Flipping through the pages of a famous fashion and lifestyle magazine I came across this article on ‘female infanticide’ and how this NGO saved a pretty angel like four day old sweetheart with the most darling smile [her photos were there of course], from the mouth of death and forced her parents to accept her and admit that they were wrong.
Ahem…… you are about to kill a four day old baby, and you get caught along with a lot of media being involved.
WHO WILL NOT ACCCEPT BEING WRONG AND PROMISE EVERLASTING LOVE FOR THEIR BABY?
I doubt if it was realisation or true penance that brought about that change!
For the little angels sake I hope those NGO warriors check in on her every week and when she is old enough make her pinky swear that she’ll yell her lungs out the moment her parents come within one feet distance from her. Because, they might have prevented infanticide here; but created the perfect scenario for domestic violence if you ask me.
Today, the law and human rights associations protect girls and women from a lot of ill intended harm and they are probably the reason why a lot of people are scared into not doing anything drastic or crazy to get into trouble; but, it doesn’t change who they are or what they think or even whatever twisted and insane version of right and wrong that they have in their heads.
Education helps create awareness and increase sensibility? Then, why did my fully educated, ultra-sonologist, father of two daughters apparently, with a clinic wallpapered with ‘sex detection of the foetus is illegal’ posters; get busted in a recent sting operation for not only detecting the gender of the baby but for also suggesting no questions asked abortion clinics to his patients?
Why did a friend’s highly qualified software engineer husband use her face as his personal punching bag for the last three years and make her life so unbearable that she had to take her five year old son and run?
And, why did this teary eyed girl sitting next to me in the bus one day; stare at her phone at this open text that I shamelessly eavesdropped and read; and why did she not just delete it or go slap the boy but instead sat there considering a message that read, “I dont care.Hav sex wid me again or I break up wid u”?
I rather go through the sick; depressed feeling of knowing that an infant at her prettiest, most pure and innocent hour of her life was brutally killed than live with the knowledge that she was saved, forced to live with parents who did not want her in the first place and probably grew up to be the eight year old slapped because she wanted to study, the twelve year old forced into child labour, the eighteen year old forced into prostitution by a drunk; un employed father, the 23 year old[normal educated grew up in a good family got married to a great guy type girl] mother of two kids; and pregnant again made to give up her career, her sensibilities and everything beautifully wonderful about her to pursue her mother in laws quest for a grandson.
Every person reading this, including myself can argue about my highly prejudiced one point perspective way of looking at this situation and yes, I am turning a deaf year and blindsiding the world where women empowerment etc. is happening at an amazingly wonderful and satisfying rate; simply because; the rest of the world aside, no parent who can get even the slightest urge to kill their own child would qualify as someone who can nurture and love that little angel to grow up to be the modern woman we all read endless lifestyle columns about.
There might be a lot of things one deserves or does not. But no girl deserves to think she doesn’t deserve her parents love or that she is unlucky, unwanted or not beautiful enough to be truly happy.
Let her go rendezvous in heaven than live through hell.
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
Monday, June 14, 2010
A puppy named "Puppy"
She had no idea what “Happy Birthday” meant, nor did the fact that she was one year old make any sense to her. But all the attention she was getting made her like the idea of being the ‘birthday girl’ [everyone kept calling her that]. So, sitting on her favourite uncles’ lap she watched him unwrap the present he had bought her. He tore away the shiny paper that she found very pretty and while she played with it he opened the box inside; and out came a golden and white stuffed puppy.
Of all her toys this soon became her favourite. The fact that it was probably the smallest and the only one she could carry around; might have lead to the favouritism. She would take him everywhere, to the bathroom and give him baths, to the kitchen and try to persuade him to eat the apple she did not want, to the park and push him to and fro on the swing and even to the hospital where she was going to show him her little baby brother.
Somewhere down the line she christened him “Puppy”, and from then on everyone was introduced to her puppy stuffed toy named ‘Puppy'.
It was a bright sunny day; she woke up early to the sounds of the television and wandered upstairs to the balcony where her grandmother had kept the parrots’ cage. While feeding the already overfed bird with little green chilies she saw a man take his dog for a walk. She stood there for a while and watched the dog run from tree to tree and wag its tail and chase a squirrel down the street.
The next morning her mom found her dragging Puppy across the street. The little girl had found a skipping rope and fastened it around her toy who she was convinced was a real dog, and was now taking him for a walk with a proud smile and the innocent air of a child; who was absolutely convinced that she was doing the right thing.
