Evaded.....

Her shining eyes and you shall melt
the atti-tude that got you knelt
As her heels sound tlok-tlok-tlok
everyone turns to take a look.


she has a shining eye.. that lay hidden behind the dark glasses of about -5.25 powers. from the Hairs crowding over her face,she often peeps out to see the dudes proposing her friends..while she stays behind the tree..smiles away the gentle pain.. and turns her heels. But her heels neither sounds tlok-tlok-tlok..nor does anyone turn.. except the swift breeze giving her company. she has got the old fashioned shoes.. with platforms...the colors of which have almost faded..faded to negligence.

she dances like the fairies do
and fumbles in the shades of blue
and the nails so nice.. and the lipstick shines
with the stylish people she would dine..

aditi has to dance..dance.. haha.. yes. that would be the reaction of the people.. she knows.
she once learnt kathhak when she was young.. but people wnat jazz nd salsa today.. "and then she would fall off and they would laugh".. she thinks.. as she starts painting. the white canvas.. the brushes.. and she wants it blue.
Feeling blue.. the white sheet is soon fumbled in shades of blue..she loves it. she bits her nails.. "will it ever end up in the art gallery?".. she thinks.. she doenst want it to end up .. maybe. There is too much of herslef in it.
Its 10.30 at night.. she coems at the dinign hall.. dinner is served at the table..
.. she sits alone in her chair of the corner.. munches in the roti and tarka..

and the world would follow her steps
they shall smile with smile on her lips
the outer shell is all they see..cuz they're blind
the magic remains hidden inside...

she moves up in her room. thenew place that's home to her for the past 6years of her life.with none to follow her.. and play hide and seek...she locks the door.and turns her back. the scattered books on the bed.. she arranges her table, makes her bed.. grabs a chair and sits down.
a photograph caught her eye.. she picks it up from the floor.
and she smiles...
the memories of her childhood..pours down like an offseason rainfall. how life used to be.. how they wlaked from skool and in riany dyas they would intentionally get drenached... followed by a hard scolding of mom. and in the name of " study together" they would play carrom or chess or dwell upon the puli pithas..
and after the bikeler khela session.. they would all gather round the local chop dokan.. and get hold of chops with "muri" ... she still doenst know the english of muri.. maybe she had heard.. she doenst want to use.. doesnt want to remeber..

taking out her laptop gradully she opens her blogs.. and writes down the above written. Blogs r open forums but she knows here too no one shall folow her..and the the wordsshall be unspokes, unheard and unread ....