Letters Unsent Series. #1 - To Best Friend(s)

Please read more about this series of blogs initiated by Santulan @ the FB group Write Tribe. ( http://writetribe.com/letters-unsent/ ) - Thanks to him  for the Initiative :-)


I have had the hugest fascination for letters ever since my childhood days. So I jumped at the idea of writing unsent letters addressed to several important people in my life. I commence it with one written to my best friend. Since it is practically impossible to list just one in this category, I carefully sift and select some life changing friends I had in my life till date - and write my heart out unedited to them - Individually! :-) Read on and bless my friendship.

#1 - The first best friend ever!

Dear ML - 
The thoughts behind this blog had made me realize one thing - that I did not have a best friend until I met you and I only met you in my twelfth year :) - You made me feel at home in a strangely new place, a new school and a completely new setting. I always have and will adore you for your natural charm and the 'brains' that hid behind the painfully pretty face. Thanks for keeping up with my antics, never leaving my side during all those school years, for holding my hand for the entire duration of MPK in RK theater, for those wonderful memories on the terrace of our school building, for the marvelous idea of giving me live gifts (that bombed when that pair of Gold fish didn't see the light of the next day, after traveling with me for 500 km - only because I chose to change the water they swam to the Godavari aqua that was carefully treated with chlorine) -  Thank you for remembering my culinary choices for all these years, for marrying a man that loves me and my man equally and for making me feel like a teenager every time I meet you. Thank you for finding that Bollywood babe in my reflection (or is it the other way round?) and for genuinely finding my family super cute :) For all those pictures where I look super svelte, for bearing with my unending stories of crush for Sachin Tendulkar. You shall stay with me as my first ever Best Friend - for ever! :)

#2 - The childhood buddy!

Dear AS -

You were a true inspiration in my childhood days and when I remember you saying the same thing about me - I smile with absolute joy! - The days we spent preparing for out X finals, were hands down ,the golden days of my school. You came every single day to keep me company and toil by my side during our preparation holidays. My biggest academic achievement of being first in the high school board exams would have been a mere dream without your support and I truly believe that it rightly belonged to you. Your humor is something that makes  me giggle after nearly two decades and your determination and grit inspires me even till date. I am so grateful for finding you again and for rediscovering the lost bond after all these years. 

#3 - The Greatest admirer.

Dear HN -

You were everything I wasn't and you continue to be my biggest admirer. For goofing with me, for teaching me the true meaning of 'girly', for scaring the day lights out of your boyfriend by constantly talking to him about me, for being the biggest help during my wedding and more importantly for patiently listening to all my sob stories of missing my sweet heart and boring elaborations of how much I love him, for feeding my love for nail polish, for adding that true fun to my life, for accompanying me to my every shopping trip, for making me your style icon, for finding me resembling every new heart throb starlet of our teens, for boosting so much of confidence in me- I cannot be grateful enough :-))


#4 - The little sweetheart friend!

Dear KM -

The day of our farewell party - you broke into uncontrollable tears while I kept smiling and consoling you - Your fear was that we'd not meet again, my faith was that we would. Yeah, we did not see each other for two decades, but the faith I have in finding you again shall definitely triumph over your fear - mark my word! :-)
And psst....I don't think any friend ever cried so badly for me after that day! 

# 5 - The coolest of them all.

Dear AM - 

My definition for friendship you are. I cannot ever find another super cool guy like you - I cherish every single letter you have written to me. You inspire my sense of humor - or you taught me what being humorous was all about. You were my 'it' friend with all your vocab. Your mind blowing collection of books that you generously let me borrow, your sharing the deepest of your teen crushes, secrets and heart breaks with me, for making me feel like a true princess with all those fruit n nut bars and the fragrances you made uncle get for me from overseas, here's a load full of thanks :) - If anyone ever tells me that a boy and a girl could not be friends, I am gently reminded of the wonderfully pure friendship we share. I cannot begin to thank you for never ever missing to wish me on my anniversary and birthday for all these years, no matter how broke you were or in which corner of the world. Not that you don't know - but FYI - my hubby is doing absolutely fine with me and he continues to be a teetotaler - so your dream of consoling him over a drink is going to remain just that ;)



#6 - The true friend.