“So, is puppy a boy or a girl?” she sat there thinking for a while then looked up at her fathers smiling face and declared, “Pa, he is a boy; and he is very strong! He will bite anyone who troubles me.” And then she carried him with her to the kitchen to ask her mother to make Complan for him too and not just her.
She got him when she was one year old and was told then that he was as old as she was. She fell in love with that golden and white stuffed toy and the whole childish delusion of assuming him to be a real puppy probably continued for a few years.
She is 20 years old today, and yes, he is really frayed and torn and his nose is missing. The golden fur now looks a dirty yellow but; she still sleeps with him right beside her, she hugs him every time she feels lonely; she cries to him every time she has a fight with her parents she doesn’t want to tell her friends about. She picks him up and dances around her room when she is really happy and excited about something and she wishes him “happy birthday” every year on hers.
To her uncle it was a sweet gift he gave to his little niece. To her parents he was their daughters favourite stuffed toy. To her brothers he was the best way to trouble her by hiding him and threatening to chop off his tail.
But to me, he will always be my “Puppy”.
Of all her toys this soon became her favourite. The fact that it was probably the smallest and the only one she could carry around; might have lead to the favouritism. She would take him everywhere, to the bathroom and give him baths, to the kitchen and try to persuade him to eat the apple she did not want, to the park and push him to and fro on the swing and even to the hospital where she was going to show him her little baby brother.
Somewhere down the line she christened him “Puppy”, and from then on everyone was introduced to her puppy stuffed toy named ‘Puppy'.
It was a bright sunny day; she woke up early to the sounds of the television and wandered upstairs to the balcony where her grandmother had kept the parrots’ cage. While feeding the already overfed bird with little green chilies she saw a man take his dog for a walk. She stood there for a while and watched the dog run from tree to tree and wag its tail and chase a squirrel down the street.
The next morning her mom found her dragging Puppy across the street. The little girl had found a skipping rope and fastened it around her toy who she was convinced was a real dog, and was now taking him for a walk with a proud smile and the innocent air of a child; who was absolutely convinced that she was doing the right thing.
“So, is puppy a boy or a girl?” she sat there thinking for a while then looked up at her fathers smiling face and declared, “Pa, he is a boy; and he is very strong! He will bite anyone who troubles me.” And then she carried him with her to the kitchen to ask her mother to make Complan for him too and not just her.
She got him when she was one year old and was told then that he was as old as she was. She fell in love with that golden and white stuffed toy and the whole childish delusion of assuming him to be a real puppy probably continued for a few years.
She is 20 years old today, and yes, he is really frayed and torn and his nose is missing. The golden fur now looks a dirty yellow but; she still sleeps with him right beside her, she hugs him every time she feels lonely; she cries to him every time she has a fight with her parents she doesn’t want to tell her friends about. She picks him up and dances around her room when she is really happy and excited about something and she wishes him “happy birthday” every year on hers.
To her uncle it was a sweet gift he gave to his little niece. To her parents he was their daughters favourite stuffed toy. To her brothers he was the best way to trouble her by hiding him and threatening to chop off his tail.
But to me, he will always be my “Puppy”.
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
I love me, I love me not.........
I’m pretty certain that everyone goes through the ‘self love’, ‘self pity’, ‘self hate’ phases on a daily basis. I wonder though, if anyone bothers to actually sit down and think it over and realize that there are times when we let ourselves go on this roller coaster ride of hidden emotions for no apparent reason at all.
We all have a tendency to edit our perspective to fit the one that, the world around us labels veracious. And, in this race to prove ourselves as righteous as the next person, we tend to judge the world not on the basis of what probably would be the sensible and open minded way to accept the different shades of the spectrum in front of us, but, instead, on the basis of what would be the safest way to appear and come across as the ethically sound and the most easily justified virtuous person that we would love to be labeled as.
In this mental mess of trying to look like the better person; we tend to not only blindside the chance to maybe accept reality and the variety that all our existence together has to offer and also the fact that each one of us deserves to feel good and special and, that; it probably is not worth questioning things about us that we can not change but also, it is unfair that we let it put us in a situation where we tend to question ourselves and find normal everyday details of our lives highly flawed and unacceptable.
To simplify it down, we let something as normal as not owning the latest fashion trends in our wardrobes enough to hate our situation. You see someone thinner, more fair, more gorgeous than yourself and you declare yourself the ugly beast in your head. You have friends who can sing, dance, paint, do wheelies with their pimped up sports bikes, etc. and you decide to tell yourself to sit in a corner and cheer for them just because you assume your talents aren’t worth it.
