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which faded when my
paint brush dipped itself
in the other hues of the
palette of life.

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we give melody to the lyrics it offers.

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The soul of a blooming writer
dejected from worldly affairs
was roaming amidst nature to
usher new truth to his words
and have respite in the laps of greenery.
Then all of a sudden,certain scattered pieces of diverse scenarios caught his attention. He realised that birth,death and regeneration was a part and parcel of every mortal being. How the bird builds it's nest and nurtures it's little ones and sometimes leaves it in solitude to carry essentials for living!
How the foliage sheds itself only to grow again and bloom flowers!
How little creatures strive to live though being harassed and ignored!
Until then it found no inspiration to spread it's wings but these lessons derived from small aspects of everyday life deeply influenced it's philosophy,
which acted as a miracle and the soul's fate was redesigned.

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When I crossed the corridor and stepped onto my home's threshold, with a newly bought pen in my hand I felt something unusual. The breeze made sad eerie sounds and the atmosphere seemed to be terrified on something's arrival.
It was 10:00 pm and I was upset with my husband's rude approach towards me as I denied him my property.
As soon as I entered into my room the bright light of bulb turned dim and its yellowness turned fiery red as a sign of grave danger. It went off and on. I was terrified at this vision. Pen in my hand trembled and immediately I saw my doll fall from my desk. I ran to my living room and saw the clock stuck onto 10:00 though 7 minutes had passed. Pen trembled again and fell directly onto a magazine on my table and breeze opened the page showing picture of bombing at Nagasaki.
I don't know what my conscience directed but I ran out of my home still with the pen in hand. It was a bomb blast...
When I was released from hospital suffering minute injury,police men gave me that same pen in good condition more shiny than before as if celebrating a jovial new life.

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A conversation with Maggi....

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On twentieth birthday
of his 'specially abled' brother,
she celebrated with exuberance;
twenty buoyant years of
an indomitable fighting spirit.

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With pillars of lessons and aura of dreams,built a palace of colourful vibes

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I played with toys.




I am played with, as a toy.

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When it's a daring milestone
it's a prolific outcome of proving
taboos and scribbled lines on
hand wrong.

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