Nidhi Katoch blog

We all are fighting with different kind of fears. Whether it's fear of judgement or fear of facing our own faults, I don't know. It might be fear of losing, losing someone, losing battles, losing our own self. Similar feelings, different matters...  I'll not blabber more here, I've no words today. Lot of things are happening in personal life. I'm leaving you with this poem, which I'd written few hours ago while sitting on my writing desk. When the phone rings in the early hours of morn,  everyone in home gets a feeling of a familiar fear,  We're scared! A questioned stare  we give each other There's a silence we share. One of us volunteers to pick up the phone,  Somewhere aware,  Prepare ourselves to mourn. We should skip this call,  Let's not call back Try to avoid whatever on stake.  There's ring again but we're already prepared to face, even though we're scared. 

' I don't think it'll rain today, 'You said to me. 'Look how the sun is shining.' I didn't make any reply. We kept on walking in that silent corridor. Occasionally one or two people passed by us. For a while I took off the mask to breathe freely and soak my face in fresh air and sunshine. 'There's the scent of old almonds here.', I said to you. But according to you it had a wet earthy scent. Every place carries a different scent. We often associate memories with fragrances. That fragrance was reminding me of an old house made of mud which had been closed for a long time and I had written my name on its wall with coal. The next day was a great spectacle like in every Indian village. Because the owner of the house who had shifted to his new pucca house, had complained at home itself. I got scolded and scolded more for showing my teeth. 'Just because you're now capable of writing your name, it doesn't mean you should show it off everywhe

 "परछाईयाँ रह जाती रह जाती निशानी है ज़िंदगी और कुछ भी नहीं तेरी मेरी कहानी है" (Loose translation: There remains only shadows and memories Life is nothing But story of you and mine. ) These lyrics of an old Hindi song somehow stuck in my head and I was singing them repeatedly. I looked out of the bus window, there was mist rising from the hills above. I stare at the mobile screen of my co-passenger who was sitting a seat ahead of mine. He was busy recording the scenery in his phone. 'Do these gadgets really serve complete justice to the nature's beauty?', I thought to myself. "Life is nothing But a recording of our days and nights our struggles and fights our tears and smiles. " I started to add few more verses and laugh out loud. Few eyes moved toward my direction to make me embarrass enough to shut my mouth. Who the hell am I to alter this beautiful song with my ugly verses! Sometimes I think technology has brought us all under same roof, we all have

 'There's a musty smell here', said my sister. I nodded in agreement. The paint was crumpled from place to place. The damp walls of that old building were the proof that sunlight hardly enters there except through a window on corridor that too only in evening. The whole place was surrounded by pines and monkeys. Since, the hall was filled with people I decided to stand by the window. I walked through the hall pretending I'm on call. I've always been fascinated by windows. No matter whatever the view is! Sunrays were kind enough to fall over my head. I peek outside the window, all I could see was trees, trees and trees. I started to hum and few lines of Sara Teasdale's poem came to my mind- "But why do the pines on mountain's crest Call to me always, "Rest, rest"? " I've a deep relationship with pines. They remind me of my transition from a teenager to an adult. How I fell in love, how I lose friends, how I experienced my first, no sec