Trust: The cornerstone of a relationship

 

Trust builds the bridge that carries every relationship.

 

I’m trust that invisible thread that you humans weave among yourselves when you believe in each other’s goodness and don’t expect betrayal.

I’m built slowly. One action, promise, or secret at a time. Then, when you reach the required comfort level, I’m present between you. I’m all about connectivity, reliability, honesty, and protection.

Once present, I must be nurtured because I’m fragile. A wrong word or action or lie wounds me deeply and may eventually kill me.

There are times when you place me with the wrong people, and then you are disappointed or wronged.  

I’m built into friendships, families, workplaces, love, and even in yourselves. If you keep me strong, I can take you through the harshest of storms. I’m the hand that you reach out for.

Once I’m lost, finding and rebuilding me is difficult. Yet I observe you give it another shot. I’ve watched you rebuild me slowly and steadily. 

I’m the cornerstone of any relationship, be it between humans or even an animal and a human. Guard me fiercely once you have built me, and I will stand by you. 

This post is part of the Blogchatter A2Z challenge2026

Sammy Smartphone: Buzzing away

 

Hello, User!

Your smartphone’s here.

Buzzing you into a new day,

Hoping it goes your way.

 

I keep you connected.

Help you stay abreast of news and views,

Weather forecasts and gossip, too.

 

You set reminders.

Plan a meet-up,

Book a table

At a diner.

I’m your encyclopedia, map and diary,

And your ever-growing picture gallery.

 

You download a dozen apps,

Fill your carts,

Read a book,

Hum a tune,

Or scroll your worries away.

 

Losing me

Is like losing your soul.

But beware!

I can be an addiction

And a distraction.

 

So hold me close.

But let me go

When your mind needs rest.

I’m here to help.

Not be a pest.

 

This post is part of the Blogchatter A2Z challenge2026

Rumour: Nowhere near the truth

 

I’m rumour. Don’t confuse me with gossip. Gossip is generally an unkind conversation about a person in their absence, while I’m an unofficial story that could be true or invented. I come from no specific place or person. I’m nobody’s child.

Once I’m in circulation, I travel quickly, often leaving the truth far behind. Truth is evidence, context, hurtful at times, and boring. I generally come from hearsay, an incomplete or misunderstood conversation, a half-heard sentence, no clarification, or an overactive imagination.

As I gather momentum. I grow spicier and longer. However, I cannot be vouched for. You humans just love passing me on. You give me legs and wings and wheels, and I speed along through offices, canteens, street corners, boardrooms, and classrooms.

My endings are quiet. I die a natural death when something more interesting comes along, or, to everyone's shock and embarrassment, I’m disproved.

I would advise you to refrain from passing me on, as I might bruise you or break trust. So simply nip me in the bud and focus your energy on creative pursuits. 

I'm rumour:

transient and powerful if you want me to be. 

This post is part of the BlogchatterA2Z 2026 challenge. 

Quill :writing my story

 Quill: writing my story

 

I’m an ancient writing instrument of great magnificence. I’m a quill. I was born in the 6^th century in China and existed until the 19^th century, whispering words to parchment.

I was usually crafted from goose, swan, or turkey feathers. Goose feathers were common, swan feathers were considered superior, and crow feathers were used for fine lines. I either had a blunt end or a pointy one. Thomas Jefferson kept a flock of twenty geese so that he never ran out of feathers.

The feathers, preferably from the left wing, were cured by heat and dried to harden them. The tip was cut and shaped to form a point.

It was all exciting in the beginning, being dipped into an inkwell and dancing across paper. I felt important to be used to sign decrees and poets to express their love and longings and scholars to record their learnings. I was also privy to secret thoughts in diaries.

It’s quite a feather in my cap that I was used to sign the Magna Carter, the Dead Sea Scrolls, and the Declaration of Independence.

Life was not easy. When my tip wore down with use, I was reshaped with a knife and ouch! That hurt. Unlike your modern keyboards and pens, you had to be patient when using me, holding me gently and work me gently, because I was very pressure sensitive. I brought dignity and authority to the art of writing.

Time brought change and convenience. I was replaced by the fountain pen in 1827 with its inbuilt inkwell, and yes, it works faster, but not quite up to my page. Just so you know, I’m still proudly used by calligraphers, keeping alive the art of beautiful writing.   

I abhor the ballpoint pen. So cheap and graceless, with no personality at all. Ha-Ha! I guess I’m still entitled to opinions at least.

I’m now more than vintage. I’m nobility. I sit in antique shops or in a drawer, bringing on waves of nostalgia and watching parents explain to children my heritage.

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This post is part of the Blogchatter A2Z 2026 challenge. 

 

Plant : All I need is tender, loving care.

 Plant

 

Hello there, my plant parent,

It’s me, your green, well-behaved cutie, lighting up your day. I’m sure that you’re grateful that I never argue or pick a fight. I‘m just a quiet little fellow thriving on sunshine, your affection, water, and positive vibes.

