Letters To My Ex

(Letters in not so chronological order. Ramblings mostly.)

There will be a time when I am gone, when I have moved away and moved on. May be you will miss me. May be you will remember the days we spent together- the fun and frolic. But even then, you will gossip about me, the same way as you do now. You will gossip behind my back as if I am some mundane commodity, a purpose of your laughters and entertainment. You will speak about me, my life- the tit-bits and tattle-tales, with the purpose of entertaining others and yourself. For having some more laughs in a day- Laughter is the best vacation after all.

You don’t care it now, and you won’t care it then if I told you the umpteenth time that I don’t enjoy being talked about behind my back. My life stories are not yours to tell. You know my vulnerabilities and you take advantage of it without hesitation. May be I am just that to you- an entertaining story. You didn’t think of protecting my weaknesses when I needed you to be my shield. …

Musings Over Coffee

If we were having coffee I would tell you about all the things I am excited about in the second half of 2018. And, all the things that I am worried about; also the things I experienced in the past six months.

Coming back to Bhubaneswar- home sweet home from Hyderabad after long was awesome. There's no place as good as home. Then the first few months went by with exams and preparations. But after March I spent a lot of time just being. Reading, writing, blogging, and visiting friends and family.

I really got to do things that I had always hoped and wished for. A vacation. At home. With parents. I read numerous novels and short stories. I caught up with my mother tongue. Read two Oriya novels. I wrote a fair bit for my blog. I actively participated in writing festivals, blogging challenges, and volunteered for writing community online programs. It was so much fun. I won vouchers too. Splurged a few times on novels. I also cooked quite a bit, helped my mother around the kitchen, atte…

Horse Riding Lessons #WriteBravely

Horse riding was no cake walk for me.
I feigned ignorance for months about the rule for Princesses to learn to tackle a beast like that. For weeks I would hide somewhere innocently when it was time for the lessons. The experts appointed for this task left their posts within weeks. Hah! I would make each one leave. It’s a war now, between my father - The King and me.
One morning I spotted a rather young man near the stables. The maids were gossiping how handsome he was. Some whispered he was a year or two senior to me. Huh! He must have just graduated then. Father is appointing amateurs now, I see. Had I not been home-schooled, I would have known school life for myself.
I chose the haystacks in the courtyard of the servants’ quarters to hide that day, much pleased with my choice. The sky was beautiful and so were the house-sparrows. Just as I admired my surroundings, a head popped in front of me from nowhere.
“So here you are. You’re late for your classes. Let’s go now,” he pulled …

Adiel and Silah #WriteBravely

..... Years of separation weighed down upon me. I had missed him, so much, and had almost convinced myself that I had forgotten him. I could only stare, teary-eyed. Seeing him in front of me within a tangible distance felt surreal. He had grown, and so had I. We had transformed to mature adults from carefree teenagers. Time had passed unhindered, and providence finally had us meet. But we had no words to speak. He was as surprised and emotionally moved as I was.

‘How have you been?’ Adiel asked breaking the loaded silence. That did it. All the welled up tears found their way down my cheeks. I couldn’t contain them, even though afraid to create a scene at the party. His face construed with concern and pain. He put his glass of wine on the nearby table and moved closed. I was too overwhelmed to start the long overdue conversation. ‘Silah...,’ he brought his hand near my face. I turned and ran towards the door, into the darkness, away from the intimidating lights. ‘Silah, wait, please,’…

Life In Captions #WriteBravely

She had wanted to curate everything. Every new dress, every flower in the garden, every scene on the terrace, every day-out together, and every new experience. She would click for some and then capture some more through words. 
And he would happily let her have her way. While he believed in living in the moment than fidgeting with the camera and the notepad to capture it for posterity, she was quite the opposite. She relied less on her own memory. Memory was fickle. Intangible. Impermanent.

Today as she gathered her treasures for another viewing, this Polaroid picture caught her attention. There was a caption- 'Husband and Daughter’. Forgetfulness had its advantages. It didn't make you wistful of the past. Had she looked at the picture this morning too, or the day before? She wasn't sure.

A middle-aged man and a young girl walked in then. They stopped short at the albums strewn around her. 
“Yeah, that's us,” the man spoke looking at the photo in her hand. 
And she smiled.


KDramas on School Lives

Perhaps I am missing school, my own carefree days of yore. As much as I say that they were carefree days, I just know that they were not. We struggled for marks, toiled hard for securing a good rank and position in the class, hated our parents for comparing us with our classmates, and sighed inaudibly when the tuitions and extra classes coincided our play hours.

I liked studying. I would study the textbooks, go through the class notes and also solve the test papers bought specifically for 10th board exams. But then I was very insecure too, had a huge inferiority complex, and a painful introversion as big as a mountain. I was good at studying. No, let me rephrase it. I was only good at studying. I didn’t do well in sports or quiz competitions or debates. I had no interest in leadership. I feared being the center of attention. But as far as marks were concerned, I knew I would get decent figures if I put in more number of hours.

School is never easy for anyone. Neither the weaker studen…

My Last Foster Mom: A Novella

Book Blurb:
"Cynthia is a young widow struggling to raise her six-year-old daughter. Mathilde, an eccentric and short-tempered old woman, tries her best to keep people away. Despite their differences, Cynthia's circumstances draw them together.
Will Mathilde turn her back on Cynthia? Will these women learn the true meaning of a family?"

The book starts with Cynthia Dawson trying to make ends meet for herself and her daughter, Jeanne as they are left alone to fend for themselves after her husband passed away a few months back. But being the wife of a rather violent war veteran was nothing better than the life of a widow. He hit her and Jeanne whenever he felt like it and hung himself one fine day in the garage.

Charming moments between the mother and the daughter set pace for a heartwarming read. Cynthia has been an orphan living with several foster parents since childhood. And as the title suggests, the story revolves around Cynthia’s last foster mother.

A fateful meet with …

Popular posts from this blog

Letters To My Ex

Musings Over Coffee

Horse Riding Lessons #WriteBravely

The Hyderabad Playlist – A song story

Zeenat Mahal: The Historian and The Hunter

I Am Rooted, But I Flow