12 Lessons from 2016

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January told me to hope.

 I was walking through new paths, where unknown fears and strangers lurked at every turn. Strangers who took your words and twisted it to suit their wicked ways, or used it as barbed tools to taunt you. Words once uttered were lost forever; it would never be yours again.

February taught  it was okay to make mistakes.

We make errors in judgment while selecting friends, trust the wrong persons and then suffer due to these errors.

March came with tough lessons and pain.

Yet, it also planted the seeds for a new dawn. I migrated my blog to my own domain. A new website in my name was born. It was also a month of darkness. People I trusted turned against me and shocked me with public vitriolic attacks.

April taught me that nothing lasts long, even pain.

I understood that even pain doesn’t last long. Only those who brave the waves survive to tell the tale. I was fortunate to have enormous support from family and friends.

May asked me to look ahead with courage; every night was followed by day.

 Lessons I have learned from my bellowed father helped me see pinpricks of light even amidst the darkness. I overcame my fears.

June came with drizzles of new hopes, new plans.

 Like the rain brings with itself the pleasant smell of wet earth, June brought with it new friends, inspirations, and lessons.

July came along and filled me with happiness.

I got selected to Anita's Attic, a longtime dream. It gave me a new courage.

August was the harbinger of new beginnings.

Classes at the Attic began and every Saturday instilled in me fresh ideas, a strong belief in the strength of the written word.

September was fun all along, new friends, new lessons, and new courage.

 Words became my friends yet again. They made me smile and taught me to have fun playing with them.

October brought new tidings, new beginnings and renewed some old vows.

I began writing earnestly again and rewards too came instilling in me with confidence.

November said it was time to forget and forgive.

In my birth month, I took an oath to forgive and forget. I concentrated more on self-healing and leaving the past behind. It was time to surge ahead and to conquer new horizons.

December as always brings with itself the hope.

This month always reminds me that even in cold winter, the warmth of a loving soul was the only essential thing required to keep our dreams thriving. Though it is one that brings the year to the end. it also brings the hope of Christmas, New Year and the prospect of a fresh beginning.

Dear 2017, I had a tough yet fruitful 2016.

Hope you will be kinder to me.

If given a chance, would you change your past?

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I have often fantasised stumbling upon a time machine or a gadget like the time turner mentioned in the Harry Potter series that would allow me to visit my past.  I wanted to  rewrite my past. Maybe I could erase that particular incident from my life which gave me unimaginable trauma. Maybe I could avoid meeting that particular person who later on became my biggest foe. Maybe I could change my career. Maybe I could say 'yes' where I had said 'No'. Maybe I could warn someone about how their choice was going to alter all our lives. So many possibilities...

Looking back, however,  I realise I don't want to change anything that has happened in my past. Every single event, person in my past is responsible who I am now. We manifest our realities. Our choices create our experiences. The way we react to the challenges at the various points in our life, carve out our future. 

 More than that, altering a particular event changes the outcome of our life. Imagine we went back and changed a particular event which was traumatic. We might have met our soulmate immediately after that.His/her presence was the reason why you transformed into a strong person. You can't imagine your current life without the presence of him/her. Would you want to change that traumatic incident then? 

I believe, all the changes that happen in our life happen for a reason. If you stop and analyse, you became stronger after every storm that you faced. What didn't kill you, made you stronger.You acquired the courage to face the challenges head on. Nothing can stop you now.

If you have read the latest offering from JK Rowling, you would have read about the effect of choices in one's life. A single event can change our present/future. As we are all connected beings, a change in my life might automatically effect yours. 

All in all,  I feel our past should be left unblemished. It is better off where it belongs, firmly in the past. Let us not allow it to cast shadows in our present or future.

You are the writer of your own story. You can visit your past. Would you change your past?

I fall in love again

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Rain with its cold, silver fingers caresses my face seducing me with the fragrance of petrichor. I plead for your warmth. Your touch summons a storm of wondrous sensations. Your lips curve. The syllables of my name arise from them stoking alive a secret fire within me. Like an unanswered prayer, it hovers to my mind’s altar paralyzing my senses.

