Create

Create a new post. Its all about clicking on that link and there opens up a space which is truly dimensionless. One can connect to oneself so well only if he/she writes. It is so important to write. It is like the morning pooja that I have seen mothers doing religiously. I tell you it is important to me because I know how it feels when I have not written for years altogether. I feel slightly lost. Not in touch with the ME, if you understand what I mean. Writing and meditating are like two sides of a see saw. When I meditate I free myself of impressions, when I write I quantify those imaging into stories. I am a story teller, thats what I am. I have to write not because you will come to me and tell me how well I write. But because I cannot not write. I feel so liberated having come to realize this truth. Though it took time but I know my destiny. I wanted to be a writer at twenty one, ten years later I want to only write.

Like I scatter books around my home, so that my three year old has an access to them where ever she may be pottering around, I think I must keep my pens and notebooks ready. So that I do not need to open my machine but can just jot an idea which comes as the last thought before i fall asleep. I have this thing (as we like to call it)- wonderful thoughts come just before sleep. In fact I even dream up  great stories. But well dreams are tough to remember and they do not make as much sense(ation) when I wake up.

I have few big ideas which I want to convert into stories. Alright this time for Annie and Milan, they are not mushy. How improbable, but true. One is about solitude. Solitude in different shades, and company in different shades. Making friends with different people and remaining aloof. A friend of mine (if I could call him a friend) once wrote to me advising me to retain my friends from school and college. He had said, you will be able to make friends no more. I wonder why I remember his advice. I have been able to make a very friends after college though. And it is sad they all left the city. Sri, is one friend, who I can still call up sometimes. What made him prophecy about friendship, I wonder. One thing that I have come to learn with time is friendship becomes rare as you age. And the good thing is thats the idea for my story. A seventy five year old woman, who begins life afresh, gets a hair cut, goes for a facial and revives her love for painting. She begins to make friends. And one of her friends will be this self pitying ME :)

I know when I write I try to become this melancholic writer. Finding beauty in sunset. But well, was that not in the past,  when I got hurt in love. Love is a great great experience, sometimes it makes you drunk and other times it makes you write like you were.

I think I am regaining the witty vid. Well I loved her, the wit and the twinkle. I hope you find me less talkative but as interesting. I am coming friends. Welcome your writer to KTM.

PS: shared just one idea for writing in this post. There are two more. and these two are both on non fiction and something Milan w

In the company of women...

I bought this book on my way back to Kolkata from Jamshedpur. Having read a Train to Pakistan, by Khushwant Singh, I had set high expectations from him. Needless to say I was thoroughly disappointed. He touched a few aspects which could have made an impact if delved in depth.  First wast religion. Singh not only takes us through a few classes of religion- which is  a subject that Mohan (the prot)  is taking in his university. He touches upon Hinduism permitting one to rid one's sins by taking a dip in the holy Ganges. The arguments of        the Pakistani woman (I forgot her name), against Hinduism. About the absurdity of worshipping everything from     Lord to Lingam. Inface Lingam being the Lord.

The second interesting point, which was left unexplored in my opinion was about losing virginity among girls. Most women recounted how their male relatives had 'deflowered' them. It is a big challenge in our conservative society to give protection to women. One might be skeptic at the use of the word protection, but it is being realistic. It was not long when Delhi asked students from other states to dress appropriately. It is stupid to think that if one is clad from top to toe, one is safe. And will someone some day bring out a list of safest clothes to wear to avoid abuse. Getting back to the novel, I felt strange and sad that both the women - Molly and Sue, remained silent about the abuse. I was also reminded of the on going Aarooshi episode, where the little girl lost her life due to sexual relationship with the domestic help. She's been allegedly killed by her own parents. Why are not women safe in their on homes? And why are they attacked by their own relatives who are supposed to be care givers??

There was another nudging point. When the protagonist tells Sue, how women are generally initiated into sex by  a male relative, Sue counters that same is true with men. When young men are not able to retain the massive energy, they are initiated into sex by older women like maid servants. How true is it, I wonder. And is that an abuse too? By whom?? To whom?

And one parting shot why does Khushwant Singh perpetuate the myth-  the bigger the better?

Through the looking glass

My salutations to my imaginary friend. Hi!

