I Walked One Day With A Friend

And wished the day would never end. Says below a dainty drawing of two young girls walking hand in hand towards the sunset. A poster which I displayed in my room when I was a kid. A testament on how valuable friendships were to me. Making friends then did not require an effort. We laughed at the same jokes and we were best friends forever. We liked the same movie star. ‘ She’s so pretty!’ and we were ready to swear to go to college together. I told her about my crush and vice versa. And we were ready to die for each other. Okay that one is an exaggeration. But you know what I mean. My happy days of friendship after childhood’s innocent mingling were my student days. Primary, high school and college. When responsibilities were non existent and laughters were abundant.

But growing up why did it all became so complicated? That even with the proliferation of social media which made keeping and reconnecting to friends so easy like never before do most of us feel still unconnected and misunderstood?

Socrates used the term philos to mean love in the sense of a friend and Eros as the god of Love and Desire. Socrates believed the best of all possessions is a sincere and good friend. But how do you define a good friend? And how do you know if you yourself have been a good friend?

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Why I Write

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Telling stories has always been a way of expressing my self, my beliefs and my feelings. I found that it can a drive a point more effectively than a long rhetoric. Stories have won me many friends when I was a kid. Especially horror stories. Kids like to scare themselves silly. I can have them cowering under the covers after I am finished. And since I love to read at a young age I never run out of tales to tell. And now that I am grown up I am happy to share stories I wrote myself. Though I remember having written a short novel when I was in highschool in one of my notebooks. My classmates read it and passed it around. I knew then that I wanted to be a writer. So thank you for sparing a minute or two from your busy lives and stopping by at my page to read some tales I’ve written. You bring a smile to my face. 🙂

My dream is to become a master story teller. From whom words will flow smoothly like water from an eternal spring. And everyday of my life I am working on that.

©JMKhapra

That Woman In Red

Where she goes nobody knows. Where she lived nobody dares go. Her backyard was the forest. A secret maze of tall ominous looking trees hide her cottage from the rest. And whenever young Marie would see a dark red diaphanous long dress or a red velvet coat she wears. Her eyes towards the horizon. Her gait confident, oblivious of everyone around her.

“ I want to wear a dress in that color.”  Marie told her mother one day when she saw the woman in the town. She looked suspiciously at the woman. “ Men never marry a woman in red. They want women in pastels.”  Marie frowned.  “But men do sure like women in red.” She remarked. Her mother snorted.  Marie can see men ogling the woman in red. The woman would occasionally  look at the men sideways and the men would have an expression Marie thought indecent.

“She doesn’t have any friends in the town,” Lilian said while drawing circles in the sand with her fingers. Marie copied her and drew a heart and wrote  the name John in it.

“Mother seems to hate her. But father always have a dreamy look every time they would talk about her.” Continue reading