Time stills as you pull me into an embrace. Nothing this world offers tastes better than your kisses. My soul rejoices in your presence.

 You have adorned our cocoon with sprays of red roses and blooms of fiery carnations. You tell me the wavy edges of the carnations remind you of me. Something about them whispers innocence. But how do you connect me with innocence?

Agreed; I rarely remember the darkness of those alleys from which you rescued me these days. Your love has purified me in entirety. No one barges in to claim my flesh. I do not hide under masks of garish makeup. My skin glistens with the sheen of happiness.

The sindoor that you smear in the parting of my hair every morning reminds me I am the mistress of this home. The laughter of our daughters strengthens my faith.

I open my notebook to jot down the precious memories. One day, our daughters should know the truth. It will teach them the power of prayer, the heartfelt call for help that always gets answered. Our story that is coming alive in these pages resembles a blistering medieval romance, with all the gore and drama. The one that shines through every line is you, my knight of honor.

You laugh when I call you by that name. And I fall in love again… one more time.

 This story is written for Indispire prompt 

With all your senses, "Fall in Love - One more time"

Do you dream?

"If I can dream it, I can do it"- Do you follow this Walt Disney saying in your life? #Life

This is the Indispire prompt on indiblogger this week.

My answer is Yes, I follow it.

Dreams create our tomorrows. When I look back to my past, a little dreamy eyed girl looks at me and smiles. I am living in her dream world now. I am a product of her imagination.

I have become a published author and my book 'Without You' is listed among bestsellers on amazon.in, besides some of the authors I love and adore. I am getting rave reviews.

I remember how I used to dream about being happy, absolutely and insanely happy. I am happy these days. When a dream comes true; happiness follows. It gives further wings to my imagination and I let them soar high and far.

Many more dreams, many more tomorrows await me to take me towards every destination and every scene that the little girl years ago visualized.

There will always be people who will laugh at my dreams. There will always be people who would make every effort to see that I never achieved my dream. But all that dreamers like me can do is to dream more colorful and daring dreams.

Don’t they teach us in school to aim at the stars, and then you will reach at least on top of a mountain? Let me do that. Won’t you join me?

Let us dream more. Not only for our own individual growth but for the entire humanity. 

Let us dream that our tomorrows will hold rainbows on every dark cloud. That every storm will soon pass and that even the harshest winter will end one day.

Let us dream that there will always be a guiding star that will pull us towards light.

Let us dream that one day, all our dreams will come true.

And let us follow our dreams and prove that dreams make our tomorrows.

And if you want to buy my book,

Buy it here:

Amazon: http://www.amazon.in/Without-You-Preethi-Venug…/…/938418019X

Flipkart: http://bit.ly/WithoutYou-Flipkart

Much Ado About a Surname

I was named after someone my mother admired, an acquaintance of hers, at her work place. I was okay with my name. It was a rare name at the time. My full name was Preethi Kannada then. But I didn’t like my mother’s family name which was my surname because of two reasons. First, it was a synonym for glasses in my native tongue and secondly it was also a language name. I had plenty of nicknames and adding to the woe was my surname. I never wrote it on my books. I kept my name short. I was just Preethi.K . Only a few knew the expansion of my initials all the while. My brother and sister had adopted the family name without any issues. They were brave souls!

Those who knew my surname would ask me whether I knew Kannada language or ask me about the meaning of the bizarre family name, or ask whether I wore glasses. I was ill equipped to face the ridicule that followed usually. You know how mean kids can get in school.

So my surname hid under my initials for a long time and it was never revealed. Then I got married after I completed my Engineering degree. My husband’s name is Venugopala and he is known as Venu or Venugopal to his friends. I quickly adopted his name as my surname as it sounded cool. It was also the name of Lord Krishna, the most worshipped and loved God among the Avatars of Lord Vishnu. I quickly created a Facebook account with the name and I became Preethi Venugopala to all. I loved my new name.

Nobody had asked me to change my surname. It was my decision. But our names do change us, doesn’t it? I have mellowed down with this change in surname. It is as though the name has given me a new identity.

The numerology sites help me argue my point. Look at the reading about my name before and after the change in surname.