If you were here, we would talk about books that I should be reading. Well, I do manage to read a little but it wouldn't make you happy. You are not easy to please, are you? Anyways, lets pretend you are here. And this place is a cafe. You know the best hangout place has to be a cafe. I should tell you I have graduated from instant coffees to gourmet coffee! I now prefer Coffee Bean and Tea Leaves to Cafe Coffee Day. Linus finds it funny when I roll my eyes up looking out to the right corner.I just did it and it reminded me of him. I wish we spend more time together, sipping coffee and analyzing people- specially myself. Talking about the past, a life I once had. I feel like I have grown apart from my former self, so much that it makes me think that me six years ago was altogether a different person. Younger, rebellious and without makeup:)

I used to write a lot more than I do now. Last night I was talking to Linus's Prof's wife. We concluded that like they showed in the movie Rockstar, one does need to be affected to be able to write. How much can we feel through borrowed experiences, Mrs Sarin had said. Should I tell you, I wore a bottle green saree which had flaring orange flowers printed on it.  Orange reminds me of Annie. Again, she seems to belong to a far away world. It is the age of connection , social media is at its acme, yet I am distanced by mere geographical boundaries. But our connection my friend is not based on either. I think I always had you with me, as a part of growing up. May be I gave you different names at different times. I began early with writing a diary, which would begin with Dear God. As I grew up things changed. I enjoyed writing more to someone who would respond than poring it all to Dear God!
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Sorry, friend for having not kept in touch for so long. But I am back now... And I have lot to talk about. Like growing younger with every year. Growing more beautiful. And yes trying to make sense of myself , the one who is me now and the one who was me before. I wonder if i am still the 21 year old who wanted to take a peek of her future-the cliched 10 years from now.  And what seems to be today is it what she is actually looking through the magical looking glass. Will  she pull her head back in disbelief and this world of mine will melt into nothing but her giggles. Oh, yes, she giggles a lot. Should I say giggled?Guffawed? I should if today is actually the present and I am looking through the magic looking glass going back in time. Linus cringes at the very thought of looking back. What is gone is gone. Is it?  I think it is a life lived.

So much for now. I send you my love.

Will write again,

your loving friend

Vid

Short story book- with one of my stories

Hi friends,

I am proud to share that my story has been published in a collection of short stories. It would be lovely to get yr  feed back. You can get your copy from flipcart.

Grins**

Finding ones path

Often in life, it happens that we delude ourselves into believing that we are someone that we actually aren't. It happened even with Jack Welch. But he was lucky, he found that out very quickly and so he did not have to become just another guy with white starched shirt and well pressed suit tangled in the net  of bureaucracy. He remained the guy with the Boston accent and his stammer. I on the other hand have changed. Both in appearance and ideas. But  I am not sure if this is me or someone else. With time we do evolve. We mature, we change our outlook but do we change as a person. Why do I feel that the ME 10 years ago is not anymore with me.

Today, I was walking on the road with the same gait that I used to have in my college. That cool dude kind of... not at all lady like.  Lot to do with how we dress up that we change our personalities to match our outfits. So clad in a pair of faded jeans and an old favorite shirt, I felt like the old me. I walked into the premises of BSNL with such spring that my 3 year old PUMA sandals would allow in each  of my steps. I had gone to complain about my Internet connection. Felt like a student again...faced with connection problems!

So, there is a lot again on my technical to do list. Like get a servicing for my HP  pavilion. Similar to getting the old desktop to the servicing center in kathmandu. What connections I have with Kathmandu!

And there was another thought about friends. Where did I lose my friends? Did I miscarry? I sometimes feel...the emptiness that one might have after a miscarriage. You do not have a baby but you miss her/him. I do not have Annie but I miss her ;). Do not have her as a friend anymore. She has become abstract. I used to specialise in personalizing abstracts. But she is someone I do not want to give to much of a thought. Because that reminds me of not having her. And that we are no longer in same planes. That she has probably traveled and achieved greater miles that it would be such a shame to call out to her.and such other BS

time to go to bed....

i like being this ME.

how many MEs are in ME...:)

To mush and love, again :) - Introducing Sreelekha in R&Y series

The book lay on my bed. While I flipped through it, I noticed most of the characters were people I was not supposed to meet in the regular course of life. I had knocked the doors of strangers and made friends out of them. Yatharth was one such person who I had met ten years ago.