Dear MG - 

AM, my friend above, used to call you 'Angel Face' - and forget about the outward appearance, you were nothing short of an Angel in my life. You supported me through my many teen battles, you and me would have inspired the JTJN script without the 'love' part thrown in for free - you were the 'unconditional' support I had all those years and every time I think about what a bright spot your presence was in my life - my eyes well up! Thanks for those numerous cards, for kick starting my love for lengthy letters, for listening to my stories of love and missing ( my then sweetheart and now hubby) for all your gentlemanly nature, chivalry, sincerity, for lending me your CAT material, for sharing every single pleasure and pain with me (remember how you used to call me for every lost and won match during the 96 cricket world cup?) for the roses, the scarves, the lectures you patiently endured, for never throwing your weight around for being a rich dad's spoiled brat (or unspoiled unbrat) - you are the epitome of true friendship and I am eternally grateful for your presence in my life.


# 7 - Almost blood (or better than blood;-) !

Dear KT - 

You and me are destined to be - friends for ever! How else could we explain the journey we'd embarked on, from being those awkward teenagers to where we are today? - thank you for being my hubby's biggest support apart from being my 3 am friend, thank you for crossing the seven oceans for me and risking the chance of living in a ten mile radius, thank you for all those checks  you write to support my vices (wink) - for truly living up to it when you say 'what is mine is yours' - I get utterly irritated at your ability to corner me at times - but know that I know you mean it when you say I am dearer to you than your blood and I reciprocate those sentiments with same sincerity. Thank you for loving my people like I do...ah well, let me give it up here - or I could bore my readership to no end! :))


# 8 - The taken for granted Fairy!


Dear SJ -

I honestly don't know where to begin - from marriage counselor, to shrink, to chef, to chauffeur  to a spare and a better mom to my brat - you've covered it all! - You are my big sister in the real sense - the one that appears at my door step without ever having to ask for it,  just in the right moment of need. I have truly become a better person just by watching your virtues over the years. Your warmth,  your reaching out to people in need, your generosity,  your calm, the way you handle stress, the endless time we spend talking that never ever has any room for gossip or any kind of negative energy - all these are huge lessons that taught me what life is about. I try to be a mom, wife and daughter like you are - but most of all, I hope I can be a friend to you in the same spirit that you have been to me all these years. Thank you for all the organizing skills, for carrying the kitchen in your tote on every camping trip, for loving my child just the way I do and spoiling her more than I can ever manage (:-P)  For supporting me through my biggest ordeal and crying when I cry, for your sense of style, for your giggles, for just being the true hallmark of friendship and who else could ever justify having a name that means 'friendship' more than you?? - I feel your dad must have named you that, foreseeing what you'd come to mean to a friend like me.

(Signed for all of them)

Eternally grateful and blessed for your crossing paths with me- 

Aarti's Mom.

                                            *********

Glory to you, if you are still with me! :) Thank you.

Tribe Whisper | The Lost links

Part # 3 Of Write Tribe "Chinese Whisper" story chain.

Tribe Whispers is an idea proposed by Ayush Chauhan in the Write Tribe Facebook Group. Members of the group are working together to create a story. Read more here: (http://1hw.in/the-tribe-whispers/). I am writing Part 3 of the story.  Check out (http://vaayadipennu.wordpress.com/) for Part 2, Smurfy wounds. and (http://1hw.in/blood-and-thunder/) for part 1, Blood and Thunder.

"let’s whisper the secret story….. shhh…..Blood and Thunder… Smurfy Wounds…. The Lost Links.....

 Trishoo looked at Kara, perplexed. They clumsily got up from 

where they lay and looked at Dr.Kroshon with the same dazed expression. No matter how Trishoo looked at it, the landscape reminded him only of a desert. But wait, wasn't he lying under a mango tree? Was this a farmhouse indeed? Who was Mr.Singh? Was Trishoo his real name? questions rose and fell in his brains making his head reel in confusion. He waited for Kara to say something. To clear the cloud of disorder that was building in his head.

"Hello" Dr.Kroshon waved his hand before Trishoo's face in an attempt to bring him back to this world. "Is this Mr.Singh's farmhouse??" The voice came firm and a little irritated - "I need to attend to a gravely ill patient and there is no time to waste!"

