Words

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Is it true, my love? Love precedes passion but passion tapers away Interlocked fingers become passé And framed photos replace fresh bouquet If, that is so Memories would be dear to me Wrinkles will hold the giggles Collected till our golden jubilee Like love spun inside the fabric Each thread will only get stronger with use Body mellow, feelings ripe But somehow it is all very different in youth Different chattels we owned then, remember? Some lasted merely a week Like a hundred rupee slippers you bought me From the roadside of Dunellen creek Feet rollicked as I put them on Though it made an awful sound Like horse galloping angrily On an uneven battleground You slid your fingers into mine Molting dusty road into a dream land I went into a trance thereafter Take My Breath Away played by an invisible band There was no chariot to fancy No chauffeur to drive us back to town But to a starry-eyed lover the inside of your car l...

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I have a saas-bahu relationship with Facebook - we maintain a good social image, but I can't stand the erratic mood swings of its algorithm and its desire to change the layout every now and then. I even bitch about it to my friends. Sadly, I can leave it only if I divorce my blog. You see, like a good mother, Facebook feeds my blog with 'hits' and 'likes'. Hence, I am indebted to it. But recently, I have been maintaining a safe distance. I deleted its app from my iPad and I log in from my laptop twice a day. Why, you ask?  Well, it's infected with many diseases which are affecting my mental health, if not physical. It all began on a Monday morning two weeks back. I scrolled down my timeline and saw 359 likes on a friend's photo. I rubbed and cursed my sleepy eyes. 359 - there is a serious overlap of figures! 359 - darn, slow internet, not loading properly! But to my utter dismay, between the time I rubbed my eyes and refreshed the page, the likes went u...

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When parents are our buddy, When home is the place we have most fun. Gliding on the clouds of bliss, Where laughter is shared equally among old and young. Everyone listens, everyone cares, Be it mother, father, daughter or son. There - parenting becomes a joy ride, ...and khuljaye bachpan! I come from one such home, Where encouragement was in abundant supply. Be it starting my very own business or traveling alone abroad, I was told to look ahead and fly high. There was always a balance between caution and care, Our parents never snubbed us to go anywhere. Logic-reason-desire ruled above age, Failures were dealt with consolation and never with rage. It was more of friendship that bloomed while growing up, . ..and khushi ke pal filled our days with a midas touch. There was nothing we refrained to share, Moments of shame, dread or even despair. If my brother had a crush, they knew, Or the emotional stress I went through. If I bunked ...

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