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Conversation with self

 It's been long since I have penned anything. Caught up in official and not so official work, I have been circumnavigating thoughts of how to revive my blog which I had borne from my itch to express. I have changed as a person through the years. Life has nourished me with tales of sustenance. If I were to write stories today, their flavours would be different. Curries never taste the same twice. The innocence of stories narrated earlier smile at me. I do not return the smile, but hide my scowl. But why? Not for the changed me, but how I miss writing. 

Expressing through free flow of words has always been a forte. Not spoken. Only written. While I speak, I bring with it the burden of my thoughts and mood swings. Heavy and silent. When I write, I sing through my words, a melody that is sweet to my mind. I am at freedom to edit or even delete before your eyes gape at them. The freedom of expression through writing, where the frills of untailored emotions are neatly tucked into solemn words.

Well, you may always ask me then why did I stop writing. I stopped reading and I stagnated in the journey trying to grow roots in the mud that held me tight, yet loose. I withered away like the yellow leaf that turned brown in my balcony. I was trying to get my syntax and grammar correct. Aspiring to be a loquacious petal in a pond of flowers. Peeled off. Floated. Sank. I swallowed my words. For how long, I missed my words.

Today, I have been touched by a muse. A burp of emotions. I feel like writing again. Not to be judged, but to budge. The urge to write is tingling at the tip of my fingers and as I type, I hum to myself, a song i would like the world to hear. Not in measured tunes of Ragas and talas. But words. From my heart to yours.

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