Wednesday, December 31

Remembering 2014 - My Detailed Life.

QuoteIts been an year to remember, Captive Of Thoughts entered into a much better phase. From a non-professional blogger, much keen to being updated as stories, poems, I designed it to look much more sophisticated, clean and simplified.

I did learn much more about Placement of advertisements along with the complete design, and the likeness of viewers/readers. Perhaps, what they say about food, does apply to our blogs too, "You first eat with your eyes".

With this, I did design what seems a simplistic blog design and I plan to continue this for a time and more! But there was more about this year, than any of the two behind, considering this blog. Twenty-four posts this year. Ten more than 2013, and Twenty more than 2012. It has been a great progress, and this might have not been possible if the people around me haven't supported, in every task. There are people, who supported me in every post and writing of mine, and I am really grateful of their act. Hopefully, there are much better posts coming in next year, following my completion of 12th standard, and, that also means, that there won't be any post on Captive Of Thoughts, in next 4 months perhaps. Don't worry, it is often worth the wait.

But today, lets remember what we created all this year, and what people loved the most. In-case you missed any, now you may not! For, I bring you the best and the worst of 2014 at Captive Of Thoughts.

Captive Of Thoughts - Year 2014
The year at Captive Of Thoughts.

  • January
The year started with the story that was loved throughout the year. Named, "The Setting Sun", it talked about a person's heartbreak as he sat on a bench, looking at the horizon with a marriage card that did not belong to him. Perhaps, people connected a chord with it, and it stayed at number 1 ranking for record-6 months. The other post in this month was much of an monologue of me expressing everything I felt at that time. The darkness seemed to express the light, in a much lighter way.

  • March
Another edition in the story, which was well received by the readers. "Looking back..." was one such story, whose success mattered none to me, since it was written in pure joy and self satisfaction. I accepted a guest post in this month from Aashish Nehete in his post, "Belief, Hope and Faith" which talked about the different perspective to God, religion and our tentative faith, and behavior in it. The final post of this month coming as a tip to someone drowning when me-myself was under-water. Yes, the final post- "How to overcome stress?" was one such post. Fortunately, this remained on second most loved post for a long time.

  • April
Its hard to believe that I wrote 8 posts this month. The biggest since this blog's inception. This month included some of the new elements to the blog, Photography and Hindi Kavita. Starting with a new concept, the first post of the month was "Jaise rooth gaye ho apne humse", which was again, well received by the audience. The posts following it were the photography posts titled, "The Art Of Tray". 3 Photography posts until I came up with the Story once again, this time, titled - "The Truth which lied in front of Me". Interesting story as quoted by reader, you should give it a try too. Another guest post which followed this month was by Pratham Agarwal, who beautifully wrote on - "Physical Appearance - Does it Matter?". The month ended with a story which is till this date renowned as the BEST STORY of Captive Of Thoughts. Shared, thousand more times and entered the top 5 in 4 hours of being posted, and never left from that spot. "As She Walked Away", was caught as the most touching, loved and versatile emotional story. There are many people who I need to thank, but this story being this famous makes it a reward for them.

Here, the links to the post of this month.
  • September
The only post in September being "The Moonlight", a short paragraphed story. Much to the anticipation, it brought many loyal readers to our ship.
  • October
Nothing special in this month except for my birthday. Though we had 5 posts in this month, but 3 of them were the pictorial posts to the stories posted in the months before. The other significant things posted in this month were my picture Quotes. And yes, also a Diwali post for no pollution.

  • November
From this month, began the wait for the Online Series by Captive Of Thoughts, titled The Stalemate. A formal announcement that the Chapter 1 will be launched on 9th December 2014. And yes, people did wait for this. Thanks to all of them. The other post in this month was the Lost Desire.

  • December
This was the month probably which I was waiting for. Chapter 1 from my online novel named, "The Stalemate" was finally published. And much to my delight, everyone loved it, and how did I know it, its when they started inquiring about when is the chapter 2 launching. Felt, really good that time. Yes, the second chapter will be posted in April.
Grieving instances of this month, the Peshawar Attacks, no words could match their sorrow, but I tried inculcating, and saluting those mothers, in my poem - "Mother Told Me To be a brave boy". The poem went viral on the social media, but then, I never fancy celebrating such thing. The last post of the month was a guest post by Aashish Nehete again, "The Murder Victim - Can you find out who?". One heck of an interesting story by him. 

Its been an amazing year, and hope so, the next one continues to be. On this note, let me take an off for few months. Meet you after that. Thanks for the support.