I fondly recall the day you decided that you needed a plant in your life, went out, bought me from a handcart, planted me in a pot, and assumed the role of plant parent.

I’m aware that you were never a plant person and are a 'late bloomer.'

Though I wouldn’t call you a ‘green thumb,' you take care of me pretty well, and I’m grateful for that. Your gardening skills and knowledge may not be world-class, but you never shy away from learning, trying, and improving.

You talk to me, try to water me regularly, make sure that I get the right amount of sunshine, feed me with homemade fertilisers, and generally try to make my life comfortable. I notice everything.

I shall not dwell on the occasions when you have neglected me, overwatered me, or have forgotten to water me. Yes, my leaves drooped and my spirits too. I forgive you and remain positive, stretching towards the sunlight. I decorate your home, purify the air, and am a quiet observer of the happenings in your home.

I thoroughly appreciate the fact that when you go on a vacation, you place me in a tub of water and hope for the best.

My favourite part?

The delight and excitement on your face each time you spot a new leaf. You post and share pictures of me on social media. You’re one happy person, and I feel loved

So here’s to me and you.

Let’s grow and thrive at our own pace—slowly and steadily, taking one leaf at a time.

Thank you for my siblings. I love the company. 

This post is part of the Blogchatter A2Z challenge 2026

Onion: tears and layers

I’m the onion, the root vegetable with a papery skin that brings tears to the human eye. Hey! I don’t do it on purpose. I’m just made that way—layered and strong. LOL. I come in 3 colors—yellow, red, and white.

Do you know the real reason why I make you cry?

When you cut me, you begin to cry because cutting releases an enzyme that converts amino acids into a gas called propanethiol S-oxide that generates tears.

I begin my life underneath the soil. Hence, I’m covered in moist mud and grow in the dark. One fine day, I’m pulled out, cleaned, thrown into sacks and taken to the markets to be sold. You buy me and take me home to use me in your cooking. I can also be consumed when I’m not fully ready. I’m then called scallion or spring onion.

Once I enter your kitchen, I know my days are numbered. I avoid looking at the chopping board. Each time you peel me, tears begin to stream down your cheeks as if I’ve broken your heart. Sometimes, you even leave the kitchen for a break. Sorry, I don’t mean to cause you so much distress. Again, it’s just my DNA.

I’m the most common and widely used ingredient in your dishes. I’m the backbone of your kitchen. You slice me, chop me, puree me, saute me, and roast me. Fry me to a crisp brown and then puree me. There’s hardly a dish in which I don’t feature. You use me in your curries, dals, pulao, chutneys, burgers, soups, and salads raw. Yet you don’t give me due credit when a dish turns out well. You're busy singing the praises of the new spice powder that you tried or the rosy red tomatoes that you used. 

I’m laden with health benefits, like promoting heart health, reducing inflammation, reducing the risk of certain cancers, etc.

Soak my skin in water overnight and feed your plants that water and watch them thrive.

I may ruin your breath and bring tears to your eyes, but I know my worth. Your dishes wouldn’t taste the same without me. 

Which other item in your kitchen deserves its own story?

This post is part of the BlogchatterA2Z2026 challenge. 

Newspaper narrates

 Newspaper

 

I’m your newspaper. I’m delivered to you early in the morning by an enthusiastic delivery boy who drops me outside your door.  

I come bearing news from all around the world. I‘m generally white, sporting the news in black ink and put together at unearthly hours, as you slumber.  

I’m amused by the riddle that you humans have created around me—What's black and white and read all over?

As you know, I’m divided into sections and columns—national news, international news, local news, business news, sports page, obituaries, crosswords, word games, and comic strips. My cousins the tabloids arrive with all the latest gossip. 

In the good old days, I was respected, even revered. Whatever I said was the gospel truth. Your dads, uncles, and grandads began their day with me. How awesome is that!

I watch many of you reach for your cellphones as soon as you wake up and I feel a little abandoned. You seem to get all that you require from your glowing screens or what you fondly refer to as the 'idiot box. I feel like a misfit in your digital world.  

Once in your hands, you skim through me; on rare occasions, you might read an article in full. A few of you are still old school and believe in me. Thank you.

I’m not just your news provider. You find a dozen other uses for me. By the evening, the news I carry is considered stale, so you use me to line your shelves, clean your mirrors, and mop up your spills. I’m shaped into conical bell holders, and you even sell me.

One thing that makes me proud and happy is that Indians observe January 29^th as Indian Newspaper Day in remembrance of James Augustus Hicky, who founded India’s first newspaper, namely Hicky’s Bengal Gazette.

People don’t think much of me anymore. Still, I’m hanging in, doing what I do best, giving you your daily feed of Taaza Khabar. 

THis post is part of the Blogchatter A2Z 2026 challenge.