I was an energetic teenager, who viewed life with rose tinted glasses. I loved to read poetry and write sad love stories. However, it was wit, humour and sarcasm that I enjoyed reading. I had noticed two colunmists who wrote for the 'Jagriti' (the daily English Paper). I used to supply Jagriti with love stories which they published on Sunday supplement. One day, when I had gone to Jagriti's office to collect my remuneration, out of no where I asked the receptionist if I could meet either of the two writers. That was how I met Yatharth. We sat down in the cafeteria and he ordered coffee for me. I felt like a writer in the offing, already being interviewed by celebrated columnists. He gave me his card when I got up to leave. I had wondered if it would be correct to offer to pay for the coffee. Then I decided it was unlady like. I left him with a smile. It was the beginning of many such meetings. I was like the Kareena Kapoor in Ek Mei aur ek tu, who was just out of one relationship and did not want another relationship, but she wanted a friend. It's a typical immature girl syndrome where a girl         wants to be just FRIENDS with a guy. If I had had read Chetan Bhagat's Two States then ( which I couldn't have since he hadn't written it at that point of time) I could have dispensed my idea of a boy becoming a best friend to a girl. But as luck would have it, it was not Bhagat but Kuch Kuch Hota hai, that was doing rounds at that time. And it was fashionable to have platonic relationship. Yes, your friend was allowed to have a crush on you, and you were allowed to enjoy the special attention he would shower till you kept reminding him that of course we are just friends!

I did not realize when Yatharth fell in love with me. But I knew from the beginning that I was a special friend. I liked being his special friend. But love happened. And unfortunately I was not in love. Although I admit I deeply cared for Yatharth. Our friendship kind of survived his going down on his knees but it got a little complicated and we finally had to accept that we had to move on.

Why a girl needs a best friend

Tring ...tring..

Coffee khana joom? (lts catch up for a cup of coffee?)

Life used to be just that simple. Your best friend used to be just one phone call away. All you needed was to buzz and then rush to the nearest coffee joint. Then whether it was a small nagging problem about a lover who hadn't replied to your last email or your extended family pestering your mom to get you married off or your dad annoying you for spending a bomb, you could vent it out on your best friend.

Now, now, I agree problems do not remain the same. The lover either disappears or becomes your spouse ;) (depending on how your love story came to an end -either way), needless to say you have been married for quite some time and your dad is happy you don't rip him off any more. But your mind  becomes adept at piling itself with woes. Now that you are not the carefree bird you were, you review things, you cling to the past, and you bother about people who you dislike. Why does one end up giving so much of mind share to people who make us unhappy! It is mostly because in the adult world, we are not given a chance to speak our blunt mind out. You smile and greet every damn person who pisses you off when you try to fall asleep in the wee hours of night. Why is there no outlet to express anger?

Why is there anger in the first place? Because things are getting piled up. You need a best friend who will give you not just her ear but a handy broom to clean yourself :)

I miss you Annie.

Melody and moon | Editorial | :: The Kathmandu Post ::

Melody and moon | Editorial | :: The Kathmandu Post ::

Writer at twenty-two | Editorial | :: The Kathmandu Post ::

Writer at twenty-two | Editorial | :: The Kathmandu Post ::

on Linus and being married

It never occurred that I should be married until I got! Life is an interesting platter, you will not miss out on a particular flavour until you taste it. Linus has ceased to be some one else. I no more think of him as another person, he has become a part of life. I did not exactly fall in love with him, rather I could not help not falling in love with him. He charmed me with his simplicity, honesty and most importantly capacity to accept eccentricity (coming from me of course!). 

Ahem, I am going to read this out to him now. :)

Happy wedding anniversary sweets.

Stereotyped

Linus tells me I must write something that is completely non mushy, unless I am to be stereotyped as you  know what - a diehard romantic. So let me try a shot at something different tonight.

I close my eyes, a cup of cappuccino that I had yesterday at The Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf fills my senses. It would again grow up into some romantic prose, or so I think and open my eyes again. But here I must interrupt to tell you that I quite enjoyed my own company over the wonderful cappuccino with cinnamon and mocha. I realize that it is not solitude that is difficult, it is the secret hope of togetherness that you nurture which brings the pain. So, if you forget about someone else and give yourself a treat, it turns out to be lovely. I have now begun to enjoy shopping alone (solitary shopping should work well with women and importantly with their spouses). However, since I never was a shopper per se, I have had to deal with several instances of returning the merchandise this time.

Should I write about how the returning an item after purchase goes? I recently returned two pairs of foot wear, (one at a time), a night wear, M's dresses (those for size issues), a tunic from a boutique (whose owner was very  rude because I  asked  for  refund since  she  gave me a defective piece). It makes me think if I had been shopping at an astrologically wrong time. So, may be my next post can be about   the adventures of the Solo Shopper! And definitely a review on all the customer services.

