Stubble Trouble

I've never had a soft spot for stubble, you know if I were navigating the seas of singledom. 

But envisioning Mr. S with a stubble? Nah, not even if the Apocalypse RSVPs for a block party. It's a Love-Hate Relationship, let's be real. He manages to pull off things that land smack dab in the "Hate" column, and then, of course, a sly remark becomes my civic duty.

Now, his soul patch? Totally on board. But that sharp, defiant stubble? That's the real-life version of my "I'm mad at you" emoji.

 

Second Date

His light stubble made its grand entrance on our second date. I remember thinking, "How can this guy be so laid-back?" The question circled my mind, but I was too chicken to ask him to bid farewell to the facial fuzz, forever!

Finally, the moment arrived...

Me: "Umm...you look different."

Mr. S: "What? I just didn't shave today."

Me: *rolling eyes* "Okay."

Mr. S: *touches his stubble* "I had a day off so I decided to sleep the whole day..."

Me: "Yeah, I wouldn't want to date a caveman."

Mr. S: *looks at me grumpily*

Me: "I just wonder why people invented razors! I mean, if you were aiming for that caveman look..."

*laughs and bats lashes*

Did I risk ruining the second date? Well, let's just say I couldn't resist.

The other day, I told Mr. S about my crush on Jensen Ackles, when I first saw him in Dawson's Creek when I was a kid, and all I got was an expressionless face. An expressionless face that could give a stone a run for its money. Yep, the enthusiasm level was truly out of this world!

Tenth Date

The tenth date, and boy, did it turn into a horror show! Picture this: Mr. S strolls in, proudly sporting a full-fledged stubble that could rival a thicket. If only he could decode my silent scream of horror (which, let's be real, he's absolute worst at).

Me: "So, what's with the beard?"
Mr. S: "I am growing a full beard" 
Me: *eyes wide open* 

Mr. S: "Don't I look like Ackles?"
Me: "Oh, absolutely! Ackles is Ackles, and you, my dear, are you."

(cue the sly remark I couldn't resist. He doth dare to tread upon mine nerves.)

I've somehow landed the title of dating the laziest guy on Earth. That stubborn stubble of his? Well, let's just say I've become an expert in finding creative ways to make him rethink his life choices – especially that facial hair decision. Who knew nagging could be an art form? ;-)


This post is a part of the 'Shave or Crave' movement in association with BlogAdda.com

The age that was...

four

Crying and yelling all the way to school,
happily running into mother's arms after school,
learning to spell and write something weird,

smothering your pet bird with all the love in you,
possessing that shiny new bag, lunch box and water bottle,
looking at that girl/boy next to you, as if he/she is an alien,
merrily gorging on chocolates till stomach's full,
discovering colors and crayons...


ten

Feeling grown-up, just because you get to write with pens,
wanting to be the saviour of the Earth, like Superman,
carrying more books than you can,
discovering the importance of lunch break,
looking at the girl/boy sitting next to you, wondering why your stomach tingles,
saying words, even though you don't know what they mean,

talking to your baby bird, realizing they understand you better than humans,
learning the subtle difference between the colours Yellow and Golden...


fourteen

Reading your first-ever novel,
learning the difference between having a crush and liking someone,
physically grown-up, but still a ten-year-old kid inside,
discovering how much your parents love you back,

experiencing excitement to get into a college,
thinking and wondering about things, non-stop...

and discovering...

that you


Never, ever want to grow up.

I make you up...

I weave you into being, then deny your existence,

Hunt you down in the wild, my mind untamed.

Draw you near, then push you away,

In the recesses of my mind, dreams, reality lay.

A few steps together, on the path I tread,

Vanish from the course, where you lead.

Speak my thoughts aloud, yet silence prevails,

Echoes of a silent voice, in my head, its trail.

Summoning courage, I'm shattered by the riddle,

Soaring high, yet tethered to the ground a little.

Beside you, I wander, lost in contemplation,

Inside, a haven, a treasure in isolation.

Like verses etched dark on paper's embrace,

Enduring forever, with a blue-tinged grace.

