A very special guest graces my online abode today, with an extremely special post. She is someone who is very popular in this little "blog world" of ours and is one of the best things to happen to me over Facebook. You may know her as Dagny Sol of Serenely Rapt. You may also know her as a person who is highly resilient, eloquent and someone who can tell you to "get lost in a place where the sun doesn't shine" in such a manner that you would actually look forward to the trip. But here at iWroteThose, I love a bit of a challenge. Dagny is someone is prefers to keep to herself. Yes, she loves to listen to people and will always be there to lend a helping hand and listening ear, but not many people know her. So when I glanced at one of my prompts for Project 365 this time around, I decided it was time to put the serene and calm Ms. Sol in the spot. And guess what, being the sport that she is, she agreed. So without further ado, here's Dagny giving us readers a bit of insight into her childhood. Warning: It can be a bit of an explosive revelation.
I’m an only child.
It might be a fairly common thing now, but in the time I was born, it was as inconspicuous as a vibrantly colorful bird of paradise in a colony of sedate penguins. Striking, if you know what I mean.
Actually when I think of it, nothing about my life conformed to the rest of the beige fabric.
Only child? –Horror!
Only child in a Nuclear Family? –Double Horror!
Only child of a working mother in a Nuclear Family? --Horrors on top of horror!
Only child of a working mother like my mom? --Speechless! And Scandalous!
What a mother! One who called her husband by name in public (and, to do her justice, in private), taught post- graduate English literature, caught rowdy students by their collar and slapped them hard before sitting them down and making them read TS Eliot with reverence. Did you say kick- ass? No my mother wasn’t kick- ass. The word is too tame for her.
But this post isn’t about her. It is about me.
I am an only child who grew up in household which was nonconformist to the hilt. My dad not only brewed the perfect cup of tea, he often fixed my breakfast and packed my lunch. Of course his parathas didn’t turn out very perfect, but he made up in enthusiasm and love what he lacked in skill.
The neighborhood aunties of my childhood always reminded me of cats. They opened the floodgates on the many rivers of milk of human kindness that heaved in their collective bosom. They always expected me to be starved to death and revoltingly filthy. I think it aggrieved them terribly to find I was neither. They tried valiantly to look for other evidence to prove that I was a neglected child. It was self-evident to them that the child of a working mother in a nuclear family, passionately devoted to her career, would look, smell and behave exactly as an orphaned street urchin.
They tried desperately to pity me for being left alone at home when my mom had to be at work. From the time I was three, my parents and I had this mutually satisfying routine. They would lock the house from outside and leave me alone at home. If someone was daft enough to knock on a locked door, I didn’t owe them the courtesy of telling them that my parents weren’t home. In other words, until my parents returned, I needed to please no one but myself. If that isn’t bliss, what is?
For a few hours every day, therefore, I was mistress of the palace. Never a naughty child, there was nary a danger of me setting the house on fire. I knew how to tune in the radio and I had plenty of toys and picture books. To say nothing of a very active imagination that created larger than life, intricate stories.
Each of my toys took on multiple roles as the script of the day demanded. The mechanized blue and white airplane filled in as the hero’s lance, the groom’s best friend or the mango tree in the yard from which rope swings were hung. Don’t ask me how I managed to assign such diverse roles to it and to the other toys. I just did, that’s all. And had a marvelous time in the process!
The truth is, I loved… just L.O.V.E.D…. my hours alone with myself - still do. I have always loved my company best. I am sure you’ll find it strange that in all the years of my life I have never felt bored. The only time I’ve used that word - and used it deliberately for some other purpose than to indicate ennui- is when nosy people (who also remind me of cats funnily enough) have asked me, “Why did you get divorced?”
I’ve happily grinned at them (even while I’m chatting online and they can’t see me) and said, “Oh I got so BORED!” I’ll let you imagine the pure joy I have gleaned out of their uncomfortable silence. Of course it takes them many weeks to figure out that they had been royally but gently insulted!
