Hope We Never Meet Again

Chapter 1

Who Am I?

I went to answer the call of nature. And that was when I saw it.

While relieving my bladder of its contents, I casually gazed around that dirty railway toilet. I frowned at the pungent smell that seemed to choke me and wondered why railway toilets were not a part of ‘Swach Bharat’.

“Was   it because railway toilets were not a part   of Bharat at all?” I thought with dismay.

That’s when my gaze locked onto the doodle on the toilet’s wall. No, it was not a doodle. It was a more deliberate, neatly written message with a blue marker pen. The message said: “Available @ cheap rate. Call Raja 9496352761. Ask for Sajina with a mole on her left breast… Fuck her as much as you want!”

“Some pervert who has no work…” I thought.

I finished my business, flushed the dirty closet and came out of the toilet. Then I went to my seat and made myself comfortable. I opened the India Today magazine and skimmed through the pages with little interest. I was on my way to Bangalore in the Intercity Express to attend my friend Kiran’s wedding. Arathy and Kiran were my colleagues in Zinfy Solutions. They fell in love and had come all the way to my village in Palakkad to invite me for their wedding. I had no intention of visiting Bangalore again, but the sincerity with which they invited me, prompted me to change my mind.

I boarded the train from Ottapalam Railway Station, since I lived a village called Mannur, just 15 kilometres away from Ottapalam. The train was moving so fast that the hot summer wind gushed in like a storm. Even though I pretended to be engrossed in the magazine, the reality was something else. Sitting opposite me was a voluptuous, beautiful and very sexy girl. She had boarded the train from Palakkad and I was stunned when she sat opposite me. She was wearing a yellow T-shirt that was so fitting that her ample bosoms seemed to be teasingly inviting me for a caress. If that was what made her voluptuous; it was her magnificently full, youth fed thighs inside that light blue faded jeans that made her too sexy for me to bear.

But it was her face that looked most stunning. Symmetry like I had never seen before. What skin she had! Those eyes seemed to tell an erotic love story when it brushed past my gaze. There was life erupting out of each and every cell of her body. Her eyebrows were threaded like perfect rainbows guarding her magical eyes. Her lips were sumptuous and full. There was a light shade of pink lipstick, but nothing was overdone. Her hair looked straightened and was coloured Burgundy. It glowed at the occasional touch of sunlight. She was listening to music on her iPad. I desperately wanted to strike a conversation with her, but had no clue on what pretext. Each breath filled my lungs with the fragrance of her shampooed hair (she probably used Sunsilk shampoo ) and the perfume she had on. She not only flared my sense, but fed my carnal hunger as well. My imagination ran wild like the speeding train.

The train reached Erode and that is when the OTHER GUY came. He sat next to me. Like in every story, the handsome hunk that plays the spoil sport for the hero. In the next 15 minutes, Mr. OTHER GUY charmed everyone around him with his chocolate-boy smile. Within the next 30 minutes, the girl was giggling at Mr. OTHER GUY’s jokes. I was frustrated seeing them discuss music, books and movies. I cursed myself for not striking a spontaneous conversation with this sexy babe.

“Did I lose my earlier self? Was Ritu still influencing me, making me scared to get into a relationship?” A random question that seldom had an answer kept bugging me.

Again, my bladder seemed to cry. So I folded the magazine and kept it where I was sitting and went to the same toilet again. While relieving my agonies into that dirty, stained closet, I saw that message again: “Available @ cheap rate. Call Raja 9496352761. Ask for Sajina with a mole on left breast… Fuck her as much as you want!”

This time the message seemed to lure me like a silent witch. There was a tingling sensation in my groin. For reasons unknown, I dreamed about this Sajina and how she would look in person. “Mole on left breast… Now, did that ring a bell somewhere? Forget it!”What if this Sajina looked as beautiful and sexy as the girl sitting opposite me? For   a fretting moment, I felt like calling this pimp called Raja and setting up an evening with Sajina. But an inner voice stopped me. No. I was not that type. Paying money for sex was not in my culture. So I put aside those thoughts and went to my seat. By now the girl was sitting in my place, rubbing the tip of her bosoms over Mr. OTHER GUY in a subtle, tender way. Both of them were listening to music from her iPad, each sharing a bud from the same headset. When they noticed my quizzical presence, both of them apologetically requested me to sit on the girl’s seat. There was nothing that I could do but oblige with a fake smile. I sat there, skimming through India Today with Dalai Lama in the cover. I strangely felt like a Tibetan monk ousted of every pleasure in life by China. My heart burned and boiled as the girl and Mr. OTHER GUY started having a really good time, all at my expense. The biggest disappointment came when I saw them exchange mobile numbers.

I became increasingly angry and this time my bladder seemed to roar. So I got up again and went to very same toilet. This time, the message on the wall grabbed me. I took my phone. The burning sensation of jealousy and failure made me dial the number on the wall. I waited for 5-6 rings. No reply. The toilet was becoming agonizingly hot. I was about to cut the call but then, at that moment a heavy voice answered the call. A voice that sounded elegant and far superior to any other voice I had ever heard. I asked for Sajina with a mole on her left breast. Initially, the pimp seemed perplexed, but I convincingly made a deal at an astounding Rs.5,000 for that night. I could not believe my luck. I asked the pimp to WhatsApp the girl’s picture as well. Then I cut the call and went back to my seat.

I waited for minutes that stretched like hours. And then my mobile vibrated indicating Sajina had indeed landed at my WhatsApp doorstep. Quickly, I downloaded the image. I was shocked. The girl looked like Ritu in every sense. She was extremely beautiful and sensuous. I could not believe my eyes. Even in a simple white salwar she looked awesome.

A beauty that would put even the girl sitting opposite me to shame. I could not believe my luck. Finally I can enjoy a girl who looked like Ritu! My old team mate! I loved her so much, but destiny had something else in store for us. As nostalgic yet dreaded thoughts haunted my mind, the price for the girl is what made me feel that I had hit a jackpot.

“WOW! All this for 5K! My goodness! I’m gonna enjoy tonight!” My thoughts spread like a wildfire through my body. I immediately started a conversation with this pimp named Raja on WhatsApp:

“I like her…I will take her all night…is it fine?” “Okay…fine,” replied Raja

“Where should I come?”

“Come near Domlur flyover and call me…”

“At what time…?”

