Now what kind of a Game is That !?!?!

She never

wanted to,

Didn’t really

mean to,

play that game..

that game

they call ‘Gamble’,


that’s not

the real name

of the game..

but its more

or less

like one..

you win –

yet you loose,

you loose – most..

almost all of the time

yet she plunged in


there’ve been some

who’ve won

(many’ve lost too)

there’ve been some

who gained it all

(most lost all they

had before, in n’ out)

But Frankly,

she played..


“everyone” plays..

and if you don’t,

you’re labelled an

‘outcast’ …..

Now what kind of a Gamble is that ??


All that a writer is..

When the plot is about light, I am the spark,

When about gloom, I am the dark…

I am the sun, talking about its rays,

I am the moon, when the night fades…

The star I am when, my pen twinkles,

The euphoria I am, when your heart dwindles…

I am the lover, when my words make love to you,

An ocean of feelings I am, when my characters say “I do”…

I am the slut, when it’s a brothel to depict,

I am the fortune-teller, when your future I predict…

When there is sex in the story, I am at my most sexual,

When creating words of lust , I am the most lustful…

I am the conspirator, in those mind games,

And the outstanding orator, in the town hall fames…

When in the wild, I am the animal,

Sometimes the obedient, other times the rebel…

I am the student, the teacher, the employee,

The  entrepreneur who gives royalty…

A lonely , sad and broken soul at times,

Or the befriended and ambitious executive

Working from 9 to 9…

I am you, they, he, she , it,

I am the Mr,  the Mrs and the Miss…

Its those characters that play in my mind,

Its those thousand souls whose experiences I pine…

With the mighty pen, all I am free to be,

My words are about everything, and not just you or me…!

Confusion.. A state of mind

In The quiet of the night,
I sit all alone,
A thousand questions thrown at me,
by someone unknown.

Questions about me,
questions about life,
Questions to answer,
for so long I strive.

Of all the years I’ve lived, I sit down and think,
My past, present, future, all I try to link.

What did I, What do I and what will I get?
Just this very thought, makes my eyes wet.
I try not to think, of what can’t be,
But it seems from past, I just can’t flee.

I get up and put on my favorite song,
A melody not heard, in so long.
Surprisingly it’s not so special anymore,
As though a fish has come to the shore.

I feel so taken, with all I feel inside,
It’s too much for tonight, “leave it,” I decide.
I close my eyes and I’m off to sleep,
Lost very soon, in my dreams so deep.

Same old questions even haunt me there,
“Run away,” I say, but to where?
Expectations to fulfill, Promises to keep,
“Will I be able to?” I think with grief.

“Yes you can” Angel voices say,
“You’ll get through, just work hard and pray”
May be it won’t be that bad after all,
Isn’t Confusion a mountain that rises and falls?

Also available at


The hall was all too silent. Filled with more than a thousand people, yet with pin-drop silence. But there was a reason behind that. It was an endless wait for this special moment, for more than a year.

It was a day for the greatest awards in the world of words. Finally he came, walked on stage and the name was announced. ‘ And the award for best writer of the year goes to Lalima*!’ With that just one sentence, the silence was broken. Cheers and claps, hugs and happiness filled the room. But she could barely move. Frozen on her seat with tears trickling down her cheeks, there in the distance she could still hear the wheels of the train turning, moving and taking her far away from her inspiration, into her future.

An unsure yet exciting future. The one she was scared of, yet looked forward to. And she remembered once again, that one special month in her life when she had just finished college and was stepping out into the world. Looking for a fresh start in a new direction. She had ideas but not options, chances but no choices, she had the will but she was yet to find a way.

The wheels moved forward and her memories took her back to that first day of her training. The office was filled with people busy with different jobs. Meeting deadlines, attending phone calls, working under pressure yet with pleasure. The seat next to her was surprisingly empty. ‘Who’d be sitting here?’ she wondered as she was given previous briefs to refer to, to get a hang of the place.