Tuesday, December 23

The Murder Victim - Some Stories Are Better Left Incomplete

The cold sting shot up her spine. The sight of a dead body lying in a pool of thick red blood was enough to make her sick. The fact that it was her rival didn't help either. Though she always hated her, death made matters complicated. A human thinks clearer in these situation. Moreover a teenager, with all those hormones swimming in the blood vessels, are worst while dealing with these matters.

She gently pulled out the knife lodged in the deceased’s stomach. Touching the cold blade finally freed the subdued emotions in her heart and she let out a cry. A man rushed, then another and soon there were a handful of adults.

The human possesses a judgmental character. The one which leaps to conclusions at the sight of things and thinks that he is the most right person in the room. Don’t get me wrong; I’m not saying that every man possess a will of evil towards his fellow humans. He is just always under the impression that only he himself is right, unless someone agrees with him, then they are right too along with himself. This self-proclaimed king of human thus clouds himself from further truth and general opinion.

The knife in her hand, the dead body on the floor and the look of panic mistaken for hatred made matters worse for the heroine of this story. In a few days she was a criminal in the eyes of the public and some more days later, in the eyes of the law too, but I don’t think that matters here.
The way she was talked about was truly sorry for someone who knew the truth about the matters. Her, me and now everyone who’s reading this. She was cursed, tortured (mentally) and traumatized. And a fragile heart cannot bear these lies. Maybe because she had seen death before or maybe because someone drove her towards this; her body readily accepted her mind’s decision. She was no more.

The truth is known to only a handful of people. The spectators must rely on the trust they hold for any one of them and assume that to be the truth, but is it always true what you think is right? That’s it. We have got it. The truth is not what you feel is right or what others feel.

After all of this if I’m to tell you that she did commit the murder. It’s possible because I started this narration after the murder had been already committed. Your facts are only true as much as I tell you but are mine true. In the end ask this question to yourself, who is the murder victim here?

Aashish Nehete

We thank Aashish for taking out time and writing this short, but not sweet story for us! We look forward to have you on board, more than forever times. Cheers!
We thank Alexa (Blog) for the ranking - We are now under top 25,000 websites of India.

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Wednesday, December 17

Mother told me to be a 'Brave Boy' - #PeshawarAttacks

Forgive my killers mother,
They surely do not understand,
What it feels to be human.

Forgive my killers mother,
They themselves haven't been,
A parent another soul.

Forgive my killers mother,
For they plead no guilty,
and they do not deserve to get one.

Forgive my killers mother,
For I'll meet my creator now,
He might have an answer.

Forgive my killers mother,
For they were in the dark,
Blinded by blood all over.

Forgive me as well mother,
For I could not return,
To your voice uttering, "Come back home soon".

You always told me to be a brave boy,
Today, I ask you to be a brave mother.


Tanishq Sharma with, Editions provided by Pratham Agarwal

Its dreadful, its painful, to realize this fact, that such acts, such horror comes out every turn of events.
Terrorism has no religion, It will never have, its about us working together to remove every bit of it.
Lets take a moment of silence, for the words seem to vague to express such grief.

Tuesday, December 9

Stalemate: Chapter 1 - The Queen Escapes.

"I wonder the limits of the skies above,
None too much than the skies inside,
I often find myself looking back in the past,
Its then, that I realize, I've been a good teacher to myself
- Tanishq Sharma"

Stalemate - Captive Of Thoughts

He refused to stay with her, and walked out of her house, and her life simultaneously. But, it was his old habit – to fight, shout, abuse and go out of the house and come back in the evening. Out of her life, she had thrown him a long time ago but the roof, remained intact. She had adjusted to that kind of living, she couldn't do anything to make the situation any better. Perhaps, which wife does not want peace in her life, wherein she dreams of evening walks with her husband or a blissful morning talk over a cup of tea? Dreams of the support she presumes from her husband, when she tries to scold their children, over a nasty result at school. These situations, form a crust of a normal household every wife dreams of. But, it was something which was not supposed to be a part of Natasha’s life. Within a span of 4 years of her marital life, she was on the verge of ending it, or perhaps, merely accepting the decision taken by her husband.

She was always a joyful girl, among the brighter ones in her academic life. Being raised up in a middle class Indian family, she was taught to respect family values more than anything. It was, therefore that she did, all she could to save her marriage, to remain in the boat which sailed with the winds which she herself would have never accepted to be felt. She endured, she learned, but everything has a threshold. Sooner or later, it all seemed coming. It was an arranged marriage, one which is done at a risk of allowing each other to understand oneself, and moreover, to adapt to the situations they will be contracted in. It was as comfortable as a breeze in the first year, but things started to break down there after. Call it the misunderstandings in her in-laws or the mutual bonding never rising above the bar of insecurities, whatever it was, it lead them to a place where they never wanted to end up at.

