Thunderstorms

The sky suddenly turned red.
The balcony smelt of the want to commit the sin of breaking free.
The wind was whispering naughty charms into the ears,it was just a saturday night!

There was some music that played within but did not reveal itself.
It was an invitation to a sudden beach party that couldn't be turned down.
At the same time there was the fear of death-eaters hovering around whose charms were
stronger as Lord Voldemort had instilled special powers;it is not his fault coz he wants to be the ultimate wizard,he wanted to own all the magic that surrounded the air,dark arts was just an excuse.

Finally it started.
One could hear the pitter patter thuds on the window panes. From there the noise grew wild. The rains finally touched the thirsty earth.
The Dementors and the Death-Eaters had vanished.
Harry,Ron and Hermione breathed a sign of relief coz it was just a dream. For 19 yrs Harry's scar had not pained,so alls well.

Soaked to the skin after a small stint into fresh air and open sky,one wonders how a small cloud burst can bring so much joy!
The call aint faint,lets start without the Invisibility Cloak,to explore what never existed.

6th October,01.20 hrs,Kolkata.

The Windmill Baby

It was the story of the Black and the black who was loved by and loved the white. A rather interesting theatrical expression of Australian aboriginal culture was the production called Windmill Baby! It started with the depiction of simple pleasures of Life for £3.
The bonding of a family was too tempting through the testing times; you often would want to switch roles! And the spirit of Oneman, the disabled character, whose way of life was very new, very desirable. At the end when the black and white mating resulted to the procreation that was lost under the gamut of colors….it led me thinking deeply, what is the fault of the new life? It doesn’t even know about the color of life. I woke up to realize among those millions of things that we as people are fighting against color is one; that’s racism!….oh I am an Indian, my country sells more of the fairness cream than washing powder!
And before I forget Windmill Baby was a monologue and still I know about all the characters, as if they were neighbors.

20th Jan 2007
22:24 hrs.