Complex, beyond what may be conceived,

Simple enough for understanding to be received.

You, an everlasting mystery, I can't disentangle,

In the labyrinth of complexities, I often linger.

I have walked the distance...

I have walked the distance,
diminishing every line.
Who has seen the wind?
Neither I nor you.
But the splotch absconds
from the weary wind.
Absolved absence howls
Who has seen the wind?
Neither I nor you
Distance counts nothingness,
but distance fleeing you apart
Neither I nor you.


Inspired from Christina Rosetti's Who has seen the wind?

Birth, Hummingbird & Paradox

Of the Alphabets,
letters stand by the letters
And the Words are born.

~

A wise Hummingbird,
sits on the branch, till its dark
and then flies away.

~

In a crowded room
with clashing,clarion voices
I hear mute silence.

Glory

Facing the sunrays,
Sunflowers move, while all still
glory of summer.

~

With the first raindrop,
falling on dry,thirsty earth
sign of temperance.

~

Falling of teardrops
from her eyes and his smile,caught
Their love glorified

Written for Haiku Heights.
Image source: Google.

Lights

I am by your side,
with my head on your shoulder
gazing sun's flickers

~

In the midst of road,
I stand by the moving world
with distorted lights.

~

I'm looking back,my
fingers running through your hair
yours, my world alights.


Written for Haiku Heights
Image source: Google.

Meadow, Starve and Island

I walk by the lush,
green grass and castles in air
the stream flows by me.

~

I know you adore,
the li'l girl within me, screams
famished ecstasy.

~

Airy hopes surround,
a heart inside me, like an
island with ocean

Grass

Tiny budding grass,
aspiring to reach yonder
their feet deep in turf.

~

Through afar corn fields,
spreading their reach, obscurely
green blanket of grass.

~

I try and invade,
azure sky alight, look through
canopy of clouds.

Image source: Google
Written for Haiku Heights

Creation

If only I'd look,
I've made you, perception!
looking back at me.

~

The upper fold glides,
and the lower fold: flits wide.
gives life to delight.


Written for Haiku Heights

Revelation

Distorted Voices,
speaks to my unruly mind,
unveils my silence.

~

Through the alternate,
Rectangle black and white keys,
breaking the silence.

~


Little slivery,
splinters of truth, you tell me,
unfounds truth within.

Written for Haiku Heights

Divine, Rain and Symphony

A look beyond, your flash,
unseen, unread, unheard
sense so divine.

~

Heliotrope sky,
turns gray with the winter's jilt
surges drops from clouds.

~

Lyrical attuned
I'm listening the silence,
unwind symphony.

Days of Spring

This blogpost has been deleted.

Pepper

Around the table,
I slid my hand, a jar falls
jumps out pepper corns.


Image source: Google
Written for Haiku Heights.

Agile, Render & Gloss

On bank of river,
Two frogs jump, in still water
an agile, wild leap

~

She lifts her head high,
caress his forehead,
affection renders.

~

I'd be a mild dew,
stifling on her coloured lips
over her lip gloss.


Written for Haiku Heights.

You know... Don't you?

You know, I can never leave you 

     So what if you ask me to...

You know, I can pretend you don't exist.

    So what if you always remind me. 

You know, I will always stay here, waiting for you.

     So what if you don't show up?

I know, because the glisten in your eyes never lied.

Somedays from now I know everything will be perfectly perfect, like the rainbow in the gray sky.

 Like the crescent moon amongst millions of twinkling stars.

Milky way

A little of blue,
sprinkled, little of yellow
scattered billion stars.

~

Cascading silver,
spurted great fleeting wonders
finding their path,still.

~

Stirred yet motionless,
I stand enclosed,on ground
amidst shooting stars.


Image source: Google
Written for: Haiku Heights.

Autumn

I walk slow by thee,
in the night's tranquility,
weary tree-lined street.

~

Parched, Befallen leaves
frolics to tune,sways down
of the whirling wind.

~

Falling gleams of Sun,
over the bare brown branches
sparks the breeze around.