“Any time…today we are totally free…”

I assumed that business was dull for this pimp and the call girl. Why else they would settle for such a cheap deal? Nevertheless I relinquished my luck and fantasized enjoying the warmth of Sajina’s body. I mean how many men would be lucky enough to enjoy the body of a woman who looked exactly like his lost love? I could not take my eyes off her picture. I mused drinking that intoxicating beauty of hers. With open eyes I dreamed of running my fingers over that beautiful face, lustrous hair, sumptuous lips and every nook and corner of her sculpture-perfect body. Only when my black jeans felt a bit too tight around my groin did I notice that I was having an erection. I closed my thighs instinctively to control it.

By this time Dharmapuri, Hosur and Karmelaram had all passed. It was 7:30 PM when the train arrived at Cantonment station. Luckily the girl and Mr. OTHER GUY got off there. I felt a pang of regret when I stared at her curvaceous body. “Not everything one desires can be attained…” I thought for a moment. I brushed aside my regrets since something better was waiting for me! Life is always like that. When something good slips right through your fingers, you run towards something similar to avenge the loss thinking that it is a far better option.

It was 8:00 PM when I reached Majestic Railway Station. I walked out of the station breathing the night air. It was refreshingly cool. I strolled through the crowded, dust filled subway and reached Kempegowda Bus Station. From there I took a Volvo to Domlur. As the bus started off, I dialled Raja. To my relief, the pimp picked the call without much delay.

“Hello Raja…?” “Yes…”

“I’m on my way to Domlur… will reach there around 9:30…”

“Okay…get down below the flyover and call me…”

The remaining part of the journey, I kept looking at Sajina’s photograph. It was not Sajina I saw, but Ritu. I kept wondering what all we would do to each other that night. It felt ticklish to think of my flesh meeting hers. Finally,   I got down near Domlur flyover and called the pimp.   Raja answered the call immediately.

“I’m here as instructed,” I said

“In five minutes, I will come and pick you…” Raja replied

“Okay…how can I identify you…?”   But before I finished, Raja cut the call. I waited under the flyover watching the vivid colours of the city. The bright neon lights of street lamps and a never-ending flow of traffic just mesmerised me like I was reliving an old dream. Suddenly, from nowhere, a maroon Skoda Rapid stopped in front of me. The driver lowered the window and asked me to get in.

“Are you Raja…?” I asked.

The driver nodded. I got inside the car. It had a thick fragrance of Ambi Pure car-freshener that seemed to punch my nostrils. The car’s interiors were all plush red leather. I looked at the pimp. Raja was too elegant and charming for a procurer. With fair skin and gelled hair he looked nothing less than a corporate executive. But I had lived long enough to understand that looks can be deceptive. I wondered how a pimp managed to keep a Skoda Rapid offering a high class call girl to customers for just 5,000 bucks per night. I could never make sense of Raja’s business model. Well, that was none of my business anyway since I was just here to enjoy a great evening. We drove through the buzzing city traffic for nearly 20 minutes and then suddenly Raja made a left turn in to a pocket road. Here the traffic looked amazingly thin and population on the road was almost zero.

“Where are we going?” I asked “Kalpalli…” Raja replied. “Ohh… so she is there?” I asked.

“Yes. In another five minutes, we will be there.” Raja’s reply made me feel good. True to those words, Raja stopped the car after five minutes. But the place was isolated. It was completely dark and silent.“We have reached!” Raja said and got out of the car. I followed suit. Raja opened the trunk of the car and took a bag. He hung it across his strong right shoulder, closed the trunk and then locked car. “Beep”…the locking sound seemed to echo in every direction. I became really tensed for a moment since there was not a soul in the vicinity and there was nothing but a street light that seemed long dead. The moon was full and bright. So there was no problem with visibility under that cloudless sky. Raja looked at me and smiled. As though reading my mind Raja said: “Don’t worry, come with me…”

“We have reached!” Raja said and got out of the car. I followed suit. Raja opened the trunk of the car and took a bag. He hung it across his strong right shoulder, closed the trunk and then locked car. “Beep”…the locking sound seemed to echo in every direction. I became really tensed for a moment since there was not a soul in the vicinity and there was nothing but a street light that seemed long dead. The moon was full and bright. So there was no problem with visibility under that cloudless sky. Raja looked at me and smiled. As though reading my mind Raja said: “Don’t worry, come with me…”

I did not trust the alluring smile of Raja anymore and said, “Man… I need to go back and take cash from ATM. By the way, where is she?”

“You can pay me after the business, Sir. Please come with me…” he reassured me.

Some intuition told me that Raja could be trusted. So I followed Raja into that night. The moon above followed us like a silent partner.

“The end of this journey could be worth the entire wait and all the risk…” I thought, suppressing an urge to take my phone and have a final look at Sajina before I saw her in flesh and blood. She looked so similar to Ritu. My fantasies raced like a wild horse in a forest fire. After a few minutes of strolling, we stood in front of a huge concrete arch. A watchman sat on a steel chair in front of it. But the guy looked totally drunk. He kept blabbering senselessly in Kannada, which I was not able to comprehend. Then, I slowly looked up and was appalled to see the words written over the arch:

“KALPALLI CEMETERY”

“What the fuck!” I shouted at Raja.

Raja lifted his right hand to calm me down and then pointed across the cemetery, towards the other end: “Sir, do you see that flat over there? Across the cemetery? That is where she is. We need to walk silently and get inside the flat. We cannot take the car there! Sir, please trust me. Nothing will happen to you!”

I did not have a choice but to walk with Raja. He seemed to be a genuine guy. So we walked through the graveyard in the direction of the flat. There was nothing but hundreds or even thousands of gravestones around us. Suddenly, Raja stopped when we were somewhere in the middle of that cemetery. But I kept walking ahead without noticing that. Only after I walked a few paces did I find that I walking alone. As I turned around, looking for Raja, I found him standing still, like a statue staring at something on the ground. Raja’s head was bent. So I walked back to him.

“Hey… let’s get on with the business, man…Come, let’s walk!” I whispered aloud, tearing the silence of that night.

“We are already there sir…” Raja replied without moving an inch.

“What do you mean we are already there…? Where is Sajina…Where is she?” I looked around in confusion

“Here…”

“Where?” I looked around with zero understanding of what was happening.

Raja pointed to something on the ground. It was a grave stone. I looked closely and then stumbled backwards with my palm over my wide open mouth. It was horrific. There, inscribed over the black granite tomb stone were words that read:

Sajina Ramanujan

W/O Raja Krishnaswami

22-July- 1986 to 24-June-2015

My legs began to wobble and I fell back. My head struck against something that felt like a low lying branch of a tree. As I gripped my head with both my hands, unable to bear the searing pain, Raja rushed to me and helped me stand up. It took me a few minutes to regain my balance. Then, I looked at a Raja who was sitting on a nearby marble tomb as if nothing had happened. His pale face, under moonlight, showed no emotion.

