Going wherever the muse pushes me. I would say more, but I am speechless.

Stargazing, soul-searching and traveling,. Hammocks, polaroids and galaxies,. Experiences emanating magic and madness,. Losing track of time and reality,. Her new-found wings defying the laws of gravity,. While all along she had been surrendering to her mind,. The calls of her heart rings stranger chords,. New tattoos, gypsy guitars and intoxicated winds,. And her dreams pulling their own swords,. Battling the world with her poetic pen,. She was a dance of fire and ice,.

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Emotional, Who Me? Of Paneer, Pulao and Pune. The other evening, I took home a Chicken Hot and Sour Soup. I have been suffering from a bad cold and cough lately, and Chicken Soup. I love the spices and the flavours of these scintillating dishes. And I never had problems with colour.

The good, the bad and the energy. As long as we still eat, sl.

Over A Scoop Of Melting IceCream. Bundled up in his layered,. Leans against the navy brick wall. Legs apart, arms stretched,. The sun peeks out,. He laughs aloud, runs towards. The bright sunlight and squeals. And to humour the tyke,. And when it peeks out. I swear that the sun. Twinkled just a bit brighter.