Goodnight.

Randomness

Diamond..

Eternal love, he promised...
It was a big diamond :)
Not 10 carats but almost 2 :)

He was up to some good  work
"Duty"kar rahe hai..
Madam is a little off
He forgot their anniversary

Googling for ways to send the valentine gift
long distance doesn't offer chance to kiss and make up
Choclates, he knitted his brows...
Girls! he gasped..

Randomly picking up threads from Reena's diary

"Lonely, Mr. Lonely"... the song got stuck in her mind. It was a pleasant walk in the evening and she kept humming to herself. Walking alone, isn't bad afterall, she thought. Why are we so put off by being with our own selves. Why do we need someone at all? Can't we be our own best friends? A train of such thoughts ran through her mind. 

She had come to think of Kolkata, as her own city now. But how limited view she took of her own city. It was true that she could mentally map few locations and knew how to plan her route considering the city changed its traffic after one in the afternoon. But living in Kolkata, without Yatharth was a little like a monologue. For her all the days of the week were same. Even the change in the calendar's page was not noticeable. It did not matter really, perhaps. Life was like one song put on a repeat loop. It kept playing and playing and she wouldn't realize.

Like a scar perhaps. He had stayed on her mind. A scar of a wound that has healed a long back. That doesn't bring back the pain, but exists as a gentle reminder that it's afterall a part of you. She wondered if he thought of her at all. And if he did, what was it? She could never be in his shoes. No one can be in someone else's shoes... It is futile to attempt it.

After a long time, Reena was thinking about herself. She had lost her wajood somewhere. Or simply forgot where she had last seen it. Wajood, an Urdu word, can loosely be translated as existence. She still loved the way Urdu rolled on her tongue. What else did she still love? Walks ... The weather of Kolkata gave her a splendid opportunity to take a beginning  February walks. But where is the space to walk. The pavements if at all there are, are either dug up or taken up by makeshift homes or chai wallas. 

She would reach home after the next turn. Home? A place, where there is no loneliness. She probably found it silly to admit even to herself, but she missed Yatharth badly...

Cya soon Yath :)

why don't you comment, if you read :)

I have been reading a few of my own posts. Those that had a comment or two. It is so good to get a response. I think an artist thrives on it. So, I am in mood- why those comments were written years ago, you might point out. But well, they have lifted my spirits. And you know, who knows who might drop in today to read me :)

I sit and smile as my fingers dance all over the keyboard. Its fascinating how well these fingers run in sync with my thoughts. I should dedicate my book, when i happen to write one to these beautiful fingers :)

Ofcourse there are lot of people who egg me to write... DAD and LINUs... they pester me :) and guess what they hardly read my blog. Hmm, I have mostly  anonymous readers.  Let me write about anonymity? Kidding :)


where should i dig my words from?
from the land where i roam in my dreams?
or should i dig myself up
to find a poetry?


I recently  read an ad about a gold plated rose. A perfect gift for coming V day, the ad said. I wouldn't buy one , I know... It has no material use, you see! Does that mean I am not romantic? I am analysing myself after ages. Is it fun to analyze? It is rigorous though.

I have got a very pretty hair cut... It cost me a bomb :) 700 bucks for a  cut, especially when you are a writer still in coccoon....well... i am not just going to be a writer... whats my dream now...


Neeta Ambani....the socialite
Rekha....the sensuous
Vidwata...the witty, charming writer :)

Ice Shots- and a Saturday night to remember

I had a great great Saturday night after perhaps ages! For a change I did not mind the music that the DJ played, was it because he wasn't belting out Bollywood numbers? This comes as an after thought because at the Shisha floor we were requesting the DJ to give us a Chhammak Chhallo or Jalebi Bai, if not the Oooh La la... however, the Cindrella Rule prevailed.. which meant not until the clock struck 12 would the desi beat fill in our spaces.  But well, isn't that the time when you also must pick the trails of your gown and rush home? Lets have masti till then!

I had fun... great fun... I took to the dance floor like fish to ... ah ah...  don't gimme that smug look... I know I am using a cliche again... .But  dancing without that edgy thing we call inhibition is really liberating :)
Probably I am finally in plane with some of my friends when they shook their legs in utter masti. I am reminded of Annie, I used to think she was lying when she said she was high on that glass of wine!

I was thinking about college days. Parties which I never connected with well.  My friends had fun which I could never understand.. It was all so foreign, so tiresome to me... Shaking your body to blaring music... wondering how my Grandmum would react to the gyrating hips and grinning at this thought. This is one craziest thought that pops up each time I am at disq. Does this dimesnion exist in her life? Well, how would world be when my baby grows up..will there be parameters or planes that I never can fathom?

