Color me Fall

I met the U.S. in winters, made friends with it in Spring, had long conversations in Summer, but love? Love was waiting for Fall.

There is a certain poetic feel to Fall season – maybe because the air is just the right kind of chilly to make you want to hug someone tight; or maybe it’s the incredible colors around! Or maybe it’s because we know that these unbelievably beautiful leaves are counting their last breaths. Soon, they’ll all be gone. Their bright orange and yellow and pink and purple will soon be one with the brown of dust. And yet, they spend their last moments not complaining or mourning, but making this world a more beautiful, more lovable place for the rest of us.




It was a room full of possibilities.
She could be anyone in that instant, end up anywhere.
She spent an hour or two in Chekov’s Russia, flew over Rand’s utopia and finally settled down in Murakami’s Japan.
They wondered why she spent the whole afternoon huddled up in forgotten corners.


Lucid Interval

So i am supposed to scribble the flow of my thoughts for 20 minutes to unblock my mind.The trouble is that at any point of time, there are so many thoughts pulling me in different directions that it’s difficult to hold on to the thread of one thought for long, but I’ll try.
The first and foremost thought, obviously, is ‘what should i write about?’ I currently have 3 most pre-occupying jobs at hand: taking some steps towards the novel swirling incessantly in my head, finishing the multiple short stories in pipeline and send them out to publishers, and decide whether or not i want to start a part-time job along with my writing. It’s been more than 6 months since I left my job in India and moved bags, barrels and all to the states. Until now, getting used to a new country, traveling to and exploring the places around and not having a work permit had been my excuses for not taking any concrete action in any direction (indecision has always been my nemesis), but now I am running out of excuses. The truth is the only thing I really want to do is write a novel and tell the story breathing and living in my head and get it over with. I know I can’t give my 100 percent to anything else until I finish this task. But every time I sit down to pin these thoughts to a piece of paper, I feel like i am drowning in the sheer volume and force of these thoughts. I find myself coming up gasping for air every half an hour! Yes, that is my attention span these days. This happens continuously for a few days, and I am so drenched in the rains of self-doubt, that I start looking for a shelter of blogging or finding a part time job or getting some poems/ short stories published. Then one day the clouds clear up and the Sun of hope is out and I can see clearly again, only to be lost after a few days. This cycle of insanity and lucid intervals, goes on and on and on…