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I am not in favour of changing surnames after marriage as a custom. If you like it, adopt it. If you don’t, keep your maiden name. There should not be a compulsion. It has to be done with love.

After marriage you do get a new identity. You become somebody’s soulmate and become a member of a different family. But that doesn't mean that you should change your surname as well.

Didn’t we all doodle our names with that of our crushes while in school to check whether it matched, whether it was awesome or whether it sucked? Same way, doodle your name, find the impressive one, and keep it.

I have read about traditions of families where the bride is required to change her name after marriage. Not surname, her first name. But again, it depends on love and ability to adapt to the change. No one should be forced to follow it.

After all, in the illusion that life is, we do create much ado about everything. And why to spare a surname?

This post is written for the Indispire Edition 56.
The prompt was 

Should a woman change her maiden surname after marriage?#SurnameChange

Unsent Letters

Maria loved writing letters. They made her feel alive and brought cheer into the colorless life that she led. The addressee, never received these letters as they never found way to the mailbox. They were the bearers of her unbridled emotions, her toughest decisions, her heartbreaks. Every single one of them addressed to the man she had almost married.

It had been a life changing summer for Maria, the summer of 1978. Joseph came into the cafeteria where she worked, drank coffee, ate croissants and scones and somehow found way into her stubborn heart, which had never opened up to anyone. Joseph asked her out for dinner that night and one thing led to another and soon they were a couple. He was a bright student at the nearby university, studying to be a lawyer and she was an eighteen-year-old high school dropout , who was the lone bread winner for her family- a sick mother and three younger siblings.

 “Maria dear, I would be the President of the United States one day,” he would say, that was what he wanted to be. And Maria would smile her innocent smile. Her world was just him; she would spend hours listening to him talk about his ideas, his visions. She would assure him no one else would make a better President of the United States.

Days passed and within a year, Joseph proposed. During their wedding rehearsal, she overheard an intense argument between Joseph and his professor Mr. Smith, his mentor as he had often mentioned.

“You are committing the biggest blunder of our life. A life with Maria would lead you nowhere; my daughter is the one you deserve. You need funds and she comes with that. You need a highflying career, for godsake. Marrying that good for nothing waitress would put an end to all your ambitions,” said Mr. Smith.

“Mind your words professor. You are talking about my would-be-wife. I don’t care for the riches or my ambitions. I love her. I love her more than I love my career. I know you are right, but I can’t and won’t leave Maria. I gave her my word. I won’t betray her,” said Joseph and something in his voice told Maria that his decision was killing his dreams. Eventually it would kill their love. Was their love strong enough to stay afloat in the bitterness of disappointment?

Next day, a note arrived for Joseph early in the morning. It was from Maria.

“I set you free. Go live your dreams. I will never be a hindrance in your path. God bless.”

Maria ran away to North Carolina and settled there for life. Her Joseph, married Mr. Smith’s daughter Linda eventually.

“They make a fine pair,” Maria told her mother when the marriage photo of the senator from Texas appeared in the newspaper.

She wept hot tears, wrote a long letter congratulating Joseph, and added it to the pile of unsent letters that occupied an old iron trunk.

Years again passed and soon Maria watched Joseph taking oath as the President of the United States.  Every day, Maria devoured the newspapers which would have photos of him attending one or the other function. As the initial euphoria of celebrating a new face died down, the press as it often does, dug into Joseph’s past and published an article about the girl the President had almost married. That led to a series of articles that sought to find her current whereabouts.

One young reporter from the New York Times, Nancy Daniel traced Maria to North Carolina and next day pictures of her appeared in the front page of all national dailies. Myriad Captions adorned her photos. “Almost First Lady.” “The Lady who lost it all.” Maria cringed. Her house became surrounded by paparazzi. She never spoke to anyone. Her neighbors and friends hogged lime light by giving interviews to magazines and newspapers. Her visitors tried to pry details from her. She kept mum.

One morning Maria woke up to an article that featured her trunk of unsent letters. It even had excerpts from her letters, which was an outpour of her love for Joseph. Maria ran inside to find the trunk gone. All she could do was weep. They were not just unsent letters- they were her soul.