Back to the dance floor- it was empty and  inviting.  I did not mind swinging alone, jhoom barabar :). Suddenly there came a girl and yeah  she started to dance with me. Covering the entire floor... crossing the floor... and full time masti.. And I was just 2 breezers down!

I loved it.. I loved the fact that I had dressed up... A nice black top that I had bought with Annie 2 years ago.. Glad that I fit back into it! Dressed in black, a pair of beautiful crystal danglers... looking sensuous and so much at ease... Loving myself, loving  being in my thirties.. (And I know I am going to look and feel better with each decade... Each decade is going to be better than the last one... I feel like a caterpillar who has just got out of her cocoon and become a butterfly. I know I am beautiful, I know I can write, I know I am loved. What else do I need....? A fat salaried job... :)

Yeah, wanted to tell you about the half moon I saw from the terrace of the lounge....there stood my moon, sliced into half... Like a watermelon slice that has been out in snow... Comeon, this is signature Vid... The half moon and the watermelon that has been out in the snow... Annie, you would be proud of the stuff that i will write someday (soon) .. No more mushy but love that will pull the strings (a cliche again....argh!)

Okay... and the black round tray that the steward held in his hand resting by his feet... it looked like the moon had come down in his tuxedos! (this i swear is getting a lil too much...) And the moon and the watermelon both professed deep love for this beautiful and sensuous woman who was beholding them!

And I felt so much of bliss in that wintry morning... oh yeah, the forbidden hour had passed and Chhamak Chhallo had been danced to... Now, that we had left the crowded floor to catch a breath in the lounge, I had the moon  serenading the once upon star struck lover. Why, I have come to realize that it was the moon that finally stole my heart while it was among the stars that I had looked for my love :)

To writing, to loneliness, to boredom, to stillness....

'You  still have that spark in your eyes...'. Six years later he takes a look at me and comments. I smile. Is it a wry smile? What's a wry smile, really?  And why do I smile?

'Why don't you write more often', he tells me umpteenth time. I try to smile, a  wry smile? I am not really the J.K Rowling you dreamt your daughter to become.

You could be earning by selling your writings. Only if I wrote too well or too often.

I do not know what to write? But I miss writing... I miss writing mails, poetries, love stories... I miss being that crazy me who used to write...

whats my excuse...no one writes back to me...:(

I have lost my pals...wherez Annie? wherez Mr. Madly in Love with? Wherez 4842? wherez the gang??

why am i cribbing at  this hour...my daughter has crippled the space bar...is writing going to be fun now??:D

let me go sleep...why are you so curt...or so concise...where is the detailing...

tomorrow...:)

and i procrastinate..

Reena and Yatharth

Hi Reena and Yatharth,

How are you guys doing? Sorry, I haven't called upon for a fairly long time. In fact, I read a comment an anonymous reader left long long ago on my blog today which reminded me of you both. The comment said, I should write your story and not leave it at the empty pram... I really wonder where we left each other... that story which had begun in the Alps in the winter of 2007... ahem... should I dig you back...

are you worth it Reena? I hate the name... it is too simple... Look at Yatharth.. it might be a mouthful but it has weight! Why do I hate the simplicity....is it because it makes it so accessible...so easy for anyone to have a name... anyone could be Reena...but not everyone could be Yatharth... and well you guys marry each other... bravo... good combi i should say....

Hmm... whats your background story like Reena...and Yatharth... Yatharth could hardly ever have a pet name...or perhaps he did...what would I call you ... Yath??  :)

I am a jobless dreamer... who's even stopped dreaming.... but I still remind myself of the novel I will write... let me simplify my target.... collection of short stories ....that sounds better.

One will be on Annie... John Denver's Annie as entropicbeauty (another blogger) commented on one of my posts... (which too I happened to read tonight)... I wonder why I have more anonymous comments than known ones...when I write for a very select audience... who reads vid really? You, do? let me know... will boost my writerly ego :)

Chalo... I will have to go back and read my own posts on Reena and Yath to go back to writing about them next.... I must finally become wiser and learn to drive well... (dad's sold the 4842 though!)

chal Yath.... will see you again... and I really am liking your short name... Yath...

Yeah!

