Harsh Snehanshu

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Harsh Snehanshu (हर्ष स्नेहांशु)

I write about simple things that often miss one's eyes in a very simple language. Striving to be simpler with time and experience. Started out as a writer. Realised there are no good writing platforms for smartphones. Started YQ with Ashish. Now on a mission to make the world write. My last book, Green Mango More: Stories from Childhood (2015), is a collection of 36 funny tales from my childhood. Link below.

bit.ly/GreenMangoMore

Top tags: poem love balconyletters napowrimo yopowrimo
An old briefcase.
Your sweater inside.
Tucked safely with naphthalene.
To keep your smell intact.

Irony.

YESTERDAY AT 12:27

The most memorable
I love you's are those 
that are said at 
the most ordinary moments.

Unforgettable confessions. #love

YESTERDAY AT 10:28

Little did we know 
that by habituating ourselves
to not being around each other,
we'd slowly get habituated to 
not being there for each other.

Habit. #YoPoWriMo #Love P.S. Love the new version on android. Update from the Play Store. New wallpapers, fonts, bookmarks, poke and more.

YESTERDAY AT 1:03

No matter how good a writer you think you are, if you do not know how to give constructive feedback to a fellow writer, you are not good enough.

It's all about the tone. It's not what you say. It's how you say it. #writing

26 MAY AT 20:22

In a war, 
where both sides are wrong, 
the side which loses first, 
wins.

From my book, Because Shit Happened: What NOT to do in a start-up! (Penguin Random House, 2013)

26 MAY AT 14:23

Mademoiselle — A Love Poem

"Cologne bottles are half-empty
Since you like a guy by the way he smells.
Despite your blocked nose, I made sure
Never to disappoint you, Mademoiselle."

Mademoiselle — Je t'adore, je t'aime beaucoup I rehearsed them surprisingly well Thinking that I was madly in love, With you, Mademoiselle. I wondered whether to slide them in One of those silent spells, Or, wait for the time we would walk next, When none of those bloody pollens fell? Yesterday, I mustered my heart to mumble in French, Those few words — awkward yet heartfelt You feigned ignorance, and looked away Why, but why, o' Mademoiselle? Cologne bottles are half-empty Since you like a guy by the way he smells. Despite your blocked nose, I made sure Never to disappoint you, Mademoiselle Not a word could I write, For the past few weeks, I'd swell. Enchanted, I was, or so, I thought, With you, Mademoiselle Was it your blue eyes Or your funny English that I quelled? Or was it one of our quiet walks That you relished, while I'd restlessly yell? Happy as I could write now, There are many stories I wish to tell. I craved not for your companionship But perhaps, this heartbreak, o hell! "Is it really over?" I'd asked you yesterday, Before I cooped into a shell. "Oui monsieur," you'd mumbled. Will miss you, I'd heard. I heard it so well. (P.S. First typewritten in Paris in 2014 as a parting gift to a friend. The pollen reference is because she had hay fever & would not venture out whenever pollens fell. French word monsieur, which means sir, is pronounced as miss-you. Oui stands for yes.)

26 MAY AT 9:40

In a wine glass,
I drank Paris, sip by sip.
It tasted somewhat different:
Pungent at first, sweet then.
For months, I guzzled
Glasses after glasses
Of this city – of old and new.
In my stomach, it slowly brew.

November arrived, 
Holding winter's hands.
The season of hot wine: 
Only, I've already had mine.
The brew is acrid:
I feel really old.
The half-empty wine glass 
Seems half-full, at last.

I've had enough of Paris
I want to barf now.
With every passing day, I wish –
To return to the Delhi I miss.

Paris Wine. #YoPoWriMo #Paris New wallpapers are up in the store. Try them. ~ Paris Wine – In a wine glass, I drank Paris, sip by sip. It tasted somewhat different: Pungent at first, sweet then. For months, I guzzled Glasses after glasses Of this city – of old and new. In my stomach, it slowly brew. November arrived, Holding winter's hands. The season of hot wine: Only, I've already had mine. The brew is acrid: I feel really old. The half-empty wine glass Seems half-full, at last. I've had enough of Paris I want to barf now. With every passing day, I wish – To return to the Delhi I miss. (Written in Paris, 2014)

25 MAY AT 18:17