I’ve never been bored in my life. Who on earth has the time? I can sit alone for hours and hours on end- sans electronic gadgetry or reading material- staring into middle distance. I can spend many solitary hours with the river, the moon, the sky or a blade of grass. I hope you would think it an affectation, but I have honestly wondered how people get bored. I seem to lack the organ with which to acquire/ experience boredom.
When the neighborhood aunties turned on their milk of human kindness full force, I always knew that they have geared themselves to ask a biggie.
“Don’t you wish you had brothers and sisters, specially brothers?” they would ask me, putting a crocodile to shame.
Duh! Brothers and sisters! As in, 24x7 pestilence?! Were they nuts or just sadistic?!
No, I did not wish I had brothers and sisters. I was very happy alone, thank you very much! What did I need THEM for? I had friends who, as everyone agrees now, are the family God forgot to give you. They also (thank God) went to their own homes at night and stayed away until such time as I wanted to play with them again. That’s like having a wonderfully supportive and loving family- in another town.
Imagine one of them daring to co- own any of my toys and books! And worse, imagine them calling my Ma and Dad their Ma and Dad!! Uh huh! The thought makes me feel ill with disgusted outrage! Nope. Not happening. I don’t like people getting underfoot, especially little people. And I hate them muscling in on my parents, books and toys (not in that order).
No, no, NO. Get out and stay out was just about IT for me. I don’t share my stuff or my loved ones. Yup! I’m possessive. Put that in your pipe and smoke it! Brothers and sisters indeed!
I really wish one of those neighborhood aunties could read this post. It would render them cross- eyed and curdle all that milk forever.
Alas, milk of human kindness is wasted on some!
[This post is written for the Project 365 program at We Post Daily aimed at posting at least once a day, based on the prompts provided. The prompt for today was "Tell us something most people probably don’t know about you. ” Oh, and in case you are wondering, it is Dagny (aged THREE years) in that picture]
Pixie and I share a very strange friendship. We are rather close, discuss everything (and everyone ...yes, beware!) under the sun (especially fellow bloggers/writers) and also leave no stone unturned trying to tease and get one up on each other. "What's strange about that?" I hear you ask. Here's the thing. Pixie and I have never met. And we have never ever spoken. Probably because I'm not much of a phone person. But more on than later. Yes, we know almost everything that is there to know about each other and our families. Then why do I use the name Pixie, I hear you ask. Because Pixie, just like her pseudo-name, has a streak of mischievousness and just like the folklore, she is someone who is very fond of dancing. She writes with a passion that is so rare these days amongst lot of us writer-folks and her blog represents her space and her thoughts on anything and everything.
You can find more about her, here : http://mytakeoneverything9.wordpress.com/
If I had to describe our friendship with the help of a YouTube video, this would be it:
And on that joyful note, here's a short fiction post that she wrote for me. Read it. I'm sure you'll enjoy it. And Pixie, Thank you !