Finally I asked: “Who are you and what the hell do you want?”

“I’m Raja Krishnaswami… Sajina is…sorry… Sajina WAS my wife… ”

I could not believe what I heard.      I was literally

flabbergasted.

“Why the hell did you write it on the railway toilet… that…”

“I did not write it…” “Then who did it…”

“I do not know…actually nobody knows who did that…All I know is that there are trains running the length and breadth of this country carrying the message you saw today. That my wife is a prostitute with a mole on her left breast and if someone wanted her, they had to just call me.” There were tears rolling down Raja’s eyes as he spoke.

“Then why you did not tell me earlier?”

Raja simply smiled at me. His smile carried more sarcasm than humour. Then there was silence. It just seemed to fill everything around me and Raja. A silence so deep, that it seemed to crush the very moonlight that surrounded us.

“I’m sorry, Raja!” I broke the silence with an apology. “No, there is no need to be sorry. It is not your fault.

Somebody loved Sajina so much that the person could not

tolerate her getting married to me… Or it was someone who knew both of us but simply wanted to…”

“Ruin your lives…” I completed the sentence for him. “Yes…exactly…and the person had an evil stint of success.”

Strangely, I felt comfortable with Raja. My heart went out to him and his dead wife. But one question kept haunting me like that silent dormitory of death in which I was standing right now.

“Raja… I can understand your feelings…but how did she die…”

“We were just a week into our marriage when calls started coming to my number. I had a nervous breakdown when people started calling and texting me with certainty on something physically secretive about my wife! I was shattered, she was shattered. Our relationship was tormented. We both plunged into depression.”

“There could have been a misunderstanding!”

“What misunderstanding? It was a deliberate attempt to destroy us…”

“There could have been someone she had an affair with…” I speculated.

Raja lost his temper at that point and shouted angrily at me: “Nooooo! No! That was not the case… I asked her a million times and she confessed that there was nothing of that sort…She was not the kind who would lie… Now I realize she was pure…innocent…”

“Are you sure?” I asked.

Silence was the only reply I got. I understood that this Raja was a lunatic and the best way to get away from here was to use sympathy and compassion as a tool. But somewhere I felt for the poor couple torn apart by the cruel fate. I churned my brain and thought of every possible explanation to this puzzle and use it as an excuse to make a safe exit. An exit from a trap I had created for myself. “What if someone loved her…may be one of her colleagues or friends? What if she rejected them ardently…with great force? What if she was wearing a tight costume that exposed her cleavage and this pervert accidentally spotted the mole…?”

“Yes… even she speculated things on the same line. But I was blind and mad. Life became treacherous each day… Our marriage had become a hell and there were fights. Each day I would receive a minimum of ten calls from unknown numbers… We tried to come to terms with each other… But we could not…”

“Man…you should have gone to the police… Or changed your mobile number…”

“Yes… but before that everything ended…” “What do you mean?” I asked

“You see that flat…” Raja pointed towards the flat we were walking towards earlier. It was more than 15 stories for sure, maybe even more.

“Yes…” I replied.

“That is where we started our life. And that’s where she ended her’s. She jumped off the top floor. It all ended there. I insisted on burying her here so that I could see her whenever I wanted to, from our flat!”

I slapped my forehead with my right palm. This was turning more sinister now.

“The police arrested me initially and I told them our story… They did some kind of investigation and made a few arrests as well… most of them were juvenile teens. They had nothing to do with the crime other than dialling my number. They called because the number was written in some railway toilet…”

I noticed that Raja was sweating even in that chillingly cold weather. He continued, “But we could not catch the real culprit…The one who did all this is somewhere out there… Walking happily amongst those millions of strange faces…”

I felt tormented and lost, listening to this sad, wicked tale. “I’m sorry Raja… I think we need to go back…”

Raja sat silently with his head bent and did not move   a bit. I walked towards Raja and put my arms over Raja’s shoulders and said, “Come let’s go brother…”

Again silence.

“Come let’s leave this place…” I spoke a bit too loud this time.

The reply was a silence louder than the last. My skin crawled when Raja spoke: “Finish off what you came here for…”

“Finish off ? What do you mean …?” Raja looked in my eyes, held me by my left arm and made me stand and face Sajina’s tomb. “You came here to do something… DO IT…NOW…” he shouted in a voice filled with blood-curdling vengeance. I felt like throwing up at the thought of frolicking the rotting corpse of his wife.

“Are you mad…? Fuck you man…!” I shouted at Raja trying to get away from his iron grip. Raja pushed me over Sajina’s tomb. My head slammed against the cold granite.

“You came here to fuck her right… remove your trousers and get it done…NOW…” He shouted as if he had lost his mind.

I understood that Raja was completely nuts. I stood up slowly and pretended to remove the buckle of his jeans. My plan was to dash towards the exit. But unbuttoning seemed difficult since the buttons was stuck to some loose string. I bent down in desperation. Then everything happened in a fraction of a second.

I felt Raja’s cold hand holding my forehead from behind. I lifted my head in reflex. Before I could react, I felt the cold edge of a steel blade slit my throat. I saw my own blood spraying over Sajina’s grave. I wanted to shout, but the more I strained, blood spattered with more force, like a rhythmic dance of a musical fountain. A pain like no other I had ever felt, spread through every cell of my body. Like a fish thrown out of water, I struggled for life- air. Then after a few seconds, the pain receded like it was draining out of my body. I fell down, gasping for breath over the tomb. The last thing I saw was Raja’s blank face staring at me under the moonlight.

He stood there for some time looking at my motionless body. Motionless and emotionless. My blood formed a viscous, warm layer over the black granite tomb. Raja sat on Sajina’s grave and he placed the sharp edge of the imported commando knife over his left wrist. The stainless steel surface of the knife gleamed under the cloudless full moon sky. Raja closed his eyes and for an instant I was able to visualise the life he lived so far cascading down his memory lanes. And then I saw Sajina’s lovely face urging Raja to accompany her into eternity. After that, Raja cut his vein.

He fell down and hugged my lifeless head with love, as though it was Sajina’s. Blood flowed like a stream from his left wrist. Our blood got mixed over Sajina’s tomb and became one. Like brothers until death, we slept over her tombstone, deep into that night.

