Pens and Pages

B for Book Review " This book is filled with poems about loss and closure and for me it was heavy stuff. It takes you back to things you went through in the past and although it might re-open some wounds it may also bring some solace and give you a push to go on. If you are struggling, give it a try. No need to finish the book in one go. You can take you time and read one a day, one a week, one a month, … at your leisure. They are beautiful and I am happy I took the time to open my mind to them. 4 stars. " - Els, Book Reviewer from Belgium on The Art of Letting Go Clare Shaw " Many of these poems are painful to read but they still made me smile with recognition. It's a comforting thing to see yourself reflected on the page. So you won't be surprised that "Moving On" was one of my favourites! And how so many poems in this collection make a lie of it - you do move on! I loved the fierce imagery of "Burning Bridges and "Moonlit...

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Most evenings tension lines form on my forehead. Most nights I can’t sleep well. I make sure the door is locked, I make sure the windows are closed, the curtains are drawn, and one or two lights remain turned on. I don’t know if growing up means living in fear because you know too many truths about how the world works. I am not sure if I can call myself very practical or a little paranoid. They say a child knows no fear and they only acquire it as they grow up through various environments. It would be fair to blame it all on my environment- toxic, untrustworthy, full of criminals. But I seldom find any solace in being blame-free. I would blame my own fearfulness as much as I would blame the environment. It was easier as a child to forgive myself, mostly because I thought when I’d grow up I’d be perfect. That there would be no mis-happenings, if that’s a word. * One really cannot blame a thirteen-year old coming back from school in public transport, wearing a decent uniform, ...

Image Source: Huffpost I wouldn’t think of it much If the tea I so love to drink Wouldn’t have found a genius way To trickle down my white t-shirt Leaving a stubborn brown stain. She would then find her way down Every time I wear a white top. If what I wear is already stained, She doesn’t bother to leave her mark again; Maybe she knows to not knock the same door twice, Maybe she identifies her own marks. There are seasons when I love to wear white But I can never wear the ones I own, not again Because her scars don’t leave And I can never give up on a cup of tea, So I let her spill and stay where she wants to be. If the top’s not white, she doesn’t bother to drain Maybe she knows to not hurt the ones that don’t feel pain. I never spill her on my black cardigan- She is picky that way, not to fall for anyone. Every white t-shirt I have ever owned Screams of her taste, of her skin tone, I wouldn’t mind losing so many clothes If it weren...

I cannot stress on the fact enough that life has changed after working. Well, it should because what good is stagnancy anyway. After a year of working, I find myself tired by the second half of the day. No wonder, every time I take a flight I doze off even before the flight takes off. I remember, I was traveling on New Year ’s Day and the flight was delayed by multiple hours. That was the first time when I woke up from a nap on a flight and didn’t find myself on air or on a different city. I woke up and we were still at the take-off area. But I had a good nap anyway. It was last week when I took an afternoon flight but couldn’t fall asleep for some reason. Like most journeys I was seated near the window, but unlike my previous journeys, this time I looked out of the window. We were just a couple of metres above of the clouds but the view was great. A blue horizon on a sea of clouds. I was lucky enough to spot a rainbow amidst the cirrus; the hues getting clearer with ...

Your thoughts, your feelings, The emotions you’re perceiving- What are they, if not fragments of beauty? Epitome of beauty be that mind of yours, That heart that loves simplicity, The beauty you see around- Invisible to busy eyes, Incomprehensible to worried minds. How do you pen a poem then Of the beauty you see From that heart of yours? Do you break sentences? Do you rhyme words? Or do you just read, And, after every four seconds, pause? How would you express your heart? With long words from a heavy lexicon? How long should each word be, Sitting on someone’s dictionary? And if all you want is to gently read, Write the poem a broken heart would need, Not simple meanings behind words too-long, Write your heart out to a simple song. Write the word that makes you believe Not the one that looks good on paper. Choose the word that weighs more No matter the length be nine or four. Ask yourself, what would make you believe, C...

It’s been more than a year now since I have joined my first organization after MBA. However, the days have gone by pretty swiftly especially during the second-half my year-long tenure in the organization. Having previously worked in cities like Hyderabad, Mumbai and Bangalore I had never actually pondered about the meagre ratio of females in organizations. Having worked as the only female ASM, a ratio of 1:9, in the unit, in a Tier II city now, for a sales-driven organization, for more than 7 months, I do realize all the challenges and the changes involved. For a change, no one has made fun of my accent yet- or at least not in front of me. I remember how in my previous organization or in college, my accent was pretty much imitated and laughed at; often, I would laugh along. When in Mumbai, the Assamese accent of mine was identified as “Fake British Accent”- something that often annoyed me when discussed in extent. People working in Bhubaneswar cannot be fooled that e...