promise, I had to live, and that was the only thing I was unsure of.
As the war began, we marched on with broad shoulders, arms, and weapons. Also with a flag attached to the uniform just above the heart in spite of being inside it as well. We waited for the opposition to bring the fight to us, and they did. 3 days of continuous warfare and thence, it ended. It ended with a win for us, but this wasn’t a happy win, it was a mixed one because I lost 3 of my friends and that counts as a bigger loss. I survived somehow, and it took me another 2 days to get back to reality and get over with the loss I faced.
I was conscious but unhappy. But my mind was mature enough to move on. It was time for me to head home and see my wife and my daughter who had been suffering more than me all this time. Reminiscing, waiting for me. As I was heading back, I was trying to pull myself together and preventing myself from adding on to their misery. On the way, I bought my girl some presents and a chocolate, and I head home. I reached late in the night. I always had a spare key of the house, so I opened the door and quietly sneaked in.




The cold passed reluctantly from the earth, and the retiring fog revealed an unbelievable scene before me. A homeless kid, with just a torn cloth wrapped around his waist, was sitting in the corner of the street. He was feeding his mother, who seemed to be pretty ill and the cold weather only added to her misery. The kid seemed to be 7-8 years of age, was so thin that his ribs were clearly visible and was of a dark complexion. Both of them were shivering. But the child was strong enough to not let her mother see his pain. Because the pain of an ill mother in the biting cold was more severe to him than the cold hurting his body. I stood there watching this bizarre yet astounding scene of child showing his affection for his mother, even when he himself was in pain. People say that true love is lost these days but, that day, it was right before me. I went there and handed him the little amount of money that I had for him to but some food for himself and his mother.

I went home, and spent the whole day thinking about this muzzling and unforgettable incident. I thought that in this world of lost humanity, it was so strange to see selfless love being cherished even among the harshest of circumstances. People today have something to complain about all the time, be it their needless pleasures or something done by their parents. But, there are still people on this planet who know how to respect that without having any luxuries.

I collected some old clothes of mine to give to the boy. So, the next morning, I ran hastily to the same corner of the street but this time, they weren’t there. I waited there for a while but then I went with the thought of coming back again the next day. And so I did, again with those clothes. But I wish I hadn’t, because what I saw was excruciatingly dissatisfying. I saw the mother crying with the body of the boy in her hand. Her hands filled with guilt and remorse. Her daunting cry made me shiver. I lost hope.

I went back again, irritated. It was a misery to see her in pain, which now was even more severe. The wold had been ruthless to them. Maybe even the gods. But was it fair for the boy to pay the price of his true love and affection by death? Sometimes, karma is difficult to understand just as it was here. It’s a curios question, for many I suppose, why do the wrong things happen to the right people? Maybe someday I’ll know. But for now, it remains unanswered…………


PS: I am posting after a long time. The frequency of the posts has reduced drastically due to the fact that I’m in college. But to be sure, the posts will keep coming. Follow my blog for more posts. 🙂