Offered my heart, Stole my virginity.

virginity

No complaints – A letter of apology

First time when I noticed you, my heart skipped a beat.
I knew how out of my league you were, but my heart didn’t care about it.
I should have been wise and made it stop wanting you.

Your flattering manner of speaking overwhelmed me with fantasies.
Words of love escaping your tongue and resting on my ears was all my heart wished for.
I should have been realistic enough to separate reality & fantasy.

The pending request from you in my inbox was a shock I couldn’t take.
I should have been smart enough to only give you my notes and talk further.
(Shouldn’t have been over-excited since the next shock might have almost killed me from a heart attack.)

“I want to date you.” Lame.
That’s not how you express your feelings! Especially over text?! Outrageous!
But oh, I should have been strong enough to say a simple “No”.

Watching movies in a theater was never my way of spending time nor money.
But a horror movie on our first date kinda turned me on and you promised me a surprise.
I should have been selfless enough to be happy with only holding your hand.

My heart wanted to, but I knew kissing under the stairs could get us in trouble.
“I love the thrill you give me.” You excused, when I resisted and I forgot everything else.
I should have been honest enough and told you about my paranoia.

Months passed and our movie dates became more frequent and our kisses lost count.
You made me feel special and that’s all I ever wanted.
You had my heart, but I should have been selfish enough to keep it to my self.

The day came when you were home alone. “Come prepared.” You told me, but I was too naïve.
You opened the door and I saw your apartment for the first time.
That day, we cuddled for hours and then there was nothing else I ever wanted.

A week later, you said you couldn’t resist cuddling me and booked a hotel room for us.
How was I to know you’d ask me something I was never prepared for?
When you pulled up the condom, I recoiled. “It’s safe, darling.”
You put a hand in my hair and caressed me. “I don’t want to. Not yet.” I cried out.
“Don’t you trust me?” There, you pulled the perfect bait. Of course, I trusted you.

But I was afraid. Afraid of everything I should have been afraid of since day one that I wasn’t.
Eventually, I gave in to your requests and we did it. It wasn’t the best day of my life, as I had imagined it to be.
Nor did losing my virginity have enough pleasure to make me feel any less guilty than I still do.
But I found solace in the hope that you’d be with me until the end.
I should have learned by now that I was wrong. But I didn’t learn it myself so you taught me.

A year from our first date, you texted me you don’t feel the same about me.
You broke up with me the same way you proposed me. Over texts.
And both the times, the texts changed my world.
I should have ruined your life but I couldn’t, all because my stupid heart loved you.

Witnessed you change your next girls like we changed our kissing spots.
I still can’t stop my heart from loving you since you still have it.
But I have changed, now.

I’m wise enough to not want you back in my life.
Realistic enough to know you’re never coming back.
Smart enough to not be in the same mess as you left me in.
Strong enough to live without worrying what you think of me.
Selfless enough to still care for your well being.
And I’ve learned every lesson of my life you taught me.

So, darling, this ain’t a come-back-to-me plea or sympathize-my-life show-off.
It’s an apology to me for underestimating myself.


©The Honest Fabler
©Image Credits – Ashutosh Gursale (@framesandfables)

Umbrella – An Impromptu Fable

umbrella

The Polka Dotted Umbrella

It wasn’t my choice to get polka dotted umbrella, but my mom insisted and I couldn’t reject.

I was 10, back then. Yet I understood enough and hated the girly color of it.
At times, when the rain came in after our school ended I avoided to take it out and would rather get wet. I was sure my school mates won’t let me just live with it. Especially, Ronit, my next door bully. When we were children, we were the best of friends but these days he didn’t even acknowledge me in school.

Obviously, my mom knew I did it on purpose and still tried to explain me how the judgement of others don’t matter. So, I did it. Three months after I got the umbrella, on an afternoon after school the rain pour started. I remembered her words and dared to open it. It took me a lot of courage to take the embarrassing shade out but I was close to my home & the road was almost deserted. I sighed with relief.

But oh, I wasn’t so lucky. I noticed Ronit waiting under a roof of a grocery store and my feet went cold.
I froze in my tracks and waited for him to go ahead. If he saw me now, my school life would be a mess.
I waited for a minute or two, but then the most unexpected thing happened. He checked left, then right.
‘All clear’ he must’ve said it and he took out the same umbrella I held in my hands.
“Another Polka Dots!” I laughed a little too loud but muffled my face.
He must’ve heard my laugh, for sure, because he stared right at me with his eyes open in terror.
His secret is in the open! He ran to me, his cheeks burning red with embarrassment.
“Look, Arush. I-”
“It’s okay, look.” I pointed towards my own display of embarrassment and he looked up.

He started laughing when he realized we are in this, together. “Our little secret?” He offered me his hand. “Our little secret!” I shook it & all those years of lost contact came back to me in that moment. Little did I know, an Umbrella would break our invisible barrier.


©The Honest Fabler
©Image credits – Ashutosh Gursale (@frames&fables)

Writers are Paranoid

writers

Pre-Script:

We, writers, may be well known and respected for portraying our thoughts in words but there are few secrets that every writer keeps to himself. Now, I may be exaggerating but these are my worst fears and to be honest each of it is a byproduct of paranoia.