Be it something as basic as someone else getting a higher academic score than you, or; something as complex as, the person you are fantasizing about in your day dreams deciding to shower all their attention on someone who according to you is more of a looker than you’ll ever be. We let the world and its perfection decide our imperfections.
And, it is at times like these that we forget; that only yesterday, did someone compliment that cute smile of yours or that, someone voiced out how you make the best tea in the entire house or maybe even how that once this random stranger at the shopping mall; gave you this flirty smile with that; I think you are eye candy “look” simply because getting randomly cheesy with you was irresistible for this certain individual, who did not know you and wasn’t behaving that way just to make you feel better.
But, I guess that is what truly makes us human. The fickle nature of our minds and the insecurity of not being the best we could be or whoever we would wish to be. The Oscar winning part we all play to the dot with complete perfection. The one where, a lone man sits on a park bench and picks up a fallen flower and decides; to bestow on it the task of making the majestic decision, and start pulling off its petals one by one while simultaneously chanting,
“ I LOVE ME, I LOVE ME NOT”.
We all have a tendency to edit our perspective to fit the one that, the world around us labels veracious. And, in this race to prove ourselves as righteous as the next person, we tend to judge the world not on the basis of what probably would be the sensible and open minded way to accept the different shades of the spectrum in front of us, but, instead, on the basis of what would be the safest way to appear and come across as the ethically sound and the most easily justified virtuous person that we would love to be labeled as.
In this mental mess of trying to look like the better person; we tend to not only blindside the chance to maybe accept reality and the variety that all our existence together has to offer and also the fact that each one of us deserves to feel good and special and, that; it probably is not worth questioning things about us that we can not change but also, it is unfair that we let it put us in a situation where we tend to question ourselves and find normal everyday details of our lives highly flawed and unacceptable.
To simplify it down, we let something as normal as not owning the latest fashion trends in our wardrobes enough to hate our situation. You see someone thinner, more fair, more gorgeous than yourself and you declare yourself the ugly beast in your head. You have friends who can sing, dance, paint, do wheelies with their pimped up sports bikes, etc. and you decide to tell yourself to sit in a corner and cheer for them just because you assume your talents aren’t worth it.
Be it something as basic as someone else getting a higher academic score than you, or; something as complex as, the person you are fantasizing about in your day dreams deciding to shower all their attention on someone who according to you is more of a looker than you’ll ever be. We let the world and its perfection decide our imperfections.
And, it is at times like these that we forget; that only yesterday, did someone compliment that cute smile of yours or that, someone voiced out how you make the best tea in the entire house or maybe even how that once this random stranger at the shopping mall; gave you this flirty smile with that; I think you are eye candy “look” simply because getting randomly cheesy with you was irresistible for this certain individual, who did not know you and wasn’t behaving that way just to make you feel better.
But, I guess that is what truly makes us human. The fickle nature of our minds and the insecurity of not being the best we could be or whoever we would wish to be. The Oscar winning part we all play to the dot with complete perfection. The one where, a lone man sits on a park bench and picks up a fallen flower and decides; to bestow on it the task of making the majestic decision, and start pulling off its petals one by one while simultaneously chanting,
“ I LOVE ME, I LOVE ME NOT”.
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
No mans land
Back in the days when I was getting a full time education and also going through the whole ‘I’m fifteen and fabulous’ stage, I managed to decide to settle down for a while at no-mans land [literally NO MAN].
And as would have been expected from someone who grew up climbing trees and choosing to play cricket with her neighbours brothers over playing doll house and watching wrestling and finding it cool, I managed to not only hate the place but absolutely despise it and all those hormonally challenged, PMS-ing ,extra giggly, 5 tons of make up applying, self obsessed dames. It was like stepping into a parallel universe where everyone had perfect hair cuts and shiny nails and pretty outfits and somehow no matter what day of the year it was; they all managed to look gorgeous “all the time”!
I started to feel emotionally connected and sympathetic towards the ugly duckling from the fairytale. All of a sudden I was being judged not just on how my academic scores were but also on how I dressed [“Neha you always wear that silly top. It’s not in fashion even!”], how I walked [“god girl! You drag your feet so noisily, you have never worn heels have you? ] etc.etc. And the fact that I couldn’t sing or dance [the two things apparently all girls can do!] didn’t help much either. So, I spent a good part of the first half of my stay there feeling out of place and missing the world that I had left behind, I also managed to break the record in moving from one set of people to another in search of the right clique` .