Image source: Google
Written for: Haiku Heights

Moon

Benighted twilight
after a newmoon, rises
a cast crescent moon.

~

Encompassing by,
aphotic as night's darkness
lurks a silver line.

~

Ascending through the
darkness, like hope in distress
illumes crescent moon.


Image source: Google
Written for Haiku Heights

Loneliness

Out of  the stark blue,
one winter evening
bleak loneliness.

~

Between the light strokes,
of black and white, I see gray
of loneliness.

~

Tottered and tripped, once
impaired and shattered but twice
hovers solitude.


Written for Haiku Heights.
Image Source: Google.

Color

Flickering yellow,
barely merged with the blue
That's just me and you.

~

You smelt of warm spring,
on gray december morning.
A color in drab.

~

You walk still by me
like colors race down, rainbow
imperceptibly.


Image source: Google
Written for: Haiku Heights

Drawbridge

Opens wide,shuts close.
a barrier between two worlds,
for here now, and there.

~

Rise and fall,moving.
tied and binded, linked but free,
an abridged distance.


Image source: Google.

Written for: September Heights

Two Minds

I grew up with Hollywood movies painting the picture of a guy standing at the end of the aisle, gazing at her, and she knowing he's the one. Little did I know about the battles of minds, perceptions, and thoughts that awaited.

When it comes to marriage, Jane Austen's words echo:

“It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife.”
― Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice

That was 18th-century England anyway. But the modern scenario is a mushy canvas of inter-cultural and inter-faith unions. In India, arranged marriages are prevalent, focusing on factors like religion, caste, social status, wealth, and horoscope matching. Yet, change is afoot, and marriage remains inevitable.


The turning point: Love Marriage or Arranged Marriage.





As a girl, I contemplate the changes in a girl’s life. Inherent motherly qualities emerge, regardless of the type of marriage. The cloud of thoughts on pros and cons disperses, leaving me pondering the elders' view that arranged marriages are more successful. But are love marriages not? And I’d like to think at least it will be like, Khalil Gibran wrote:

“Let there be spaces in your togetherness, And let the winds of the heavens dance between you. Love one another but make not a bond of love: Let it rather be a moving sea between the shores of your souls. Fill each other's cup but drink not from one cup. Give one another of your bread but eat not from the same loaf. Sing and dance together and be joyous, but let each one of you be alone, Even as the strings of a lute are alone though they quiver with the same music. Give your hearts, but not into each other's keeping. For only the hand of Life can contain your hearts. And stand together, yet not too near together: For the pillars of the temple stand apart, And the oak tree and the cypress grow not in each other's shadow.”
― Khalil Gibran, The Prophet

And then how can I forget William Shakespeare's Sonnet CXVI (116) which I'm going to study this year:

Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove:
O no! it is an ever-fixed mark
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wandering bark,
Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.
Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle's compass come:
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
If this be error and upon me proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever loved.

And then, there's the nail-biting suspense of encountering the guy who'll not only sweep me off my feet but also rearrange my furniture—talk about multitasking! As a hopeless romantic, I'll be here, twiddling my thumbs, waiting for that cinematic moment of realizing he's the one. In the meantime, I'll kick back, throw my feet up, and contemplate the intricate soap opera of love and marriage. Who knew finding Mr. Right could be such a sit-back-and-chill affair? :-P

To know more: www.facebook.com/LoveYaArrange.

P.S. Image source: Google.
P.S.S. This post is written for Indiblogger: Love Marriage ya Arranged Marriage

Echoes

In the serene, crowd-less shores, far from city bustle...

In the forsaken corner of that quaint café...

In the refuge, you sought in solitude...

In the cinemas resonating with our shared laughter...

In the park where my anticipation always lingered...

In the joint where we meandered in conversation...

In the parlour where rituals became our routine...

In the street, we strolled together.

In the spaces, we dreamt of exploring...

Yet, in the midst of these echoing moments, I find myself lingering at our spot across the road.

Starlit wishes

The sky hung heavy with dark clouds as the sun sank below the horizon. Trees swayed gently to the soft, wet wind's tune. There, I stood, awaiting the appearance of the first star, ready to cast a wish into the evening.