Down the memory lane

How soon things become memory... I wonder if this night will also come back to me as a memory one day. With Zubin Mehta in the background, my little one asleep and my thoughts reaching out to those days spent in Kathmandu during my post graduation... That was essentially the time when I began to grow up :) I loved my college KUSOM ( Kathmandu University School of Management). It was a lot better than the Engineering school I went to :) ...In many terms... like say we had seasoned professors here versus newbie teaching assistants in Engineering school, we had a campus that was walkable versus huge (but very beautiful) campus in Dhulikhel... and of course I made some real great chums at KUSOM... and yes dad had given me his car too!

I remember taking a car trip to Godavari... a very unplanned trip... I dont remember why we took that trip at all... I think we were going back home after a class got cancelled or something. And  I was driving... Annie must have said something like... Vid..Godavari joom! And zoom... i turned the car around (a u turn) and we went... Yes, it seems a very far away place now... i dont know if i will ever climb a hill (did that qualify as a hill at Godavari)...and lying down on the grass after the hike... looking at the sky...and wondering about the future perhaps...and now those memories come back as past...


I am no longer the same ME...no one is...we keep growing ...we keep evolving... But I still am ME. just a newer verison with better apps :) ... No more about tequila shots but someone who can enjoy her horlicks and even green tea... anyways i never got high on tequilas :)

Thamel...comes to me as an evening song... I remember the walk we took... Annie, Shalin and me... strange..I remember it. I remember so many restaurants... I remember Java... i had forgotton it almost.. have to dig memories... .. coffee... shish :) the hero of my talks... and how much i was in love with this dude..and Magic Beans...the cafe we thought we'd open some day... I love the cafes I went to in Europe... I remember a cafe in Paris... its right there on the street... and we sat there... Linus and I...enjoying the nip in the air... watching people go by... me watching him sip his drink... so much in love with Paris and so much in love with Linus.... an evening in Paris... see from Thamel I have reached Paris... :P

Thamel is a lot about shopping silver artifacts.. wonder if Annie still wears those jewellery she was so fond of... Annie also seems to be faraway... Its not sad anymore, you know the fact that i realize we WERE friends... and that we arent anymore... its probably because we all get on with life... probably i will think of u annie when M grows up and asks me about my friends... :) shopping together...looking for BLUE colored clothes...and guess what I hate blue now :P  i think it doesnt go with my personality...

i would like to visit thamel again.. I have each time I come to Kathmandu... Its a great great place... The lit up gullis... walking in a wintry evening... hands in yr pockets... and that sandwich eatery that sold beer for girls .... with very less alcohol LOL.... what was it called...we said it was a marketing mistake...beer with less alchohol... did that product survive...? it would be such a shame to drink something less than a beer in those bottle...that was perhaps the arguments we came up with... better have a soft drink than have a poser drink :)... we were all marketers... looking out for customer satisfaction, branding...

It was good... it was lovely.... I wish life is like one of those gullis in Thamel...romantic... mysterious...and so tempting ...

the Past that won't go Past

It has come back
and it clogs my mind
it haunts my soul...
and HE tells me, let go!

I have shut my eyes
I thought that would help me erase
But it stays put, waiting for me to open my eyes
and HE tells me, let go!

I forget...
It is nice this ways..
I forget moments
I forget the Past...
but I haven't been able to let go

When I remember it again
It comes back like an eager child
Climbs and clings
and refuses to go...

I try to pretend
It never happened
I never was there
I was born today, I baby myself...

I know I have stopped turning to HIM
but HE gently reminds he is there to take care
If I can't let go today, I will be able to tomorrow...
And I fall asleep...

No comments!

well... sometimes we got to deal with what we've got!

Like...

* The space bar being pulled out by your little one and you fix it and deal with a hard to press space bar:P

* Friends like Annie who never call..

* Friends like Sri who never call either

* Knots

* No comments on your posts..

* No Great Ideas to write a post..

* No friends for a coffee gup!

* Wet pants of your baby...

* Going to a party the same evening when he's left  , sigh*

* extended family.... my MIL says one thing on extended family...one son and as many daughters is a boon than vice versa...even in a SONcentric society that we still live in..

and  some poetry..


Midnight and you.. 


it was by and by that the night grew
it was by and by that love grew
it was by and by 


Now that i know that i am in love
Now that i feel you when you take me in your arms
I wonder which story did you come from
one of those that i wrote in pensiveness


Why did i not know you
why did i have to seek you
but i did and we met
and jab we met...
by and by it happened


by and by the night grew
by and by our love grew
by and by i was yours
by and by we were us


Good night Sweetheart...