Merci

This is the story of a room Buzzing with activity each day. Mails flew in, Mails flew out. Others – stacked like hay! Some mails were good, others bad. And when there was a conflict, the room went sad. The mean ones were plenty- found everywhere. Overpowered the good ones-caused despair! Mailboxes lined the door ‘Today’ overflowed,’ Past’ was overburdened. ‘Future’ held the dreams; some undelivered many left unopened. ‘Hope’ though kept asking for more This made it a healthy room for sure! And then the Storm arrived in town The mails fluttered in grief; The Door shut, the Windows vanished No sign of hope or relief! No helping hand, no place to go, No long lost love, no one they know. However, the season changed soon Happy mails buzzed in the room! The sun shone, the flowers bloomed. Music sailed, the angels danced. Rainbows smiled, reindeers pranced. Every mail was stamped with a smile An extra letter, takes you the ...

Of this and that, right or wrong, true and false, weak or strong. Of being definite or having doubts. I have come a long way, and all the lines have blurred.... -Merci.

Wow. What a year it has been. Weird. People. Places.This blog. It's August. I have been waiting for August for several months now. With a great deal of longing. It could be because of many reasons. Some of them being- chilling, hanging out with friends, meeting people and enjoying. Yeah, sounds stupid. But that's how life has been. Long story. I have realized, I put a great deal of myself into things I want in life. Even when they are simple little things. If they matter to me, I waste all of myself in them. Probably, this is why I have a rich feeling of things. Happiness or sadness. And this is why I want to find something in life, worth wasting myself on. But, I have stopped thinking. I have a tendency to fall in that trap. It's not good for me.  *********** I'm so terrible at bargaining. I cannot. I find it wierd. I need to learn. I'm bad at tipping too. Not because I don't want to tip. But because I feel it is an act of sympathy or somet...

"My life is very monotonous," the fox said. "I hunt chickens; men hunt me. All the chickens are just alike, and all the men are just alike. And, in consequence, I am a little bored. But if you tame me, it will be as if the sun came to shine on my life. I shall know the sound of a step that will be different from all the others. Other steps send me hurrying back underneath the ground. Yours will call me, like music, out of my burrow. And then look: you see the grain-fields down yonder? I do not eat bread. Wheat is of no use to me. The wheat fields have nothing to say to me. And that is sad. But you have hair that is the color of gold. Think how wonderful that will be when you have tamed me! The grain, which is also golden, will bring me back the thought of you. And I shall love to listen to the wind in the wheat . . ." ******************* Goodbye," said the fox. "And now here is my secret, a very simple secret: It is only with the ...

Make your choice..

It was only last year that I began writing a diary. I remember how 2012 was such an action packed year for me. A lot of highs; a few lows. It was then that I decided I should maintain a diary. A friend seconded my decision saying it would give me such a better understanding of myself. So here I was, with a seemingly simple task for many, but a mammoth expedition for myself: write my deepest feelings into a diary. For those who are closest to me would know it’s not natural of me at all. Nevertheless, I picked up a book and a funny wood pen (both received as gifts) and turned to page 1. Dear Diary, …… Believe me it’s a little scary. To write down what’s in your mind exactly how it is and see it in flesh. Also to recreate every little thing you have done in the day - giving so much power to a book? No, it’s not happening. But I did it. For quite some time. I wasn’t regular. But it felt nice eventually. Sometimes it’s fun to go back and read old entries. Well, don’t look for ...

This is life... This is Cheese...   I am mad about cheese.It doesn't matter who moved it.