Other Entries for Pothiz

Captured by hope

by Sonal Ghuwalewala

What abides is incredulity in the incorrigible opportunism of being.
The sweet fragrance of the soul seducing my life with a dream which comes true!

Vibhor was weeping copiously between bouts of imbecile laughter. The weeping belonged to the spirit, which carried the conditioned life of his body. Only he felt the collapse within, while the commune could only see his jolly exterior. It was the façade of a forty-five years old family man in a thriving business. A fairly prosperous prospect for an entourage -who was shop keeping. There was a woman by his side with two children- a girl and a boy. They were greeting everybody with smiles between yawns. It was like a shadow play of the half living on the sprawling fabric of society, made by man to nourish the instincts. But the spirit had a fundamental need which went beyond the instincts. A need which makes the organism sick if denied. This was manifested in the yearning to give and receive love without motive. It was weeping from this abysmal deprivation. Vibhors silent weeping was transmitting itself into the artistic sensitivity of his spouse - Rama. Everything was an uncreative drag- business, household chores and the (Read full article)

A Night to Remember

by Fred Hose

It was a soiree like many others. Although formal dress was prevalent, some of those present were dressed kind of bohemian smart. In the background of the large room was a table, laden with snacks and exotic tidbits and a large array of bottles of wines and spirits.
Centre-stage was a large Bechstein Grand. It was almost too large but somehow served to set the stage for the evening perfectly. This impression was augmented by a number of shaped candles holding wine bottles packed with a thick layer of wax collected over many nights of candle burning.
The candles made one think of those poets that once gathered by candlelight in cellars in Bohemia. Here in the room, the dancing flames cast patterns on the walls and on the faces present.
The atmosphere was highly charged and there was an almost tangible expectation in the air. The buzz of lively conversation the bursts of laughter that filled the air seemed to be a prelude of some kind..
It was as if each person present had come to the gathering half expecting a moment of some importance to occur. One that would live on in their memories. They had no idea (Read full article)

Realization

by Rachna Joshi

The first and last time I saw her dance was on television. It was one of those unpleasant nights, stiflingly hot and even though our six odd windows were open, I could not help feeling as if someone had knotted my trachea. From the bedroom, Anjali’s snores, monotonous and persistent were making me feel like…like a damn, hot, sticky fly going buzz, buzz, buzz. Yes, that’s it, strange but it was buzz, buzz, buzz. My unimaginative brain was obviously not seeking higher symphonies.

Suddenly, the screen vibrated, a long, black leg, beautifully curved foot, then another leg , similarly encased in mourning. A sudden fluid sensation ran through me as a sleek hip muscle rippled. Then the stage was all of her.

Big eyes, kohl-lined long nose, hollow cheeks and a mouth which was far too big. The hair was swept back, almost too severely, and secured into a tight bun at the base of the neck.

The announcer’s voice crackled over…she, suffering from tonsilitis, sinusitis and adenoids all the time. So, this was what she was going to dance…Realization.

My irritation got the better of me and I went to shut the bedroom door…to shut out Anjali’s snores, physically as well as mentally. (Read full article)

The Mirage

by Ranjith Boyanapalli

# I speak

My memory fails me as I try to recollect the last time I observed myself in a mirror. I have loathed and detached myself from the reflection that surfaces. I learnt about its depressing features, through various comments made by the society that revolves my life. Rather, revolved my life, as it is now obsolete. The only bright spot of being a victim of nature’s wicked games is that you end up being a philosopher. Combine it with some authoring skills, and you become me. A man at war with himself, who cant face the world, except through his writings.

# Asha speaks

I was a dreamer. I was optimistic to the extent of amusing destiny. I embraced marriage two years back, with soaring hopes and unfulfilled dreams. It has been cruel to me, just to the extent of changing my perceptions about life. Gone were the fantasies of a prince charming, and entered a person whose idea of romance is sweating it out on the bed, and the most intimate talk we ever had was about his work life. I have lost my right to emote naturally, and am expected to supply love, sex and respect, all on demand. (Read full article)

What to do with Mama?

by W La Bouchardiere

“Mama, you have gone grown old and feeble. You better come and live with us.”
“Nothing doing!” answered his mother.
“I love you very much. Worry about your safety is causing me sleepless nights.”
“Humph! I bet your wife is jumping in glee I am not living with you” she retorted.
His mother had been the pivot of his life since his Father’s sudden death. His siblings and they owed much of their success to her. He felt it is the least he can do for her now.
He continued to coax her, “We feel you will have a better life than living in that run down house, in the middle of nowhere, with no support system at hand.”
“You owe me nothing. It was my love and duty that made you three what you are. The rundown house is where you lived once upon a time. We coped very well.”
“We sure did. But you are no longer young and active.”
“I have God with me.”
“You will also have him with you when you live with us.”
“I will think about it. Now go, you have a plane to catch” his mother shooed him off.
He flew back (Read full article)

As the sense of space reduces around us, we tend to feel increasingly insecure. What is solitude in an open space becomes loneliness in a busy, noisy surrounding. While in an open space one feels an extraordinary balance of sensory reception, the city streets tend to privilege the eye over the rest of senses. And the eye is aggressive, it is not content to sit passively and bear witness. It is socially trained to be 'watchful' for it is forever threatened, which is why the communication which has infinite possibilities in an open space is dominated helplessly by threat perception as one moves to spaces marked by high-rises and architectural monsters, machines running against time and men trying so hard to survive they don't mind killing. Threat – that lies at the core of all that we perceive around us – is the magic wand that renders a labyrinthine quality to all matter; it turns each one of us into an abyss.

If there could be a definition of what an open space is, it must insist on complete absence of this labyrinthine attribute of matter that inhabits that space. Indeed, it should not be taken to mean that an open (Read full article)

The Unknown Hero

by William A. Kooiker

“Gods almighty!”

The words were scarcely whispers past the chapped lips of the soldier who stood like an effigy, his somber eyes gazing beyond the steppes of the mountain range to the valley beyond. The man was atop one of the several watchtowers located at various intervals within the city of Arrow’s Peak, and this particular one gave him a clear view of the unwelcome sight ahead. His pale, muscular arms flexed as they rested on the parapet, his breath white mist hanging about his face in the crux of the winter season. Every one of his limbs ached from the cold and his cheeks were numb, yet he cared little, for the only matter of importance was the enormous army that advanced in that valley below, toward the city.

Truly, it was a sight to be seen. At least thirty-thousand troops marched, their blood-red banners waving amidst the winter chill like a grim precursor of impending doom. At least a legion of footmen, trudging along in crimson tabards, their pikes pointed to the sky, and cavalry as well, intermingling with the horde. No doubt those cursed war-priests were among them, clad in their outlandish cloaks and skull masks. Adding to (Read full article)