Wordsmith at work

I began using spectacles in my mid-forties or early fifties when I squinted to read the names of the lipsticks on the tubes, and they’ve been perched on my nose like two little watchdogs also helping me focus.  My spectacles are not just a medical necessity.  When I first started wearing them, I felt awkward, but now they’re me—an important part of my persona. Choosing a frame is an emotional journey and can be quite a time-consuming task unless you’re not particular about colour, size, shape, and how well the frame suits your face. You’ve got to decide whether you want the nerdy look or to go with what’s trending. I’ve worn the square and rectangular frames, the steel frame, and currently sport a hexagonal plastic frame. Contact lenses? That was never an option for me. To find them I would have to wear a pair of spectacles! The doctor gently told me that I would have to continue wearing spectacles even after cataract surgery, and that makes me a life me...

 The City Where Memories Are Currency   I visited the city of Memoryville, where memories are used as currency, and headed to the Memory Market, a square lined with cobblestone streets and vendors selling memories in little glass vials in lamplight.  Here was a market where you could trade sadness for joy, the memory of the time when you were ill for good health, your heartbreak for a fresh start, and your tangled thoughts for peace of mind. The wealthy traded their fame and success for laughter and nostalgia, while the poor sold the few good days for a little comfort. The next day, I felt a little lightheaded and empty. I couldn’t remember the faces of my parents, nor remember the earthy scent of petrichor that  I so loved nor the name of my favourite comedy show, the fun vacations that I’d enjoyed at my grandparents’ homes. I was in tears. I’d wish the thief had taken away the bad ones as well- but they were in a separate vial, locked in my closet. I...

 Unexpected Teachers.   We grow up being taught by teachers in a classroom, our parents, friends, mentors, and books, and we believe that they have the answers to all our questions. Then life comes along, bringing lessons wrapped in  pain, joy, grief, loss, illness, silence, heartbreak,our bodies,  creatures of the earth, and it's time to take notes again. These teachers don’t stand at blackboards or wear titles and labels. You don’t look out for teachers such as these; they come to you. Nature teaches you the art of patience. You develop patience while waiting for a flower to bloom. I learnt about grief when I lost my parents. It taught the value of what I had. It has taught me to continue living and survive the loss and not break down. It has taught me to cherish the memories.  Who can teach you better about failure than failure itself? Failure is cruel but brilliant.  Failure imparts lessons in humility, resilience, and the ability to start anew....

  12 Years: My Messed-Up Love Story   Book Title : 12 Years: My Messed-Up Love Story Author : Chetan Bhagat Number of Pages :  413 Genre – Contemporary Romance Publisher - Harper Collins India.  Story: There is chemistry and a connection between 33-year-old, recently divorced finance professional turned stand-up comedian Saket Khurana and 21-year-old equity analyst Payal Jain. Payal and Saket meet at a comedy club in Mumbai. What’s age got to do with it? Saket is glad to have a second chance at love, and inexperienced Payal, from an ultra-conservative Jain family, sees it as an adventure. Their relationship is messy, passionate, and often painful, spanning Mumbai and Dubai.  Themes: Age Gap Bhagat explores the complexities of nurturing a romantic relationship amidst a clash between tradition and modernity, as well as a significant age difference.   Modern Love The book examines the idea of love and romance in today’s digital age....

  Taking a Five-Minute Walk     I prefer walking to any other form of exercise. I don’t much care for structured routines, so I step out as often as possible—walking to the grocer, laundry, chemist, cobbler, bank, and even the salon. Once upon a time, I enjoyed walking in my neighbourhood. A friend once said, “You have the privilege of living in the city, without really living in it.” Far from the maddening crowd, tucked in a quiet corner, it was mainly residential, with quaint cottages and low-storied buildings dotting the landscape, a plethora of shady trees, a few old-fashioned grocery stores, parks, and a few tried-and-tested places to eat or simply hang out. In the past two years, the face of my neighbourhood has changed drastically. It now resembles a construction site. The older apartment blocks, cottages and bungalows are being demolished and replaced by towers that almost touch the sky. I look at them and pray that the residents in the towers remain saf...

      Dear Writer’s Block, It’s time we parted ways. Kindly make the break that you’ve taken permanent. You’ve been like a thorn in my side, sneaking into my brain, eating into my time, and stealing my thoughts, words, and sentences, leaving me as blank as a blank piece of paper. I love to write, and here you are depriving me of one of the greatest and most precious joys of my life. You make me believe that the ink has, for all intents and purposes, dried up, and I hate you for it.  I admit, for a while, you were the rest I needed when my thoughts were a tangled mess, but I’m okay now, and it’s time you left. I thank you for teaching me patience because the rest did me good. You cannot stop me. You are simply the pause I needed. I reiterate, "Do not return." I’m moving forward. I’m kick-starting the Blogchatter half-marathon with a farewell letter to you. My thoughts are flowing freely, and I wish to express them honestly.  I’m bound to make m...