"You lost your way Dr,Kroshon" a lovely voice replied from behind. Trishoo looked back to see who it was. There she was, standing in a veil covering her face from below her soulful eyes, the lady that had brought him back to his state today. Does he recognize her? Did he share a past with her? Was she related to him? Trishoo had no answers for any of these questions.

"Can you tell me where Mr.Singh's farm house is, young lady!" - Dr, Kroshon's voice cut into Trishoo's train of thoughts.

"I have no clue about a Mr.Singh nearby, the name sounds very unfamiliar!" 

Dr,Kroshon looked impatiently at his wrist watch. "It is getting late and I need to attend to a badly injured patient that is bleeding blue"

Trishoo jerked back from his lost train of thoughts. Was this man looking for him and how would a non existent Mr.Singh send for him? How would he know about Trishoo's state without ever being there?

Trishoo felt a jolt of shock in his head and passed out on the ground.

****

Trinton - the name rang like a thousand bells as he regained consciousness.

He woke up from what seemed like the coffin - His senses formed a haze in front of his eyes. It came to him in bits and pieces - the feud between the two villages, the Chief's pretty daughter, the battle, the wounds. But nothing was concrete. vague segments  of his memory flashed before his eyes.

****

The battlefield was all gory -  beheaded corpses, pools of blood, fire destroying the carriages, wounded beasts howling in pain. He didn't remember if he had lost or won. He didn't remember if Kruson betrayed him and joined the opposition. He didn't remember who dragged him off his horse and wounded him all over his body.

He did not remember if he was half alive or half dead.

What had happened to Aiyana - Did she escape the clutches of the evil Rasputin? Did the chief survive the battle? Did 'he' survive the battle? More importantly did he survive the betrayal? Did he survive the heart break? Did Aiyana love him the way he loved her?

His whole existence seemed to be like a puzzle with permanently missing pieces. He looked at his body, all sewn haphazardly to keep the gaping wounds from tearing further apart. He had to find out the missing pieces and the story beyond his name.

Trinton looked around to see where he was. The place smelled of mildew and coffee. The pool of still water that collected next to his makeshift bed reflected his features. He must have been a handsome man beneath those scars, dried blood and a stubble that was more than a week old. His hazel eyes shone with an unmistakable determination and a carefully concealed pain.

Aiyana - the name created ripples in his heart!

He tried to get on to his feet when he was suddenly pushed back on the bed - a long sword pointing to his chest. "Stay where you are - don't dare to move" The voice came firm and low - He looked up to see where it came from. The eyes looked familiar - the rest of the face was covered with a veil.

"Who are you?" he asked the figure behind the veil - "Do I know you?, Do you know me? What do you want from me?" 

"Vengeance" came the voice, hissing in contempt!

He looked beyond the veiled face to see Kara clinging to her robe.

The veiled lady broke into laughter tinted with wrath. "You shall live to long for death - This is Lady Aiyana's promise to you!"

Her laughter and words struck him like thunder.

**********

Over to Leo for part 4 of Blood and Thunder at (http://artofleo.wordpress.com/ ) Do check it out! Thank you! :-)

That Tuesday Thingy Review - Lootera.

I had to get back to serious blogging somewhere and when I kept seeing prompts for book reviews and movie reviews in the Blogeshwari group I joined recently (Yay! - Thanks to Afshan and Blogwati G for making me a part of the group) I had to chicken out - Books, I read many of - but unfortunately these days, their charm leaves me almost immediately so reviewing  them becomes a task. As that is not enough,  my partial amnesia kicks in pretty pathetically. Movies, I don't watch many to even think about reviewing. But recently, the IMax in our neighborhood started screening Bollywood movies and Bolly enthusiasts in my friends/family attempted successfully to drag me to watch not one, not two but 3 films in a three week span, out of which Lootera made the most impact. To mark my debut blog after becoming a part of the IndiBlogeshwaris, I try my hand at reviewing in my minds eye, the movie named Lootera - Please bear with my extensiveness or lack there off and back out right now if you plan on watching it and can do without a narration of the story :-P - Fair warning!!

Hmm...where do we begin???