Helen smiled as she read the quote inscribed on the first page of her best-friend Aaron’s novel. It felt good to see her words imprinted in ink, that too on a book that had already sold over a million copies. She glanced at the clock on the wall. She needed to leave now, if she was to arrange everything for the party that was being thrown for Aaron. For a first-time author, the book was an unprecedented success and Helen was thrilled for him. Together with his wife Elise, Helen had planned the whole party and had even managed to keep it a secret from Aaron.The bakers had confirmed the delivery of the cake to the apartment. Helen had personally picked out the design and had decided that it was going to be shaped in the form of an open book with an inscription from the book. It was even to have the pages marked. As Helen ran around her apartment trying to get the decorations ready, she thought about the story that Aaron had written. It was about a mysterious shape-shifter, a man who was a creature of the night and protector of the city. The protagonist Adam Roock, was a normal man by day. But as night slipped in, Adam changed into different forms to help the people and Police of the city of New York. Whilst Helen loved the story, she couldn’t help but smile at the resemblance to the famed Harry Potter series. But since it had appealed to everyone from kids to teenagers to even adults, the publisher and editor had already started to pressurise Aaron to write a sequel. Being a stickler for details, Helen had decided that only Aaron’s favorite food was to be served. She’d taken the pains to ensure that all the families and their kids had RSVP’d and had even set up a bar for the adults and a juice counter for the younger kids. The food included bite-sized calzones with marinara sauce as a dip, potato wedges with a white cheese and chilli sauce and generous helpings of portioned garlic bread and tomato soup. In addition, knowing Elise’s fondness for Indian food, Helen had also arranged for some spicy deep-fried Cauliflower florets (known as Chilli Gobis) along with vegetarian kebabs with the cocktails. They’d decided that Helen’s 13th floor apartment would be perfect for the party since it was spacious and most of her modern décor furniture could be rearranged to accommodate the guests. Though she’d mentioned that the party would commence at 6:30pm, guests had already started trickling in by 6pm. Helen fervently hoped that Aaron and Elise would be able to make it at least by 7pm.
Across town, Elise stared at Aaron with a look of worry etched on her face. This was one party they couldn’t afford to miss. But Aaron was reluctant. “Couldn’t you have just postponed it? The timing of this whole supposed surprise party sucks!” he said straightening his bow. Elise nodded and said, “I know Aaron. I know. But, Jim’s babysitter said she was free only tonight and you know how hard it is to get someone on such short notice. Please act surprised and we will try to leave early.” She walked over to him, kissed him lightly and said, “You look very handsome in a tux, Mr. Bestselling author!” The tension left Aaron’s shoulders and he smiled at his gorgeous wife wondering how he had gotten so lucky with her.As soon as Aaron and Elise walked in to Helen’s apartment, the party started. Though he’d known about it, Aaron was genuinely surprised because he hadn’t expected it to be on such a grand scale. Extremely touched by Helen’s sweet gesture, he thanked her for the lovely party. He signed a few books and even posed for a picture with an over-enthusiastic 15 year old and her parents. After the initial chitter-chatter, Aaron slowly pulled away into a corner. He wanted to be happy. The success of his book meant everything to him, but tonight just wasn’t the right time to celebrate. He watched as some of the young couples danced around. There was even a book-reading session set up for the young adults in one of the guest-bedrooms. “Helen has surpassed herself.” he thought fondly as he saw her bring the beautiful cake into the room. Amidst a lot of laughter and festivity, Aaron cut the beautiful cake. It was whisked away by Helen to be cut into neat pieces and served to everyone. He loved the food and the drinks but didn’t eat much. He could feel his insides twitch and struggle. He checked the watch constantly dreading that it might be too late to leave.
As the clock hit 10:30pm, Elise signalled to a beaming Helen and pulled her closer. With a smile on her face, she said “It’s time for us to leave darling. Please make our excuses to the rest of the gang. Aaron needs to be home soon. Jim will need his feed too.” Though her face dropped, Helen nodded sombrely. She hugged Elise and said, “Call me if you need anything.” Mouthing a thank you, Elise and Aaron quietly left the apartment. It was close to midnight when they reached home. As he always did, Aaron went into little Jim’s nursery and kissed him. As he watched Jim sleep soundly, he knew a time would come when Jim had to know the truth. But, for now, he felt blessed for little Jim and his cute innocence.Aaron walked over to Elise and gave her a tight hug. He slowly walked out of the house and shut the door gently behind him. As he turned a dark street corner, he noticed that they had a full moon. As the clock on the church tower struck midnight, Aaron felt himself transform. He came from a family of shape-shifters. For centuries, their secret had been guarded. If History was to be believed, they had started off as killers, unsure of their powers and frightened of the changes. But, since his great-grandfather’s reign, they had done only good to their communities. The Police often kept quiet as there was no way to explain the strange occurrences. So they did the best they could; they took credit for the exceptionally low crime-rate and accepted the accolades that were bestowed on them. The gift was passed on through generations to only the first child in the family, when they turned 13. Little Jim still had plenty time before he came to know or even understood the huge responsibility his forefathers had passed on. The leaves on the trees rustled as the cool night breeze passed through them. As Aaron took the shape of a moving shadow and slunk away into the darkness quietly to play the saviour once again, he thought fondly about the quote that Helen had inscribed in the first page of his book.
