Day 04: Favorite Film Adaptation of a Book


Yes, movies are great but books are entirely a different thing. I don’t enjoy watching stuff as much as reading it and viewing it unfold within my mind.

What we create for ourselves is a lot more closer to our heart than anything else; like that crooked clay pot we mold, the colors we fill on a canvas, a poem we bleed from our soul or a story from a book we have read, viewed through our own imaginative juices, unreel in our mind.


That is all needs to be said.


Down the road she went…

down the road she went

with a letter in her hand,

summoning the post master,

she told him of her predicament-

he who was gone to war

had not returned back,

what had appeared was a sheet

smeared with a blood like seal,

she who could not read a single word

plead before the kind gentleman

to tell her what it contained,


the bespectacled man read carefully

and told her, her son was well,

that was what the letter said

while he faced away from her,

he handed back to her the sheet

and confirmed that her son was fine,

he had reached his final abode,

away, safe from war and hunger,


she shrieks, cries, wails, screams,

clutching the collar of his shirt,

and befell on her knees,

praying for who was never to return,

he supported her up and

they looked at each other,

waiting for the other one to

break that ominous silence

but it remained all still

while the sun dipped into the sea,

leaving behind a trace of red tinge.

that feeling

you know that feeling

when out of nowhere,

a thought comes across your mind

and you want to jot it down,


not because it is an important thought

but because something within you is urging you

to bring out the flicker of that light

that passed by the contours of your mind,


scribble it on a piece of paper

with a blue ink or black or even red,

keep on writing till the time

you have completely puked it out,


then store it inside a table drawer

already flooding with many such others,

place it carefully at the top

to be read some time in the future,


when you have almost forgotten about it,

one day you find it lying there lifeless, still

and read it in the light of the day

and simply smile at that cold thing from the past.

The Evil

The evil stands up when I stand

It sleeps beside me on the bed

It is there when I eat

And also when I try to read and write

I feel its presence-

A chill descends upon my body

And my soul craves to run there and then

But I am lost

I want that evil to stand up when I stand

To sleep beside me on the bed

Be there when I eat

Also when I read and write

I want its presence around me

Because that evil is no one but me.

That evil is no one but me

Me being responsible for my deeds

I hurt myself

I kick myself in the shins

That evil is no one but me

That evil is no one but me…

That evil is no one but me

I am the one who deals with me

 I am the one who is my worst enemy

I am responsible for everything 

Everything, everything, everything

That evil is no one but me…

I do not know

who I am


I struggle to see

myself within


I do not know

who I am


I can’t find



Draw me, sketch me….

Draw me, sketch me, make a portrait of the being that is me

Show me who I am, what I do, which way I should go

Show it to me through your art, tell me who I am

Write me, read me, scan me, make a novel out of me

Let me know who I am, what I do, which way I should go

Let me be known through your creativity who I am

Won’t you do this for me, this much I ask from you

Would you do this for me, I ask nothing else from you

Show me, let me know- would you?- Draw me, sketch me,

write me, read me, make a portrait, write a novel out of me.