# include(sneha.h)

My memories of us  play tricks on me. They cling onto me when I need to let go. And I cling to them, when I am let gone of. They grip me like a nightmare that I cannot snap out of. And I latch onto them because I have not found better solace. But my feisty self wants to conquer. And conquer I do, sometimes. I keep them at bay, just how you did me, on several days. Now, I feel powerful. Now, I have survived.   All hail the Queen! But then, a mere symphony, a phrase, a number, a condiment – Abduct me from an ordinary day. And rush me into remembering you, make me forget my conquering. Quicksand. Again, I am brought down on my knees, to kneel before our memories. My heart is yet again hijacked to the smell of your skin, the sound of your laughter, and the sensory pleasures that my body lusts after. Well, You live now, and I exist in this loop. You’re you and them now, and I’m still only us. You’re free now, and I’m still whirling. ...

  I’ve always believed that the book finds you. Some come and make a home for themselves in your bookshelf, and others instantly cradle between the grip your fingers and your fixed gaze. Karuna Ezara Parikh’s ‘The Heart Asks Pleasure First’ found me in January of 2021, when the global COVID-19 pandemic had completed 10 months and we were trying to make sense of what collectively our lives had become. It had found me at a time when I was very willing to give up on love stories – heck, maybe on love itself. "Longing. Is there a fuller word in the world? Tell me, is there an emptier one?"   I couldn’t curtail myself from reading even a single day. And like anything which is addictive, I had a hard time snapping out of the world she had created in those 316 pages when I finished. Anyone who’s been in love knows that when love grips you, you find it hard to live even one day without communicating with each other – and that is the same effect the story of an Indian and Pakist...

  I t was my year of firsts. We all have that one year in our life which we can label as “the year which destroyed me”, and I would be quick to point at 2019. Incidentally, this would also be labelled as “the year which surprised me”, the most. In essence, 2019 was one complex scumbag. Not the scumbag you want, but maybe the scumbag you need, to become a stronger person. Thanks to a fantastic upbringing by my parents where they instilled a strong value system in me, I think my sense of gratitude has always been existent, but 2019 heightened it further. I call it the “Year of Firsts”, because I am amazed, that, while in my head I always looked at it as the year of last – the last one before 30- and I found moments and started learning to look at it differently. Instead of “almost 30” to yeah, okay, 29 - the last twenty to have a good time. 2019 for me was rather eventful. Several first time experiences (both lovely and rotten ones), enriched me. With this post, I am opening up a...

Hanuman Chalisa – Devdutt Pattanaik You’ve head the Monkey Lord’s stories, but not all of them. Tales from across India, Asia, with a verse–by-verse deconstruction of the 40 lines (Chalisa) of prayer and why it holds its place as a truly powerful shlok in Hindu spirituality.   Devdutt Pattanaik, through his beautiful illustrations and love for mythological storytelling, tells you more stories and beliefs about Lord Hanuman, in short and informative read. Norwegian Wood - Haruki Murakami Love love? Love fiction? Love the simplicity of the story of two young Asians? Murakami has a special way with words. Afterall, not every tea is Matcha green tea and not every Asian author can create a genuine, entrapping read. Murakami makes himself relevant across borders, cultures and decades – proving that human beings are mainly emotional beings, despite all the differences we attach ourselves to. Not a story that has a happy ending, probably why you want to believe in it more. ...

Rapunzel: “I've been looking out of a window for eighteen years, dreaming about what I might feel like when those lights rise in the sky. What if it's not everything I dreamed it would be? “ Flynn Rider: “It will be.” Rapunzel: “And what if it is? What do I do then? Flynn Rider: Well,that's the good part I guess. You get to go find a new dream.” 21.35 hrs .  Adil’s four year –old’s eyes looked no less excited than Rapunzel’s, when she finally got to see Rapunzel see the light on their 48’’ LED TV in the living room. Tangled was her current favorite Disney movie. He chuckled, first at his daughter, about her excitement. And a few seconds later, he was chuckling at his own self. He wasn’t four, when those lights had fascinated him. He was nineteen then but still such a baby at heart.  The ringing of the doorbell interrupted his brain’s command to press the “flashback” button to that year of his life. It was the guy delivering the week’s laundry. He paid him ...

“Please don’t leave me”, were the words uttered by him in between sobs, in an agonized voice and a strange defiant body language. She (almost) yelled back, “Why should I not when you did EXACTLY JUST THAT some few months ago by choosing to walk out of what we had?” How was his request even fair? They had crossed the infamous seven-year itch. And this was year #8. Year eight is what the world doesn’t talk about, my friends. And I believe it has a good reason not to. It’s the year of the wound.  Atleast, that’s what I wanted to call it. And Vinay’s expectation of quick and easy forgiveness was rubbing some serious salt to my deep, deep, wounds. It was a strange weekend, with an eerie silence in the house. There were voices in my head. My own, telling me multiple things. His, through the flashback of his bit in the conversations we’d had in the recent few days. And a third unfamiliar voice, whose shoulders were seducing me with the bandage to my wounds. The only decibel th...

I want to thank Mitch and Morrie for highlighting the beauty of Tuesdays - which was otherwise just lived as the day that was closest to Monday and met with only so much love. I also want to thank my dear buddy, who after reading the book told me that we had to make Tuesdays special. The best part-he made sure that I appreciate Tuesdays better by supporting his words through action, which is the best quality of him. A long heart-to-heart about a chapter of his life's story and the important learnings from them - no less than Morrie. And something that could certainly give Mitch a run for his money. Only one of the most humble persons in this world can tell you that good comes out of suffering. My friend spoke of a beautiful yet tragic time of his life very stoically, but with complete conviction in telling the story without losing sight that the intent was that he wished to convey a message, more than dramatise the story. Not only am I grateful to him to have shared some life-...