Throughout the day, rain had persisted, saturating the air with the scent of earth. Leaves turned shy and gentle, and the wet air waltzed to the wind's brisk and chilly melody.

As night claimed its dominion, the moon ascended over the hill, accompanied by the chorus of frogs commencing their croaking symphony. I had witnessed countless evenings transition into nights, yet never truly listened.

Now, I tuned in to the soothing patter of the rain, the earth's contented sigh, and the harmonious interplay of wind and silence. In these moments, I embraced my soul with the profound serenity of the night as I listened to the voices going blank...

Those Summer days

I remember...

How I would play around the fence and then look up with pride in my eyes. The outgrown branches of the tree stretched out and reached my bedroom's window.

The other one ~ just out side the window of the living room

If I could resurrect something from the past, it would be the flame trees that once lined the fence off the pavement. Especially the one beneath my window, obstructing any view of the world outside. It was stretched out and was so close that I could stretch my hand out and touch it. I cherished the green hue it cast into my bedroom during winters. I wished there was a park bench beneath it where I could sit and bask in its presence. In summer, it bloomed with vibrant coral-red flowers, a captivating sight and that hue would paint my bleak walls. I'd sit on the parapet, watching it for hours during twilight.

Yet, the rain made my time with the tree truly worthwhile. Standing on my toes, I'd observe the leaves trying to catch the falling drops. The tree would renew and bloom with all its beauty. Remembering, when I was five, I tied balloons to the branch, joyously jumping each time it swayed in the breeze. Sometimes, I'd sit by the window, reading, feeling the tree's silent companionship. The first short story I wrote was about this tree.

Autumns were heartless—flowers and leaves falling off, leaving behind bare branches. The pavements lined with dead leaves swept off by the wind. But in summer, it would spring again. When feeling blue, I'd think of the tree and hope for a change. It was the cycle of life that taught me what goes away comes back. The tree was cut down by TMC in 2009. The window remained shut for the whole month; I lacked the courage to open it and see the tree missing. A year later, a small branch grew and bloomed in the summer. It'll take a few more years for that branch to reach my window, and in its growth, I patiently wait. But perhaps, nobody wanted it there, except me.

Some people wonder how trees are a man's best friend. 

And I just know.

What If...

I watched Letters to Juliet today, and I cannot stop thinking about this scene at the table.

These words from the movie still resonate, lingering in the air:

" 'What' and 'If' are two words as nonthreatening as words come. But put them together side-by-side and they have the power to haunt you for the rest of your life: ‘What if?..."

- Letters to Juliet.

But I have a question for Juliet.

Dear Juliet,

Is it possible to love someone and not realize it?

Love,

My Relationship with Ellipsis...

Who is Ellipsis, you ask? 

I've got this love-hate thing going on with Ellipsis. Sometimes I adore them, but other times they drive me crazy, leaving me hanging with unanswered questions. I can't live without them, yet they're always causing me grief whenever he decides to drop them into our conversations.

Once, I dared to ask him, "Why the constant use of ellipses? Is there something you're not saying, leaving me to figure it out?"

And what did he reply with? You guessed it...

I was left speechless, staring at those three dots, trying to decipher their meaning. But did he ever give me a straight answer? Nope. Typical.

Yet, every now and then, those pesky ellipses surprise me. But at times, I know what he means by them. Finding them at the end of romantic lyrics texted by him whispers a thousand words to me. And sometimes, just sometimes I love them with all my heart. I can't help but smile.

But when he ends a conversation with ellipses, I can't help but feel annoyed. It's like he's leaving things unfinished, dangling in the air.

And once, just once for that turning moment, when he said: I never want this conversation to end... 

And it is left with me forever...Undying and Unspoken.

I have a different world

alike ours

Beyond the yellow horizon.
Across the boundless sea.
Far from the madding crowd
Like a crossroad stretched ahead of its distance,
casting aside the battling heart and mind.
Losing in the endless emotions, that hide with
two worlds parted aside.
Far, far from everybody’s sight.
In the cradle of time, under  the starlit night
A place, all mine.

