Blogs.

I. Childhood A boy is born to modest means, where dreams are weighed in gold not for him, but for the house, where bills pile, stories untold. His father sweats in sunlit streets, a wallet thin as thread, each rupee split for bread and books, while dreams hang by a thread. The boy, he learns to bite his tongue, to bury wants too deep "Can we afford this course?" he thinks, while others soar, he creeps. II. Lessons in lack No talk of stocks, no wealth, no bonds, just whispers

It was a rainy day in Mumbai, and the sky looked heavy with dark clouds about to pour out with a vengeance. Aarush tossed and turned in...

'Over the years, I’ve learnt to Domesticate My anger As a reliable pet When I got it raw From the wild, It used to bark at Every...

It was searing hot! An old small mug, placed with a thump on the bed tray. 'Tea? Didn't I have tea?' 'No, Dida'. A shaking hand lifts the...

One day when the war is over, I will forget the face of my enemy The wound will stop bleeding And only a scar will remain. One day when...

Summer retreats, rejoicing the heart The perfumed breeze catapults, tugging the emotions Of glee and enchantment The tropical joy calling...

That insomniac flute playing melancholic tune by the edge of nocturnal sky... fake bewitched smile caress the trust of love, in a package...