Between births and deaths, life dangles over two thin ropes of actions and consequences. If actions have the power to alter the very course of life, those digressions are what leads to the consequences that we face every moment of our existence here on earth. That is what defines who we are. And that very same thing defines who I’m. Well, you may be wondering “Who am I?” It is a long night and I have a short life. But within this short span, I will have to tell you a long story. My story. It is said that when a person dies, he has seven minutes of brain activity left. That is the mind playing back the person’s memories in a dream sequence. In that sequence, we find answers to questions that were left unanswered in this life. We also find answers to puzzles left unsolved in our previous lives. So before I leave this world to take another form, I want to tell you my story. But the events are all getting jumbled now as I try to rewind and recollect…

To know what happens next CLICK HERE –> Amazon.in

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ONE HUNDRED DAYS OF SOLITUDE

Solitude has that irresistible pull that makes man explore his own hidden dimensions- Srinath Krishnamoorthy Solitude has that irresistible drive that makes man explore his own hidden dimensions- Srinath Krishnamoorthy

First of all wishing a very happy and prosperous Onam to you and your family!!! Hope you had a fabulous time with your kinsfolk and friends. Wherever you are, whatever you are…I can understand for the past few days your every heart beat said just one thing: Ente Naad (my land). Well, it is not the place or money that matters, but the emotion behind the celebration that counts. Well, let everyday of your life be a Onam in itself!!!

Having wished you, I’m also happy to share with you the fact that this blog is just one click away from crossing the 5000 views mark. As of today, the readership of srinathkrishnamoorthy.wordpress.com spans over 50 countries. Hats off to you my dear reader!!! ‘Coz this would not have been possible if it was not for YOU. The tremendous love and support you have showered for my words and stories is just mind-blowing. The credit goes completely to you.

This blog is running on a free platform. I have not written anything sensational or controversial to boost the readership and 5000 views is something I expected to happen in over two years. But to my surprise, it has happened in two months.

I’m really struggling to find words to thank you from the bottom of my heart. Without you, my dear reader…this blog would have died as soon as it was born. I’m indebted to you for reading each and every story. I’m thankful to you for each review you have written and each share you made over Whatsapp, FB and Tweeter. All this at a time when the world has moved a long way…away from words,books and authors…your support has given a new hope for me.

This Blog is more about you than me.

The story you are reading right now is about significance of ‘inspiring‘ ,the power of ‘solitude’ and importance of ‘networking‘.


Many have asked me:

“Man…when and how you started writing…we didn’t know…”

Well the answer I give is:

“Even I didn’t know…”

Today Jayashree Ma’m (who was my English teacher at school) asked me:

“What are you gonna pull out of your hat next…?”

That’s when I decided to turn the pen towards myself:

“Why not write a story about the story of this blog?”

So if I go searching for the roots of my words, I will have to take you back almost 15 years. To be precise, a crowded classroom of Kendriya Vidyalaya No:1 Palakkad dated 20-01-2001.

You may wonder why I precisely remember this date? I had problems remembering my own DOB during board exams wherein for each exam we were bound to write our Date Of Birth.

Looking back all those years I understand that a date is signified by the impact it has on our lives. It also marks an event that has influenced us deeply. For me it was a day that defined what a teacher should be. I mean anyone can teach you, but only a great teacher can inspire you to learn and tap that hidden potential in you.

Something similar happened that day. Thank you so much Jayashree Ma’m. You made us all pen down an instant article on comparing the stages of our lives with that of a river. I still remember you giving me this for writing a few lines :

Anyone can teach...but it takes a great teacher can inspire.
Ordinary teachers can just teach…but it takes a Great Teacher to inspire.

I will treasure this note-book all through this life and beyond. It means so much to me. Had it not been for that day and this little token of appreciation from you, the seeds of words would never have been sown. I was way too immature back then, but I have made most of the notes for my first novel in this book. The last page is nothing but the scribblings of a 14-year-old boy…so please do not take this seriously and forgive me for grammatical errors 🙂

A 15 year old scribble...Thank you Jayashree Ma'm!!!
A 15 year old scribble…Thank you Jayashree Ma’m!!!

Images of  our wonderful school library, Nagarajan Sir (our Librarian) and Jayaram (my reading partner) flashes in front of my eyes I’m typing this blog.

Library is the single most important place in a school that can transform ordinary students with an aim to extraordinary students with a vision.
Library is the single most important place in a school that can transform ordinary students with no aim to extraordinary students with a great vision.

Between then and now, my affair with writing have always been an on-and-off one. But my relationship with reading has always been steady and still going strong. How strange is it…LIFE!!!

Inspirational sparks by a great teacher, after so many years still burns like a raging fire in someone’s heart. Words and deeds of inspiration travel well beyond time, breaking every barriers physical and mythical.

I have no experience with teaching and I do not want to degrade the divine profession by trying my hand in that. And I’m not sure if I’m saying the right thing… but teaching has more to do with inspiring students to learn than just teaching them what is printed in text books for the sake of scoring marks.

In simple terms, this blog is nothing but a result of that single step my English Teacher took 15 years back. One step for her, but a giant leap for me!!!

Bottom line is, there is no fun in being inspired all alone… take a few minutes to inspire others as well. That is what makes you complete.

Inspire to get inspired!!!!


Now you may be wondering where this solitude part comes into picture…yeah??

Well, I would like to share my experience with silence and self exploration.

Life has been a big race. From passing exams in school, to cracking entrance tests, after that getting an admission in to an engineering college (even though my heart craved for literature), then finding a job at the peak of recession back in 2009, then being nothing more than a machine for another 3 years, shifting places, meeting people…life had become so mechanical and I realized I was nothing more than a robot (sad but true).

Like a sentence that runs pages without a full stop, life turned to be monotonous and  drab.

That’s when I decided to quit my job. Back then it was seen by many as a stupid decision, but I thought I need a break. A break that would enable me to look at life from a different perspective. To stop flowing with the flow, then stand aside from the chaos and watch what was happening around me. I had absolutely no clue as to what needs to be done other than a fervent desire to write. Write something good that would touch hearts. Even though my decision cost me dearly, delivering tremendous personal blows one after the other…I survived 🙂

That is when I understood the power of solitude. The power of seeking within. That’s when I perceived the idea of Regrets In A Coffin. I asked myself three very simple questions:

Q1. “What if I’m lying in a coffin with just 5 more seconds to live?

Q2. “What will be my greatest regret?”

Q3. “Is it OK to die with regrets in that coffin?”

The answer for the third question is one big NO ‘coz dying with regrets meant very well living with them.