And then, it happened! My prejudiced opinions dropped and I started to see this bizarre world in a very different light………….
No mans land wasn’t a place full of superficial people. Rather I realized that girls had a tendency to be, well you know, ”girly” and that I had never paid any attention to that part of me so I found the rest of the worlds efforts pointless. No mans land was in fact this divine place full of people who were probably normal with ambitions and this very weird way of thinking exactly like I did! And then, the process of self realisation and personal discoveries started.
It’s surprising how different the world becomes if you just choose to change your perspective. So, the rest of my stay was probably one of the best experiences of my life. The pleasure and knowledge that no mans land had to offer were endless. Wear whatever you want [not like anyone you need to impress is around], do not think before you speak! Talk about all your girl problems as loudly as your heart desires without having to find a secluded corner, bitch to no end about the boy who dumped you and have at least a hundred people sympathize and join in on the abusing, don’t ever worry about certain parts of your wardrobe playing peek-a-boo with you, and then there was my favourite one- eat all you want and like a pig if your heart fancies it cause everyone does the same!
I found things I was good at, managed to shine in a few. Learned things I never would have bothered to do normally. This new perspective not only made me a better individual, and helped me realise this very girly side of me but also let me grow to this new level of profound intellect that I so proudly wear on my sleeve today!
It was like a vacation with benefits, of a higher education; of making friends I’ll know forever; of meeting people who have changed my life in the most bizarre yet wonderful ways; of learning, the true meaning of sister-hood. And also, of realising, that a ‘Y chromosome’ carrying individual is someone a girl doesn’t necessarily need to make a part of every sphere in her life. It was a journey that I’ll carry in my heart forever, probably more exotic and worth narrating than any vacation to Greece or Paris would be.
My stay, at No mans land…………
And as would have been expected from someone who grew up climbing trees and choosing to play cricket with her neighbours brothers over playing doll house and watching wrestling and finding it cool, I managed to not only hate the place but absolutely despise it and all those hormonally challenged, PMS-ing ,extra giggly, 5 tons of make up applying, self obsessed dames. It was like stepping into a parallel universe where everyone had perfect hair cuts and shiny nails and pretty outfits and somehow no matter what day of the year it was; they all managed to look gorgeous “all the time”!
I started to feel emotionally connected and sympathetic towards the ugly duckling from the fairytale. All of a sudden I was being judged not just on how my academic scores were but also on how I dressed [“Neha you always wear that silly top. It’s not in fashion even!”], how I walked [“god girl! You drag your feet so noisily, you have never worn heels have you? ] etc.etc. And the fact that I couldn’t sing or dance [the two things apparently all girls can do!] didn’t help much either. So, I spent a good part of the first half of my stay there feeling out of place and missing the world that I had left behind, I also managed to break the record in moving from one set of people to another in search of the right clique` .
And then, it happened! My prejudiced opinions dropped and I started to see this bizarre world in a very different light………….
No mans land wasn’t a place full of superficial people. Rather I realized that girls had a tendency to be, well you know, ”girly” and that I had never paid any attention to that part of me so I found the rest of the worlds efforts pointless. No mans land was in fact this divine place full of people who were probably normal with ambitions and this very weird way of thinking exactly like I did! And then, the process of self realisation and personal discoveries started.
It’s surprising how different the world becomes if you just choose to change your perspective. So, the rest of my stay was probably one of the best experiences of my life. The pleasure and knowledge that no mans land had to offer were endless. Wear whatever you want [not like anyone you need to impress is around], do not think before you speak! Talk about all your girl problems as loudly as your heart desires without having to find a secluded corner, bitch to no end about the boy who dumped you and have at least a hundred people sympathize and join in on the abusing, don’t ever worry about certain parts of your wardrobe playing peek-a-boo with you, and then there was my favourite one- eat all you want and like a pig if your heart fancies it cause everyone does the same!
I found things I was good at, managed to shine in a few. Learned things I never would have bothered to do normally. This new perspective not only made me a better individual, and helped me realise this very girly side of me but also let me grow to this new level of profound intellect that I so proudly wear on my sleeve today!