I have another world, far away from yours.

Childhood

Whispering in ears

Promises kept  forever,

Childhood friendships

~

Pretending anger,

flutter lashes for shiny

new doll melts dad's heart

~

Innocent visages

wonder over happenings

losing their childhood.

Life's like poetry

When the rhythm and rhyme collide,

Let the world be born, on strings of sound

A musical day with a dazzling night, befound

Feelings on notes, come alive and glide

Fingers tremble, shiver with musical sparkle,

Hearts pound and flip, dance to it and glide

When the rhythm and rhyme collide,

And the tired rhythms and rhymes startle

Words wakeup, sounds of passion hide,

nearby where poetry is alive

With syllables and lines, five

Life's like poetry with sounds, beside

When the rhythm and rhyme collide

Poetry form: Rondel.


P.S. This is my first attempt at this poetry form.

A text message!

Last night, as I pretended to be deeply engrossed in my studies (you know, for mom's sake), my phone beeped. I tried to resist, but let's face it – when a text arrives, resistance is futile, especially during study sessions.

And it hit me, no more waking up at the crack of dawn to make it to the first lecture (which I consistently missed this year!). No more devouring chips on the way home. Post-college hangouts at MCD? Nope! No more impromptu shopping sprees. No giggling in the corridors or idle canteen sessions. No more daily pictures with the unspoken agreement that "We are in TY!"

Gone are the days of sitting endlessly on a park bench, discussing the future. No more laughing carefreely on the roads, oblivious to judgmental stares. Bunking lectures for movie marathons? A thing of the past. Farewell to those 10 pm returns home. No more meticulous planning and discussions on how to make the most of the vacation.

And, oh, the impulsiveness? That's gone too.

P.S. I have no idea how to conclude this post. *sigh*

When I'm happy

When I am happy, the whole world sings with me...the tune of happiness.

When I'm happy...

the leaves gleam more than usual
the buds dance to the tune of the wind
the sun shines brightly
the air is crisp
the earth smells divine
the song in my head is loud
the hope of grows strong
the heart, that is bruised, heals
the imaginations run amok
the eyes dance around, capturing everything
the tears dry up with warmth
the dead flower in my notebook comes alive

... and everthing is perfectly perfect!

For a perfect day, a perfect heart is engraved with happiness.

I am grateful...

Some days I look at the clear blue sky and I am grateful for everything around.

But today I am grateful....

for my netbook and wireless
for clear blue sky
for impulsiveness
for colors
for blossoming of buds
for imagination
for written words
for vanilla ice cream
for happily ever afters
for my shiny, new blue pumps
for a stack of unread books 

for the breeze that plays with my tresses
for the warmth of love
for late-night chats
for walk/s on the beach
for the full moon
for the leaves that change colors
for happiness
for a letter hidden in my notebook
for miracles
for crimson twilight in  summer
for fairytales
for red carnations
for memories locked within my heart
for beautiful evenings spent with you
for my reflection in your eyes
for coffee and ice frappé
for your words, left unsaid
for dreams
for the music of the sea
for the endless holding of hands
for your eternal sunshine...


...for all these things, I am grateful.

for the prayers, that could bring you to me.



P.S. My Inspiration source: Imagination Prompt Generator.

And 99 Things I am Grateful for...

Identity crisis

Last week, I rejected a friend request on Facebook because the name didn't hit any bell. Lo and behold, a day or two later, I get a personal message unveiling the true identity. Fake account? Nah! What could be the other possibility?

About a year ago, one of my college mates decided to take the plunge into marriage. A typical Maharashtrian girl with a love for her family that knew no bounds. Post getting her graduation degree, she decided to tie the knot – typical her! Soon after, she flew off to Dubai with her husband, and that was pretty much the end of our communication.

Now, on Facebook, I'm staring at her name like it's some kind of puzzling riddle. What made her change her name, I wonder? Ah, Maharashtrian traditions, the eternal head-scratcher. Apparently, when a girl gets married, the husband gets to play the name-change card. But seriously, who follows this today? Forget keeping her maiden name; she might not even get a chance to keep her identity!