A few weeks later, in the middle of the night a sleek black car arrived at Maria’s house. When the bell rang, Maria opened the door to find two soulful eyes looking into hers, a pair of blue eyes, which haunted her dreams every night.

“Joseph,” she gasped.

“Yes, Joseph,” that was all he said before kicking the door closed. Without waiting for another moment, he pulled her into an embrace and Maria forgot the world. Her tears drenched his shirt.

How long they stood that way, they would never know. But eventually they managed to sober down and Maria made coffee for him- without milk, two spoonfuls of sugar, just the way he liked.

“Get ready to be the First Lady Maria. And trust me, this time if you leave me at the altar, I will follow you even to the ends of earth and I will punish you for making me go through hell these past fifteen years,” he said.

“What are you saying? You are married. And that too happily. I have articles to prove that,” said Maria.

“Newspapers, they seek news and we feed them fake news. The last time I believed in a news was the one I read about a trunk full of unsent love letters to the President. All the rest are fake news my dear Maria. Linda hated me; she had affairs after affairs but stood by my side only to help her father realize his dreams of becoming the Kingmaker, the father-in-law of the President of the United States. He died last month and Linda left me officially yesterday, freeing me to seek you out. Her nemesis as she used to call you, the reason I never loved her. I never got over you my Maria, unrequited love is hard to forget. I know you did not forget me, the trunk that lies hidden in my personal chamber holds proof,” he said and wiped the tears that were steadily streaming down Maria’s chin.

Days later, a Lady dressed in a blue summer dress accompanied a smiling President to board the Air force one that was taking off on a two-week long official visit to Europe.

“My Lady, remember this is our honeymoon trip. Be near me always,” whispered Joseph with a wink, holding the door to their cabin open for Maria to enter.

“I will, every moment I thank my God for giving you to me,” said Maria and the tears that shone on her lashes were proof of her everlasting love.

 Her unsent letters had showered heaven's blessings upon her.

This story is written for Indispire

Love, Rotis and a pinch of Wisdom from a mother

Dear Son,

Hope this letter finds you in the best of spirits and health.

You might be surprised to find an email from your mom. But something told me to write to you; that you need to hear from me today.

It was indeed one of the best evenings that your father and I spent when you visited us with your new wife yesterday. Rest assured, we liked her immensely. I could see that both of you are very much in love and that makes me happy. May your love grow every moment!

Now to mention the reason for writing this letter. I don’t know whether you remember, but during dinner, you cracked a joke about the shapeless rotis that Lavanya makes. We all laughed and your father laughed the loudest. There were tears of laughter in the eyes of your father and there were tears in the eyes of your wife too. I can assure you that her tears were not of mirth, they were tears of mortification, of shame brought about by the innocuous joke that you cracked.

I guess that joke was the reason why we heard raised voices coming from your room yesterday night and the reason why Lavanya appeared puffy eyed in the morning. May be, she cried all night.

Son, I want to tell you something. I love shapeless rotis. They bring back many fond memories. They remind me of the shapeless rotis made by my father on certain Saturday mornings, when mother had extra duty in her office. They lacked salt, were hard like rock and were shaped like various continents. But his love for us compensated for all that it lacked.

Shapeless rotis also bring memories of those days when your father turned into my cook. It was in those early days of pregnancy while I was carrying you. I couldn’t bear the smell of spices or rice or anything cooking. Your father would churn out shapeless rotis and experimental curries, which tasted quite good, because he wanted to provide home cooked food for his wife and unborn child. His care and affection made those rotis priceless.

Do you remember how you used to insist to help me while I prepared rotis when you were around four years old? You would play with the dough and create various shapes that you wanted to be cooked and served to all. I can tell you, those were the tastiest rotis that I ever ate.

Words are all we need to create a world of love. Yet, a thoughtless word is enough to destroy that world.

You and Lavanya are equally qualified, you both even earn equal wages. You both have spent equal number of years educating yourself to be the professionals that you are. But you expect Lavanya to become the perfect cook and home maker from the moment you married her! How unreasonable that is?

