mera nihaan...

Itna hai kaahe jaana, bin tere din yeh soona,
Itna hai kaahe jaana, bin tere naahee jeena ..

Itna kyu tarse akhiyaan.. naa katt the mere rathiyaan...
pal bhar jo paa loo tujhko.. jeeloo usme sadiyaan sadiyaan..

suraj ki kirnom jaisi...phoolon ki surabhi jaisi..
paa kar bhi choo naa pao.. aisi hai teri zeenat..


...hmm.. inka naa valla kaadhu masteru... i sleeper...

aakali kekalu vesthunte....

+

=

boil water.. add knorr soup mix ... add maggi noodles + masala in noodles pack.... add a little cheese [i prefer feta cheese..] let it boil for a bit.. mixxo mixxu... put in bowl [= optional step]... mekkufy... 

and if you are me.. add pachadi for little variety... 

the things we oversee...

She had aspired to become a writer. She had once wanted to be better than him. But now, after three enormously unsuccessful attempts at a book, She hated even more how successful he was, how his books had sold by the millions. How he had won umpteen awards. How arrogant he was in not going to receive even one of those prestigious awards.

She had not liked him for a long time now. Actually she did not remember the last time she had liked him. Most of all, she hated his books. She hated how every other birthday of hers had started with finding one next to her pillow - neatly wrapped with a small birthday note. She hated that earlier on she had been naive enough to try and read some of them. She might have finished some of them too.. but what she remembered was how much she disliked being expected to read and maybe like them. She had moved away from him. She actually hadn't seen him in almost ten years.

'Some things never change!' - she thought, as she signed for the parcel that arrived on her 32nd Birthday. It was another book from him. She was surprised to see that this one was more like a bound draft rather than a published book. She opened it expecting the usual 'dedicated to the most beautiful girl in the whole wide world - My daughter Tanya.'

It was titled 'Autobiography of a failed Writer'. 'Such a hypocrite', she thought. She flipped to where the dedications were. 'Dedicated to my strongest critic, my ever so beautiful daughter, Tanya'. The rest of the book flew through in a few hours as she read her old man's version of his life and how he had aspired for nothing but love from his family - especially his favorite person in the whole world - his daughter Tanya. He lamented on how none of the many awards bestowed upon him mattered to him as much as a few words from her. She read on as tears rolled down her face. She broke down when she read that this was the only copy of the book and it had been written like all his other books - for only one person.

a note to myself....

It isn't everyday that I come across people whom i relate to poetry. Today is one of those days - rare as they come. I have not known this person for long, but today i discovered i have not known the person at all.
I read a blog today that brought a smile to my heart. There's an innocence to the words in the blog, something i have not seen in a while now. Not everyone is lucky to live a life of such honesty and i am happy for the person. It makes me want to be like the above mentioned - makes me want to relate with others with the same honesty and beauty of an approach to life as is mentioned in the words that make the blog. The words were proof enough of the honesty of the emotions and that is what i want to aim for in life henceforth. Big promises - but deeply felt.