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Dear Baba,

I am sorry. For being a brute. For not understanding your state of mind. For threatening you. For everything that I have done. 

Now I understand you weren't wrong to see her. You weren't wrong when you got over Maa. You weren't the worst father ever. You were the best. 

I have wronged you as well as her. I was so cruel, insensitive and stubborn. 

I have a long road to redemption. Hope you might forgive me. Someday.

I am sorry again.

Yours ,



Tara said…
Very beautiful. Very subtle. Very you. :)
Sage Ricky said…
Happiness is not a right, it’s a duty and we owe it to someone else more than us..You are a cute little innocent kid..thanks to your post,it reminded of how much a pain i have been to my old man
haritha said…
short yet says d 'mind soul' of a girl to her baba.. :)
Anwesa said…

Thanks !
Anwesa said…
@ Tara,

Thanks Dahling !
Anwesa said…
@ Ria,

Thanks dear !
Anwesa said…
@ Sage Ricky,

Well, I believe otherwise. We should be happy for ourselves.

And this post is essentially a work of fiction.

Thanks for coming !
Anwesa said…
@ Haritha,

Glad to see your reply.

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Concealed by dark clouds
You keep shining.
Bright streaks of light
Dazzle me.
Enchant me.
And keep me waiting..
Waiting for you.

Amidst Soul-lessness

There is smoke somewhere. 
I cannot seem to figure out where. 
The lights are here, the music is here.
Has it been home here ?
Perhaps. Maybe when it did not rain.
Or maybe when it rained and it did not matter.
Maybe when I walked alone, smiling to myself. 
Or maybe when I realized I was okay.
Had it been always like this ?

Not really. 
Things clicked, took effort and blood. 
Did I do it ? Or the beasts did ? Maybe we both together,
Played this game. 
Amidst soulful solitude, it was love. 
Maybe appreciation.
Another journey, another dry spell. 
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P.S. : Penned at Candies, Bandra on 11th January 2017 


I cannot remember my mother,
only sometime in the midst of my play
a tune seems to hover over my playthings,
the tune of some song that she used to
hum while rocking my cradle.

I cannot remember my mother
but when in the early autumn morning
the smell of the shiuli flowers floats in the air,
the scent of the morning service in the
temple comes to me as the scent of my mother.

I cannot remember my mother
only when from bedroom window
I send my eyes into the blue of the distant sky,
I feel that the stillness of my mother's gaze on my face
has spread all over the sky.

~Rabindranath Tagore
Note : This was one of  the earliest poems I read,loved and cherished.