The quill moves The soul struggles The story stays The plot moves Characters get involved Reality shifts Fiction becomes the truth....
[This post is written for the Project 365 program at We Post Daily aimed at posting at least once a day, based on the prompts provided. The prompt for today was "Plan the ultimate celebration for the person you’re closest to, and tell us about it. Where is it? Who’s there? What’s served? What happens? "]
What do you do when you find a person who is a unique combination of yin and yang? Someone who can reaffirm your belief in yourself yet will not hesitate to kick you should you wallow in self-doubt. Someone who not only listens to your incessant rambling, yet can literally talk sense into you. Someone who will help you unleash your inner true self, yet will NEVER EVER claim to have helped you. Someone whose beautiful words can sometimes make you well up (in the good way of course) and some other times make you smile from ear-to-ear like a little kid reading his favourite book. I’ll tell you what I’ll do with such a person. I’ll make sure I never let her go. Because genuine gems like her are rare and few. I know, I know. I sound selfish. Wouldn’t you be, if you knew someone like this?
That someone for me from the online world is Dagny Sol, who writes at Serenely Rapt. Writes is an understatement. Her words flow like a magical river, taking what shape and form you want it to and refreshing you with every touch. And when she asks you to write something for her “online abode”, you hope that you can come up with something that will make her proud. Thank you for opening up Serenely Rapt to me and my words.
Below is a snippet of what you can expect.
As a work-from-home father, I’d like to think that I’m more involved in my little one’s day-to-day activities than most other fathers can afford to be. (Did I hear you gasp at the work-from-home father part?)
With gorgeous (did I add sticky, messy, humid, and sweat-inducing?) summer already here, the little one is home a lot more than he usually is, courtesy of a two and half month long summer holiday for his play school. Of course, this means that a large part of my morning is now dedicated to “reliving my childhood” with him doing fun activities.
Whilst there are days I’m inclined to stick him in front of the TV or the iPad and just zone out, I’ve refrained from doing so. At least so far. Truth be told, some days are harder than the others. But I’ve pledged to keep technology-related activities to a minimum and teach him things that I used to do for fun. Yes, they were activities from almost three decades ago, and probably stuff most kids will frown upon and dismiss as silly these days. But at two-years old, fortunately he doesn’t oppose me. Not vehemently enough anyway.
I'd love to hear your comments on the post.
* This is an epilogue to a recently concluded novella titled "Onus of the Oath" by Jairam Mohan. Kindly do ensure that you read that first, before reading my epilogue **
Unless you’ve been living in a shell, or you’re new to the blogging scene, there’s no way you wouldn’t have heard of Jairam Mohan aka “mahabore”. But let me assure you that his writing is in no way boring. Whilst his heart beats for “Indian Mythology”, time and again he dabbles writing in the genres of fiction, parenting, political satire and humor. His love for blogging shows in every thing he writes. Yes, he says his days are made up of Excel sheets and PowerPoints. But even then, he’s still thinking about the next post he can put up. One thing you must know about him is that if there was ever an enthusiastic writer, he’s it.
This post is actually an epilogue to a novella that Jairam had recently penned. The novella itself was adapted slightly from a hugely successful Malayalam movie, but I assure you that he’s “twisted” the plot around. And now, I’ve done a bit too. So before I sit here and spill the beans, before you read my epilogue, please do read all six parts of Jairam’s novella, “Onus of the Oath”.
Here’s a link to Part 1 of Onus of the oath.