Writers are Paranoid

From the moment we pick up our pens,
till we start with the first letter on the page,
we are afraid.
Afraid about starting the thought our
mind has instigated & what will be the best way to begin?

From the first chapter’s completion,
till the transition of next, we are afraid.
Afraid that if we fail to write again
and live in our real world,
we’ll get exiled from the world we created.

From the introduction of the protagonist,
till the elevation of events, we are afraid.
Afraid that our imaginary friends may leave
us high & dry in the middle and
our story would never proceed.

From the triumph and the climax,
till the final verdict of the book, we are afraid.
Afraid about any plot holes we may have
left in our world.
The story we invested everything in.

From the forming of another plot,
till the publishing of current,
we are afraid,
Afraid if we can even live long enough
to tell the world our stories by our pen.

I agree we are paranoid,
but we’re the fuel.
We’re the ones who remember,
the tellers of truth & tales.
We’re the thinkers and the ones
who never give up even after rejections.

It’s because we know our worth.
It’s because we know we’re writers.


©The Honest Fabler
©Handwriting credits – @theartisticmess

Post-Script:

The past few weeks were buried under academics and extra-curricular activities. I almost forgot the feel of blogging, but it’s really great to be back♥ Wish you guys a great week ahead!

Innocence

innocence

Innocence.

In her eyes, the world was pure;
So pure that even I felt safe.
No evil could harm her soul,
for she believed I can protect her.
Her happy face would start my day;
Her tired yawns would mean good night.
In her whole palm she held my finger,
While my palm could hold her arm.
She knew nothing about the world,
A lone reason behind her happiness.
The more she discovered,
The less she believed;
The more she realized,
The less she smiled;
The more she failed,
The less she tried.

Thus in the end, if there ever is one,
I’d wish nothing but an eternal childhood for the juveniles who are still innocent and away from the grief.


©The Honest Fabler
In frame: My cousin Saee.

The Bench

bench

The Bench

It was always white.
No matter the weather, it’s wood never turned dull.
The rain drops slid away like water over oil.
The hot sun could only add to it’s brightness.
The snow? It converted the bench into Snow White’s favorite seat.

The resistant mighty white wasn’t the reason why she loved it, I reckon.
It must’ve been it’s perfect location in the garden which made every bird on Earth make it’s way around the bench.
There, she sat with a hand in the food bag and other holding whatever book I recently gave her to read.

Maybe, I’m still getting it wrong.
Because another part of my mind says it was the view.
The colorful flowers and their sweet fragrance made it’s way to my bed, every morning when she opened our window.

I may have guessed it right by now or it could be something I can’t even guess, but she loved this place. I’m sure.
I’m sure because the bench has lost it’s glow, the flowers have turned to kiss the ground and the birds refuse to eat from the plastic dishes she would sometimes feed them from.
Even I, don’t have the smile which stuck to my face all day.
Even I miss her. But I know she’s gone to a place happier!
A place where everyone and everything would love my mother as much as we did.


©The Honest Fabler – Ashutosh Gursale

Library Romance.

library

Library Romance – Every New Time.

The first time I saw her smile,
it was through the gaps of the library shelves that she stood beyond.

The first time we exchanged a glance,
she laughed too hard while reading a comic under the “Keep Silence” board.

The first time I talked to her,
she dropped her favorite bookmark in the crack between two tables which I helped to lift.


The second time I didn’t only see her smile,
I smiled with her.

The second time we didn’t only exchange a glance,
we stared directly in our eyes looking for solace.

The second time I didn’t only talk to her,
I confessed to her about how I felt that she had the brightest smile I’d ever seen
and the sweetest voice I’d ever heard.


The third time I definitely didn’t see her smile,
she cried her eyes out in her father’s arms.

The third time we definitely couldn’t exchange a glance,
since her eyes were drenched with tears and her mascara all over.

The third time I definitely didn’t talk to her,
because it was her turn to repeat the vows and say “I do”


©The Honest Fabler ~Ashutosh Gursale
©Image Source- @theartisticmess

In the End, he’s One Step Closer.

chester

You want to talk about fair?
If you are, then stop right here,
Because this write-up isn’t fair.
It isn’t fair because life isn’t.

And you wouldn’t ever, ever get back what you give.
Life would throw huge freaking lemons on your pretty face, without caring if it hurt your nose.
You can’t reason with lemons, of course.
You can’t make their lemonade either, these lemons are only metaphorical.

To translate in simple tongue, they’ve no use.
But I’ll be wrong to say that, since these lemons are necessary.

Personally, I feel bananas are an apt term for them.
Why? So one could say that “I slipped over a banana” and not “Life threw lemons at me.”

These lemons are necessary because they break you so that you can make yourself better.
I could rant out to you the life’s cruel ways to treat you but you won’t know until you, yourself, try so hard and it still wouldn’t even matter.

