‘NOW’, The Present

Now is the time. And this is the best time anytime. Only ‘now’ is the time over which you have got power. You have no power to change what is done, and no power to change what is inevitable. But you always have this very own, ‘NOW’.


After wasting so many years in search of my passion, I still was nowhere. I gave random tests, some on internet, for some had to pay, prepare and then appear. But with no success. There was just this fire inside, to be known as someone yet scared of failures, to be recognized as a person yet feared to project the self, to do something which benefits everyone (yeah…I am that person who puts others before myself) but this time something really worth of.

Five years back I tasted death, when my second miscarriage happened. On hospital bed I was restless,” am I going to die so young?” I wondered. I have done nothing yet, nothing worthy of the education I was fortunate to have, I have not lived, not enough. I prayed, “please God give me another chance, just  one chance to be truly who I am and live as ‘me'”.  I wanted to set an example for the daughter I already had. And now I wanted to take care of myself too. I wanted to love myself, more and more, that someday when I die I don’t have regrets. There are dreams which I still need to pursue. And I would chase them till the end of my life, would accomplish them one by one.

Life is just once. Live it, love it, make it useful and enjoy.

We can only have what is today, rest is history and unseen.


Miss your face

The tinkling in her eyes was flickering

Counting the lines of her face i couldn’t see

Those lines, those trails of her experiences,

running up down back n forth cross and slant

Were spread on her face like thread

I got strangled and i got lost in making them straight

That one tooth which would bling in her smile

Bringing me peace everytime i was burning out dry

The silk which would brush her face

As if trying to wrap some pearl, so precious

And i know it won’t wither

As it ain’t the physical form in real

Her impression wouldn’t leave me ever

She is inside me in surreal

Pouring salt

Broken pieces of my shattered dreams

Lay here and there, and cut me deep

I believed my dream is real

But it was only a mirror

Reflections i saw were not mine

The rain pouring down was not just water

Even though it had a flow and had a shine

Couldn’t quench my thirst with so much salt

And yet i was drinking as had no choice

Thus going slow was only my heart

It had to stop anyway someday

Making it sooner would help me to ease the pain

So hastening was my goodbye

Death of a soul

Clenched heart

Bitter taste

Shaky legs

Trembling hands


The moment it was

When the earth stood still

Sky was falling…

Throbbing pain..

I suffered that day

I suffered again…

Lost, but living

Surrendered, but surviving

Tortured, but thriving..

Am i the same

I died that day

I died again

It was a game

He won that day

I lost again

I died

My soul is dead.

to you i belong , unto you i shall return..

to you i belong , unto you i shall return

then why i am lost when i know the final destination?

i am not seen by anyone yet i show off myself.

why is there any need be,

even when i know,

after few years or just a second i may not be

as is currently as my self,

i will change as i have changed

but there is one more me again

who is always there

stopping me to harm any , also,

who is that ”one’ with a feeling of uneasiness

for every drop of tears, and

who cries sometimes after only a look

for why is it so as it is

why did not it happen the way it should have been

who is that who ponders with so much questions,

who feels the pain someone else having

who misses, who is strong

who cares, who is selfish

who is that?

who makes me feel being watched over

and being cared

is it someone inside or someone from

or is it just a notion

that there is someone else

or is it just me in the whole world


Well i thought i could be a writer.. Don’t know if i would ever be.. Because for a whole year i have written very few blogs.. Always wondering how to start a story…although sometimes I do have a plot.. But i guess i am lazy too.. So now i have decided i would put a diary entry everyday… It would only be according to my perception for my daily interactions and my hopes and realities.

Right now i am having a book with me which i took out from my husband’s trolley bag which he keeps for reading while traveling . Everytime and then the book changes though the trips are mostly same. Business trips to mostly same places with similar people and some to his hometown.

This time the book is ‘When all is not well’ by OM SWAMI. And i find this book interesting!

Yes i like reading.

While traveling i like to read ‘Reader’s digest’. Wonder if anyone has liking to it or atleast have seen one.

Moments of joy

When their proud eyes are watery upon realizing that you are a warrior.

Each and everyone have their exclusive moments of joy, and mine is not when i held her the first time. It is actually yet to come.

Though it involves her but it isn’t about her, not making her succesful someone and be proud. But it is actually be ‘someone’, myself.

Me being  awarded for my achievements, on stage. And she looking at me from the audience, with moistened eyes.

And that is our shared moment of joy, an exclusikve one for both of us.

Word count: 100


Masters of Writing Flash Fiction Challenge, Week 17

Missing you

When you are not here, I miss ‘you’

I miss ‘each’ and ‘everyone’, close.

When you are here, its like ages

I haven’t met ‘myself’.

With whom I am happy? Me or you?

I don’t know.

Who I love?

I don’t know.

I just know I am living,

living in the present.

Sad or happy, or confused,

whatever it be.

I am finally living it.

when pain is the ink…

When you are writing and pain is the ink

Your palm is your paper!

What you are writing can’t be read,

It’s invisible.

As salty it could be,

Colourless that ink.

With every drop you write.

And erase

By rubbing it together,

Your palm with your eyes,

For what’s already been written.

But these eyes want to write

Even more

For they are the mighty

Or mightier someday

Than the sword!

Because they write

And they erase…

Torn between

She is original, vibrant, happy…

She is fake, dull, sad..

And i am torn between her and her!

Whom to choose?

Why cant i have both coz one is submissive,

And it feeds my ego..

Gives me a hormonal boost when i can shout on her, disgrace and disregard he..aha.

But the other, to her i could be vulnerable..

Cz she is strong, she can imbibe my sadness as she has none…

Conflicted me wants to have both…

Sometimes i just want to punish myself for the mistakes i made..i had a dream..i didn’t protect it..that dream reflected the actual me, gave me hopes,and made me feel alive. But i ruined it! I shared it with someone i wanted to share everything with. That someone became my life and still is but the person, me is lost. I am not who i am. Yet with a plastic sword i am fighting all my battles. Rejoicing atleast the fact i am not killing anyone else. But i guess the grip is sharp, cutting me deep. So i want somtime to end it for all. Punish me .