# include(sneha.h)

I’m at the crossroads now. But I wonder if this is a cliff, disguised. What lies ahead? Adherence or adventure? I look and I see a mirage. I see no horizon. And while seeing, and desperately seeking, I momentarily tilt my head backwards because it has followed my heart’s lead. My eyes need direction, My head needs to focus, but my heart has decided upon solace. It aches for familiarity. Pheromones lure me. How about an embrace from you, they contrive. For, just an embrace would solve this conundrum. It would tell me to tread. Tell me that I should walk. Away. Aside. Ahead? An embrace from you.  You, who aren’t on this path with me. Who hasn’t been. Ever. I crave something as fleeting as your hug because memory tells me that place in your arms, on your chest, at your shoulders is where my journey and my destination dwell. Will I hold on or will I let go? Will you let go, yet again? This is – you are  –   my cliff. The creator

  I had learnt to  live off the scraps  of your love. The bits you threw, I caught.  The bits you didn’t, I rummaged. The bits that you snatched, I grabbed.  The bits you hid, I searched. Scavenger. Scapegoat. Starved. Scarred. Now they say 'Love yourself.' So I’m giving myself scraps now.  It’s not new - it’s just hard.

My memories of us  play tricks on me. They cling onto me when I need to let go. And I cling to them, when I am let gone of. They grip me like a nightmare that I cannot snap out of. And I latch onto them because I have not found better solace. But my feisty self wants to conquer. And conquer I do, sometimes. I keep them at bay, just how you did me, on several days. Now, I feel powerful. Now, I have survived.   All hail the Queen! But then, a mere symphony, a phrase, a number, a condiment – Abduct me from an ordinary day. And rush me into remembering you, make me forget my conquering. Quicksand. Again, I am brought down on my knees, to kneel before our memories. My heart is yet again hijacked to the smell of your skin, the sound of your laughter, and the sensory pleasures that my body lusts after. Well, You live now, and I exist in this loop. You’re you and them now, and I’m still only us. You’re free now, and I’m still whirling. God save

  I’ve always believed that the book finds you. Some come and make a home for themselves in your bookshelf, and others instantly cradle between the grip your fingers and your fixed gaze. Karuna Ezara Parikh’s ‘The Heart Asks Pleasure First’ found me in January of 2021, when the global COVID-19 pandemic had completed 10 months and we were trying to make sense of what collectively our lives had become. It had found me at a time when I was very willing to give up on love stories – heck, maybe on love itself. "Longing. Is there a fuller word in the world? Tell me, is there an emptier one?"   I couldn’t curtail myself from reading even a single day. And like anything which is addictive, I had a hard time snapping out of the world she had created in those 316 pages when I finished. Anyone who’s been in love knows that when love grips you, you find it hard to live even one day without communicating with each other – and that is the same effect the story of an Indian and Pakist

  I t was my year of firsts. We all have that one year in our life which we can label as “the year which destroyed me”, and I would be quick to point at 2019. Incidentally, this would also be labelled as “the year which surprised me”, the most. In essence, 2019 was one complex scumbag. Not the scumbag you want, but maybe the scumbag you need, to become a stronger person. Thanks to a fantastic upbringing by my parents where they instilled a strong value system in me, I think my sense of gratitude has always been existent, but 2019 heightened it further. I call it the “Year of Firsts”, because I am amazed, that, while in my head I always looked at it as the year of last – the last one before 30- and I found moments and started learning to look at it differently. Instead of “almost 30” to yeah, okay, 29 - the last twenty to have a good time. 2019 for me was rather eventful. Several first time experiences (both lovely and rotten ones), enriched me. With this post, I am opening up about

Hanuman Chalisa – Devdutt Pattanaik You’ve head the Monkey Lord’s stories, but not all of them. Tales from across India, Asia, with a verse–by-verse deconstruction of the 40 lines (Chalisa) of prayer and why it holds its place as a truly powerful shlok in Hindu spirituality.   Devdutt Pattanaik, through his beautiful illustrations and love for mythological storytelling, tells you more stories and beliefs about Lord Hanuman, in short and informative read. Norwegian Wood - Haruki Murakami Love love? Love fiction? Love the simplicity of the story of two young Asians? Murakami has a special way with words. Afterall, not every tea is Matcha green tea and not every Asian author can create a genuine, entrapping read. Murakami makes himself relevant across borders, cultures and decades – proving that human beings are mainly emotional beings, despite all the differences we attach ourselves to. Not a story that has a happy ending, probably why you want to believe in it more.