The only solution was to write. ‘Coz that’s what I loved to do.

I just had three resources:

  1. An old Lenovo laptop whose battery won’t last even for a minute if unplugged.
  2. A crazy BSNL internet connection which works at its own whims.
  3. A few good books I had read in my life.  

But make no mistake, the most powerful factor above all was SOLITUDE.

It simply makes you prepared for this great battle with uncertainties and circumstances. And my journey with solitude took me from the isolated, rustic roads of Palakkad to the beautiful meadows of Kothamangalam. I’m, forever indebted to these two places for making me seek and find myself.

The beautiful campus of MA College of Engineering (where I’m pursuing PG right now) and the places around it has the power to calm down even the most perturbed soul.

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Sometimes a place can change the very way you look at life. As the saying goes ‘Beauty inspires poetry…’

Image courtesy : Neethu Ramachandran

But the problem was that again I was falling into the cycle of -eat, sleep and study. But those numerous long drives between Kothamangalam and Palakkad was so refreshing that I started falling in love with words & the stories that started weaving a kind of web in my mind.

Then over a period of three months or approximately 100 days between February 2015 to May 2015…I made lots of enemies…including myself.

I was shut out from the world. Secluded, lost and depressed. I was unable to fit myself into any kind of conventional schema of life. Away from Facebook, Whatsapp, social events, friends and family, I made a lot of enemies. But until I put a full stop to the last sentence of the last chapter of my novel, I really could not come to terms to anything that deemed social. It was one of the darkest and painful yet sweetest moments of my life. Relationships took a toll. But now I realize how lucky I’m to have such great friends who understand me perfectly well. I would like to thank you all for all the love and support in spite of me getting tangled in my senseless pursuits!!!

The point here is that…we all need to spare some time to look back and evaluate where we are heading.

As everyone says, life is a journey and the road is much worser than a jigsaw puzzle. If we forget where we are headed…be assured we are dashing for a crash. So take a few steps backwards…stand aside…let the others pass (don’t worry, it is the tortoise that won the race)…but make sure you are heading in the right direction.

By right direction, I mean the direction of happiness. It’s no one but YOU who can define happiness. Happiness gets as relative as it gets personal.

Here I’m not talking about your credit balance, the money you got stacked up in your bank account or the brand under which you are working for. I’m talking about the happiness inside you. Being rich is important. Yes..being rich from a material stand point is essential, but being spiritually and emotionally gratified is much more significant.

What is the point if you keep on doing something that does not satisfy your intellectual needs other than provide for systematically paying your bills?

What is the point in torturing yourself in a journey towards achieving what the society perceive as success?

What is the point in doing things day in and day out if we ourselves fail to define success and happiness in our own individual terms?

What is the point in going somewhere when all it gets you is a tag that says “Hey..he is working in such and such place…”

What is the point in flowing with the river when you are quite capable of building your own ship that can master the currents?

What is the point in living a life when it’s very goals and norms are set by a bunch of people who got nothing to do with you?

What is the point in shifting from a  4BHK Mansion in your birth place in India to a 1BHK house in New York?

Well we are all that we are right now. What’s done is done..and what has happened has happened. But you can make a change when you put a break and think where you are…what you are doing right now…and where you are headed?

Absolutely necessary it is. But under no circumstance do I mean you need to quit your job. NO. But you can take some time off. Explore and try expanding your vision and try living your dreams. It will do more good than harm.

Maybe I would have missed out a few bucks in the past two years…but there is a kind of solace and peace. All because of those few hundred days of solitude.

When I started this blog, I just wanted to write some good stories that people would enjoy reading. I also wanted to bridge the gap between the reader in  you and the writer in me. Well the bridge has been built and word by word, we have zeroed the distance between us.

All this would have been impossible if it was not for a powerful factor called SOLITUDE.

And Palakkad is a treasure house of infinite peace and solitude.

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Beauty of Palakkad lies in it’s Rural Soul. Palakkad is bestowed with western winds that whisper a great story in every ear…


Now talking of networking, which you may feel is strange since it is something totally contrary to the concept of solitude. Networking and reaching out is as important as contemplating in solitude.

First of all hats off to my dear readers who have read my stories travelling in a crowded bus, in between busy office schedules, while sipping coffee in their cafeteria, working hard in a kitchen and reading in between the whistles of pressure cooker and managing a husband and a kid. Thanks to all those who shared the stories to the world and celebrated the same as if it were their own…Words fall miles short when I try to express my gratitude to you my dear readers 🙂

That makes one thing clear. No one can achieve anything alone. Every progress in the society is a collective effort by individuals who want to bring a change.

Through out the course of human evolution if you see, great changes have shaped the history of mankind when millions stood for what they believed to be true.

This is a humble beginning that is not defined by a destination. But this journey of words should continue. Not only for us, but for generations to come. We need to continue this journey. And this expedition is to make the lost generations come back to words, books and reading.

Here I would like to pitch in a small story.

After I finished writing my novel, I got really scared. I did not know if it was worth publishing and that is when I decided to meet Shri. T D Ramakrishnan (creator of the iconic Francis Itty Cora). He is one of the most prolific writers in Malayalam today and an hour of conversation with him really had me pumped up. In fact, he was the first person to actually read my novel. If it was not for his honest and sincere inputs, my writing would not never shaped this way. Words of inspiration from the great writer made me feel like “yes…I need to take my words to the world…and be accessible rather than locking myself up…”. Have no words to thank him since he instilled so much confidence in my work that whatever little apprehension was there in mind vanished.

Well I mean to say is- reaching out is as as important as confining oneself to the cocoon of solitude.

Yet another story is about my dear friend Manju.

Manju Chechi is my classmate and an ardent reader of my stories. Thanks to her she meticulously reads each and every story of mine. But the bigger part is that she takes great pain to read while managing a daughter, a joint family, an MTech thesis and project to go with it.At a time when housewives generally prefer to get glued to TV serials and masala movies, she is a class apart. Not only does she read, but she shares it with her friends as well.  And this act of kindness and support inspires me beyond limits.

You cannot achieve anything by locking up yourself in a room. The room may be your work, your problems or even yourself. There are billions out there struggling with their life…questioning the very essence of their existence. I personally cannot justify my existance if I cannot touch people in a positive way.

The tremendous satisfaction that one gets when someone reads a story, takes home a message and drops-in a word of appreciation is unparalleled. And I have always felt that it is the only reason why I should be writing.

Either we can keep chasing our selfish motives or keep doing things that we love to do.

