Saturday, 31 May 2014


Write Tribe's prompt  is  a letter, a poem or a piece of non-fiction as if the reader were advising a novice writer – including writing tips  learned/ writers who inspire you/ writing tips from a mentor. 
Wednesday Prompt 2014 - #17

Reading the rough draft , brings back fond memories of the first time you had penned a short story for your school magazine. I had a lingering prophesy about your budding talent and today you have not disappointed me , dear Lekhika (writer)


You asked for my opinion and I have scribbled my views on the last page. There are very few corrections to be made  as you are ingenious and articulate.
But a word of caution  : many have jumped into the deep-waters of writing and publishing , donning a life-jacket of established critics and authors ready to aid , to reach the safety of the shores. But this will only help one  in the short-term  and one will have to chart the course and navigate on  the strength of one's skills , observation powers and the ability to get under the skin of the characters. And as Stephen King has rightly said 

I hate to dispense any further advice and wish that you win not only accolades but also win your reader's hearts.

Goggle Images.
                                          For :  Write Tribe

Thursday, 29 May 2014


Wednesday, 28 May 2014

The arch

passing through the arch
PHOTO PROMPT Copyright -Jennifer Pendergast my thoughts flew to perch
on the bicycle wheel
when time would stand and kneel,
time rested on the wrist
and the world condensed into my fist.

Passing through the arch
my thoughts flew to perch
of the days carefree
and night stress-free
project submission
and the sole deadline :examination

Passing through the arch
my thoughts flew to perch
on the feminine smile
and stranded on the love isle
lost in each others glances
while the stars and moon dances.

Passing nostalgia through the arch
my thoughts flew to perch
grains of lost memories
happiness of ripe cherries
Can they be savoured?
or to fettered chains are devoured?

I wish not to pass through the arch
and let my thoughts perch.

Thanks Rochelle for the lovely picture prompt.

Monday, 26 May 2014


Welcome to the Imaginary Garden ...

I caress the worn out fabric
the decorated uniform
and the cap ,
in the old iron chests
resting with mothballs.

I look at the bend 
of the road , a footfall
in the twilight years.
Seasons in succession 
pass by .

As I walk along the path
lifting the stump of the stick.
Gone are you forever
I lay the red flower
your favourite colour
on your tombstone.

For :  Imaginary Garden with real toads

The bed

Write Tribe Wednesday Picture Prompt is here....................................

                             in on at

As a member of the house-keeping staff of ‘Beach CafĂ©’ Goa, Annie discharged her duties diligently and honestly. 

She loved the pink ambience of the room and the Japanese parasol. Arranging the flowers, she noticed wads of currency notes carelessly strewn. She was tempted to pocket them. 

Her clean image forbade her from tarnishing it that she had painstakingly built and the absence of a few ones would not make a difference to the guest couple but would dent her conscience. 

Annie decided she would prefer to sleep peacefully on her hard mattress and reported the matter to the reception.

                                                  For  :  Write Tribe

Sunday, 25 May 2014

Drift: Haiku

Haiku Horizons prompt “drift”

                                           treading the untrodden path                         
                                                   weaving dreams                                           
                                                  I drift into utopia

                                                  I drift into utopia
                                                    a thorn prick
                                                woke me to reality.

                                                           For :  Haiku Horizons

The banyan tree


Beads of perspiration rolled down from the nape of the neck to disappear into the fabric of her blouse. The hot Sun hissed mercilessly on the concrete jungle and lesser mortals had to lug and walk with their heavy grocery bags looking sore with green eyes at the passing four-wheelers with their sun-screened window panes rolled tightly shut, keeping their occupants cool with artificial conditioning.

Meena hailed an autorikshaw , lazily passing by. She had got a good bargain and with a satisfied look , her mind had begun to plan for the 'mavinkai upinkai' (mango pickle). The cut raw pieces of mango will rest in brine along with home-made masalas for a week. She enjoyed this annual ritual. It made her smile.


The tempering on the 'chole' had been completed. The rice-cooker was still hot. The aroma of the prawns curry made Meena hungry. It was her favourite dish.
The 'puris' had to be fried and Meena was casting glances at the open door from time to time.

prepositions of placeAshok walked in with a bag of jack-fruit chips. Rakesh sauntered in with a dozen ripe bananas. Sachin  and Amar walked in with smiles on their faces. RajDeep rushed in carrying plantain leaves and announced that he was ravenous. 

Meena washed the plantain leaves and  laid them down on the floor. The bowl of mango pickle  was the centre of attraction. Laughter echoed in the one-room tenement and the fragrance of the sandal incense permeated the scene.

The serving dishes and the plantain leaves were licked bare and clean. Their bellies were full and so were their hearts. 

Meena, Ashok, Rakesh , Sachin , Amar and RajDeep had spent their childhood days under one roof under the loving gaze of Janaki Amma.

It was Meena's birthday today. Nobody knew when and where she was born. She was brought to the 'Aadhar Shelter Home' by a social worker on the Ides of May. Janaki Amma detested the word orphange . She welcomed all the abandoned infants into her Home with open arms and nurtured them to health with affection and care. 