It was like a vacation with benefits, of a higher education; of making friends I’ll know forever; of meeting people who have changed my life in the most bizarre yet wonderful ways; of learning, the true meaning of sister-hood. And also, of realising, that a ‘Y chromosome’ carrying individual is someone a girl doesn’t necessarily need to make a part of every sphere in her life. It was a journey that I’ll carry in my heart forever, probably more exotic and worth narrating than any vacation to Greece or Paris would be.
My stay, at No mans land…………
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
It's Voodoo!! It's Magic!! and you'll probably need magical powers, or the third eye etc. to understand this one :P
On a boring Saturday afternoon, I came across this article that got me smiling :) :) :)
Now, it was all about mystical stones and cryptic messages and in other words sort of like ‘voodoo magic!’
And then, the usual followed, I went in a frantic search for my cell phone, tried calling; realized it was on silent, cursed loudly, made my brother drop his home work and help me search for it instead, blamed him for losing it, and then…….”FOUND IT!!!”, on my study table where I always keep it :|
I called my best friend while obviously ignoring my brothers loud complaints and irritating banter, and also forgiving him for calling me “a blind mental freak”.
So, like I mentioned…….. I called my best friend. I got into narration mode and immediately got an “OMG! hahahaha”; in reaction and after a few minutes of girly giggling and silly story spinning we both fell silent, and I’m guessing she too was probably visiting the same far away wonderland that I was; where this sort of magical craziness would work!
We both as usual broke the silence together with a “So?”
“Should we do it?”, “Yes! Let us do it!”, “But, err, Will it work?”, “Who cares? It would still be fun!”, “Yeah, but how on earth are you okay with it?”, “Huh?”, “Well, you never believe in such things. The typical Aquarian that you are”, “Yeah, I know. But I also did not want to turn 20 and even then last week I did. So let’s just say that I’m open to silly things now”, “Yeah, but you don’t need this to get on with it! hehe”, “Yes I do. Cause, jerks aren’t my type!”, “Really? Are you sure?”, “Oh, Shut up!”, “Alright! Let’s do it!”, “Tomorrow?”, “Done!”…………………
So, we got down to business and wrote our messages and Configuration requirements [our cryptic way of referring to it ;)] and flushed it into the world……….
And, from the looks of it after certain unmistakable; super obvious; situational circumstances in the last few days, her message has not only reached its destination in all its glory but is also being replied to by the dozen. What about me? Well, my enquiry of the existence of a certain species is apparently still submerged in the worlds shit. ’Literally’
Now, it was all about mystical stones and cryptic messages and in other words sort of like ‘voodoo magic!’
And then, the usual followed, I went in a frantic search for my cell phone, tried calling; realized it was on silent, cursed loudly, made my brother drop his home work and help me search for it instead, blamed him for losing it, and then…….”FOUND IT!!!”, on my study table where I always keep it :|
I called my best friend while obviously ignoring my brothers loud complaints and irritating banter, and also forgiving him for calling me “a blind mental freak”.
So, like I mentioned…….. I called my best friend. I got into narration mode and immediately got an “OMG! hahahaha”; in reaction and after a few minutes of girly giggling and silly story spinning we both fell silent, and I’m guessing she too was probably visiting the same far away wonderland that I was; where this sort of magical craziness would work!
We both as usual broke the silence together with a “So?”
“Should we do it?”, “Yes! Let us do it!”, “But, err, Will it work?”, “Who cares? It would still be fun!”, “Yeah, but how on earth are you okay with it?”, “Huh?”, “Well, you never believe in such things. The typical Aquarian that you are”, “Yeah, I know. But I also did not want to turn 20 and even then last week I did. So let’s just say that I’m open to silly things now”, “Yeah, but you don’t need this to get on with it! hehe”, “Yes I do. Cause, jerks aren’t my type!”, “Really? Are you sure?”, “Oh, Shut up!”, “Alright! Let’s do it!”, “Tomorrow?”, “Done!”…………………
So, we got down to business and wrote our messages and Configuration requirements [our cryptic way of referring to it ;)] and flushed it into the world……….
And, from the looks of it after certain unmistakable; super obvious; situational circumstances in the last few days, her message has not only reached its destination in all its glory but is also being replied to by the dozen. What about me? Well, my enquiry of the existence of a certain species is apparently still submerged in the worlds shit. ’Literally’
Saturday, April 3, 2010
It's all about the romance!!!!
No, I am not talking about a love affair or a love story, not even of the supposed atmosphere that surrounds this seven letter word………… I am talking about “ROMANCE”.