The feel  - I am a big sucker for films that depict the past laden with a good dose of dramatics. The sepia tones of old classics had a magical effect on me ever since I was a child probably because the only genre my 'literary hero' dad enjoyed (and continues to enjoy) were those old classics. I remember how we always used to stay up late to catch on the "Purani Kalatmak feature films" aired on DD1. One reason why I loved Lootera is because it recreated the charm of an old story being told on celluloid. I was transformed back to the 50s - a decade in which my parents were babies and got the  feel of a Zamindaari estate - the costumes that would have been the vogue of that period, the way people would have carried themselves - the hospitality, the language - you name it and Lootera depicted it for me. I loved how the protagonist drives around in a vintage Chevrolet, clad in hand-loomed sarees of bright hues, presented with the aid of garishly yellow gold jewelry. The simplicity just struck me with great impact and that got me latched on to the narrative skills of the director Vikramaditya Motwani.

The Characters - Pakhi, the only child of a filthy rich Zamindaar, is a very well rounded woman (no pun intended) with interest in all things fine and fabulous from painting to writing. She is often seen hanging with her childhood friend, the daughter of their munim jee - and is shown doing the antics of a seven year old. All of which is very convincingly depicted without making them look forced or cheesy. Varun Srivastava - a young archaeologist with his good boy looks, tailored wardrobe, immaculately gelled hair (or is it oiled) and shaven face makes his way into the estate and the heart of Pakhi. I am not giving out more than the title does - which is the fact that he is a Lootera both literally and figuratively. The supportive characters are Pakhi's dad - two friends , one each for both the lead characters and odds and ends that appear fleetingly in the course of the lengthy movie.

The Actors - I didn't watch much of Sonakshi's works, except bits and pieces of her portrayal in Dabang 1 - as I was forcefully tied with my seat belt while flying the proverbial seven seas. I caught Ranveer singh on Netflix - again, not seriously enough to appraise his talent. Both the leads took me by surprise given their relatively 'new comer' status. Both of them, I think, stepped out of their almost typecast slots and delivered amazingly understated performances. Their chemistry is worth mentioning given the limitations of their proximity with each other during the storytelling process. Reinstates the fact that a couple could look like they belong together without falling all over each other. The other characters fit in with perfection, making me wonder if this was shot on candid cameras while people actually lived their lives. I think casting makes up for the better part of the movie and the director got it right on all counts.

The Music - And I mean the Lyrics and the music. For me, personally, the movie takes the 'off beat' status because there are no sing/dance sequences like our typical bollywood romantic movies. The music does its thing in the background, adding that magical allure to the visual being shown. The literature enthusiast in me was left devouring the lyrics as the scenes unfolded themselves on the screen. And as we speak, the numbers play in the background as a gentle reminder of the 'smittenness' I walked out with as I left the theater. For me, the music is what would stay with me, long after the feel of the film is buried in my unfathomable subconscious (poor memory). I hear rumors of the tunes being 'inspired' by some western numbers - which I care less about. Aren't we all some sort of 'inspirations' or the other? which brings me to my next sub heading incidentally.

The Inspiration - My biggest pet peeve - lack of originality! And I stumble into it more often than I would ideally prefer. It is the inborn critique in me (Virgo) or it could just be a coincidence - that I find most things a repeat of what was already read, felt or seen and Lootera didn't spare me from that encounter. When I was a child, I loved short stories with a vengeance. They are probably the reason why this bolg and this yearning to write exists today. Anton Chekov, O Henry, John Updike, Ernest Hemingway, Mark Twain, our very own regional writers Kandukuri Veeresalingam, Raja Rao, Gurram Jashua etc left their permanent imprints on my passion for writing. O Henry's Last leaf haunts me till date. Lootera succesfully fits that piece into an unsuspecting screenplay. I don't know how it fits, or ties up to make the length of the movie acceptable, but it does with similar magic O Henry had created over a century ago and that redeems my loathe for 'inspirations' or blatant copies in the name of just that! On retrospect, I left with a feeling that 'inspirations' are not all that bad - when served with the right amount of originality of your own. So life does continue - as an inspiration or a concoction of creativity and inspiration. Either way, I didn't, for once, crib about it.

