“ why don’t u start writing Rashmi?”…, “you should give it a try!”…, “start writing, it works”……she went on and on.
My sister is convinced, actually highly convinced that writing makes a hollow mind wishfully copious. She is one of those many who insisted I write to find answers or maybe discover them. Yea, its actually a discovery coz a very close friend of mine once told me that all questions within us come along with an answer. Infact I feel the answer exists, maybe even before the question advances.
But all the suggestions from my close ones failed in persuading me to write. Eventually, me the fish, was trapped into the drag-net of writing by a fisherman called “LOVE”. Yea, the same old most widely used word. When we talk of love, there are mixed reactions. Some say its overrated, some say its underrated and some find it balanced. Eventually we all land up giving it a lot of importance anywhichway! But I promise to be diverse in my writings with a hell lot of references in the form of Eddie Vedder and Jim Morrison. My varied emotions like love, hatred, pain, indignation, sorrow, happiness, anger…and their peaceful co-existence within me make me what I am and probably what I will be. As of now, writing is interesting, probably coz its my only escape from the incompleteness that I feel. But I cannot assure that it will experience continuity.


Im back to darkness
From the bright daylight
But I dnt mind being blinded
For the dark night is mine…

I feel betrayed again
On the failure of a confident expectation
But I got no complaints
For the failure is mine…

I will make more mistakes
After the correction of old ones
But I have no regrets
For the mistakes are mine…

I have forgiven all
Yet not forgotten at all
N I will continue to love
For this love is mine…