Making this world a better place is nothing but making ourselves and people around us feel better. I consider the purpose of this blog served if it has touched one heart. We have hit bulls eye if it made one person, somewhere in this world, come back to reading and has brought a smile on a single sad face. That’s all that I expect and nothing more.

My dear friend Soorej Sukumar who reads most of my stories sitting in the middle of an ocean, calls me as early as 3 in the morning from Huston to tell me how much he enjoyed reading them. He not only makes my day..but my night as well. He is a sailor in merchant shipping.

These are the small things that really matters big.

I would like to mention some of my very good souls who were pillars of support in the journey so far:

To my dear Amma who keeps saying:

“This writing is not gonna take you anywhere idiot…” So thank you for the daily dose of challenge my dear mom… I love it when you say that. 🙂


Keeping sarcasm aside, below are a some of the individuals I will always be indebted to:

Shri. Mohan Chettoor and family…the gravity of support you have rendered me cannot be fathomed in words. A pat on the back means a lot to me at this stage. And Vinatha your words have always been my backbone

Mrs. Preetha Vinayachandran…as always one of my finest critics.

Prabala is my friend from the GEC times and she is someone to watch out for. Prabala is a terrific writer and is working on her first collection of short stories in Malayalam. I have read a few of them & they are fabulous. She really supported me during the earlier stages of my blog.

All my dear friends of GEC Sreekrishnapuram easpecially Ranjeeth (a.k.a Paramu) and Vineesha (Vinu), Reshma (another great blogger of Trillionsmile.com), Miss Minnessota- Deepthi Mohana Kurup, Shankar, Vipin Mohan, Aneesh CeeCee…you guys have been simply awesome.

My dear dear friends of MACE MTech Batch… Especially Tigy- the wonder man who let me borrow his name for a few stories. Well the stories were huge hits…Thanks to that name. Then Thasri Bhai…for reading my blogs and telling me how much you enjoyed reading them. Sijin, Najeeb, Akhiljith (a.k.a Bruce), Riyaz Khan (King Khan), Arya, Nuna, Manju Chechi, Vinay, Unni, Roshni and Chandu.

Nandan and Anusha who have shown tremendous belief in me. You guys have supported me through every situation in life…thick and thin. We are more family than friends!!!

Thanks to Naveen who encouraged me to write as much as I want when I really got doubts regards the length of my blogs. Thank you for these words bro:

“The length does not matter….as long as you keep writing good stuff we will keep reading.

Thanks Madhu, Jawahar , Vivek Vaidyanathan, Nanditha Menon , Remya Mol and Uthara for your support.

Suman for reading my blogs while travelling to and from between her home and office in Malaysia.

My dear friend Vishnu Ramakrishnan, with whom you can talk for five minutes and you will be asking primary questions of existence.  Or you can say- “Existential questions of survival…”

Aravindan Uncle- The man who wrote Koundan Kallam. Who was the first novelist I ever met. You have been a great inspiration.

Nimitha Shajahan , Srichandra Mukherjee Venkataraman , Anand, Sabari, Deepika Kumaraguru, Sid and Deepa Chechi for being honest critics…Thank you so much dears!!!

Another great friend and singer Anoop asked me for links to my stories one night Only latter did I know that he was waiting in hospital eagerly waiting for his sister’s delivery. Happy that he is now a proud uncle of a baby boy…but that moment shook me.

My friend and junior in college Manu messaged me once while travelling to Delhi that he has started writing. Happy!!!

Thank you Shanty for reading most of my stories sitting in a crowded KSRTC buses and taking time out of your busy schedules. Your every word of appreciation means a lot to me.

Nuna who read all the stories on a flight from Kochi to Chandigarh and asked for more.

Another friend, Nayana started a blog that has cute stories about common things perceived fantastically from a different perspective.

Captain Praveen, yet another friend of mine calls up and tells me:

“Man you have woken up the sleeping reader in me…” Well he used to read, and I’m happy that in my own humble way I was able bring back his reading habit.

Few days back I met Ammu who was for the past few weeks shuttling between Palakkad and Aluva on a daily basis and I felt delighted when she casually told me that:

“Da TK your blogs were good time pass while travelling…”

I said “wawooo” …some one was finding home with the blog and that was the crucial moment when I realised that there are things worth more precious than money.

Gopu, my friend told me that he loved reading The Boy Who Dreamed of Booker. My dear friend Nirmal and his wife Prathiba…and there are many more…those invisible readers…Thank you one and all!!!

Last but not the least,thanks to those old, moss shrouded village walls that stand testimony to the most powerful ingredient to weave a great story…SOLITUDE!!!

The old village wall... A testimony to the power and beauty of solitude.
An old temple wall in Mannur… rugged mud bricks shrouded in mosses.  A testimony to the power and beauty of solitude…and gripping stories of generations in it’s heart…

The Author of this blog is Srinath Krishnamoorthy who like millions out there is trying to figure out what needs to be done with life. After bidding good bye to an eventful software career that spanned just 3 small years, he right now breaking his head working on his MTech thesis. It also comes as a surprise that in his lunatic quest for
The Author of this blog is Srinath Krishnamoorthy who like millions out there is trying to figure out what needs to be done with life. After bidding goodbye to an eventful software career that spanned just 3 small years, he right now breaking his head working on his MTech thesis. It also comes as a surprise that in his lunatic quest for “figuring out life” he ended up writing a novel “Hope We Never Meet Again” which will be coming out soon…how soon only god knows!!!

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DETECTIVE MODI & THE BIN LADEN VISIT

Detective Harish Modi took the call from the Sheriff’s department and right away he smelled trouble…

The period after September 11 attacks were one of the darkest in American history. A country known for free will was engulfed in dark cloud of fear
The period after September 11 attacks saw one of the darkest phases in American history. A country known for free will and happy citizens was for a long time engulfed in a dark cloud of fear

PROLOGUE


September 11, 2001 Tuesday  USA:

Four passenger airliners—which all departed from airports in the U.S. East Coast bound for California—were hijacked by 19 al-Qaeda terrorists to be flown into buildings. Two of the planes, American Airlines Flight 11 and United Airlines Flight 175, were crashed into the North and South towers, respectively, of the World Trade Centre complex in New York City. Within an hour and 42 minutes, both 110-story towers collapsed with debris and the resulting fires causing partial or complete collapse of all other buildings in the World Trade Centre complex, including the 47-story 7 World Trade Centre tower, as well as significant damage to ten other large surrounding structures. A third plane, American Airlines Flight 77, was crashed into the Pentagon—the headquarters of the United States Department of Defence—in Arlington County, leading to a partial collapse in the Pentagon’s western side. The fourth plane, United Airlines Flight 93, initially was steered toward Washington, D.C., but crashed into a field near Shanksville, Pennsylvania, after its passengers tried to overcome the hijackers. In total, the attacks claimed the lives of 2,996 people (including the 19 hijackers) and caused at least $10 billion in property and infrastructure damage. It was the deadliest incident for fire fighters and law enforcement officers in the history of the United States, with 343 and 72 killed respectively.

