Line for a loved one

The smile; with its long and delicate fingers gently parts my strawberry like full lips, swiftly flowing from those parted lips down to the aisle where it nests forever in the cores of my pampered heart; that sings, screams, flings, and clings to the cruelty of the loved jet black coal like eyes that stubbornly refuses to stop feasting on my hazel ones; for it shows my crystal like soul burning with fire for an ambrosia like love that prognosticates the promises for tomorrow and days after that.

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Nancy Drew: My hunger for mysteries

I picked my first Nancy Drew novel in Grade 5 and instantly was obsessed with this little girl going around finding clues and unfolding secrets I could only dream of. I tried to do the same, however, staying in a hostel I could barely afford a lawyer father who would give me cases. Regardless, our assumptions were limited to Jujuman, the hostel ghost, and we used to snoop around in his abandoned car in front of the music room. We would sit there after dance and music classes and look at the old car. Although no one had the courage to go inside, we were very curious and so started investigating the mud around the area. This novel made me realize my hunger for mysteries and quests. It also help form a deep connection with my best friends where we would establish an informal book club. It also developed my habit of reading where gradually I shifted from Nancy to Nora Roberts to Dan Brown to Sidney Sheldon and Jeffery Archer books. One major thing I learned is: She starts from a clue and s...

Loved the red sea

(This is purely fiction and please don't report this to my parents ;p) .. My fantasies were coated by perfect men from books who spoke perfect words to flow the hem of my skirt and the strings of my heart. These men knew every poem ever written and every fairytale ever told. These men loved children and respected women. These men were crafted from a woman's pencil. I longed for these men. Painful to realize a real man is made of dirt and dust. They are made up of rhythmless tunes and mismatched words. They are clever yet need help to understand their feelings. They make me grip my hair and groan in distress. I could never find a prince of books. Then I got a man. Perfect at see but flawed at saw. These hip of imperfections could not match my dreams. Mismatch at its finest. 1 don't want to see but I observe and am curious. Who is this? Who is he who dreams of me? One of his kind, I dare say. The open arms invite me and hug me so tight, it's difficult to breathe. Actions...

Deteriorating state of Model UNs in Nepal

‘I’m gonna look the prettiest.’ I thought to myself as I joined my first Model UN which was happening in my school and was hosting a lot of other school students as well. I pulled off a red saree with a golden shimmer border and an ounce of foundation on my face. With coal-like kohl smeared on my eyelids, I went to my first MUN dressed up to kill anyone who’d endanger themselves by glancing my way. The results of my laborious effort to put collateral damage to the MUNers were void. Nothing happened. Other than dancing at the Motion of Entertainment, I received rarely any second glances. It hurt to realize that I was just another pretty face there. At the end of the three days, I realized the privilege the out-spoken people received; the spotlight which shone on them. Not the prettiest one but the boldest one. It was surprisingly settling to think about how I don’t have to worry about cakey concealer again or the hair on my arms. You could still be the center of attention as...

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