Of late -

1. I made the lousiest pasta in tomato sauce, which deserves the top spot in the category of my worst cooking blunders. I tried force feeding hubby, but he was smarter. My one year old kid, puked just seeing the pasta. I decided not to poison my family and threw it away.

2. I had a big craving for cheese. Not the white creamy kinds, good old cheddar, with its strong taste and yellow colour.. So I bought myself some. Not having allowed myself the humble temptations of cheese had its aftermath. I puked in the loo, because the cheese was too calorie rich for my tummy thats better accustomed to boiled broccoli and carrots. Moral of the story- get tummy to realise there's better food out there.

3. Aravind Adiga's second book irritated me so much that I couldnt get through it. What a tragedy! He had actually restored my faith in Indian writers with his White Tiger novel. It was a shining beacon blah blah. Cut short- the book was really awesome. The second one? failed to match up.

4. I mailed the respective websites to delete my timesjobs account- they were so pesky and kept asking why I wanted to do that. Told them that I already had a job. Thankfully they did the needful.

5. I get up early ( yes 5:30 am is early for me), put on my track pants and jogging shoes to sleep walk outside my home. In the process I get to dream a bit longer and I sweat with the heat. Exercise for the day over!

6. I have this huge fetish for making desserts. I just love making them and watching others eat. Am trying to be as creative as I can and sometimes my wonderful never done before because its too insane ideas backfire like mad.

7. My kid does have a few things in common like me- irritates people to get attention, loves books, loves playing hide and seek, likes to shake it to good music and chatters away. On the flip side he firmly beleives in throwing tantrums and doling out firm punishments. The bite marks on my arms are proof enough that I have been a bad girl.

8. I am so excited about being asked to write a short story for children. Today I commence thinking up ideas for the same. I love writing for children.. there's a certain innocence to the ideas and books that cant be replicated in adult writing.

9. I decided not to work weekends again. Its too much of a strain and the days ended up being nothing different from the weekdays. I ended up falling ill because of creativity overcooking.

10. I have decided that I have to write my blog more often! even if I am the only reader

The poet in me


I was genuinely so worried. I thought I had lost it. Not my sanity which gets lost ever so often but my touch of poetry writing. Its been months since I sat down to write poetry and it hurts. Hurts because I am a poet first and foremost, before being an article writer or a short story writer or anything else. The last time I tried to write a poem the words got stuck and wouldnt come out the way I wanted them to. I had a different image in my head and on paper, something else which wasnt even a shadow came out. I blamed my muse- damn stupid muse who has nothing new to say.

I realised way too late why I couldnt write a decent poem- I couldnt find any inspiration around. Yeah terrorists are having fun creating havoc, the world is getting madder and Angelina Jolie is getting insecure about Brad Pitt; but nothing concrete that can be caught and released in a poem. Then there's the other half of me that says its purely my fault. How did the Romantics and countless other poets around the world get inspired all the time? Because they searched for it. Stopped in their tracks. Listened. Heard. Saw. Observed. Thought. Reflected. And then wrote.

I have been so busy making my pocket money writing articles for so many sites that I forgot to do all of the above. What relief when I sat down to write and this was result-

THE SONGS UNSUNG

Sitting here by myself,

On the edge of this cliff,

I can feel my thoughts wander,

And my heart adrift.

I want to flashback,

To escape into my past,

Drown in my emotions,

Let the hangover last.

I long to hunt out my muse,

Who ran away long ago,

I keep hallucinating,

That she is outside my door.

I want to remember the pain,

I felt when I wrote every line,

The tears that stung and the sorrow,

That felt divine.

The poet has wandered off,

Lost in a forest wild,

Leaving me with nothing more,

Than memories mild.

Where is the God,

Who supposedly gave me my voice,

He chooses to hide as well,

And makes not a noise.

I am not done yet,

I have my songs unsung to sing,

More tales of horror to tell,

Share the sorrows they bring.

My songs unsung may be,

Mere fragments in my head,

Bits that haunt me as I lie,

In my narrow bed.

But someday I tell you,

My songs that lie unsung,

Will take form like,

Honey from my toungue.

Halleliujah!! I still had it in me..