Rahul, no new wife wants to be ridiculed in front of her in-laws. Trust me, I can tell you that. Been there, done that. She craves to be loved by them and she expects her husband’s support in her effort at endearing herself to them.

Teething troubles in marriages are often capable of draining out the love you have for each other. Be there for her while she adapts herself into your world. A small token of appreciation and open support is all that she would need.

You are my beloved son and I know you have learnt to see the brighter side of things. Value love more than any other thing, because son, perfectly round rotis are often machine made. They lack the most essential ingredient of love.

Yours loving mother.

 Renuka

His Perfect Stranger

My art

Aryan had met that perfect stranger at an inter-collegiate badminton championship during the final year of his MBBS. She and her gang of friends had belonged to a prestigious Engineering college, which was known as the hub of nerds.

Aryan was playing against Rohan from their college for the individual championship trophy and he was winning. That was when the cunning sports chief of their team sent the girls to take position behind Aryan and boo him while continuously cheering for Rohan. It was emotionally tiring to Aryan as he had none to support except the two members of their men’s team who had taken off on a tea break. As expected, he began to lose.

His eyes met with a pair of mischievous and shining eyes, when he turned to pick the shuttlecock, which he had dropped. It was as if a current had run through him. As though he had recognized those pair of eyes, her, from a time that belonged to a forgotten past.

After that Aryan lost steadily, he was busy trying to analyze the effect the beautiful pair of eyes had created in him.

Throughout the day, he watched her. Vaishnavi- that was her name. When she won the women’s individual match, he grabbed the opportunity and joined others to congratulate her.

“Congratulations Vaishnavi. That was a superb game,” he told while shaking her hands. She smiled at him and he continued to hold her hands, stunned by the fact that her smile was equally devastating to his feeble heart as those mesmerizing eyes. He was lost. Like a lost puppy who had found its owner, he followed her around causing much headache to his team members who knew him as a person who put his brain before his heart always.

By the end of the day, he managed to get hold of her address and email id, which was written, in the logbook of participants. At night, he waited for the dawn. He would meet her again, as it was university team selection next day.

She wasn’t there though all of her other team members had arrived. He asked about her casually to her friends and they informed him she was down with flu.

A few months passed and Aryan continued to roam around with the old card on which he had her address scribbled and wondered why the strange girl with whom he hardly knew was occupying his thoughts constantly. Then came his final exams and he immersed himself in his studies and put his thoughts about her on a back burner.

Years passed by. After his MD, he went to Australia to finish his fellowship and while on a coffee break from the hospital, he stepped into a nearby Café and the same pair of eyes met his.

“Vaishnavi… aren’t you Vaishnavi?”

She appeared taken aback but smiled.

“How do you know me? Yes, I am Vaishnavi?”

“We had met a long time ago during an inter-collegiate shuttle match. Do you remember me?”

His words jogged her memory and she opened her eyes wide when she finally recognized him.

“Don’t tell me you are that spooky guy Aryan who followed me around making my friends tease me like hell,” said Vaishnavi, shaking her head in disbelief.

“Unfortunately, I am,” said Aryan and sat on the chair opposite her, ”What are you doing here?”

“I am on an on-site project here. And you?”

After they exchanged news over a cup of coffee, Vaishnavi asked him why he had followed her around that day.

“I had fallen in love with you that day. Don’t question my sanity. I was perfectly sane but somehow you made me insane. I was never able to forget you. You were that one stranger that I longed to forget, but was never capable of, the one whose memories were the most colourful in my entire life.”

“Aryan, I indeed now doubt your sanity. How can you love a person whom you hardly know? I might have been in love with somebody else, I might even be married now,” said Vaishnavi.

“No…you can’t be. If God made us meet unexpectedly, that too again, he has planned something for us Vaishnavi. Please, do give us a chance. Or have you fallen in love with that pen friend of yours?” asked Aryan.

“How do you know about my pen friend?” asked Vaishnavi and then Aryan’s silence told her the answer she needed to know. He was her anonymous friend, the one who wrote numerous emails to her every month and had become her closest friend throughout her engineering days until now.