The Technicalities - Costumes - check, locales - check, casting - check, cinematography - check, screenplay - check, stunts - check! Anything else that I must have left out - Check, check and one more check! :)

The Consensus - I'll now tie it all up with one visionary - and don't throw rotten eggs and tomatoes at me - cause the visionary in question is none other than our telly queen Ekta Kapoor - Ever watched her talk? I do ever so often and fall in love with her personality. Yes, the confident, unapologetically arrogant personality. I think Ekta thinks beyond her years and whether one likes her or loathes her, one cannot ignore her presence in the entertainment scene today. Balaji did hit the bulls eye with Lootera as far as I am concerned. Ekta managed to produce a film without any commercial elements - no sub plots, no steamy item numbers, no comedy track and no bells and whistles that today's movies demand. The journey from remote Bengal to Delhousie holds the interest of the viewer sans all these ammunition. That my friends, is a feat in itself - Go watch it with a loved one. It is a breather from your run of the mill bollywood movies and is an original wrapped in an inspiration through and through! :)

"That Tuesday Thingy" contest entry - Notes of the Heart!

This is an attempt at the "That Tuesday Thingy" contest organized by the lady blogger brigade  www. Indiblogeshwaris.com

Traveling through narrow lanes,

Greeting bright faces,

Walking through alleys of pretty smiles,

The heart beats in notes...

Seven in all, creating a symphony -

That dances in the tunnels of senses.

Memories, moments and magic

All woven in simple complexity

Of these septenary notes,

Create ripples of vibrance

That murmur an elixir knit in acoustic,

Speaking in melody.

The shades of life -

Thus spring to a new essence

Tapping the soul

To the tune of 

Eternal bliss. 

Reminiscences.

Wild chase through these  memories,

Unfold a postcard from the past.

Clicked in eyes of the heart..

Preserved for eternity, but momentarily lost.

Responsibility of mundane cares,

Make calendar after calendar flip away.

But all it takes to help the soul,

Is this tidy little  reflection

Coin(ed) to hold, created to grasp

The moments of fulfillment,

In finding these joys,

Reblooming, in the garden of life.

Write Tribe prompt #4

My world - revolves around you,

Rotating around your thoughts.

Dizzy it does make me,

The momentum of your love.

I have peeled the layers of my heart,

Like it were a bloom

Offering them to you,

With nothing hidden or held back.

Rips it does, the nuances of my being,

In pain oh so sweet.

Amid the careless world, I stand

On the road leading to your soul

Giving my very best.

Pick me up, or drop me down -

Your whim molds my destiny, thus!

And as long as you lay your touch

On this feeble mortal,

Be it to soothe or to torture -

Accept, this existence does,

With a content smile.

Picture courtesy - http://sarabbit.openphoto.net/gallery/

Write tribe Prompt #2 - You only live once.

Tracey walked briskly on the mud roads, miles of lavender swayed on either side with the aid of swift winds that rubbed on the scent of the blooms drifting gently in the air, kissing Tracey's face with the therapeutic aroma. She ended up in the south of France, all the way from San Diego California, to meet Carl. It seemed like ages since she last saw him, though, it wasn't more than an hour since she spoke to him from the airport, once she got down. She was supposed to take a little detour, to visit Provence, her dream land. The lavender doused fields, the crisp spring air and the many layers of nature that unfolded before her like magic, making her long awaited moments translate into reality. It wasn't easy - none of  it. Her busy schedule at work, her family, her preteen and 10 year old begging her to stay back and not go to the 'undisclosed' location and finally, to let her husband of eighteen years to grant the permission to disappear for a whole fortnight. When this time of the year comes, nothing stops her from making that one most awaited trip to some corner of the world to meet Carl.

This time it was Rome.  Rome, the Holy city. Being raised a Roman Catholic, no other place in the world held the same prominence as this Eternal city. Being to the place with Carl only added to the charm of visiting the city for the very first time in her four decades of existence. She'd been to far and wide - To India, to Tibet, to Laos and Phuket - and to numerous places in Europe, most of them with Carl, or to see Carl. But this one trip made her experience an anticipation that was not known to her before. Tracey's thoughts take unexpected trails, just like her spontaneous self. She'd been in the medical profession for over a decade now - specializing in Obstetrics. She'd seen hundreds of couples realize their dreams of progeny. She had acted like God, on behalf of him - gently correcting what His nature had inadvertently messed up. She had seen tears of Joy, of heart break and numerous miracles all along and she knew that without divine intervention, all these would have been impossible. Her every success, every failure and every trail had Carl as a witness, directly or indirectly - to her, he was the biggest source of support and inspiration. Nothing or no one in the world seemed to know her better than him. Tracey spent the next couple of days in a cabin that had a lake front - doing precisely nothing but devouring the magic of nature. Then she caught her flight to Leonardo DaVinci International airport, 42 kilometers away from Rome.

