November Nostalgia

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How fast a month can fly?

It was just first day of November and the pumpkin patches were weary, soon their orange color was vanishing into lush greens of fresh cut Christmas trees. People were waiting for Thanksgiving dinner, long commutes, lengthy political discussions with know-it-all relatives, and those black Friday deals. Shops were selling pumpkin pies, pumpkin cheesecakes, pumpkin ice-creams, pumpkin recipe books. A dozen of dead turkeys were always on display on the shelves. Continue reading “November Nostalgia”

An urge to nest

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It is not just another autumn evening. It is cold, calm, and composed. It is rainy, cloudy, and happy. People are home, drying their rain boots and raincoats. We are wandering outside. I am clicking the sky, my usual activity on rainy days. I am heavily pregnant.

A flock of birds is returning home. I am wondering why they need a home when they have wings.

Soon I am going to find the answer.
Continue reading “An urge to nest”

In the depth of August

August

“Socrates said, ‘The unexamined life is not worth living.’ But the examined one … is no bargain” – My most favorite take-away from Woody Allen’s latest ‘Café Society’

 

1.

In my building, the walls are so thick that you cannot hear your neighbors. I know couple of them by the things they display- their well groomed pets, and cars that silently stop behind me when I try to reach the crosswalk.  I found each family owns multiple cars, at least one for each family member. Continue reading “In the depth of August”

Blank pages

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“Sometimes the questions are complicated and the answers are simple.” ― Dr. Seuss

Writing is not a daily habit of mine. Words come and go. Sometimes I make notes. Sometimes I let them go. Sometimes I write spontaneously. 

Don’t write bad memories, they say. So on my not so good days, I hardly write. On my good days, I sip watermelon juice and observe the outside world. I shop, cook, dine, listen to a friend, and read about other people on different books. I celebrate. That way. Continue reading “Blank pages”

About the Story

The story

“How odd I can have all this inside me and to you it’s just words.”  ― David Foster Wallace

My diary opens. Lots of white pages. Lots of wordy tales.
People come out, stretch their legs, and
talk to me on starry nights. A plot wanders.
An old gossip wakes up from deep sleep.
A narrow lane meets the crossroad.
Years float. Blue ink greets red ink.
Life plays hide and seek with cloud and rains.
Rain. Countless rainy days.
Too many months of summer too, and landscapes of
of other lives left exposed.
Some boxed dreams under scrutiny.
A loud chapter about love and yearnings.
The wars within and without. Continue reading “About the Story”