By November it was clear that the master mind behind these terrorist attacks was a man called Osama Bin Laden. The same man who CIA mocked as an Afgan-tribal who lived in caves and travelled on donkeys became the most wanted man on earth overnight. His images kept flashing on television sets across USA.

Bin Laden becomes the most wanted man on earth
Bin Laden becomes the most wanted man on earth and he really scared the shit out of Americans post 9/11

Morning 5:00 AM, December 25, 2001, Tuesday New York:

There were strict orders from the Sheriff’s Department to keep a close watch over the neighbourhoods. They had unconfirmed reports from FBI of another attack from al-Qaeda on the Christmas day. So James Morgan , a senior deputy in the NYPD (New York City Police Dept.) was extra cautious while patrolling down town Manhattan. His friend and fellow patrolling officer Ryan Fisher was off-duty that day. The reason being his desire for a comfy X’mas eve with his girlfriend Roveena. But the 45 year old, barrel chested James Morgan was not bothered. For him duty was everything. After he meticulously patrolled the peaceful Manhattan China Town, he entered the “Curry Row“, famous for Indian Resturants, located in the East Village. He casually glanced at the closed doors with the Christmas stars glowing outside many of them. This was a peaceful place and was devoid of much trouble. Indians hardly looked for trouble unlike other Asian or Arab dwellers of NY. As he headed for the next street, he abruptly stopped the Patrol Car. Even now people were scared to come out into streets. The 9/11 had scared the shit out of them. There were hardly any people on the streets.The car screeched to a stop, skidding over the thin layer of snow flakes. Under the dim lit street lamps, he saw a poster with a strangely familiar face.  Around 10 houses in a row had the poster of a man with a beard stuck to it’s door. Morgan smelt trouble.

Deputy Morgan lowered the window to take a closer look as the cold December wind slapped his skin. But what was more shocking was the face of the person on the poster that teasingly smiled at him. He looked so much like a godly incarnation and the face of global terror at the same time. There was a strange glow in those eyes. Something divine which seemed to pierce even the darkness and touch Morgan’s heart. Morgan could not believe what he was seeing. Around 10 houses boldly carried the posters of the “most wanted man on earth”.The beard , those sparkling eyes and the pristine white robes that resembled prophet….

Morgan went for his radio in a flash.

“Patrol man Morgan here… there is a situation…over”

“Yes Morgan…wazzup there…” a sweet female voice answered his emergency.

“Be serious Martha… get me the Sheriff over the line…” there was a  kind of deadly urgency in his voice.

“What is the matter Morgan??” Martha questioned with concern in her voice.

“Give the fucking call to Sheriff…will you? There is an emergency situation out here on the 6th street…”

“OK Morgan..”

He waited for seconds that seemed like hours and then a sleepy voice broke the scratchy silence of his radio:

“Yess Morgan…What is it this time? Robbery or murder…” Sheriff Ricardo Thomson boomed over the speakers

“Sir there is situation here at the “Curry Row”, East Village 6th Street…”

“What is it..?”

“Sir almost 10 houses have Osama Bin Laden’s poster stuck over their doors … I can smell trouble…”

Sheriff Ricardo felt as if the Earth was slipping from under his feet.

“What the Fuck Morgan? Are you sure… ” he barked over the micro phone

“Damn sure sir..it’s him…”

“Morgan… can you see any activities there?”

“No Sir. but things look spooky Sir…no one in the streets and I can smell trouble…”

“Morgan… I will send a team up there… just move away from there to the next avenue… stay put down and keep an eye over there…be careful…”

And the radio went dead.The Sheriff was swift with his decisions and words.

Slowly Morgan drove to the far end of the opposite street, made a U turn and parked his car facing the Curry Row. He hid himself under the shadows and watched intently. Nothing happened for 10 minutes, then a car sped through the 6th Street. From the head lamps he gathered that there were cops inside that car. They slowed down near the houses that hosted the posters of Osama Bin Laden, but did not stop. They came towards straight towards him. His radio came to life.

“Sheriff Thomson here…it is HIM. Morgan remain where you are. Calling in more forces and Martha… you get me the FBI on this one…”

“Positive…” replied Morgan

“Right away Sheriff…” confirmed Martha.

“Who the hell put up HIS posters over their door Morgan?” Sheriff Thomson barked over the radio.

“Beats me sir…” was the only reply Morgan could give 😦

***

5:30 AM FBI Head Quarters, 26 Federal Plaza, New York

FBI agent-detective Harish Modi of the Internal Security Command was cheerfully having beer with his fellow american agents. He was over 6 feet tall, and well built. Wearing white cotton shirt, folded till his elbow and black formal trousers with the FBI badge glowing over his left waist, he meant business. His handsome stubbles, shrewd eyes and battle beaten physique reflected command and intelligence from top to bottom. It was Christmas and that called for celebration. But unlike previous years, this year’s celebrations at FBI HQ was kept low profile. Harish was an American by birth. Though his roots were still in Gujarat (India), for almost two generations his family members had lived, worked and died as Americans. He was an American to his core and hated terrorists.

As they were about to cut the X’mas cake, the phone rang and the emergency lights blared red. Sure there was some crisis as the caller ID indicated Sheriff, NYPD at the other end. Harish picked the call:

“Hello, Harish Modi… FBI HQ New York…” he introduced himself

“Sheriff here…there is a situation…” And Sheriff Thomson’s words gave the scare of a lifetime to Detective Modi.

In less than 15 minutes, a team of FBI agents led by Detective Modi were on their way to 6th street, down town Manhattan. He kept wondering why a peaceful Indian settlement would have Osama Bin Laden’s posters put up over their doors? It gave him goosebumps when he thought about the possibility of terrorist coup of American Indians who lived in the 6th street. It was only a few weeks since Al-Qaeda had threatened to attack Indians. Could this be it? Harish Modi found his body going numb with fear.As they neared the avenue, surprisingly Mr.Rudy Giuliani’s (NYC Mayor) voice cracked over the Radio.

