A struggling writer

I do some odd jobs just because of some money,

But Jobs are boring and killing creativity of mine,

I hate to obey someone’s order,

I hate to restrict myself within the boundary make by other.

Job never gives me satisfaction,

Writing gives me pleaser,

but no enough wealth for bread and butter . . .

Stories satisfy my creativity,

I get claps and appreciation,

But I don’t get money to survive this material Nation…

With empty stomach I write some poem and stories,

Nights after nights passed with some characters,

I narrate my all emotion and imagination in pen and paper,

Without even reading it Publishers send me rejection letters…

Parents want money now,

Girlfriend’s parents need a service,

But who convince my heart,

who has found happiness from stories . . .

I’m an idiot now say my friends,

And I’m a Rascal for my parents,

My classmates now become job holder,

Proudly mention designation of them in Facebook and twitter,

They wear tie and put their company identity card with honor,

Talking about their meeting, targets and workloads,

But still I’m just a struggling writer…


I want you as my better half

I expect you near me when I ‘m in trouble,

At my dining table with my kids,

With my parents when they need…

I dream you in my bed,

Where we love each other whole night,

after close the light,

A bed tea with you every morning,

although we have some fight …

I need a kiss in every morning,

While go to work,

Want to take gift for you to make you laugh . . .

When we’ll become old,

I want a cup of coffee from your hands,

Little love and care,

I want you to play with our gland children,

And also want to see their marriage,

I want to spend my whole life with you,

I want you as my better half . . .

How to know a man loves you or not?

‘I don’t want to stay with him, he has no time for me,’ Anita complained, resting her luggage over the floor.  ‘He loves only money; he has no feeling for me.’

Anita was complaining about her husband.

‘What? How can you say it?’ said Anita’s father, defending his son-in-law. ‘He is going to start a new company, so it would be a busy time for him.’

‘Can’t he just give five minutes to me every day? No dad, he isn’t doing anything for me, for him only money is important,’ argued back Anita and entered inside her room. Her father didn’t want to argue more, so he signaled his young daughter Sima to convince Anita.

Anita sat over her bed, looking depress; Sima went and sat beside her. ‘Don’t try to lecture me, you don’t even imagine what’s going on in my life,’ Anita warned.

‘Nope, I don’t come to talk about your family issue, you are more mature than me, you can handle everything beautifully, take your own time.’

She prepared to leave, suddenly stopped and said, ‘let’s go somewhere, I’m going outside, why you don’t come with me?’ she suggested to her sister. Anita wasn’t interested but Sima insisted a lot and took Anita to restaurant.

The restaurant was small but beautiful, while they were waiting for their order a young man came near them. Anita marked a big smile on Sima’s lips.

The young man came and hugged Sima with a big smile.

‘Hi  . . . if I’m not wrong, you are Anita, Sima’s sister,’ the young man guessed.

‘Rahul, my boyfriend,’ whispered Sima in Anita’s ear.

Anita grinned and invited Rahul to join with them.  ‘Isn’t your plan to convince me first? So that you can get my support to convince dad,’ Anita muttered.

Sima nodded her head with a smile, blushing. To hide her excitement she pretended to worry about their order.

That time Anita found an old man glancing at an old woman intensely, the old woman said something, blushing like a teen age girl. She liked the chemistry between them. It reminded her about her college life and her love story.

‘They are my parents,’ Rahul told, and brought his parents near Anita and Sima, both girl bowed her head in classic Indian style.  Rahul’s father signaled something by his hand in a sign language, looking excited.

‘He’s saying, nice to meet you,’ Rahul’s mother translated.

Anita shocked; she understood that Rahul’s father couldn’t speak.

‘You won’t even imagine, my parents’ marriage was a love marriage, it might be the first love marriage after the Independent.’ Rahul said after his father went inside the kitchen room to bring something special for them.

‘Those times love wasn’t so demanding,’ added Rahul’s mother. ‘We couldn’t meet every day, we had no chance to talk, and it wasn’t possible by him too.’

‘How had he purposed you?’ Anita asked in amazement.

‘Purpose, what it is? He’d never purposed me,’ Rahul’s mom replied.

‘How you knew about his feeling, I mean, how he told you ‘I love you?’

‘Men, can speak or not, isn’t good in expressing their love, you can find it in their eyes, look how he glanced at me it’s love, when he gifts me something, when he cares me, it’s his love,’ said Rahul’s mom romantically. ‘Look at this hotel, it’s his dream, he’s has spent more than fifteen years of his saving to build it but named it by my name, its love, doesn’t it?’

Anita was amazed, she read the hotel name at the time of return, and the hotel name was Gita. She thought and thought about her husband, she could now see lot of love for her in her husband’s eyes, she understood she had done a mistake, she went near her husband, she found her husband was waiting for her desperately.

‘Where had you gone? You phone was showing unreachable, I was worried,’ he said worriedly, checking her body temperature by his palm.

She understood her husband hadn’t slightest idea about her anger. ‘Nowhere, Just went to meet with my dad,’ she said, glancing at the clock. ‘Why did you come so early?’

‘Oh! My company got the certificate, within few days it will be listed at stock market,’ he said excitingly, taking a deep breath. ‘Just need a good shower, be ready, today we go for a dinner and movie,’ he added before entering inside the bathroom.


Anita looked amazed and happy. That time her eyes fell over a file, ‘Anita consultancy service’ wrote over it. she couldn’t stop her happy tear now,  it  fell down from her eyes . . .