“When I scribbled down your address, I had no definite agenda. But then, I wanted you to fall in love with me. So I started to email you. Initially you didn’t reply. Then you replied, and we have remained friends from then. Why do you think I opted to do my fellowship here? I knew you were here. I knew you lived in this place and frequently came for tea in this café. I was always just a step away. I have waited for long Vaishu, I can’t anymore,” said Aryan.

Vaishnavi stood staring at him and then slowly walked into his arms, one she had come to love through the many letters that she exchanged with him. Aryan hugged her with all the love he felt and raised his eyes to thank the creator. 

His perfect stranger was his now, forever.

This post has been written for Indispire

Love is a Many Splendoured Thing

It was a memorable day, a day that Shreya would never forget. She had visited many places of mesmerizing beauty in Kodaikanal including the suicide point, which had a breathtaking view of the valley. It had been as if she was viewing heaven. The best thing was that her father had been her companion.

Back in their room, Shreya sensed that her father was distracted, more so than usual. He was gazing out of the window, which faced a bare wall; he didn’t hear when she called. Such symptoms were not unusual in her father who was an author. But this didn’t seem like one of his usual trapped-in-a-story distraction. She knew her father well enough to understand that something was bothering him; after all, they had been there for each other for the last eighteen years, from the time when she was three months old. Her mother had died in a car accident while on a trip with her friends then.

“Papa, what is bothering you? Won’t you tell me?” Shreya asked, sitting near her father and placed her hands on the shoulders of her father.

“eh?” he asked as though he had not heard her.

“Tell me Papa, what is bothering you? I have been watching you since the past one hour. The sandwich I ordered for you, has turned cold, and you haven’t heard a word of what I have been blabbering in the last hour. Tell me, aren’t we the best of friends,” Shreya asked, touching her father’s chin as though their roles had reversed, as though he was a troubled teenager.

Letting out a deep sigh, Samay Batra smiled, a smile that resembled more like a grimace.

“Just memories, child. They never seem to leave me alone. Today’s trip was hard on me. This place holds a lot of memories,” said Samay.

“Tell me Papa, you always say that sharing your troubles to someone takes away the pain. Did something remind you of mom, today?” she asked, her voice almost a whisper as she knew she was entering forbidden territory.

Her father never talked to her about her mother but she knew he had never been able to forget her, to let her go. At home, he would gaze at her photo for hours together on some days. If Shreya asked about her mother, he would change topics to avoid talking about her.

“Yes kid, some memories never leave you alone,” said her father.

“But Papa, haven’t you told me a thousand times that we should not live in the past nor should allow the past to rule over our present?  Why can’t you leave it all where they belong- right there in your past?”

“Darling, love, especially unrequited love is something that haunts you forever. You are never able to come in terms with that if you have fallen hard in love.”

“Unrequited love? You had married mother with whom you had fallen in love. I can’t understand you now.”

“Let me make it clear, I will begin at the beginning. I had met your mother here, right near that suicide point. I was on a writing trip and she was on a college tour. While posing for a photo near the viewpoint, she slipped and started to fall. I was near and caught her. In that moment, I fell in love with her; I thought destiny had thrown her into my hands. She thanked me, we exchanged address, and I found that she lived quite near my place back home though we had never met. Like a flower, I adored her from distance thinking I might harm her in some way. I didn’t think I deserved her, she was a bubbly, smart girl who brought sunshine into lives of others. My mother who was worried at my refusal to marry found about my obsession with Kavya. She approached her parents and they were thrilled at the proposal of marriage from a bestselling author. We were married within a month. The Kavya who entered my life was completely different from the person I fell in love with. She didn’t love me, I was late, she had fallen in love with a classmate and pined away for him daily. I came to know about it in a very painful manner,” said her father and paused.

Stunned by the revelation, Shreya waited for her father to continue.

“She accused me of marital rape when she found she had fallen pregnant with you. She told me she never loved me, hated it when I touched her, told me she felt soiled, dirty. Those were her very words. I begged her to give me one last gift and that then I would set her free. I asked her the gift of the child she was carrying inside her.”

“Papa…stop, I don’t need to hear further,” said Shreya, thinking about how her mother might have hated her existence right from the beginning.