Janaki Amma's children grew up to the good citizens with moral values. The birdie's flew away once their feathers were strong enough to navigate the open skies . But 'Aadhar Home' was always full with the next generation to replace the fun and laughter.

The grown-up children donated generously  to their 'Home'.

The inmates though not related by blood but bonded with each other as compassion and empathy ran in their veins. 

                                         For :  Write Tribe

P.S. : If you have forgotten  grammar lessons , to refresh your memory click here.

Saturday, 24 May 2014

dinner date


The soft blush of the candle
cast a glow on  face handsome
beige dress, fur laces, lass winsome
bathed in scents of sandal.

food left uneaten, silver plates
melody wafting , unromantic dates
monosyllables exchanged
and feelings estranged.

Why had they come here?
behind masks, to disappear.
to keep up the facade
love lost almost a decade.

for the world is  a stage
each actor plays for a wage.
when the curtain falls
silent , a gloom befalls.

For  :  Magpie Tales

it's magic.

This time Team Blogadda has got its readers thinking & smiling :)

The Prompt: The post has to revolve around the word Magic! What does it mean to you? What is it that is magical according to you?  :D


The scene is still crystal clear in my memory as it has never left my senses.

 I had attended the first day of my Kindergarten and when the school gates 

were flung open , rushed out as fast as my little legs could carry and saw my

anxious mother waiting for me. I melted into the cocoon of her protective arms

and the rustle of her crisp , starched cotton sari rubbed against my nose and a

light fragrance emanated from the fabric made me snug and comfortable. 

Being separated  and segregated, against my wishes from the loving gaze of my 

mom , had made me vulnerable and the after a gap of two hours , which seem 

to stretch to eternity , was be able to bask in her arms was sheer magic for me. 


I felt I was the epicenter of warmth and security. The memory of this magical moment brings a smile on my face and I feel I am blessed .

Handing over an envelope full of crisp currency notes  to my mother, the result of the first month's labour was a feeling of exhilaration.

Gazing at the collage of old B/W photographs of togetherness , a time gone by and never to return makes me nostalgic.

Sitting on the  roller-coaster ride and screaming my lungs out while enjoying the speed is adventurous.

The first sight of my new-born brought a flood of tears and I had no words to thank Lord Shiva for his blessings.

Holding my little finger , my child feels secure , makes me feel responsible.

The feel of the first showers of the rain on my outstretched hands and the smell of petrichor assailing the windows of my nostrils is heavenly.

These fragmented moments spread over time when strung together like precious pearls together is MAGIC  and this magic is called LIFE .


Readers , do you agree with me? Do share your precious pearls with me............

This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.

Dear Reader, hop on to the WOW magical post here.

Thursday, 22 May 2014

Waiting for the showers.

Blue flames leap out
to scorch the Earth-ern girdle.
fireball throwing up lava fumes
the island city , a furnace
boiling cauldron, melting pot.

Waiting for the showers.

blinking my eyes
under the canopy of
upturned cupped palm
I make a valiant attempt
to look for some signs

Waiting for the showers.

Ma Varsha (rain) chooses
to hide and not seek us
Bless your parched children, Ma.

Waiting for the showers.

We promise

to drape our planet
in green garb.

to hold every drop
of precious nectar.

to respect the forces
of Mother Nature.

Waiting for the showers
to sprinkle on the garden
seed of life thirsting
to bloom and blossom.
Waiting for the showers
Waiting for the showers


Wednesday, 21 May 2014

other side of the fence.


                        PHOTO PROMPT Copyright - Erin Leary
                                PHOTO PROMPT Copyright – Erin Leary

Sunshine swept the thick clouds of mist aside to one corner of the farm to reveal a clear picture of the swaying branches and a wooden fence running, rather dividing, cruelly not only the partly barren land but the pulsating hearts too. All night they stood close, holding hands, their fingers intertwined, on either side of the fence. As the golden rays kissed her curls triggering an alarm, they would move away from each other, look sadly at the graves and disappear deep down. They could not be united in flesh and blood but their spirits chose to unite eternally.

             Thanks ROCHELLE for the beautiful picture prompt and inspiring to pen my story.

                                                        Friday Fictioneers Rules.

Monday, 19 May 2014

fly: haiku.


Haiku Horizons prompt “fly"

sky is the limit
said , my late mother                                            
miss you mom, today

miss you mom , today
the giant bird takes off
with me in driver's seat.


flitting across food plates                                
carrier of health issues
active house-fly.

                                                      For :  Haiku Horizon

Sunday, 18 May 2014

She wished she knew......................

The 100 Words on Saturday Prompt: s/he wished s/he knew then what s/he knew now
100 Words on Saturday 2014 #14

She expected him to participate in all extra-curricular activities and his non-co-operation irritated her. She felt defeated. She had slapped Bunty last Monday for refusing to draw an apple while the other drawing papers were adorned with colourful apples.

She wished she knew then what she knew now.

Her world came crumbling after reading the file. There was no time to wallow in self-pity, or vent out her anger. But on whom should she saddle her negative emotions?

She had to speak to Dr. Rao for further course of therapy.

