Arrange the books in alphabetical order. Wipe them once a week.
When you are done, touch them again, tell them you adore nothing else.
Water your plants. Throw away every bit of dirt from their body.
And while you do that, stare at those raindrops on the windowpane.
Cherish rain even though it covers your shoes with mud. Continue reading “Perfectionist”
“Being a writer is a very peculiar sort of a job: it’s always you versus a blank sheet of paper (or a blank screen) and quite often the blank piece of paper wins.” ― Neil Gaiman
I had a neighbor who used to write, and paint, and read a lot. His bright house looked like a museum, decorated with his own paintings, and words collected from his own wise life. His wife was a great cook who loved feeding me some soul-stirring food from her kitchen. To me, they were the live examples of creative people full of life and optimism. I frequently presented them as example when friends called creativity “dark” and “lonely.” Continue reading “Optimism in Creativity”
“No” will give you isolation,
and time to carve
every inch of who
you want to be. Continue reading “No”
It was evening, and not winter anymore.
A duck swam alone to her direction,
making ripples on her
and the world waited
like a patient student
just to watch her. Continue reading “Mindful”
When you lie on the bed
and imagine yourself away,
out of boundaries,
on a highway,
and a sunset
over the red hill. Continue reading “Life is what happens to you”
I remember who I am.
And every time I see grief
I’m reminded of poetry
of the ocean, lying in peace,
smooth and blue. Continue reading “Keen”
“The reason the beasts give among themselves is that Man is the weakest and most defenseless of all living things, and it is unsportsmanlike to touch him.”- Rudyard Kipling, The Jungle Book
It’s Sunday. All windows are open to welcome the sun in the house. I can smell French toast in the air. My mom is talking to the help in the kitchen. Four eyes glued on the TV. Dad and I, not ready to move an inch from our drawing room. On screen, Shere Khan is threatening Mowgli. There is an argument going on in the wolf family about the acceptance of a human being. I’m thinking of moving to some jungle. At least it won’t be this sunny. I’m allowed to have half a cup of tea with sub-merged biscuit today. My tea is already cold. But I don’t mind. I look at my dad and whisper, “Now what?”
Continue reading “Jungle Book of Nostalgia”
“Life is not a plot; it’s in the details.” ― Vanishing Acts
He is reading my analysis for twenty minutes now, stretching his legs upward on the edge of the table. Outside his glass wall, some of my close friends are waiting for me to go for a tea break. I get bored when people read my stuff silently. I get annoyed when my friends take tea breaks without me. But I can’t ask him anything now. This is the analysis I made after working ten hours a day. This is the analysis that kept me away from food, shower, and even my most favorite TV shows. I worked on every minute detail before calling it an analysis. After another ten silent minutes, he looks at me with a smile, saying, “It’s a great analysis- you covered everything. But can you make it short?” Continue reading “In Short”
Two feet standing on the hill.
A road zigzagging its way
up to a destination, a hopeful
morning smiling to all greens
after a week of rain.
Well, you got the whole day-
greens everywhere invite you to them. Continue reading “Hillside”
When you pronounce the word Future,
I look at the fluttering of your eyelids.
Like traveler birds, they sit restless,
waiting for next season to fly away. Continue reading “Grounded”