Rolling your eyes? Well, I would suggest you opened that dictionary [or used the Internet to access dictionary.com maybe]. I’m talking about the noun form of this word that we all use only in reference to the matters of the heart that make us blush……..The meaning that states the word romance to stand for an ‘imaginative story’, or maybe even the other meaning of this controversial word that implies ‘to present unrealistically’.
All these years, ever since I started writing my diary [in the seventh standard to be more precise] I have wondered; as to what it takes to be a good writer. About, what is it that one should learn maybe even practice to perfect this literary form of art. Go to writing school? Or how about summer camps on how to imagine?
What is it that gave birth to Harry Potter and made J.K.Rowling if nothing else, but an extremely rich woman. What is it that gives people like her or even Emily Bronte their own unique yet fascinatingly stunning styles of narration. How is it that writers manage to have this exceptional talent to bring to life the most unimaginable scenarios, to make us feel and relate the most intense emotions? It is a writer who gave birth to a vampire, a writer that got us to fear this blood sucking in human entity, and yet again a writer who made every girl crave to fall in love with a hazel eyed ‘vegetarian vampire’.
Romeo and Juliet are probably the most romantic of lovers ever to be talked about to such great extents, Mark Anthony [Julius Caesar] a crowd steering Orator who changed the fate of Rome and civilizations that followed, and Cinderella the most favourite of all princesses and the reason why every girl wishes for glass sandals to stack in her closet. But, in the end they are all products of a writer’s fantasy. Their speeches, their behavior, their stories which every reader delights in and the coups which become the basis of every daydreamers role plays are the results of a story tellers tale……………
Everyone of us has a story to narrate, a poem to recite and a verse to rhyme but while some can express it in black, blue and white on paper others can not even successfully decipher it into sentences inside their heads; leave alone penning it down.
It is not about how awesome your English or whatever language you choose to write in is, its not about how much you scored on your essays, nor is it about where you went and what you saw or what you did, and it definitely is not about what you learned or are learning…………..
It is about what you felt and how you wish to express it, it is about how profoundly you can relate to it and how enriching the whole experience of sharing a point of view is. It is just;
All about the romance
[and if you are a reader or writer of love stories and romance in it’s original and famously known sense…then pun intended ;)]
Rolling your eyes? Well, I would suggest you opened that dictionary [or used the Internet to access dictionary.com maybe]. I’m talking about the noun form of this word that we all use only in reference to the matters of the heart that make us blush……..The meaning that states the word romance to stand for an ‘imaginative story’, or maybe even the other meaning of this controversial word that implies ‘to present unrealistically’.
All these years, ever since I started writing my diary [in the seventh standard to be more precise] I have wondered; as to what it takes to be a good writer. About, what is it that one should learn maybe even practice to perfect this literary form of art. Go to writing school? Or how about summer camps on how to imagine?
What is it that gave birth to Harry Potter and made J.K.Rowling if nothing else, but an extremely rich woman. What is it that gives people like her or even Emily Bronte their own unique yet fascinatingly stunning styles of narration. How is it that writers manage to have this exceptional talent to bring to life the most unimaginable scenarios, to make us feel and relate the most intense emotions? It is a writer who gave birth to a vampire, a writer that got us to fear this blood sucking in human entity, and yet again a writer who made every girl crave to fall in love with a hazel eyed ‘vegetarian vampire’.
Romeo and Juliet are probably the most romantic of lovers ever to be talked about to such great extents, Mark Anthony [Julius Caesar] a crowd steering Orator who changed the fate of Rome and civilizations that followed, and Cinderella the most favourite of all princesses and the reason why every girl wishes for glass sandals to stack in her closet. But, in the end they are all products of a writer’s fantasy. Their speeches, their behavior, their stories which every reader delights in and the coups which become the basis of every daydreamers role plays are the results of a story tellers tale……………
Everyone of us has a story to narrate, a poem to recite and a verse to rhyme but while some can express it in black, blue and white on paper others can not even successfully decipher it into sentences inside their heads; leave alone penning it down.
It is not about how awesome your English or whatever language you choose to write in is, its not about how much you scored on your essays, nor is it about where you went and what you saw or what you did, and it definitely is not about what you learned or are learning…………..
It is about what you felt and how you wish to express it, it is about how profoundly you can relate to it and how enriching the whole experience of sharing a point of view is. It is just;
All about the romance
[and if you are a reader or writer of love stories and romance in it’s original and famously known sense…then pun intended ;)]
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)