Temporary things make permanent change.

Most important rule to learn and to teach is that temporary things make permanent changes. Biggest example is life.

A small assessment for you to do.

Sit and visualize your life from childhood to till today. Record a pattern, how petty things shaped you into the person you are now. Connect positive connections between negative dots. And burn a positive permanent mark on yourself with the temporary negative stamps.

And then you will truly understand the purpose of physical and mental pain in life.

I tried doing this assignment with my painful memories. I have been in a dilemma whole of my life regarding my sufferings. Why me? What good did they bring me? Sheer pain with no good explanation. 

Until recently, I found a pattern in my pain. There was a clear pattern but with changing variables. How different variables pointed towards the same target. Each variable, not sharing any connection between themselves, pushed me to my ultimate goal.

How temporary pains helped me discover my inner needs which ultimately brought me permanent changes in my being.

I believe this must be a divinely guided discovery, each person goes through in their respective lives. 

How to do your parenting right…

#Short Story
#Fiction
#Humor

Friends meeting after a long time and were discussing how life was passing funny for them…

Ash: …hey! You know what… my toddler son makes this sound and that I too like to hum it all the time… (started rolling eyes and making weird sounds) “a gullu gullu… gullu gullu gullu… gullu gullu gullu gullu…”

This is so addictive…

Sam: Are you insane…

Ash: I think you haven’t done your parenting right and hence you are still sane… (bursting into laughter)…

The Haunted Trap


Deepak huffed as he slammed the front door of his house angrily, “Argh! Can’t get a moment’s peace in this house…”. It was very hot and humid and his mood didn’t help him to feel any better.

Deepak worked as a script writer for a web series production company. The producers were looking to create a horror drama and as such Deepak had proposed to submit a script next week for review. The issue was – he had just started writing the first lines when the drama began in his house…

His wife Shalini was in her screaming fit, as usual, something to complain of -this time it was about their son’s school fees getting delayed every month… and the nagging that followed – how low he is earning, how he should change jobs, how his previous job was better. If there was a reason Shalini could scream for, she would, and here she was in her full blown rage. Deepak listened for a while, his head in his hands, then suddenly retorted vehemently, “What is all this drama every time? I am the one who pays all the bills. It is my writing that keeps us going… and what about you going on shopping all the time wasting money on nonsense? Then you don’t remember the money shortage?”. And saying this walked out grabbing his stuff from the table.

Taking out his car, he started driving towards his favourite café to grab his lucky seat. He calls it the lucky seat because whichever script he has written there has got selected for the production.

He was driving mindlessly, still stuck in fights and screams, when suddenly another car veered towards his car and crashed with a boom…

Deepak lifted his head from the steering wheel muttering, “Must have passed out…”. He jumped down from his car to see the damage done. Luckily it was only a dent, however he shouted at the driver of another car and came near him to tell him not to do that again with anyone else.

“Can’t you see. Don’t you know how to drive? what if my car got damaged badly, would you have paid the cost of repair? Are you drunk? Why are you not seeing in my eyes, you coward?”

Then he thought “Is he really drunk or dumb, why he is behaving like not listening or as if I am not even here. Maybe he is playing smart to avoid the scene.”

Then he thought he was getting late for his writing. “I have to rush now.”

“Mind you, you jerk. Don’t do this again to anyone”.


He sat back in his car, looking for his mobile. “What! I brought Shalini’s mobile. Ugh! I don’t have time to go back home and bring back the damn phone now.” He felt restless – earlier due to hot talk with his wife and again due to being hit by the car and now due to the mobile he left at home .

He reached the Drool Café at the corner of the buzzing Bose Street. This is the city he was born in and lived all his life and now look how old and grey his hair seemed, he contemplated as he looked at the mirror in the door of the café. He opened the door and crossed fingers that his lucky seat was not yet occupied by anyone else or he could kill someone with all the bad things that had been happening since morning to him. But to his surprise and utter delight the corner lucky seat with a fig plant beside it was still vacant.

He came near his lucky seat and was trying to adjust himself on a chair and his laptop on the table. He looked towards a nearby table and saw two boys of his son’s age chatting with one another. “It’s a match!” one among them said.

Then Deepak thought, “How lucky are these youngsters playing games online without realising how they are wasting their parents’ hard earned money.”

As he started writing on his laptop he paired his laptop with his wife’s mobile so that he could receive calls directly from his laptop.

He then started brainstorming about his script and thought how his day was so dramatic today, so he started writing about his day as a story to see how it read. After several hours of writing his script he finished typing the last sentence of his script. It was getting light outside. Strangely, the cafe owner didn’t bother him today to close the shop – maybe they have changed timings he thought. The phone started ringing suddenly, too loud in the empty cafe. An incoming call from his best friend, at this time? He panickily saved his draft thinking why Sohail was calling to his wife’s mobile?

” Hello Sohail” said Deepak

“Hello Shalini…” Sohail said, almost sounding teary.

“Deepak got in an accident and we lost him…”, Sohail was talking without waiting for anyone to reply from the other side.

