Metro Diaries: Untold and Unknown

"Love stories are never created. They always existed around us, waiting to be written, to be heard and to be spoken about."
Many times I am asked how do I find the ideas to write stories. I have always loved stories, from time immemorial. And the writer in me, never fails to catch the whiff of a story bubbling around. Like last night, when I was fiddling with my YouTube playlist.

Lessons of Life # 1


Yaadon Ka Karkhana - Homeless

Home. A place. A building. A memory. A feeling. Nostalgia. Childhood. Emotions. Dream. Desire. Family. Siblings. Happiness. Secrets. Songs. Heart. Soul. Love. Peace. A person. Home.

Yaadon Ka Karkhana

Last four years have been eventful. Quit jobs, moved cities, went on solo trips, ticked off quite a few things off my wishlist and managed to survive all the changes my illness brings along. If there is one thing I realised amidst all this, then that was this;
"This life is nothing but a place to make memories - Yaadon Ka karkhana. Some bitter, some sweet, some tear jerking while some that make you smile even after decades - but memories are always cherished. Because strangely people change, memories don't."

Diary of a lost wanderer - A different world

“There are only two ways to live your life. One is as though nothing is a miracle. The other is as though everything is a miracle.” ― Albert Einstein Dear Diary, 
Miss scolded me in the drawing class. I coloured the sky green and the grass yellow. It somehow looked right to me. Everybody in the class laughed at me.


Have you ever woken up one day and felt all empty? As if there was nothing left of you except that body which you were clinging onto with all your might.
Today was one such day for me. 


Sitting thousands of miles away from the place I grew up calling home, this evening I have this strange feeling of being homesick. But to be home sick, I had to know where my home was isn’t it? The place I grew up was made up of bricks and mortar and could be called a house but never a home. It never eluded the warmth of being a home. Nevertheless, home it still was. It after all was my sole companion on all the silent nights I had spent crying alone and those unending days when detested being alive.