Couldn't help but laugh at this whole sitcom-worthy situation. 

This whole episode took me back to my childhood when I was a little bookworm learning to read newspapers. What amused me the most? Those 'Name Changing Advertorials' in regional newspapers and TOI. Always looked forward to them; they left me entertained and bewildered. Bewildered because I couldn't fathom why people would give up their names. I didn't get it then, and I still don't. The answers I got back then just fueled my curiosity.

So, what about my dear friend who was once fiercely protective of her identity? Is convention more important than individuality? I mean really?

I cherish my name even more.

14.1.2012

20:16: 37 PM

The last time I saw you, you sat across from me in a crowd-less café on the outskirts of the city and were looking reluctantly back in my eyes, waiting for me to speak. For all I knew, I wished time would freeze and the moment would never end. You made the silence between us feel like peace. Watching you playfully roll your eyes and complain my quietness in nonchalant tones, only made me laugh. Running your gaze all around the place, to find our spot. You stole glances at me when I wasn't looking and walked away to the counter to get me that extra cup of coffee, at the same time complaining about it being my third cup.

Walking the tree-lined streets with you, under the crescent moon made me realize I need to withdraw myself from this entanglement.

This one last time...

And now, I sat there, where we sat a few months ago. Looking at all those pictures we clicked for remembrance, I realize how much I miss you. I ache for the sound of your laughter at my naivety and your complaining tone for not receiving your calls. In this moment, the void of your absence weighs heavily on me.

Thank you for letting me be me.

Maybe, just maybe you didn't read my silence.

What is love like?

Valentine's Day is just around the corner, and how could I not write about love?
Reflecting on the past, I find imprints of both old and new love. The new love, in particular, involves my journey into reading and studying Romeo and Juliet and A Midsummer Night's Dream.

The lyrical beauty of blank verses fragrances my soul, leaving a trail that touches the depths of my being. The soliloquies and monologues don't feel like mere dialogues; instead, they resonate as slivers of my own heart, hiding deep somewhere.

A poignant tale of star-crossed lovers, celebrating the exquisite joy of youthful passion. Even its tragic ending stresses on the poignancy of that brief beauty and the bitter futility of love. The dominant imagery in the play evokes a sense of suddenness and violence, intensifying the fragility of the love depicted. The lovers, in their passionate attachment to one another, aren't extraordinary, yet their love stands out. Fate and destiny loom large over the star-crossed lovers, paving the way for tragedy. Hasty decisions and love at first sight become tools through which destiny toys with their fates. The melancholy fashion and the act of serenading evoke an immediate sense of melting emotions.

And the balcony scene.

Romeo: He jest at scars that never felt a wound.
               But soft, what light through yonder window breaks?
               It is the east, and Juliet is the sun.
               Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon. (Act 2.Scene 2)

Juliet: My only love sprung from my only hate!
      Too early seen unknown, and known too late!
      Prodigious birth of love it is to me,
      That I must love a loathed enemy. (Act 1. Scene 5)

I wish I could love like Juliet.

And the most loved lines by Helena in A Midsummer Night's Dream.

Helena: Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind;
And therefore is winged Cupid painted blind. ( Act 1. Scene 1)

And the Zeffirelli version of Romeo and Juliet... which I can watch over and over, crying the same amount of tears at the graveyard scene.

Shakespeare in Love, although part fictional. I wish it was not. But all in all, everything leaves me dazed!

So, what is love truly like?

Is it the fervent passion of the fourteen-year-old Juliet?

Or does it mirror Hermia's, aspiring to and consummated in marriage?

Perhaps it's sacrificial, like Viola De Lesseps's love for Shakespeare.

Perhaps, defining love takes a lifetime.

P.S. References: Romeo and Juliet (Bantam Classics)

A Hopeless Romantic

I first encountered the phrase Hopeless Romantic back in school, and my initial impression was that it described someone geeky. How wrong I was! As I grew older, someone (I had a crush on) called me a hopeless romantic (I secretly think he meant that I was a hopeless case). That sarcastic boy! 😠

 Aren't people who cling to their hope called optimists? Optimistic romantic. No. Hopeless sounds way better and has a ring to it.  When I tried to analyze what a hopeless romantic truly looks like by Googling and researching, to my disappointment, the conclusion was already known.