“What? What the hell are you talking about, Sohail, have you lost your mind? I am here talking to you. Can’t you hear…??” Deepak replied.

Sohail was still talking continuously…

“Deepak got hit by a car… They took him to Global hospital in Gandhi road a few minutes ago… Come to the hospital as early as possible.”

And Sohail dropped the call without letting anyone speak from the other side.

Deepak put both of his hands on his head and looked at his laptop where he was writing the climax of his script..

“…and the protagonist was informed by his best friend that he had died in a road accident…”

Earlier all the time his story got space in reel life but this time his story wrote his destiny… As if he got himself trapped in the haunted trap created by the story he wrote.

Radio: wave of memories…


There are tons and tons of memories that only 90’s kids will understand. Are you, like me, an adult who still find herself diving into vast ocean of memories of her childhood? If yes, then let me hold your hands as I am going to take a dive to explore one such pearl of memories which only you and me can cherish.

Radio… Do you remember that small noisy box, that when get its ear twisted slight right or slight left started speaking a totally new language… Those were the days when radio was not just the source of sole entertainment but also major source of news and communication… But for me it was a sensation of nostalgia… How in those days, especially in remote outskirts of India, full day electicity was still a luxury people crave for… When sunset and mosquitoes emerged in full moon night and then powercut for whole night… Sitting under the glory of full moon, in the midst of fog of mosquito repellent’s smoke, dad would pull out a medium giant box with antenna like an antler of a wild moose… Deciding which station to land on, twisting it’s ear in middle of a slight left and a slight right, neither too left nor too right … As if a sailer holding a stiring of a giant ship, a slip of hand and ship will land on a strangest of land…

A slight ups and downs of frequency modulation, FM is what they call it, would have changed the country and language of broadcast… It could be a Korean singer singing a Korean song, or a Japanese newsreader reading news in Japanese language… It could be a radio drama in Hindi language or an English movie… A maxican chef cooking tacos and salsa in maxican language or a BBC repeating same news how a whale was stuck offshore, for a week…
So many of such memories… Do you think those were just a gadget? Naah!!! Those were life, a modern-day kid will never understand… How fast technology has eaten up one another… Walkman then tape recorder, then VCR then VCD then very recent one, pendrive… All vanished… They say, the more the better, I say naah!…


What counts for me are memories we can cherish years and years after the time has passed…

Rose day poem

Roses are king of all flowers,
 And you are among the brightest stars.

Rose symbolises love and peace,
 Resemble you smiling when you please.

Red for love, white for peace and yellow for friendship,
 But you are best because of your dedication and hardship. 

You are best in bunch that glow,
 Roses gain their beauty slow n slow. 

Roses have always hidden thorns which may hit,
 But they don’t stop anyone from plucking it.

Roses here and Roses there,
 When and where?
 It is only in glorious heaven.

Roses smell fresh and pleasant,
 Send me a Rose if you want to give me a present.

Life is as beautiful as a bed of Roses,
 But still it is not all roses.

Rose-Rose, everyday a Rose,
 A less beautiful Rose for the most beautiful Rose. 

(wrote for someone special back in school days)

Does he really exists…

… As she slammed the door in fury and whispered some words. “I know he is there, people like him do exist. Not everyone are alike. Some are different and can be trusted.” And after uttering those words she came out of living room to her beautiful green garden.

Her vast and green garden shared boundaries with dark and bewilder forest. Old porch swing was making squeaking and creaking sound as she started swinging back and forth on it. She kicked the ground and started thinking about him, how he is different from rest of the world, how he completes her. Suddenly she saw a shadow of some well groomed man moving towards forest. She jumped out of old swing and ran after that shadow in quest of her dream prince whom she considered ‘different’ from the  crowd.

As she was approaching the shadow strange nervousness engulfed her. She was very close to that man. As close as she can now smell his presence and feel his warmth. But still she can’t see his face from behind.

She put her hand on his shoulder from behind and smiled in her heart with the relief that ultimately she found him. The one for whom she fought the whole world, “He is not just a dream. He is a real man. I know he is there. One day I will prove whole world wrong. He is not like anyone else. He is different. The trustable. “

She slowly approached the shadow. A strange nervousness engulfed her. She was very close to the man from behind, so close that she could smell his presence and feel his warmth. But still she could not see his face.

She put her hand on his shoulder from behind and felt happy in her heart with the relief that ultimately she found him. The one for whom she fought the whole world for. She thought, “He is not just a dream. He is a real man. I know he is there. One day I will prove the whole world wrong. He is not like anyone else. He is different. I can trust him. “

As he turned around and faced her, his face was clearly visible in the bright light streaming from the canopy. The happiness on her face turned to bitter disappointment. Her whole world collapsed around her. She was doomed. She was wrong after all. One look and she could tell, tell in her heart – He was no different. She turned back running as fast as she could away from that man, that shadow. She caught her dress on the shrubberies and fell hard on ground…

Moral: Most people are untrustworthy in their unique sense. No one ever created can be trusted in its complete identity. Some are less trustworthy some are a little more but no one comprehensively. Everyone has their weaknesses.