And if you’ve already read all six parts, here’s the link to my epilogue :
Now, this is a forced guest post. So technically, Jai didn’t ask me to write one. But I had a number of reasons to write the epilogue for this post:
a. The prompt required the following: Head to one of your favorite blogs. Write a companion piece to their penultimate post. [This post is written for the Project 365 program at We Post Daily aimed at posting at least once a day, based on the prompts provided.]
b. People have mentioned that they’d like to see how I’d tackle “fiction with Indian characters”. Now considering this story is filled with Indian characters with their mannerisms, I figured it’s a good decision to “mess about with it”.
What? You're still here? Go on...Read the post now ! Here’s the link to my epilogue
Before we go ahead, I’d like to do a group activity. So stretch your right hand out. And now your left hand. Now, rotate your hands so that your palms face each other. Now spread them apart a bit more. A little bit more. Aww….here’s a hug back for you. Welcome to my first ever travel post. And I’m pleased to have the lovely Sugandha host it on her gorgeous blog "Shades of Life"
I "met" Sugandha through a common writing group, and what inspired me most is her zeal for writing, and of course books. She's superbly easy to talk to and is a bibliophile who finds time for reading, no matter how busy she gets. She says she's a sporadic blogger and can at times, not write anything for a week, but can also be found churning out quality posts back to back. Which frankly, I believe is the sign of a good writer. Unlike a lot of us writers, Sugandha is unusually quiet over social media, jumping in to mostly respond to a conversation. I personally think that she's just observing us crazy folks and trying to figure out which one of us to use as fodder for her next amazing post. Ask her to describe herself, and she says "in her own words:
"I am wrong and I am right, I Crawl and I fly. I love and I hate, I live my life learning. I am what I am... A human with making"
Travelling is something that is very dear to me. Probably as much as both writing and photography are. So, when Sugandha told me that she’d like me to do a guest travel post for her, on a place starting with the letter “I” (so it blended in with her A-to-Z challenge), I pondered over it for a few minutes. My mind had gone blank. And then I looked up, and glanced at my MacBook's wallpaper. There it was, literally screaming “Me, me…..talk about me!”. I smiled, and typed a “yes” to Sugandha and connected my hard drive up to get the photos that I required.
It was time to let the world know about one of the lesser known places in Europe - the beautiful and dynamic, Isle of Man.
Click here to read the rest of this post, and explore the magical Isle of Man here on Sungandha's blog. And don't forget to leave a comment. Either there or here.
Strange as it may sound, Pixie and I bonded over a conversation that started on a rather crazy note. Needless to say, we both saw the reason behind the “craziness” and bonded over our love for food, writing, Bangalore, Mysore, reading and most of all, Enid Blyton. Pixie, just like her pseudo-name, has a streak of mischievousness and just like the folklore, she is someone who is very fond of dancing. She writes with a passion that is so rare these days amongst lot of us writer-folks and her blog represents her space and her thoughts on anything and everything. When she’d originally asked me to write her a guest post, I was apprehensive. I mostly write fiction and humor posts, which are based on the principle of generalisation. Though she didn’t impose, I knew she wanted something that was simpler and purer, sort direct from the heart, so to speak. I spent weeks trying to come up with ideas, and when I saw this prompt, I knew this was something that I could write on. And of course would fit the style of her blog. And with that note, I’m going to jump right in. I grew up in a magical Arabian desert land where it was summer, pretty much all year long. Now, before some of you go “Wow!” and “You’re so lucky!”, let me tell you this. It’s not as fun as you’d imagine it to be. Yes, we had seasons too, but it wasn’t the typical Spring, Summer, Autumn and Winter that you would so often read about in those lovely books. Oh no! It was more like “Warm, Warmer, Warmest and Hell", particularly during the months of July and August, when the average temperature was often just shy of 50 degrees celsius. But then again, I suppose I shouldn’t really complain about the heat so much. After all, the only time that I was exposed to the sun was during my weekly P.E. class and when I tried to fit in a game or two of basketball after school hours and before my tuitions. Like they say in those MasterCard advert, “everywhere else, there was air-conditioning”. But even so, I’ve always complained about summer. Particularly because my threshold for heat is minimal. There are plenty of things I’m appreciative about. Sweat running down my face and down the my back and into my underwear, is not one of them. For me, the only things that’ve always been synonymous with summer have been those two-month holidays (which were promptly reduced to one month ones when I started 9th standard) and of course, the mind-numbing heat.