So, what does the dictionary say?

A hopeless romantic is a person who holds sentimental and idealistic views on love, especially in spite of experience, evidence, or exhortations otherwise.

Source: dictionary.com

Well, I have my rose-coloured glasses on *adjusts her glasses*. 

I'm an idealist. Is it a crime not to be? A sentimental dreamer? For life. Does it mean they see everything painted in the hue of love? And art? Writing is an art too, isn't it?

And I still wonder...

7 reasons why I dote upon writing

Undoubtedly, my ardour (I like this word!) for writing is unmistakable. At the age of ten, I embarked on the journey of crafting poetry – admittedly, rather basic until the age of fifteen.  I delve into the intricacies of forms, rhymes, and rhythms.

While in college, I was asked by my professor to share one of my poems in an English class. From that moment forward, there was no looking back. I embraced literature, driven by an unwavering love for writing – a destiny, perhaps, accompanied by a playful wink.

Why writing remains my enduring passion:

1. Expression: Dialogue is my forte. For those acquainted with me intimately know I cannot stop talking. Words, wielding immense power, possess the ability to wound, elevate and transport the mind to uncharted realms of imagination. Their efficacy is most apparent when I wield them during the act of writing, as nothing else captures the essence of my being quite like words.

2. Channelling: Before immersing myself in literature, I was captivated by words. Now, I inhabit a world entirely of my own creation. At the end of each day, I carve out a precious 30 minutes for introspection, an essential practice that involves channelling feelings through poetry, fiction, non-fiction, and prompts. This therapeutic exercise aids in navigating effortlessly through the labyrinth of my emotions (I'm extremely fickle).

3. Am I Creative? Nay!: The sentiment of creativity eludes me; rather, I consider myself duty-bound to understand myself better. While a sense of creativity may emerge after crafting a remarkable piece, it is more an expression of unrestrained freedom. My constant companions - notebooks, pens, and meticulously organized Word files on my mobile - are indispensable. 

4. Reflection: My writing serves as a mirror to my mind, an amalgamation of imaginative musings moulded into coherent expressions. Birthed from my subconscious mind and dreams, my writing predominantly mirrors the romantic whimsy that resides within me. The concept of being in love, even when one is not, holds a particular charm and feels just right. The best feeling would be being in love, probably (all love smothered in these blog posts is fictional; I live in the realm of imagination).

5. Fiction: The realm of creating characters remains uncharted in my writing journey. I intend to delve into this aspect during the forthcoming summer when I can dedicate my undivided attention. Within my journals, dormant characters yearn to come to life, and I eagerly anticipate the moment I breathe life into them.

6. Reading. Reading. Reading: The act of writing would have eluded me if not for my voracious appetite for reading. My devotion to reading mirrors my passion for writing; it serves as sustenance for both my soul and contemplative musings. A stack of books, a steaming cup of coffee and the sanctuary of my personal library (AM Library) constitute a heavenly indulgence. AM Library is my favourite place on this earth.

7. Passion and purpose: Life devoid of a profound purpose is unimaginable to me. I have discovered mine – I follow my heart's inclinations without the norms. Criticism, rather than discouraging, serves as a testament to the diversity of perspectives. As the saying goes, "A thousand views for a thousand eyes." My pursuits span from sonnets to free verses, from scattered pages to meticulously crafted novels. I yearn for it all. 

Undoubtedly, writing stands as my first love, encapsulated by these seven compelling reasons. No matter what I end up doing, I'll always be writing.

I will always come back here when my passion for writing wanes or loses its spark.

The beginning

When the sun is about to sink, and I am about to give up. You steal me from the world, hold my hand, and walk me through. The warmth of your hand relieves my ice-cold fingers when they are entwined in yours.
And we walk towards the horizon, for a fresh start.

 A new beginning.