From the beginning of this year there was drought of weekend visit to home. It ended on 20th of this month. It was more than 50 days I was away. As soon as I reached home it was observed that I had grown frail. Spent hell lot of lazy and comforting 2 days at home. Enjoyed eating loads of stuffs like goats. Lots of food. Tasty and sometimes healthy too. Momma made sure of the later. When it was for breakfast she made sure that the glass was filled with milk up to the brink. Matar-paneer and home-made apple jam were no less than trip to heaven!!!
After multiple trips to heaven I was back to hell... no hostel... at 11pm.
Few observant friends tell me about my writing style. My sister somehow believes that what I write carries a critical meaning. One of my close friends said to me today: why don't you pursue Ph.D. in metaphysics. Why? He says: you will contribute to it significantly. Another friend once said something similar. To quote: "u sound horribly like one of the poets 4m d Metaphysical school of poetry".
To quote me "I write what I think. It may be wisdom, it may be crap but it's all the same to me. I can add it is meaningful for me."
A compilation of my day to day events and experiences. My observational reports as the world passes by me. "I am part of all that I have met"
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