The Mumbai locals are the hub to all Indian festivals. During Navratri, you can see a proper dress code for nine days, followed by men and women according to the colour-of-the-day. During Diwali, you might see the trains decorated and covered in frills and flowers. While, Eid fills your life…
Disclaimer: This poem is written from a perspective of a five year old kid and how he sees a “Sunday” and feels for it. हफ्ते में दिन होते हैं सात पर अच्छा सिर्फ इतवार लगता है, मुझे हमेशा इसका इंतज़ार रहता है। पाप की छुट्टी, मम्मी का प्यार इस दिन…
I am a student of Nehru Nagar Public School and this is the first time I am going to a forest on a #ShortcutSafaari. Yes, I have been told they are for real, but I am not sure. “Didi, will we see Tiger?” I asked my teacher as we boarded…
Sitting amidst clutter and mess, I looked for my phone that beeped incessantly buried under heaps of worn sarees, paper bags, old books and diaries. When I finally managed to locate it, I realised it to be a message from an acquaintance I had befriended during a conference. She pinged…
Right from the childhood, I was known for spoiling my mother’s culinary surprises. I would end up revealing the ingredients by catching the whiff of her special preparations. By that logic, my olfactory senses were a bit heightened. An irritated aunt always said, “you were a dog in your last…
The child in me wants To run after the planes in the skies And bid them goodbyes The child in me wants To play till my feet hurt and shoulders begin to droop The child in me wants To spend the day doing nothing Without a tinge of guilt The…
The world of blogging or bloggers is growing every minute, as it can crown you professionally as well as on personal level. A blog is your best bet for getting noticed, for making your voice heard, and stand out among the online crowd. It is no longer a space meant for just…
String of flowers adorned her tresses like a tiara Dusk falls, she drowns in the sea of orange Slipping into the tides of time her bare feet A wanderer she walked miles dripping with memories In the dreamlike fields of gold She found beads of love…
Potpourri of memories, Childhood games, Rekindled teenage flames, Leap into her head Like foggy, blurred postcards Reminiscing … Fingers scramble to fit, Inside the rusted tin jar, Fumbling with the scraps Of torn paper, old tickets, And hand written notes Revisiting… The orange sky Fading into dingy Black cloud of…
Image: layoutsparks.com As, the waves washed sand off my feet giving me the fuzzy happy feeling… I found it floating on the waves of time in a tattered old bag safely tied with iron chains… A rusted tiny lock with a heart shaped key the thrill to have found a…
