Water: Quenching your thirst and more.

 

 

 

It’s summer, so you must be getting thirsty quite often. I’m here to hydrate you and have a little tête-à-tête with you.

I’m water. I have existed for a very long time and have no beginning. I’m not sure about my end, either.

I’m the silvery odourless liquid that flows through your taps and with which you cannot do without. You require me to cook, wash, clean, bathe, and quench your thirst. I’m food for your plants and crops. I’m also your tears and sweat.  

I have no shape and carry the shape of whatever holds me—the clouds, lakes, rivers, pots, and pans.

As for sounds, I burble as a stream. You can hear me trickle from a tap, babble in a brook, bubble in a pot, roar as the ocean, and rumble as a waterfall.

I can be gentle and calming or angry and destructive. I’m a giver and taker, creator and destroyer. I change from liquid to vapour to ice, a cycle that connects the sky, earth, and sea.

You panic when you don’t see me flow from your taps; I see women trudging miles to fetch and store me or waking at unearthly hours to fill me in buckets and drums.

It’s also so unfortunate that some of you humans don’t care a tuppence about me. You pollute lakes and rivers and other water bodies, thereby harming the life they sustain. You waste water and take me for granted. Yet you celebrate when I drum on the ground as rain.

Do conserve me and value me not only when I’m scarce but also when I’m in abundance.

I’m so touched that March 22^nd is observed as World Water Day. I feel respected. Shapeless and odorless, I may seem ordinary, but no life can survive without me.

This post is part of the Blogchatter A2Z challenge 2026.

Values: Living the Right Way

 

 

Life happens. As we navigate the storms and sunshine, we are often faced with choices between right and wrong. What principles and values do we choose to live our lives by?

Here, values talk a little about themselves. 

Hello!

It’s us, your values, calling on you!

A child is born, and she is raised. As she grows, we enter her life through the gentle yet firm voices she hears, the hands she holds, and the stories she is told. Stories about courage, honesty, resilience, and integrity. She is encouraged to live by us and to practise us.

But we are not truly real until life tests us. To tell that comfortable lie or be plain honest, to cheat on the test and pass, or to simply bear the consequences of not studying enough. It is in these moments that we come alive…because in the end, it is not what you believe but what you practice that matters.   

The little girl changes as she grows. Does she discard us or keep us close? Her actions and words will tell.

Sometimes we fade when convenience is easier, and we shine when you take the straight and narrow path. Every choice you make strengthens or weakens us.

Even when you choose not to abide by us, we linger in the background, hoping for your return.

So take a moment to introspect. Are we simply words that you preach to others or are we alive in your actions? 

This post is part of the Blogchatter A2Zchallenge2026

Umbrella: Under my canopy

 

Hello!

It’s me, your umbrella, popping in for a chat. We never see each other until the monsoon arrives or you can't bear the sun in May. 

I was born in a factory, stitched together with fabric, and stretched over eight slender ribs of steel. I was created to protect you against the blazing sun and the rain. I'm your constant companion in the monsoon. 

I have siblings in varying sizes and colours, and we are all foldable. We are also known as a parasol, or fondly as 'brolly.'

You station me behind a door, hang me on a peg or tuck me away in your bag, and I wait to be of service to you.

When you unfurl me, I open up into a canopy of safety, protecting you from drizzles, downpours, or the blazing sun.

I dislike the wind because that naughty chap plays games with me. He turns me inside out, and I feel sorry to see you struggling to make me right. I feel humiliated, and there is nothing more pathetic than an umbrella turned inside out.

I feel so touched when strangers huddle beneath me. I carry stories of love and romance and walks in the rain. Oh yes! I'm important to you.

You humans are a forgetful lot. You are forever leaving me behind- in trains, buses, taxis, schools, restaurants and just wherever you go. I resent that. Sometimes you’re unlucky. You borrow me from each other, promising to return me, but then, as I said, you’re “a forgetful lot.”

Did you know that Ruskin Bond has written a story about me? The Blue Umbrella. How wonderful is that!

 

This post is part of the Blogchatter A2Z challenge2026

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.