The train that ran faster…

A very short story:


As she reached the platform in hurry, train started to move slowly while whistling. She started to run with train but train ran faster. She didn’t notice that platform was almost over while she was trying to catch the train. She fell and hurt herself badly while train went out of her sight… She said ” I wish I knew when to stop… “

Moral: sometimes giving up is better than chasing to avoid the hurt…

My Birthday wish for my baby Son…

My prince, my sheer happiness, my pure love, my miracle baby, my life, my companion, my sweet little bundle of joy, my coolness of eyes, my purpose of being alive, my sweet smell, my dopamine, my honey… My baby son…

Blessed was the day when you filled our life with your little feet and hands… And blessed is this day when you completed a whole year in my arms…

How addictive is your smell, your smile, your softness, your kiss, your babblings, your crawling, your crying for my attention, your baby fight with your elder brother to be in my arms first, your sound sleep in my closeness, your morsels from my hand, my singing makes you so calm…

How fast you are growing… One day you will be big enough, like your elder brother, and run away from my arms and I will be running after you to hug you ones… I will not be your whole world as I am now… You will have your life, you freedom… and your mom will be your biggest fan and finest supporter for life… You mom will always have your back… no matter how strong you will become, your mom will be your comforter for your hard days, tough days…

I wish my days and nights pass praying for your success and happiness… teaching you life skills, wisdom and knowledge… Cooking for you food that will make you healthy, happy and satisfied… Showing you wonders of graceful nature… Protecting you from harshness of this world… Manifesting before you eternal mercy of Almighty…

May I never stop writing for you my eternal love I have in my heart… Happy birthday my sweet son… May Almighty give you a very long, healthy, life full wisdom and knowledge and respect for people and nature… Gratitude for Almighty and your parents and elders… May He makes you a fine and handsome young man who gives respect to everyone and gets respect from everyone… May my prayers for you never ends…

If there is still a love which is in its purest form… For that love… I love you my love of life… Stay blessed…

Very short stories…

I have been thinking of writing some short stories, actually very short stories from a while now… I don’t have patience to write a full novel… Actually don’t have such creativity as well…

However, I think very short stories are very powerful way of conveying a message in very few words without getting your readers feel bored and lost…

My inspiration of writing very short stories come from my day to day life, my super power of getting lost in my daydreamings, my unfulfilled desires and yes, my bad dreams, my nightmares…

From last few months now, I have started reading short stories from different powerful authors I admire… I have seen some pattern in their short stories… They get lost in their narration, by getting lost I mean they sort of indulge in their narration, they start enjoying the process of telling their stories, they no more lure the reader to read their story but they themselves start getting the pleasure in their story telling…

Second observation I made is good stories especially short ones need no ending… By this I mean short stories are meant to present a sense of ongoingness… As if author is inviting readers to add their imagination from where the author stopped…

What kills a creativeness of a writing process is trying to sound different by both concept and words… However, I would suggest to new story tellers, like myself, is don’t try to be different… Start with day to day stuffs… It will addon to a powerful story, a short story, a very short story…

If reading a good short story is fun, writing that one must be a satisfaction…

I love writing…

I have natural inclination towards writing since my childhood and it’s mainly due to my Dad… Thanks Dad for teaching me how to write and making it so interesting that I almost fell in love with writing…

Earliest memory I have of writing is when Dad bought me an English cursive writing book when I was in kindergarten… Each page of that book had a name of an animal and it’s offspring… And I love it so much to write that I completed it in a week or less…

The next memory I have is when I participated in a speech competition when I was in class 5th or so… Dad wrote me the speech I delivered, The Pen is Mightier than Sword… I don’t remember that whether I achieved any rank in the competition but Dad surely achieved best writer’s award in my heart… And from then onwards I delve into writing as much as I can… In our growing years Dad used to give me and my siblings prompts to write on and we used to rush to show Dad our compositions…

Then when we grew a bit more Dad used to advice us that we should memorise our study notes by writing them as much as we can… And only recently I came to know that science suggests writing as a way of memorising stuffs and call it ‘ muscle memory’… I learned it in a course I did online, Learning how to learn…

And then came my high schooling years… I confess I was always a mediocre in grammars, it never generated me any decent grades in school nor in college… But creative writing did… I got 86 marks out of 100 in high school final grade only due to my writings…

Then after I completed my Post Graduation I did a couple of writing courses… One from a distance learning mode, diploma and another under a personal mentorship of a prestigious writer of our circle… And I intend to do more writing courses in near future to intensify my writing journey…

To conclude, I would like to say I have restless hands that pushes me to write whatever I can… I can just write whole book down on notebook mindlessly… And therefore I am also a passionate stationary collector… I have had a decent collection of vintage pens… Most of them gifted to me by Dad…

For me writing is an emotion that connects me to my favorite person in this world, my Dad…