Ever wondered why anyone would want to be a writer?

Why wouldn't you rather become a doctor, a farmer or a fashionista and profusely give away a potential part of yourself in the escalation of the ever-evolving society! Why not just go for money and fame? Why not just start dancing on the dais rather than pulling the curtains behind? Why would anyone want to be a writer, indeed!

Know why? Simply because you don't have a choice. Because your thoughts are in a dire need to be spilled out. Because your voice is craving to reach out. Because there is always a story rattling around in your head. Because you want to seize unpredictability in every jot of ink. Because it's a euphoria that increases your heartbeat and gives you goosebumps. Because you own your own universe and you are the creator of magnificent tales, those that plummet right into the hearts of gazillions. Because although you wish you had been built differently, you quite like to go on this arduous marathon every day.

And for me, eventually, it's all about making my little piece of paper drench with tears, reflect faces flutter with happiness, sense the frowns of a thrilling mystery, feel hearts scream in pretty colors and know that no matter how little, I can persuade and influence people to do their bit.

Alas, why would you lose on encapsulating your dreams in every word you pen?

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Rains And Ruins.

W ords should not be kept for later because they thrive on mood and my mood is nothing less than a pendulum, so I thought I should pen it down. It's not Monday today but I still got the blues. When I say blues, I literally mean the bluish tone in my otherwise curtain-coloured reddish room, along with the pretty melancholic climate. I hate the dark clouds that get clogged in the sky refusing to pour in, but I love when it finally rains. It's like the clouds have vented out their long-held pain. It feels liberating and very refreshing. I don't quite feel like working in this climate, rather I would be sitting on my terrace, watching the rain, sipping tea (which I am doing even now to avoid falling asleep on my laptop). But the sad truth is I can't go up on my terrace, not at least for the next 2 months, the renovation works are going on and I badly miss the only beautiful, picturesque location in my house. The staircase bricks are cracked to build newer ones and there...

Love demands chaos.

You know there is always this little scar inside all of us. You are sensible enough to realize it wouldn’t stop with that single scar, but still you crave to keep it. The tiny scar that ships your love. It isn’t weird that you would sound crazy about this. Like you only picture it when you think he should be the one who makes that one long divine kiss of yours true. How it feels to know you are in a crowd until he looks at you. How he moves you and never let you forget your curves, the way he touches you and kisses your fingertips. Alas to let every women in the universe know you are with him. And he is yours. I say it with such conviction because I have felt it, lived with the scar. And never in a billion of the past memories have I felt something like it. And I am way over thinking it. Do I deserve the pain? No. Would it break my heart? Yes. But I just got to do it. You ask me for a reason. There are not many. It is only because my heart chose you. And eventually it has to be you...

Denied Pleasure.

Once upon a time in la la land... I had some peace of mind (if you can call it that). If peace of mind meant sleeping peacefully most of the time, ignoring all the coldness, denying all good vibe quotes and recreating my version of the same …then yes, I had peace of mind. Music and ladoos were more than enough to make up for every lack I had in my life. I was happy. I can't say that I am 'sad' now, but I am definitely not at 'peace'. Sleep seems to have broken up with me completely, but somehow I wanted my nights and days to be longer despite that. Why? Because this was probably the only time when I would be able to talk to him, help him untangle his crazy mind. I close my eyes every time to conjure up images of him. The way he smiles, the way he frowns, the way he lays his hands casually on his steering wheel, the way he secretly looks at me through the rear view mirror, And his scar OMG... I can’t express how badly I am in love with his scar. I could admir...

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