Sublime

^ Sketches have a beauty of their own.
Whether detailed or minimalistic, they take you to your first lessons on art.

Tried making one. The initial opinions have only motivated me.
Will try and put a picture of it soon.


^ Zindagi Naa Milegi Dobara & One change it made to my writing:

I've started formulating thoughts in my first language.
Building on from there, though might seem easy, but is not.


^ Gifting your dear ones, induces joy and pleasure.
I, once thought, that I was pathetic at choosing gifts.

Only now did I realize that it isn't such a difficult task, if you heartily wish to gift them.

When giving a gift is not a formality but a strong desire to make the loved one feel special, the gifts fall in place, in beautiful fashion.

Got back to crayons {after Class 4th or 5th, I guess} for decorating the gift, and was super glad to hear the chirpy, happy voice!!

Trying new things. Picking up old forgotten robes. And enjoying all of it.


The sublime beauty of life.






[The beauty of being with him.]

Walking Complete

Google Images

Narrow cobbled bridges led to the bare-soil-lanes. Lined by the trampled grass stubs on both sides, they transformed into dense forests in less than half a meters breadth.

Naked tree branches were playing wave games: stooping low, rising high; creating the second best curves God as an artist drew.

Forest's fragnance were filling the air breeze, delivering the soothing sound bytes of rustling leaves, birdy chirps and the calls of the feline. All in a rhythm, to the eardrums exposed usually to the traffic horns, lecture loudspeakers and human chatters.

Lake waters, stiller than cadaveric skeleton, were the abode of a happy boisterous family of geese, laughing, conversing and joking around in loud quacks.

Iron railings were dividing the water body from her fellow, earth. Beyond the borders, the spooky leafless branches of trees rooted in the middle of the lake, with the dusk sky in the backdrop gave the perfect lifeless picture.

With the cooler night breeze as a constant company, the half of my soul and my half of my soul, were walking complete, in silent synchronicity, in steps as short as ant's. Timing time we were, buying, enjoying, and depositing it in memory circuits.

Deer Park, South Delhi
His Birthday.

Journey Back Home

Its quarter to ten post meridian. In a hustling AC public transport bus, covering the distances of this vast Delhi, are tired people from work. And some are like me, tired from classes; all on our way back to our resting abodes.

The shuttered shops are making some great listeners to the horns of the innumerable vehicles, whose red rear decorates the roads like the Diwali lights does to my balcony railings. A peppy number is being aired. In the serious expression on every face, quiet rested mouths and isolated world of thoughts, tuned taps of an old uncle's fingers on the seat just shook our indepedent mundane subconscious.

To follow, now the person next to me is fine moving his fingers on his laptop bag in synchronicity to the musical notes. The middle aged lady staring through the wide glass pane of the bus, at the vehicles and the skyline of Delhi, is making subtle tilts and musical movements. Needless to say, I too am humming my stress out and miming the song.

Contagious and refreshing.

One fine journey back home, I must say.