If there wouldn't have been a reason, she would have left this home a long ago. It was not because she didn't want to make things right, but because continuous tries of making it better had taken up all her energy, all her compromises in vain. If she was still here, enduring the pain, her non-interested husband gave her, it was because of the same voice, which clutched her suit from below, and nudged her asking, “Mummy, papa kahan gaye?”. Her three year old daughter had asked with utter silence following her words. Those quiet and childish words had looked Natasha straight into her eyes, which then traveled deep into her soul, asking her various questions about why had she landed up in such a situation, and why is her daughter being punished for the same, for the mistakes they were making. If there was something she could convey to her daughter, it was mere silence. It conveyed messages to her daughter, the ones she couldn't convey, with her words. Her daughter, without asking anything more, went to carry off her own tasks.

Standing there still, in a position and looking at her daughter, she knew something had to be done. A strong step out of the fears might end up improving lives of just not one, but many people around her. In the numb state, which now seemed homely to her, she dialed a number, Advocate Amish Shukla’, her mobile displayed. “I want to file a divorce case”, she said. Her daughter heard, but could not comprehend it. Natasha didn't make an effort to explain her.


She had befriended time, not only because she habituated the change in which it travels, but because it had seen the tears she had shed, the smiles which struggled through tough times. It was also a spectator when a gist of happiness came in her life – her daughter, Neha. It was a time of life when worries weren't a part of scheme she had opted for. Probably, time had also witnessed her endurance of married life, and the pains she had gone through. Perfect for befriending, it was now covering up the wounds inflicted by the battle, she had long fought back. There were countless moments, when she was silenced by her own voice asking her various questions. One such day, Neha came home crying. 

Natasha hurrying towards her, worried that she might be hurt, asked her, “What happened beta?”
Neha refused to answer, and to eat. Upon asking her several times, she opened up. “Today, my friends were talking about their fathers, about the gifts they receive from their dad, about their family picnics, Mummy, why don’t I have a daddy like them?” It was an innocent question from someone who had less knowledge of the world which resided outside her six years of experience. Natasha repeated what she always said, “Aapko mumma ne bola tha na, papa ache nahi the, toh mumma ne unhe apni gudiya se bahut door bhej diya”. There is something about pain, it strikes you back when you are the weakest. It was something which was easy to feed to a six year old, but deep inside their bonds both the generations realized, it was a fact, they had to accept. With eyes reflecting the silence of still water, Neha went to complete her school’s work.

It was often, that Natasha had to overcome situations such as this one. Situations like, when she was called in for Neha’s parent teacher meeting – but always turned up alone, without her husband. No one notices much, but the tender hearted Neha, must have asked million questions so as to why it had to be her. Who can explain a heart as soft as hers, that it was something which fate decides, because it doesn’t see circumstances, situations and the life which is left behind? The hardest part of all was the occasions when Neha might overhear her aunt talking about her mother’s someone. And, without much words, would understand, that it was the same one, who was not good, and was sent very far away from her – her father.

Natasha was a businesswoman, who had started most of her work after her divorce, with some help of her contacts. With time, she understood, that it was not Neha whom she had to take care of, but it was she herself, as Neha complimented her mother’s sadness with a rainbow of joy. For Natasha, her daughter was everything. A reason why she woke up every morning, reason why she worked, took all the pain, and was still alive. The mornings had started to bring back their gleam of happiness, and nights retreated with their treasured stories.

Evening had dawned upon, Neha was busy painting her artworks while Natasha prepared the evening meal with her domestic help discussing household issues. It is something – irrelevant of age, culture, or profession, every woman discusses. Neha, with her face as bright as the morning sun – came running towards her mother and showed her, her little creation. Standing vividly in a center of the picture, were figures of a man, a woman, and a little girl. The imagination conveyed a simple message, it was a family.

What fumed in Natasha’s conscious, no one might ever know but she tore the drawing apart, and shouted on Neha for drawing such a thing. Her words, loud and clear echoed twice in Neha’s ears, “Your father is dead, he is no more – do not ever think about him. Others might have theirs’, but you don’t. You only have your Mumma, and that is enough.” Neha had uninvited tears. She ran down to the living room, to hide her tears like every time. The land-line, placed in the room rang. Neha, went to pick it up. “Hello”, said the cute little voice of Neha. 

It looked like there was no explanation needed when Neha heard the voice from the other side of the receiver, a voice coming from a place very far, a place called past, as the manly voice replied, “Beta aap kaise ho?”.
to be continued...
Tanishq Sharma

Thank you for reading, it surely does mean a lot.  There are too many people for me to thank, they know who they are. Please take a moment to share the story, it will be appreciated.It gives us motivation to write more, and better. The chapter 2 will be announced soon, until then keep reading. Once again, a big appreciation for taking out time, and reading it.

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