Song Writer_8, 4, 10, 2_Angie and her fascination with Time Capsules_An ode to Dilli
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Song Writer
Sasha sat at her desk - the window in her apartment eroded with sunshine on a warm afteroon in July. Her writing tablets sat in front of her, her guitar beside her as she jotted down notes, - quarter notes fifth notes, dum de de dum, she hummed to herself while she played, wrote and worked on her new song. The cafe would be busy tonight, a Saturday and she wanted to finish it so she could sing it later as her introduction song, it wasnt a long one either and she was almost done anyway. Sasha just liked to write her music down to have it in her collections. "Sasha, hey girl what's up?" buzz buz...
8, 4, 10, 2
Entering this place, she realized it smelled of smoke. For a country where smoking was frowned upon, and you could not find a public space, indoor or outdoor, to smoke at, this came as a shock. The smell was stained, it was that smell of a room that was smoked a lot in, but no one ever vented it. She spread her nostrils in disgust upon realizing, besides the stained smell, how filthy this place actually was. Chewing gums and food crumbs were now embroidered into the carpets over which everyone was walking. It would not have been so dirty if everyone from the outside would not walk over it a t...
Angie and her fascination with Time Capsules
Life has been like a momentary relapse, phasing in and phasing out, Angie had been in her dreams relocating to places, making memories in dozens, and replaying them in her mind in a loop. This is the story of a girl with a barely-there existence, not because she was not admired by her fellow compatriots, but she secluded herself to the truest of extent. A girl who somehow cushioned her apathies through learning bit by bit, then some more and even more, what fascinated her was time warps and how it's existence seemed all starry to her. She in her mind cocooned the possibilities and managed to e...
An ode to Dilli
Aarti decided to take the Rajdhani to Delhi after years instead of flying down. She looked out of the window and recognized stations whizzing past whose names she once knew by heart – Ghaziabad, Shahdara. When the train crossed Minto Bridge, she knew they were going to arrive at New Delhi junction within a few minutes confirmed by the excited cries of “Dilli aa gaya [We have arrived in Delhi]’ from co-passengers. Strains of a familiar language, glimpses of familiar people told her she had come home. But the rates the porter demanded from her told her that she did not blend in. She shouted at t...