She pulled her duffle bag from the carousel and waited absentmindedly, sipping the cappuccino she picked up in the airport. Where did Carl get stuck? His flight from Austin, Texas was supposed to reach here before hers. She knew he is somewhere near her and just when she was about to turn back, Carl came and stood right behind her, saying "boo"  in his deep voice.Startled but grinning ear to ear, Tracey turned back to greet him - gently planting a kiss on his cheek.

They both disappear into the crowd, off to hire a taxi to their hotel room near the Vatican, while both of them exchanged animated stories about their kids and families.

It was their 18th sibling reunion and they didn't let anyone else intrude these special moments.

Pic Prompt Blog - The Closed Doors - A short story.

The fatigue of a long flight from the other side of the globe took onto Maya as she paced the stone paved roads of Alberobello. She traced the identical looking streets as though searching for something. The mid afternoon sun pierced her through her crisp white sundress, making beads of sweat break on her flawless face. She pulled out a monogrammed handkerchief from her straw hand bag and dabbed on her face. 

"How do I ever find out?" She wondered aloud - freezing in the middle of the steep street, looking at the array of doors stacked like Lego blocks. There had to be a little clue, a wee ray of hope somewhere, in making her find what she is looking for.

She animatedly flipped the paper she is clutching onto - as if hoping that it would work like a magic wand and open one of those doors to unite her with her quest. Instead, the paper escaped her gentle grip and floated parallel to the stone paved street. She quickly hurried into big steps, finally getting a hold of it and tucking it into her bag. 

"What use is the paper anyway?, I have no clue what the exact address is - Or if it really is this very town that is going to open the doors to my unanswered questions" She thought while settling on a raised step nearby. She pulled out her wallet, and looked longingly at her parents , Martha and Steve, holding her as a two year old. It never stuck her this hard, the unsimilarity of them and her - Their knotty hair, soulful black eyes and ebony skin forming a contrast on her naturally occurring  Mediterranean tan and hazel eyes. It took her a few years to understand the fact that they are not her biological parents, and a few more years to come to terms with it - Or so she thought. She never came to terms with it actually. She wanted to travel to where she belonged, where her actual mom and dad stayed - all with meager clues and incomplete facts.

Maya turned back to the sound of an opening door - a little girl stepped out, holding a baby doll - She approached Maya and spoke something in Italian. 

Maya ruffled her hair with a smile. "I don't speak Italian,Honey" She answered knowing for sure that those words would be as foreign to the little girl as the Italian she just heard was to her.

The girl stopped talking and looked at her in puzzled amusement.

"Maya come inside" - a voice gently drifted from the insides of the door.

A middle aged man stepped out of the door. Maya looked at him puzzled, asking him how he knew her name. 

'It is the name of my daughter" - He answered her in heavily accented English.

"What a coincidence?" - Maya exclaimed letting out a peal of laughter - I am Maya too.

The man bent forward and offered to shake Maya's hand - "My name is Alberto" - "Are you a tourist? You look very Italian!"

"I am Italian, she answers - till my parents decided to renounce me one day" 

Alberto looked at her with misty eyes - "Just like my Maya" He whispered. 

Maya held the hand of little Maya and pulled her into her embrace.

"You will perhaps have a journey to make dearie, a quest to discover the burden of your own existence, and I hope you find your answers"

Little Maya looked on confused, a half smile fading into a frown, wiping Maya's tears away tenderly!


Picture Courtesy - Fotolia.

One Hundred (words).

She walks carelessly, on a mission. She has to find something. The drawers get ransacked, things scatter around. She settles in the clutter, looking like a gnome in the center of a flower patch.
 "What are you doing?" a voice asks, "Look at this mess" -
"I'll clean it as soon as I find luck."
"Luck?
"Yes,My lucky penny is missing in this catastrophe "
 "Catastrophe?"
"It is a fancy word for mess, I heard dad use it."
She gets up, grabs her rag doll, and walks away leaving the 'catastrophe' behind for the mom to flex her muscles on.