To take one’s own life, there needs to be courage. And a person can never gain this courage in one tragic event. It’s always a collection of events. I don’t know what made a generation’s role model feel so helpless that he thought suicide is the only escape, but I know he had the courage.
Depression, is the ultimate fuel to this. You’re not only a survivor, if you’ve seen depression, you’re a hero the world needs to know about. A ray of hope for others to learn from.

In a population of 7.5 billion people, if one still feels alone enough to stay depressed I don’t know why rest of us should ignore it. I don’t know why any of us should mourn when it’s out of our hands and not help them before it happens. 

Saying “You’re not alone” is pointless unless and until we don’t start being there for them. The saddest part about life is being bound to feel helpless when something like this happens. I so wish someone, if not me, had the power to stop every person from feeling the emotions Chester felt. What has happened, has happened. What’s lost, is lost. But what’s with you, is all that is real. Be kind to those in flesh and bones, if I’m asking too much then let’s not us insult someone or express hatred to what and how others are.

I apologize for this rant and the unprofessional way of writing, but I had to get this out.
Thank you for reading my thoughts, it really means a lot to me than you can ever imagine!

Have a great weekend.

Be happy and healthy.

Captioning Photographs – part 2

Good morning readers! I hope you’re all doing well and are happy in your lives. ^-^

Captioning Photographs has been the first post where I actually started with photography on the blog! Ever since I posted it, I’ve took up photography myself! Yes, you heard it right. xD

As a result I’ve had many captions and Photohraphs to flaunt! Check my gallery at @framesandfables, if you haven’t already.

Here, I’m showcasing a few of my favorite pictures and the captions along with them. The captions are generally a quote the frame liberated my mind with or a fictional story about me getting the snap.

So put on your judgemental glasses and tell me all about the faults in these. (If you find any thing good, I’ll be glad to know :P)

Model of phone | Moto G4+ | and edited on | Lightroom |

Tears of skies.

Location : Sitabani, Jim Corbett

Photohraphs
When the skies cry, the light that emanates from the droplets of lost pearls is something more of a secret game the nature plays to tell men about it’s beauty.

The Model Monk

Location: Sitabani, Jim Corbett

Photographs
My mom says, I’m as cute as him.

The worshippers of Sun.

Location: Rishikesh, Uttarakhand

“Good morning” The flower startled me. Excited, I pulled my phone and only for a second it turned to me. The moment when I clicked this. Instantly, it returned to it’s original position to worship the sun with it’s fellow companions.

Swings in High Gardens.

Location: Nainital

Twilight in the afternoon! Shot at 4.03 p.m. | 6350 feet above sea level |

Midnight bliss

Location: Nainital

Photographs
Nainital was indeed a gateway to heaven.

Laws of Life

Location: Kitchen, Home

Photographs
Our plate is served with what we deserve, to drink a soup with a fork or noodles with a spoon is our choice to make.

I’ll really love to know what you think about these photographs, along with my instagram feed. (@framesandfables) Have a great day, peeps!
©The Honest Fabler
©Image sources – Ashutosh Gursale

बारिश की यादें। Memories of Rain – Hindi

बारिश

बारिश के बूंदो ने जो हमे भिगो दिया,
ऐसा लगा मानो हमने आपको फिर छू लिया।
सौंधी खुशबू आई इस धरती की,
पर ऐसा लगा मानो हमने आपको फिर पा लिया।


Translation:

When the drops of rain drenched me,
It felt like the lost touch of your fingers.
The petrichor came from the earth,
But it felt like I found my lost treasure- that’s you.


It’s my first try at a language other than English. Hindi, here. I’d really appreciate your feedback and ways for me to improve! Thank you. ^-^

©The Honest Fabler

©Image source- Ashutosh Gursale

Moonshine Mystery

Moonshine

Brock and Ms. Moonshine

On the moonlit road, I held my umbrella trying to stay as dry as I could get. Ironically, the lady who bumped my shoulder didn’t seem to have the same intentions. The rain started to recede and I could feel the weightless droplets fall on her messy hair.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t see you coming.” She excused, pointing above towards darkness. It took me a while to realize it was a streetlight.  I couldn’t see her. Except for the smooth edges of her face that faintly reflected the moon’s light. But I swear she was pretty. Her voice vibrantly screamed her prettiness.
“It’s okay. Catch your breath, don’t rush so much.” I stumbled, strangers weren’t my favorite people to communicate with.

“Yes, thank you for caring about me so much. I wonder what a stupid job they’re doing at keeping up with the weather, I mean, how can they let a blackout stay for so long. Especially at this odd hour.” Somehow, she broke the ice.

Unlike everyone, I opened up to her my rants and complaints about the lack of attention our local authorities show towards such petty issues which rise up to create greater ones.

“Oh, I so hate our train systems!” I wanted to say “Me too.” but I just stood there. Her voice mesmerized me to an extent where I forgot about the merciless day I had at office and also how the ruthless rains helped to perfectly mess up my Monday.
“It’s getting late.” She was smiling, I could hear it in her words.
“Wait, tell me your name, at least.” I shook my head and found my senses again.

“I like to be called Ms. Moonshine.”

“That’s a nice— Oh, look power’s back!” I cheered as the street lamp illuminated the street but there was no one around.


©The Honest Fabler
©Image Source – Google Images