The apple of her eye was diagnosed with dyslexia.

                                                       For : WRITE TRIBE

When children are identified with Learning Disabilities (LD) , the parents are in for a rude shock and take time to accept the reversed situation. 'Why my Child?' is the oft asked question to themselves. After counselling sessions , many parents come to terms with the situation . One of my friend's son was diagnosed with LD in the 8th Std.

random words from me

                                         WEDNESDAY PROMPT 

Write Tribe has asked its readers to free write in about 500 words .

The Fear Factor!  ‘Dar ke aage jeet hai.’  But conquering fear is not simple and easy as gulping down an aerated drink and going forward to take the plunge. The advertisement on television belies this fact. Fear is not the absence of bravery but the unwillingness to make an attempt to understand and overcome it.

Before hitting the ‘publish’ button, my mind is ravaged by doubts of whether the readers would like my writing or not. Would I be mocked at and labeled brainless? The fear of these unknown monsters taking disproportionate shapes delayed my foray into the blogging world. And when I did venture into it with baby steps it was not only fun but I slowly shed off my inhibitions.


The first seven years of my life were spent in a row house with a mango , ‘jamun ‘ and drumstick tree for company in the front-yard of my house. An old grandmother of our friendly neighbor would try to frighten my mother about tales of a ghost haunting the ‘jamum’ tree ,  hovering around  the giant tree with anklets in the dark of the night. She advised my mother to perform ‘pooja’ to soothe the spirit. My mother, the next day performed a small ‘pooja’ on all the trees. Knowing my mother, I timidly questioned her whether she believed in ghosts. My mother replied that she performed ‘pooja’ because it was the Indian way of paying respect to Mother Nature as the trees provided shade and fruits for man. Ghosts are a figment of our imagination and if we try to fuel the fire of imagination, the spreading fire would destroy our trust in God ,was her further explanation.  My doubts and fears were laid to rest and never raised their ugly head again.

Last month, my husband had to go to another city for official visit. My son felt a bit lonely and complained of fear, fear of the unknown. I calmed down his frightened nerves and reminded him that we are staying in a huge complex with a hundred neighbors. Bolting the doors from inside leaves us fully secure. He questioned me if I was not feeling scared. I then told him that I had his company to feel secure. The child in him happily gurgled. The trust I reposed in him made him feel brave and responsible. These are the ways to quell fear and reinforce trust.

Watching the finale of the great Dance of Democracy, one of the participants in the discussion  said that the ruling Govt. had anticipated a drubbing but what was totally unexpected was the complete rout of the party by the saffron brigade. I remember my History teacher; (in school) Miranda Sir telling us never to underestimate or disregard our opponent however weak they might appear to be. If we commit this folly, it’s our loss. Time and again we have witnessed that History repeats itself but we humans are unwise not to read the past, understand its relevance to the present and implement the changes in the future. The adult population of our country has inked their index finger to bring about change. Let us experience the breeze of development or are we asking too much?

                                           For :  WRITE TRIBE

P.S. : My post contain 538 words.

We (most of us) use filler words which should be avoided . Corinne has listed 10 such words which as aptly described as killer filler words. Read more about this here.

Friday, 16 May 2014


This time Team Blogadda had got the readers  thinking & smiling .

The post has to revolve around everything that came to the mind when one had to create your first ever password!

What is a password?

According to Wikipedia : A password is a word or string of characters used for user authentication to prove identity or access approval to gain access to a resource (example: an access code is a type of password), which should be kept secret from those not allowed access.

Opening an email account to keep in touch with my friends was exciting akin to scaling Mount Everest. Then came the compulsion of giving it a password to secure it.
It was a surreal experience.

From a treasure trove of 26 alphabets and numbers ranging from 1 to 9 , I had the pleasure and liberty of using them in any combination and permutations that I deemed fit to recall it at the click of a button in my brain. I rubbed my hands in glee anticipating an easy climb. But as I chose some common words , my hubby politely reminded that common words are best avoided due to their simplicity and the fear of being hacked.

I nervously bit my blunt nails and the names of all gods and goddesses in the Hindu pantheon flashed in front of my dilated pupils. I uttered , 'Om Gam Ganpapataya Namaha' and  I rotated the globe in my mind to plot the names of the remote cities of the world in the geographical map of my mind. But I could not pin down down to a single place. The oceans , seas ,lakes and all water bodies  were dived into.

The names of all the avian species and four legged live creatures watched on National Geographic too came crawling on my screen. Eekks . I decided against using one of them. 

How would I finish naming my password and further go to start correspondence?
                            The childhood game came to my aid.


..................and lo I  chose a few pearls to string them to form an appropriate key to access/open my account. Using the first 8 alphabets, eenymeen , the dilemma was overcome. This was easy to recollect and uncommon too and I smiled in satisfaction.


The unusual password was a secret that I shared only with ME.

Over the years the password has undergone  many transformations and my teen , my Man Friday , as I refer to has the key to my password. 
Readers , do you share your password with anyone? Or do you jot in down in your diary afraid of forgetting it? Do share your experiences with me.

This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.