Read the rest of the post here on Pixie's blog : Click here
Please do leave comments either on her blog, or back here.
[This post is written for the Project 365 program at We Post Daily aimed at posting at least once a day, based on the prompts provided. The prompt for today was “For many of us, winter is blooming into spring, or fall hardening into winter. Which season do you most look forward to?" ]
Quite honestly, I don’t accurately remember when I started reading Rachna’s blog. I do remember that it was during one of my crazy blog-hop frenzies. And I was glad that I’d stumbled upon this little treasure trove of interesting posts. A multi-faceted writer, there is one clear word to describe Rachna’s approach to writing, be it her personal blogs or her other literary contributions - Professional. The posts on her personal blog can vary from parenting to social issues and emotional to hilarious, and in her own words “is a strong reflection of my thinking, opinions, perceptions and wisdom”. So needless to say, when she asked me for a guest post, I was more than happy to oblige. And being the very patient person that she is, she waited. And waited. And waited. Until one day, out of the blue, I decided to pen it. Truth be told, the only reason that I delayed the post was to make sure that my post would fit in with her other top-class pieces of literary artwork.
So without any further ado, here’s a snippet of my guest post for the lovely Rachna Parmar.
“So, what do you do?” asked my first cousin’s wife’s sister’s husband’s father whilst he sipped on some lovely coffee that my wife had served. I almost spat out my coffee in surprise. It was the first time that I’d met this person and this was the question that he chose to start off the conversation with.
“Umm…Well, I am an aspiring writer. I also do a bit of content writing for some websites. And some basic graphic designing too” I reply. “I work from home, so I get to spend time with Rishi too” I quickly add, pointing at my little one who’s busy in the corner, trying to uproot a potted plant. The only reason that I’d added that last statement about working from home, was to ensure that I wasn’t asked a follow-up “why” question. But that didn’t really work out.
“But, aren’t you an engineer? That too with a Masters degree from abroad? And so many years of experience working in London? And you want to make a career in writing?” queries the man, seriousness oozing from his every word.
Flashing him a grin worthy of a toothpaste advert, I reply, “Yes, I am. And this is what I do!”. Though I sense that he is quite dissatisfied with my answer, he returns to reading the newspaper whilst I rush to stop my little one from uprooting another plant.
I'd love to hear your thoughts about the post. Feel free to drop your comments either here or on Rachna's blog and I promise to reply soon :)
Seldom do you come across people who you can connect with on so many levels. You almost feel like you’ve known this person your entire life. Sakshi Nanda is one such person for me. That we’ve only been acquainted virtually has not been a thorn in our friendship. Instead by closely observing (she calls it stalking) her Facebook mannerisms, I’ve managed to gauge her personality, some what accurately. She’s fairly transparent that way. Not to mention cheerful. Sakshi is mother to an adorable almost-three year old, who unsurprisingly is one of the pivotal characters of her many parenting-related posts. She also writes about relationships, friendship and social affairs amongst others, from time to time. The first thing that you’d notice about her writing is that it flows almost effortlessly. Her magical words strike a chord with the readers and they’re often hooked from the title onwards. And of course, humor. She has the exceptional ability to take completely banal and everyday items such as the humble baniyan and women’s lingerie, and turn them into a laugh riot. Check out her posts “Lingerie Inside Out” & “Shreeman Baniyan”. Be warned though. You’ll be clutching your stomach from the pain of laughing out loud.
