Uncontrollable Unbosomings!

She looks at herself, and sometimes asks, Can anyone figure out this fake mask? Behind this lively, crazy smile Is a lugubrious soul crying hard inside. Will she remain an introvert, pretending to be frank? While her thoughts will be wondering in her own dreamland. Perhaps it's destiny, leading her to where she should be. Like a road so confusing Diverging and challenging. Someone emotionalizes her, she chokes. Overwhelmed, her tear drops began to pour. She wants to be in her virtual world, where she can be herself. And so she stops her melancholy strain, Her thoughts drowning in the drain. She closes her eyes once more, and is welcomed to her virtual world.

And so she is sitting with what was and will be hers forever: LONELINESS. She is accustomed to it now, as it isn't a rare sight for her anymore. Contrary to her bad reputation and fake friends. She seems as if she doesn't give a damn, but inside she's dying. Yea, she is, far worse than one can imagine. She wants to escape. But no matter how hard she tries, loneliness always grabs her, not letting her go. She becomes isolated, gets confused and leaves her secluded. She wants to improve, but no one actually gives her the chance. She has an ocean of problems, but no one to listen. Her heart sinks when she hears the merry laugh of people around her, to whom she is INVISIBLE. When she does something good, they term it as "seeking attention". When she does something bad, she's surrounded by criticism. Her mind is muddled up, wondering what to do. As no matter what she does, she's always dead to the world.

Hey, back after a long time. But a beautiful memory just grabbed my attention, and I just couldn't resist writing on it! I went to the 28th  National Convention organised by SPIC MACAY, a famous society for the promotion of Indian culture amongst youth. It was an enriching experience, and we stayed in NIT Karnataka. The place was extremely serene and beautiful! We were allowed to visit the beach nearby, and I was filled with ecstasy at the very mere thought of visiting the beach. I got a chance when everyone was away for yoga. It was about 5 am in the morning and the sun was rising. Suddenly gripped with excitement, I stuffed some snacks, my diary and my water bottle in my bag and rushed off to the beach. WOW. This was the only word that I could utter when I finally reached the beach.I exclaimed when I stepped on the soft sand of the beach.  The sun was rising, and the scene was beautiful. Absolutely beautiful. I further took steps towards the cold, salt...

She sat in a corner, feeling lifeless. Fed up with the world. Blade in one hand, and the other hand bleeding rapidly, showing no sign of stopping. Her tear stained face gazed blankly at the picture of the love of her life, who had hurted her, ignored her, mistreated her. On the table was the picture of her parents, dead long time back when she was just four. No friends, all alone. No strength to trust anyone now. Gazing at the river from her window, during dawn. Thinking about her past, her failures, and the feeling of loneliness gradually creeping deep inside her soul. She wanted to end it all. Forever. She takes a knife. She's about to cut her throat when she stops.For she sees a beautiful sight. The sun was rising. Birds were flying in the sky. The leaves of trees moving silently with the wind, whispering to each other. The sky getting brighter and brighter. And it inspires her. Gives her some hope. Hope, for a new beginning. For a new life. So, she controls her tears, was...

The trip to ballimaran, famously known as Ghalib Ki Haveli, was fabulous and an enriching experience. I gained a lot of knowledge as well as fun from the exciting adventure!        When mom told me about the trip at first, I was a little dissapointed as I thought it would be boring. But, my dissapointment vanished as soon as we reached Delhi. I was really exited! We walked till Ballimaran from Chandni Chowk, passing many historical marks on the way. Mirza Ghalib, a great Urdu writer, lived there when he was alive. Just as Shakespeare is the father of English, Mirza Ghalib is the father of Urdu. I clicked many pictures of his abode, and the place was very peaceful. It had a warm presence, a nice feeling in it. We got to know a lot about Ghalib's lifetime and some of his famous write ups, which have been converted into ghazals too. Truly said by Ghalib, " aah ko chaahiye ik 'umr asar hone tak"!        ...

Hello everyone! This is Nimisha. Well, I simply love writing, I mean, not exactly fiction, but yes, writing about the current issues, the current happening, Somewhat like what journalists do. And, as my writing is appreciated by all and I enjoy it too, I thought of making it as a profession. And before that, I need some practice. So, here I am. With, some new ideas. And an ambition. To change. To start a new revolution. To express myself. Expresse vous!