Pens and Pages

In a lazy afternoon, my friend and blogger, Rafaa Dalvi called me up to ask if I'd like to go to attend an event the next week. I was too sleepy to be excited about it. I said no. He, then, explained that the event was not a regular one but an exclusive meet with author of Chanakya's Chant, Ashwin Sanghi. A year back, I had participated in a story-writing contest and Ashwin Sanghi was the judge. My story bagged a position in the list of top 25. The memory of the book, Kaleidoscope, where my story was published, was the first thing that came to my mind when I heard the name, Ashwin Sanghi. I changed my lazy mind and said, "yes, I'd love to attend the event."  The next ten minutes was spent telling all my colleagues that I'm going to meet Ashwin Sanghi at Vivanta by Taj, Cuffe Parade. Proper Invitation (including mails and phone-calls) by the Tata Literature Live! The Mumbai LitFest Team followed. The feedback on their way of inviting - great

It's middle of October, 10:00am and I am most certainly not doing what I thought I'd be doing at this time of the year, a year back. But when does life ever go as planned? Surprises and shocks are what makes life more and more unpredictable. For me, my surprise of the day is this post by a blogger from Indiana, Martina McGowan - http://martinamcgowan.com/2014/09/strategies-for-reclaiming-your-self/ She, someone who doesn't know me, spent time to create a picture for my quote. Life can't be better than this, can it? I have seen people copying and pasting others' quotes without giving them proper credits. I have seen people using my quotes as their Facebook cover photos and removing my name from the quote so that other people think it is their own creation. And in a world of liars, here's Martina who, without even knowing about me, decided to give me proper credits. May the world have more such souls. :-) Here's the picture she created -

I saw the shackles That made you bleed. I wiped your tears; I, too, wept. I saw the shackles That bound you so; I saw them cut into your flesh. I didn't see- They were, but, me. My tears and my hopes, Expectations and more so. When I did remove My blindfold, I set you free, I let you go.

Dreary and Tired, Eyes of the night. Words too worn out To yell, to fight. Drained out of The hope for tomorrow, They look at each other, At each other's sorrow. Eyes too used to cry; They are shut now. A dark sky, Another starless night, 3:00 am And the tale called life. - Sanhita Baruah

 My child of grief! Hurt you must have been, Inevitable, crying may seem, But dear, whenever you're sad, Just look at yourself, And ask if it's necessary, Weep, if you must,  If you really really must, But do not forget To ask yourself, "Why not write a poem, instead?"

Sitting on a rock near the lake, Tisha was ruminating on what went wrong in her dream. Alas! She couldn’t recall how her dream ended; but she wished she could. Playing with her dark brown hair with her fingers, she wondered what if for once her dream didn’t come true. When she realized that she was hoping for something people pray the contrary of, she laughed at her cursed life. It is time. She looked at the sky above and a tiny drop of water fell on her right cheek. It began to rain and she turned around to find her little sister coming towards her in a hurry carrying a red umbrella with her tiny hands. The umbrella, how could I forget it? It was common for Tisha to have weird dreams; dreams of people she didn’t know, dreams of people she knew, dreams of herself, et cetera.  It was when she was 10 years old that she realized her dreams come true; or rather whatever would happen the next day she would see it beforehand in her dreams. At first she used to dream about falling