For a while, both fell silent. Samay started to tremble with the suppressed sobs that had been brought forth by memories. Shreya decided that she must hear him out, help him vent the truth, which he might have never told anyone.

“”Tell me Papa, then what happened? Tell me, I need to know about that woman who might have wanted to kill me even before I breathed.”

“No my dear, she loved you. She doted on you from the moment she came to know  about your presence in her body . She hated me. I couldn’t see the hatred in her eyes. So, I found the person whom she loved and helped them meet again,” said Samay.

“But why Papa? Had you stopped loving her? I have seen you watch her photo for hours. Why did you do it?” Shreya asked.

“Because my child, true love liberates. If you truly love a person you would set them free, you would never want to chain them to something that they hate. Their happiness becomes your happiness,” said Samay.

“And then what happened?” Shreya asked, deciding to hate her mother even more for having left her father who loved her so much.

“I shouldn’t have let them go. They met with an accident five miles from our house and she was lost to me forever,” said Samay, dropping his face onto his hands, and began sobbing uncontrollably.

And the tears never stopped.

 This post has been written for Indispire

A thousand Love Letters

Dearest  Dhruv,

Your skylark is singing again, to brave the darkest hour, hoping to lure her dawn with the saddest song. The darkest hour of the night is just before the dawn, so say the wise men of yore. You are my dawn that is eluding my every attempt at reconciliation.  Didn’t you promise me everything and the moon? Have you forgotten the vows we made?

Years ago, when we promised to be together until death do us apart, I didn’t think that there would come a day when you would begin to hate me to the extent that you would storm out of a room if anyone mentioned my name.

But whatever happens, I can’t seem to hate you. I know about the hatred you have piled in that corner of your heart where once I had my own safe haven. I know you don’t trust me anymore. You wouldn’t believe that I never cheated you, that it was a carefully plotted trap that Priya had woven to tear us apart. I have all the proof but you didn’t even give me a chance to explain.

Hadn’t we set a rule that whatever happens we would hear the other person out before deciding anything? But you broke that rule. You left me in tears while I tried to explain that your mother never liked me and had played her part perfectly in the play enacted by Priya and her team. You never realized that Aryan is Priya’s closest friend, I don’t even know him. All his claims that we were anything else is false, but you didn’t stop to listen. You had seen him in our bedroom, but did you know that Priya too was there then, hiding in the wardrobe waiting for Aryan to enact his role?Would you believe that I was trying to save myself from being raped when you arrived?Can’t you think that I would never let a stranger in unless they are accompanied by a friend? Your mother was with me throughout but she sneaked out before you arrived. 

But you would not believe me. Sadly, you believed everything that your mother and Priya told you.

I had thought I had learnt to fill the void you had left with mindless hours of work. But I am wrong. I wander in the rooms of the home we built at night, looking for signs of your presence. That lone T-shirt that you left in the cupboard often gets wet with my tears; I wear your cologne to breathe in your presence.

I promised my parents that I would move on, undoubtedly, you had moved on, they said. But why then do I feel assured that you would return before long, bringing with you the dawn that I await?

I feel forlorn now that you are continents away; the pit of dread in my stomach is becoming unbearable by the second. A nagging little voice in the back of my head tells me that your heartstrings have stopped singing my name, the ravages of time and the flight of memory has torn down the resistance of that stubborn sinew. I don’t want to hear that, I refuse to believe.

If it is the truth, just tell me so. I will not write another word to you. This is my thousandth mail- I wrote one to you every day.  I am writing this in the darkest hour of my life. I loathe this teary existence; I grieve your loss, my lost innocence. I can never be the same again without you. Your absence has tainted my blood with the poison of your love. Every sunset reminds me that I have lost yet another day of hope. 

The lantern of expectation is now beginning to smoke dark fumes of despair. The fire of love that kindled it is long exhausted; my wet eyes crave now for the light of the dawn.

Come my darling, my dawn; do not tell me it is too late. Do not tell me that the embers of hope have frozen forever.

