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.