Blocked Pipes. Blocked Hearts.

My neighbour called me up while I was taking a walk in the evening. Normally, I avoid phone calls when I go for walks but seeing her number flashing on the screen, I knew something was off. We live in a two-storey house and hers is on the ground floor. There is a recurrent issue… Continue reading Blocked Pipes. Blocked Hearts.

When nostalgia hits

That night, in my dream, I found myself back in school, strolling around the old abandoned wing of the huge complex where the early years of my life, the precious moments of my teenage were still safely tucked away in the cracks of the crumbling walls now partially encroached by an ancient banyan tree. Its hanging roots cried out my name.

Unchanged

Anna dislikes people who are conceited and self-absorbed and that’s why she could never get along with Sara. Although friendly and jovial in nature, Sara loved having attention solely upon herself. In social gatherings, she would unabashedly talk about her success stories at length. How devoted she was to her projects. How she was hobnobbing… Continue reading Unchanged

Letter to my son- Personal blog

To the boy who seems to be in a hurry to grow up.. Just slow down and hear me out! I know most of the things I say these days bore you. They may seem outdated, annoying and sometimes outright preposterous. And you are right in thinking so (well, not always ). But let me… Continue reading Letter to my son- Personal blog

Kadambari

The feeling of alienation, which a woman from a poor family would often experience in a house full of wealthy and excessively proud aristocrats. Kadam quietly endured the snide remarks of her older sisters-in-law, who would often make fun of her poor father who was unable to arrange for a handsome dowry at the time of her wedding. But Rabi was different. Unlike the other members of the family, this budding poet wasn’t pretentious. She became his literary muse.

Post the Masterpiece

A creator, irrespective of his exceptional gifts, can never replicate the level of perfection and beauty of his masterpiece.In the solitary room, he would sharpen his tools, trim the brushes, grind and mix pigments, stretch and level the canvas on the wall, and then get busy capturing the initial impression of the subject he had in his mind. However, it would never be the same.