Sakshi blogs at “Between Write and Wrong” and is the first person who has ever successfully convinced me that eating baby food is therapeutic. So as you can see, I admire both her work and her as a person immensely, and you can imagine the excitement that I experienced when she asked me for a guest post. I know my tongue-in-cheek humor isn’t really everyone’s cup of tea. However I sincerely hope I’ve managed to deliver. So without further ado, here’s the link to the my guest post on Sakshi’s wonderful blog :
Oh, while you’re there, do take a peek at her posts and I guarantee that you’ll keep visiting for more. And do be a gem and drop a comment on this post, either here or on Sakshi's blog
Rekha is no longer a fellow blogger. She’s now a dear friend who blogs. And amazingly at that. Her writing is pure, unique and inspirational. Whilst some of us try and “redefine” topics, Rekha is someone who writes directly from her heart. The phrase I like to use to describe her writing is “Direct Dil-Se”. One look at her blog Dew Drops and you’ll be captivated. She can depict emotions through her words, in a way that only a few elite people can. So when out-of-the-blue, she requested that I write a guest post for her beautiful blog, needless to say, I was ecstatic. And a wee-bit nervous. She even added that her husband had found one of my previous posts “quite interesting”, which usually in man-terms means “How dare you let our secrets out?”. So it was only fair that I turn the tables, and give some insight into the intricate world of what women expect.
I am completely conscious that this post may stand to dis-engage some of my more ardent women-readers (yes, believe it. I have reasonable readership); however I remain confident that they’ll see the humor behind this light-hearted post. (Puss-in-boot eyes) So without further ado, here’s the link to the post:
(Oh, and don’t forget your sense of humor. It might just save my skin)
As with any blogger/writer, I have days when I jot down random thoughts playing ping-pong in my head. Today was one of those days. Usually, once I’m done with the jotting down act, I re-read it, and then join them together - sort of like the famous game of join the dots - in an attempt to make some sense of it. So here I was, weaving my random thoughts together, and evaluating it, when the final product threw me off guard. Somehow it had turned into a "Motivational/Self-help" kind of post. And the shock - because I'm the last person who should be writing such a post. (Curious ? Read the post to understand why.....)
That’s when I thought of Richa’s blog and her theme for the week - I believe. Strangely enough, my post seemed to fit in with her theme. There was a tiny problem though - I’d virtually known Richa only for about a month and I felt it was too short a period to actually voluntarily send her a guest post. But nevertheless, send I did, and she’s been kind enough to humour me and put it up on her blog.
Now, before I give you the link, there are few things that you need to know about Richa (at least what I know of her):
She has an absolutely amazing and one-of-a-kind blog with an even more uniquely adapted title - The Philospher’s Stone (Note the missing O - Sorry Ms.Rowling, this one isn’t yours)
She claims that fiction is her forte, but one look at her blog posts will tell you the actual truth - she can weave her words beautifully on any topic that you throw at her
Her Twitter profile describes her as “Writer, Photographer, Wife, Design Engineer, Blogger, Trained classical singer, Kathak Dancer, Sister, Daughter, Human- all stumbled into in reverse order.”
She is passionate about books and writing and her energy and zest for life is completely infectious
She believes that her blog will help keep her thoughts alive in cyberspace - surviving natural disasters, technology failures and epidemics; basically even the extinction of the human race. See - she’s such an optimist! Bless her:)
If you’re a fellow blogger or a writer, I’m sure you all know how much a little “pat” on the back means to all us in terms of encouragement and motivation. Richa (aka subzero Richa :)) is someone who can constantly give you that motivation to push ahead, and a kick up your a** if you need that too.
So without further ado, click on the link below, and be prepared to read a pretty mediocre post which may give you the illusion of being well written, simply because it’s located on such a magical blog.
Feel free to leave your thoughts and comments, either here or there .....