About Me

Writing happens to me, like love, like the weather. It makes me a million things more, it gives me an adrenaline rush, and at times it induces an enveloping, nurturing calm. Sometimes, I write for myself, and sometimes, just to be read. I love words. Words that are soft and simple and still magnificent in their implication, and the way they are pronounced. I would not be me but for this congenital love for words, and stories. I love everything simple, and everything old and classy. I love the scent of old yellow pages of books, and the scent of the earth satiated by rain. I love beautiful Rajasthani ornaments, Victorian buildings, old, heavy metal boxes that contain secrets, and stories, of lives lived long ago. May be that's why I love all things old, the story part - stories that are hidden in a smile in a black and white picture, in the wrinkles at the back of hands, in the silver of the hair, in large dusty, sound-echoing rooms, in the widespread roots of age-old trees that still stand with enviable dignity; which reminds me, I love trees, and flowers, and mountains, valleys, rivers, deserts, and oceans. They overwhelm me, they whisper to me in the language of the universe,and they love me too, I think. I love having leisure, like now, to sit and write about all things I love, or to stop and smile at a child, to click pictures, to hold an old man's hand and listen to his stories, to stare at the star studded night sky, and relive the fairytales of childhood. I love the distant sound of the namaaz. I laugh, pray and cry a lot. I love being foolish. I love to narrate, if you'll listen.

P.S. The picture was taken by me near the Holsten Gate, Lubeck, Germany.