So busy she was with the material, little did she realize when the seat next to her was occupied. ‘Excuse me, are you the copy-writer here?’ she managed to ask him, to break the silence. In just a matter of a few hours, the two of them were the closest of friends. She somehow found it so easy to talk with him, share things with him and ask him for advice.. Look up to him.

‘What do you see yourself doing six months from now?’ where do you see yourself at that point?’

He knew she was confused, didn’t know what the future held and somehow he made it his responsibility to get her out of that. To make her think about what she wants to do, where she wants to go.

‘You’re different, there is something different about you, and that difference is what no one else has, and you and only you can get it out and show to the world.. What do you like to do?’

‘I like writing. Its like when I write, I can put in full emotions of what I feel. I want to be a great writer someday.’

He would assign her different jobs, sometimes to make an ad for a product, sometimes to write an article for a magazine.

‘It’s either full one hundred points or it’s a zero. There is nothing between the two. I don’t understand how does a teacher manage to give someone sixty five, seventy five or even eighty?’ He’d say.

You have to be your own critic, don’t wait for the world to tell you that you’re good. What right does somebody else have to comment on what you have done?’ its you who has to decide. Don’t ever be scared of difficulties. Remember, there is no way of walking ‘around’ your difficulties. You have to learn and walk ‘through’ them. And anytime you feel confused, call me. Talk to me, tell me and ask me anything you want. Don’t hesitate. I’m always here.

How could someone be so kind? So nice? A person she had known for less than a few days had that special feeling for her which comes very rarely, perhaps just once in a lifetime. And to her, he became her friend, her teacher, her critic and her inspiration.

One month of her training passed in a jiffy.

On the last day, he gave her a leather bag and a waist. The kind those professional writers would use. ‘You don’t know what the future holds. But I know that this can hold your future very well. Be a winner always, in all the ways!’ he told her before she left.

Her training was over, it was time to go back to her hometown and face the challenges of a new life. Face them she did. She began with an entry-level position in the creative department of an ad agency. For six years, she worked hard at all that she did. Creative director in a respectable ad agency, a freelancer and at one point a famous and respected writer. Anytime she felt lost in a sea of people, lonely in her own world, or anytime she felt like running away, she looked up to him and she’d be on the go again.

His words echoed in her ears. ‘Do something great someday. Get that genius out of you. Make me proud.’

And the wheels of the train came to a halt.

She went on stage, took the award and said on the microphone ‘Thank you *****, I’m proud of you. This belongs more to you, my inspiration, than to me..’

*Lalima ‘ Early morning spread of soft orange sunlight in the sky. Used as the name  of the main character of the story in this case.

Ctrl S … Cappuccino

6:45 am (at home)

I wake up with a start . We are massively late. Your school bus is to arrive in less than 20 minutes. You simply refuse to complete the glass of milk in a hurry. Not that I blame you for it. I know how much you enjoy your morning cup of cappuccino sitting at the kitchen table while I work. Those moments are the best part of my day too.

Today I am in a rush though and nudge you to quickly finish up that cuppa and move on with the day. You do as I say and quickly  hurry out the gate to catch the bus showing your displeasure with an angry nose tweak.

Last night too, you wanted to use my laptop and would simply refuse to let me look at your word document. I do not remember when I fell asleep while you were still at it. Why are you so unreasonable sometimes?

9:30 am (just as I rush out the door)

I am tempted not to write the “thought for the day” and “riddle time” on your board for you to read when you return from school. I still do out of motherly affection.

You are on my mind as I drive.

10:00 am (at work)

The laptop takes immensely long to boot today. There are several unsaved and restored files that open one after the other. My irritation is at its peak. This is how kids mess laptops , isn’t’ it? I wait for my cup of coffee to calm me down.

Document 01 blank….

Document 02… Apples are red and blue and…..

Document 03 blank…

Document 04.. akljdfosiufdsankldfj  (Why do you type like this?)

Document 05.. I louve you mOM ..

My heart melts.. I do not notice any spelling errors..