“Detective Modi… Mayor here. Is everything OK on the ground? I’m here at the Sheriff’s office…”

“We are heading for the troubled zone Sir.. Will update you once we gauge the situation..over..” Modi was shocked to see the situation getting escalated now.

“Do we need to get the President’s office into this son?” There was grave fear in the Mayor’s voice.

Detective Modi thought for a moment and replied:

“Not until I get back to you Sir…” and the radio went dead.

The black GTA FBI truck slowed to a stop as it neared the houses with medium size posters stuck over their doors and Modi along with his 15 member commando team disembarked from the rear. They looked highly lethal in their black sophisticated commando suit.

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Modi with his team crouched towards the first house cautiously like leopards going for the kill. The sun had still not come out. But for the dim street lamps, it was still dark. As they reached the pavement of the first house, Modi suddenly stopped and lowered his MP5/10 submachine gun. He stared at the door and took off his helmet. His fellow commandos were surprised and asked him what the matter was in sign language. Modi did not reply, but he walked towards the house as if he was going to buy a Coke. While others watched in complete horror, Modi went to the door of the house and tore the poster. He looked at it for a long time and started laughing. He laughed and laughed as if he had gone mad. He fell down and giggled thunderously in front of the house as his team mates watched him completely clueless.

Suddenly there was movement inside the house and lights came to life over the porch. A middle aged man opened the door. He was literally shocked as 14 semi-automatic MP5/10 rifles stood menacingly aimed at his chest. He was equally surprised to see an officer rolling in front of the house with a poster in one hand and a riffle in the other.

Suddenly Modi realised he had gone a little overboard and stopped laughing.

“Sorry guys… this thing just beat the air out of me…this is…”but he could not stop laughing, then realized that a resident of the house was watching the show dumbfounded.

“Sir..is there any problem?” the middle aged Indian man muttered. He looked as if he would pee in his pyjamas any moment.

“Opps sorry sir…” Modi apologised to the Indian and instructed his team to lower the guns. Then he asked :

“When is he coming and what is the fee you are charging…?”

The Indian looked relieved now and replied with a sigh:

“Today around 11:00 AM sir and the entry is free…in case you wanna join us…”

“Sorry for bothering you sir… can I keep the poster?

“Off Course sir.. you can keep it…”

“Thank you sir…and Merry Christmas..” Modi thanked him.

“Merry Christmas officers…” the Indian man replied with a smile and closed the door.

Detective Harish Modi walked back towards the truck and his team followed the suit. Their nerves were relaxed and tensed at the same time. Modi spoke over the radio to the Sheriff

“Mr. Thomson…”

“Yes Mr. Modi… is everything all right?”

“Yes Mr. Sheriff… everything is A-OK… In case you wanna experience The Art of Living, feel free to drop by…the entry is free…”

“What…”Sheriff shouted over the radio, but Modi cut the call and was on his way back to FBI HQ.

The entire FBI team had a hearty laugh looking at the poster of Sri Sri Ravishanker, but made sure they attended his session. So did Sheriff Thomson, Mayor Rudy Guilani and most important of all, Patrolman Morgan.

From that day, till he retired from his official service, Partolman James Morgan was nicknamed “Bin-Laden Morgan”.

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**Based on a true incident from Kerala.

*The End*

***This is a story written with a good intention and please do not mix religious sentiments with this. The story showcases the level to which Americans felt insecure post 9/11 and many such funny incidents have occurred. Kindly read it and have a laugh. If possible forget this story. It is not my intention to hurt anybody’s religious sentiments.

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Dreams are to be lived…

“Dreams are to be lived, not chased.”

Dreams. Indeed they are strange. They define the very essence of our existence but still we waver away from them. Are we all scared to chase our dreams? Well, I would say “chasing dreams” is a cliché and has lot negative than positive. What is wrong with that you may ask. We need to chase our dreams correct? But I would disagree. Dreams are to be lived, not chased. Whenever you say “I’m chasing my dream..” our brain automatically gives an image of us running behind something that in turn is running away from us. So next time you get that over whelming feeling of making your dreams a reality just close your eyes, take a deep breath and then with your body, mind and soul envision your dream. Never think about the phrase “chasing your dream” instead fill each and every cell of your body exactly with the feeling of “living your dream”. Let that feeling sink in, deep in your mind. Feel that you are experiencing what you dreamed of achieving. Then open your eyes. Do it everyday. Get motivated and your actions after this fruitful contemplation will take you one step closer to your dream. The wind, the trees, the clouds and the rains would conspire like a wonderful orchestra to make you sing your way towards the destination of your life. There is this big wall of fear that stands between ourselves and the dreams that we love to live. That wall is our biggest enemy.But there is hope. This wall of fear is just a myth. We think it’s there, but it’s really not there. In fact, fear is the twin of every man. But those who cleverly finds a way around this twin finds success.

People are happy as long as you keep doing what they are doing. But as soon as you try doing something different, they shake up all at once. Never listen to the naysayers… and if there is too much pressure just understand that you are too close achieving what they have even not dared to dream !!!

But fear lurks in every nook and corner of life. It does follow you and in those crucial junctures, it stands and smiles at you. A ruthless smile though. FEARs are bricks which we have accumulated over the years from our society. But there is always a path less taken. Your every step may be deemed as a hearsay by the society and men who constitute that obsolete system. Fear not, move ahead. Follow the pebbles and grass.Follow the stars of vision and winds of solitude and there at the end of that lonely, winding path you will find the palace of your dreams. A palace, million times greater in grandeur than what you saw in your dreams. For every struggle life gives us in the path to glory, smile at it like nothing can deter you now. You are already experiencing that bliss.

Again, never chase the dreams…live them, walk with them for they are to be lived not chased.


The Author of this blog is Srinath Krishnamoorthy who like millions out there is trying to figure out what needs to be done with life. After a brief stint as a software test engineer in Tech Mahindra, he is right now pursuing an MTech in Computer Science & Engineering in MA College of Engineering, Kothamangalam. His debut novel Hope We Never Meet Again is getting ready to be released this year.
The Author of this blog is Srinath Krishnamoorthy who like millions out there is trying to figure out what needs to be done with life. After a brief stint as a software test engineer in Tech Mahindra, he is right now pursuing an MTech in Computer Science & Engineering in MA College of Engineering, Kothamangalam. His debut novel Hope We Never Meet Again is getting ready to be released this year.

By Srinath Krishnamoorthy

Reach me : srinathtk86@gmail.com

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