Reflections

     It's been an amazingly productive blogging month, though, I had many ponders that were put on the back burner, since I chose to blog in the verse form, taking it to a hardcore level of starting each line of the poem with the same alphabet :-)) And suddenly, when the month is over and my obligation to blog came to an end along with it, I realized that the ponders I wanted to blog about had vanished miraculously, or may be they are there, but the will to ponder upon them completely disappeared form the system.

     I thought, I'd reflect upon the challenge at least, and not let the lack of the pressure to participate come in between me and my blogging journey. So, here goes the unedited 'shitty first draft' christened 'Reflections'.
I took the challenge in last April - and when I look back at those postings, I clearly see how most of them were 'forced' to keep up the self-imposed obligation. This time around, I had a wonderful support system, an audience that stopped by for each post and said things that made me want to write more and more. It is just amazing, how a little encouragement takes us a long way in giving out our best. So, thanks to all the blogger friends who lavished their generous praise on my awkwardly chopped verses (if I could have the audacity to call them that ;-)
   
     I also had my world open up to many different shades of blogging - the travelogues, the mom's memories, the blogs that put a smile to your face, the blogs that dripped of sarcasm, making you laugh out loud, the pictorials that made me gasp, the personal stories, the fictitious ones, the book reviews, the humorous blogs, the Haiku poetry, the lessons of life profound enough for every grown up, though aimed to teach kids, the culture blogs, the poems...it was a true grand gala buffet of varied view points, and styles of writing. I did not for once, regret having stopped all the books I was reading before I started the A-Z journey, for the blogs I was reading were filling up for the bestsellers I choose to read. I made many friends, discovered many talents that I'd not have discovered otherwise.I should thank Arpna Singh for introducing to the A-Z challenge last year and being my biggest supporter till date, Corinne Rodrigues for leading me by example, and Shail Mohan for introducing me to all these gems of bloggers that I'd have otherwise missed out on - and more importantly for bringing me out of my 'talking to myself' mode of blogging...as much as I enjoyed the calm and quiet of this blog, I must admit, I shall cherish, very dearly, all the visits, comments and attention A-Z 2013 had brought into my blogging world.

     Lastly, and most importantly, I discovered yet again, that writing on a regular basis does not really need a endless source of ideas or inspirations - All it takes is the commitment to log into the blog and make an effort to write...I was amazed at how productive I was the whole month, jotting down words from my memory bank and weaving ideas out of nowhere, just because I had the obligation of writing every day. It also made me realize that writing need not be  'intellectual' or 'creative' - it should just be sincere - and when sincerity reflects in your writings, even the most flat ideas come across as works of art ;)

Day 26 - Z for Zenith :-)

Zilch was the change in the pocket,
Zeal for life was speeding like a rocket,
Zig zag path to attaining success,
Zips up tight, to give more distress.
Zooming past, opportunities mock!
Zing and pizzazz stay under a lock.
Zest of triumph, please grace the track,
Zillion dreams, in reality, would stack!
Zen filled world, niftily unfold,
Zenith of delight appears, Behold!


:-) :-) :-)
That sums up the challenge.

It's been a joyous ride, thanks to all the company I had - and in comparison to how it went last year, I must say, this experience is a hoot! :-) I cannot believe that I managed to stick to a pattern all throughout, though, truth be told, I was tempted umpteen times to stray and do something else (Given my attention span of a two year old ;-))  For those of you who asked me how I did this - I have no clue! - Every day was an ordeal of sorts, but the saving grace was that thoughts did come easily on some days. I had discovered long forgotten words in my subconscious and stretched my limits to use unfitting words, just to stick to the self imposed tradition. Now, I am relieved that I can just do away with awkwardly chopped poetry and write paragraphs, uncensored, the way they emerge from the mind.

Thanks to all the regular readers, the regular feedback and to the lurkers as well - since this phase has seen the page loader shooting through the lap top screen. Makes me want to believe that there are many silent supporters who grace this blog.

Please keep it coming - silently or otherwise :-)

God Bless!