To breathe life into these pages, that once was my abode
To paint them with colors of characters I never could be
To live the life of children that smell only of goodness
To love, to be unrequited in love
To celebrate, to be lonely
To the words that gave my thoughts the intensity I wanted
I bow.
To Sanaya, the esteemed who smiled back at life
To Munna, so young and tender who is back on her feet
To Manish, who happily holds his wife and daughter in his busrides
To Surabhi, living life on her terms
To all the daughters who fought and lost their battles for us to win the war
To Smriti, who is Appu's Vaachi too
To Malavika, who no more carries the bundle of that man stories, but memories of a father she never had
To Shriya, growing up to dance in the rain and run up the hills
To Suchita, who is more than an aspiring feminist
To moments of fractured freedom, where hope bleeds
To the dreamer that Nandana continues to be and Miriam learnt to become
To Preeti's unbroken spirit and the aromas that arise from Kochettan's chaya kada
To Amy who left and never returned
To Anu who knows nothing less of success these days
To the hope of humanity that shines in Ritika
To the innocence Rinku loses each day growing up,
I find myself raising a toast.
I have been them, I have not been them. They inspire me to write. Be my muse! The journey I started in 2009 had a hiatus in between. A different beat was no more different. Here, I start again with trembling fingers and an onus on the self: Bring them to life. I am writing again.
Thanks to all who have supported me in this journey. Cheers.
To paint them with colors of characters I never could be
To live the life of children that smell only of goodness
To love, to be unrequited in love
To celebrate, to be lonely
To the words that gave my thoughts the intensity I wanted
I bow.
To Sanaya, the esteemed who smiled back at life
To Munna, so young and tender who is back on her feet
To Manish, who happily holds his wife and daughter in his busrides
To Surabhi, living life on her terms
To all the daughters who fought and lost their battles for us to win the war
To Smriti, who is Appu's Vaachi too
To Malavika, who no more carries the bundle of that man stories, but memories of a father she never had
To Shriya, growing up to dance in the rain and run up the hills
To Suchita, who is more than an aspiring feminist
To moments of fractured freedom, where hope bleeds
To the dreamer that Nandana continues to be and Miriam learnt to become
To Preeti's unbroken spirit and the aromas that arise from Kochettan's chaya kada
To Amy who left and never returned
To Anu who knows nothing less of success these days
To the hope of humanity that shines in Ritika
To the innocence Rinku loses each day growing up,
I find myself raising a toast.
I have been them, I have not been them. They inspire me to write. Be my muse! The journey I started in 2009 had a hiatus in between. A different beat was no more different. Here, I start again with trembling fingers and an onus on the self: Bring them to life. I am writing again.
Thanks to all who have supported me in this journey. Cheers.
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