Rutuja Pokarna

And only after one has read it, they can understand why we binge read it! "And Then There Were None" was the first for me from the genre of mystery. The writer needs no special mention, famously known as queen of mystery, Agatha Christie is one of the esteemed minds for crime fictions. This was a 'good to start with' book. The story is based in the settings of a deserted land named soldier Island (you'll know why) and it begins with ten strangers being invited there, by an 'unknown' guest who is mysteriously absent (or maybe not). The mutual fact however was that they all were accused of some crime whether or not they were guilty of it. E ach guest had a macabre nursery rhyme displayed in their rooms. The rhyme was basically the plot of the story that briefly narrated how the things shall take place in further course, but was so obvious to be neglected by all but one. The china figures were the cherry on the cake a suspense thriller! The writing was ...

Life knows to play the songs and so do the guitar and for it play the best of the songs, all you need is the a finger on the correct fret with an incessant strum of plectrum, at a proper time, for time is the master and the one that masters the timing knows to strike the correct chords and create a symphony that tunes it all up-  the marks of the scars, the misery of left souls, the pain of betrayal, And it would help your torn parts to be stiched together. Sometimes, somewhere someday by someone or something how do we know that the chords are played?! ~Maybe when the acceptance comes by easily Or when nothing can be changed, you too find the courage to stay the same. Maybe when the lost hope find its way back to you. Or the stress goes on a holiday. Maybe when you stop searching for a reason to smile Or you just feel like dancing. Maybe when the criticism appear to be appreciation in disguise Or it just doesn't seem to matter anymore. You can guess that the chords are ...

The classroom, me and the stories... History repeats itself, so do these stories. Every year, with the new books there were those walls of the new classroom, eager to listen to your tale, your jokes, illogical answers and above all to YOU! So proudly it exhibited your works, remember your drawings, the charts, and all that stuff you prepared in the 6th lecture on thursdays! For you it had taken so many chalks that missed its target, and it forwent its white wash to help you write the answers (and it still keeps them) And the blackboard (or green) it greeted everyday with a new quote, you just don't know who wrote it ;) It so much echos the rattling of your pen fights and the shrieks of playing 'red hands'. Your crazy plans and weird ideas never failed to fascinate. It also recalls how it was turned it into a conference hall or a playground or an experiment lab. It readily became anything you made of it. Today it's made a memory and it quietly sits in your album waiting ...