Tuesday, December 9, 2008


- Tilak K C

The night turned treacherous.

The cold winter wind howled madly. The drizzle washed down the valley. The lightening struck occasionally.

The small plant got uprooted. The nest got washed away. The tree got burned and got sliced into half. The lightening tore it from the middle. The slices appeared in the earth. It started trembling with the fear.

The animals ran towards the caves for the shelter. The birds flew away. The fishes tried desperately to escape the current. The whole of the jungle was in chaos.
The skies kept on roaring on with all might.

The golden sun appeared in the morning. The storm had gone away. The calamity had subsided.

The trees had been uprooted. The forest had been burnt. The grounds had been torn. The river had washed away the land. The valley had been converted into a swamp.
The animals came out of the hiding. They had lost their siblings. They had lost their homes.

A small golden bird came hovering down from the east. The little floppy feather ball lingered in front of the animals. It slowly bounced up and down.

It circled them and went up to the highest branch of the tallest tree. Once there, he opened his beak and let out the most melodious of the tunes. He sang of the golden sun. He sang of the nature and he sang of the hope.

The animals were in captivated by this melody. Slowly and steadily their hearts started feeling in with the warmth. Slowly and steadily the ray of hope lighted the chambers of their heart. They all looked up to the sun and unanimously started singing the tune of hope. They sang in the top of their hearts and they sang with the melody the bird was singing.

They sang on.

Two drops of tears rolled down the birds eyes.

Four small fluffy feather balls lay dead ahead on the ground.

Wednesday, October 22, 2008

A touch away

Gerald Chandler

When the telephone rang last night I thought it strange, since no one ever calls at that time. Her older sister, with that tone of voice that you just know has to be something very bad. And it was. Her brother, fighting a losing battle with brain and pancreatic cancer, had just been declared “terminal”, with perhaps two months to live. The Medicine Men had stopped all efforts except for pain relief, and had given up. She was not completely shocked by this news, having been aware of his earlier condition. Facing the reality of it is another matter. They had never been really close, and time and distance had caused them to drift apart even more for these past years. Hidden behind the tear streaked, sham brave face were the thousand panicky, despairing questions and regrets we all deal with in times like this. "Why?" “What to do now?” “Call, despite feeling hypocritical, and perhaps face rejection?” “Why didn’t I get to know him better?” “Write a letter? “Pretend I don’t know?” “Cry?” “Rage at the unfairness of it all?” “Blame and denounce God?” So many conflicting ideas and emotions, all demanding resolution, explanation, reason. And the personal fear, never admitted or acknowledged, too primal, too terrible to contemplate, now all too real.

The only question now is when; “What" has been answered, for him. Despite our denials and pretensions to the contrary, Death smiles, knowing He’s never more than a touch away from any of us...

This is a short writing I genuinely liked. Gerald Chandler has been kind enough to lend me this piece. He is from Arizona, USA. His could be followed in


Sunday, October 19, 2008


Tilak K C

I looked at the big golden sun flower. She opened her eyes with the golden sun in the dawn. She admired him in hot and humid afternoons. She waved him farewell as he sank down the horizons in the evening. In the night, she cried in pain. She cried in pain and anguish of separation. She cried for the golden morning, the hot and humid afternoons and lonely evenings. Her tears shone as the silver pearls of dew in the morning sun.

I was amused by all of this.

“Oh flower, why are you crying? “ I asked.

“Oh boy, I am crying because I can not bear the pain of separation from my beloved,” She replied.

“Oh dear flower, you cry for something you shall never achieve. You cry for that morning start that shall never be yours.” I continued. “You can not be close to him. You will vanish in the warmth of him. Your soft petals would be vanquished in that scorching heat.”

She keenly gazed at me. Then with a deep sigh it replied.

“My dear boy, I love him and the pain of that love is sweeter than thousand honeys. The pain of that separation is dearer tome than the thousands of life without it. I know I will never be with him. He is a burning ball that flies in the depth of skies. And I roam the green earth. Yet the warmth of his morning love upon my face is all I want from him. The scorching afternoons are dearer to me than the cushion of eternal luxury. He loves me. And that is sufficient for me to want him eternally. This love and separation have all the happiness I want.”

I was amused by the reply.

“One day I shall be in his arms. And I shall perish in his scorching heat. That will be the final glory. I shall have lived my life to the fullest. Then I shall die in love and pride.”

Each and every word was sinking in me. I now envied her devotion.

Wednesday, October 15, 2008


The silver pearls of morning dew,

The yawning world so fresh and new,

This isn’t just a day, my friend,

It’s the heaven in the backyard lane.

A drop, a pitter and then a patter,

Water is bouncing on my shutter,

This isn’t just rain, my friend,

It’s the life flowing through the plains.

A smile, a tease and a wink flashing,

A blush, a shake and a swift glancing,

It isn’t just a girl, my dear,

It’s the angel walking by near.

A bug, a wasp and a bee hovering around,

Velvet layers of beauty that surround,

It isn’t just a bloom, my friend,

It’s the love uttered in plain.

A push, a nudge and a pull of the hair,

Fighting and slapping is all I care,

But, it’s not a war, my dear friend,

It’s my buddy in his fidgeting years.

A flick, a spark and then a light,

The darkness is swaying in fright,

It’s not just a candle, my friend,

It’s the hope guiding the men.

Tilak K C

Thursday, October 2, 2008


Amidst the smiling companions
Among the laughing friends
With the cherishing family
I smile alone
I laugh alone
I cherish alone
I live alone

Tilak KC


Amidst the smiling companions
Among the laughing friends
With the cherishing family
I smile alone
I laugh alone
I cherish alone
I live alone

Tilak K C

Friday, September 26, 2008


Tilak K C

Once I fell down and cut my hand.

I went to the doctor. He went on with the normal procedure. He washed the wound and applied antiseptic on it. Then he put a big tape on top.

The doctor’s wife was in other room cooking lunch.

She went on with her daily errand. She had a pot to fill and few clothes to wash.

She reached the well.

“Do you know that guy from that big white house?” She spoke. “He has a nasty cut.”

All the woman folks were intently listening to her.

Postman’s wife came back with a bucket of water. The postman was on the bed.

“There has been an accident in the village.” She spoke, “The guy of that white house broke his hand.”

The postman was listening to her.

The postman went to distribute daily mails. He reached my neighbor’s house. Mrs. Verma was in front lawn.

“Any Letters?” She asked.

He went through the packets letters and said, “No, none, but there is a news.”

She looked up.

“The guy from that white house had a fight. He broke his hand badly.”

Mrs. Verma had finished cooking when Mr. Verma entered the house.

“The guy from that big white house had a fight. He has a big broken hand. He was rushed to the ICU of the city hospital.”

Mr. Verma went for the evening walk. He walked with my uncle.

“Your guy had a fight. His hand was shattered. He is in the critical stage in the ICU of the city hospital.” He informed him.

My uncle rushed to our home.

“Our boy is in trouble, he is breathing his last breaths.” He informed my aunt.

By the time I reached home, people were mourning. They were preparing for my funeral.