The world of brewing thoughts in a cup of tea.

"Butterflies and rom-com you say?" Read the first line of Jai's "letter".  A love poem you asked, but can i invite you to peep into my mind instead?  You are the one who collects our little things, and me, well, mixed thoughts in a pot. That one fine day, when you kept blaberring about your obsession of Rachel and Ross, I found myself in a suffocating box. Our interests do not match. And symmetrical hearts, you say? And it still amazes me, how you went home with a little piece of my heart that day. All I know is that I met light, when your little fingers touched mine. Maybe this is, how the authors define love in your books.  Red roses, you ask? Can I offer you my playlist instead? Or can I play you something with my chords, while reminiscing about your scent? You dream of having pancakes with me, on a Sunday morning, but I prefer us, to be on the rooftop at 5am. And maybe I'll just kiss you under the flawless transition of the sky from dark to lilac. Wake u

"The cool breeze blended with the sweet aroma from the teapot in this late summer dusky pink sky. Amma reached out for the radio tunes, reminiscing her tea dates with Appa on the same veranda. She sipped in from the cup, bringing her the bittersweet realisation that they will not feel the taste of love and laughter again.  Happy and calm thoughts came crawling back though her veins as the melodious old songs playing on the radio, gave her one more chance to re-create Appa's written songs on her sitar. The dusk felt beautiful over the wooden light lamp, when she was lost in her favorite instrument. And then, her tear drops were no more mixed with pain and agony of losing her beloved. The simple touch of her sitar strings constructed a new journey for their undying love. Amma found solace while playing and Appa gained his smile back in heaven.  Maybe, just maybe.. this is how we build love out of ourselves for someone lost in the galaxy. It was all about time, when the worl

 To the handsome brown guy with a million dollar smile,  Thank you for giving me all the butterflies in the small tummy, each time your eyes sparkled in the sun. Thank you for kicking out my Monday blues, while waiting for the bus in the chilled weather. You were my sunshine amidst the dusty morning rains. This little heart really believed you to be the charming prince in her improvised fairy tale; with no pretty gowns in antique castles but in between the fictional characters from the books she lived in. Irony fits right in, as the feelings decided to pour out into words after so many years... Yes! The same innocent adoring feelings which made me go speechless in front of you. How I wished, we had our own time, where it would all freeze in the moment.  Thank you for giving me the simple days, where this little girl accepted to wake up one hour early just to have the gorgeous braided hair, adorned with her weird smile and eyes full of innocence. Thank you for making my mornings beautif

If only we followed the hearts from our childhood... Life, in the 21st century struggling society is becoming more feigned day by day. This busy world is making us forget or is completely denying us of enjoying the true essence of our beautiful lives. The struggles, storms, envy and consistent failures shape our souls in a completely different dimension. This is where we pick up the broken pieces in a dark world. But hey guess what, you can struggle and face the most fucked up storms in your life without blending your inner soul and energy in the dark room. Honestly, life will never be a smooth walk on a rainbow. But that does not mean we accept the struggles and failures and define ourselves under this label. Nobody wants to attract bad attention and yet here we are, "quoted" as the most fucked up generation ever. My point here is; WHY CAN'T WE JUST BE? Stop trying to impress and fit in places you don't belong. Stop challenging your struggles and en

The early morning June rays were bestowing their beauty on the Delonix Regia flamboyant trees and the fern-like leaves were shining with the small droplets of water upon them. The cool breeze blew against his rosy cheeks and messy hair during his walk to the old bookstore down the street. Small laughter of happiness could be heard at a distance in the play yard, where children were enjoying their holidays and the sweet smell of freshly-baked bread was slowly invading the neighborhood. It was a typical perfect morning for Chard and the small alley to the bookstore felt like little steps to heaven.  Then minutes later, reaching for the keys in his pockets, Chard quotes the famous romantic poet James Russell Lowell's line:  "And what is so rare as a day in June? Then, if ever, come perfect days." Chard did his daily chores after opening his happy place and waited for the usual small crowd. The bookshop was a small vintage home of fiction and literature which had a