A light in the darkness

The cheers of childhood paint our world of carefreeness and liveliness.   This image had been my favourite, and I wanted to capture its full essence.   At times, I think being unprivileged is a blessing.  Image credit:  Sasin Tipchai  on Pixabay. My childhood was not a scarce one, but it was not a richly rich one either. I loved it the way it was.    I should mention this here: Lord Krisha's childhood is remembered as "Natkhut Makhan chor." The beauty of childhood comes with its unique way of exploring and learning, doesn't it? You disagree. Let us pause here and journey back to our childhood days. What did we actually do? Prateek, Param, and Prahlad were three kids in the locality who were often spotted together. They were born to three IT parents. These three parents were once known to be the speck in this village's eyes. Their stories are still aired here, which they all admire and cherish even now. Tusshar says, "Those days were differen...

          The sweet orchestrated melody of the dawning nightingales shook me off her sleep while the kiss of the golden rays opened her oceanic blue eyes. However, the cool breeze pacing at 16.7km/hour filled the air with chillness, and she pulled her blanket up to her neck, enjoying its cosy comfort. The crawling golden rays inched every space of her face, inviting her for a tango delight, while the chilly breeze of December called for an extended morning retreat.       Tuhina Sen was a vibrant middle-aged lady staying with her 2-year-old Belgian Malinois, Siri. With a weekend mood, she turns her back and pulls her blanket to grab her next REM sleep cycle with sweet dreams of her honey. On the other hand, the brightness outside and green grasses are calling Siri for another round of soccer. Siri's restlessness grew as the mercury climbed the thermometer's capillary, but the week-long tired Tuhina was an energyless stupor....

Image Credit: Selvamani  The stillness in the air could be felt, and the wailing silence could be heard from afar as the moon crawled over the sands to touch the feet of Aman and Mahi. The shrilling cry of brittle crackling could be heard aloud as the slivery platter makes its way between them. The moist eyelashes of Mahi and the deep oceanic globe of Aman long to narrate their agony. Aman was an artisan who made baskets of palm leaves and made his living. He had two younger sisters and a mother to take care of. Life was tough but happiness was full because they all lived every moment. Every day Aman would make baskets, sell them in the local market, and make money.  Years back, there was a severe famine in the land and no food. So, his father travelled to the king's palace to borrow food for his family. There, he mortgaged his house for food. On the way back home, the sun was scorching and for miles and miles, no water was visible. The caravan was full of children and nu...