Only yours,

Neha

Scrapbook of Memories

I had a scrapbook made out of a discarded diary, which had a zipper bag that came along with it, during my school days. It held a collection of quotes, poems, favorite songs, beautiful sceneries, photos of my favorite bollywood actors/actresses and even newspaper cutouts of any interesting news that caught my eye. I remember keeping in it feathers of birds, lovely stamps, matchbox covers, chocolate covers and other baubles. Dried flowers and leaves too found a safe haven inside my scrapbook.

There was no order and no index as to what was inside the book.  Therefore, every time I opened it, which would be once in every few weeks to add a new treasure, my own collection would pleasantly surprise and cheer me up. After a while, the bug of poetry bit me and I started to add my own poems to my collection.  I would doodle on pieces of paper and keep it inside for safekeeping. It was literally my very own treasure house of memories.

Last summer when I visited home, I found it again, safely tucked inside the locker of my cupboard, beneath a few old clothes. I spent hours going through the contents and some items brought tears into my eyes. Some were reminiscent of carefree and happy days while some others reminded me of the much confusion that a young schoolgirl might have gone through. Some reminded me of old friends, crushes and hobbies. Notes written in longhand in some pages, reminded me of my ambitions, my ideals. The dried flowers reminded me of the gardens where they had originated from. The hollering owners of the gardens from where I had stolen them were now long gone, but the dried flowers had survived the ravages of time.

Inside the pouch was also an autograph book, which had the messages from my school mates scribbled in haste on the last working day of school. Many of them are still my friends but some who were close to me then are no longer a part of my world now. Time had brandished its sword and cut the cord of connection between them and me.

These days, I no longer keep a scrapbook for memories. I prefer to relish the present moments and make them memorable by taking photos that I safely store into electronic storage devices. I keep multiple copies. And when I am bored, I go through my memory collection and relive those fine moments which had been captured and frozen in time.

My blog too have become my online scrapbook where I keep on adding pieces of my creativity and vignettes from the present or a forgotten past. 

This post is a part of Indispire on Indiblogger.

E-books or Paperbacks?!!

Books waiting to be read

I am a bibliophile, someone who is in love with books ever since I remember. I even got a best library user award while in school because of my addiction to books.

The debate e-books vs. Paperback books rages the world over as to which one is better. I am simply not bothered to give my support to any of these groups.

Did the first paperback books pose such a dilemma to the readers? Did they have trouble welcoming the latest entrant to the world of knowledge? I don’t think so. Those who love books does not care which form they arrive. I have equal love for e-books as well as physical books. Recently, the majority of books that I have read are in the e-book form. While on a long journey, I prefer e-books as I can carry around thousands of e-books on my laptop, phone or kindle.

Now to compare the two:

E-books	Paperback
Cheaper to purchase	Costlier than e-books
Easier to carry around. A kindle can hold thousands of e-books	Carrying paperbacks in your travel bags can break your back.
Easier to find word meanings or to mark portions of the book that you found interesting using the online thesaurus. Your scribbling and comments can be erased when you wish to.	You have to carry around a dictionary if you want to check word meanings. Highlight some paragraphs in your book and you leave an unsightly mark, which can’t be erased unless you used pencil.
Instantly downloadable from online portals. So you get to read them at your convenience.	Paperback books ordered from online portals take time to reach you. So you are kept waiting.
A data crashing can delete all your books in a flash. The benevolent water can turn mischief-maker if you drop your e-reader in a puddle.	Paperback books can stand the test of time if they are kept at a distance from termites, fire and water. Your favorite book can be with you throughout your lifetime without much damage.
You can read in darkness and be a night owl devouring your favorite story without disturbing anyone.	You need adequate light to read paperback books and often face resistance from other members of the family who plead to switch off the light.

Though e-books seems to win in terms of convenience, true bibliophiles will never bother to find who wins the battle eventually. I wouldn’t. I am interested merely to gather the bit of knowledge the book is going to deliver.

As long as Muse romances writers and readers romance the books, I don’t fear anything. Let there be peace. Let those who prefer e-books own plenty of them and let paperback lovers fill their home libraries with loads of paperbacks.

Have a great day folks!

 This post is written as a part of Indispire on Indiblogger