Money in the air, everywhere.



Money isn’t just a name.

To earn it isn’t an easy game.

Money, money, money everyone keeps reciting.

To have it, makes you feel powerful.

To see others have it, makes you feel jealous.


“I want money”, is a new mantra.

To get it easily, nobody knows the tantra.

Money is so alluring in nature.

Hoarding becomes difficult;

Spending is just too easy.


Money makes us crazy.

You can’t earn it if you are lazy.

“I want more money”, speaks the ambitious mind.

But sometimes it is just a means to survive.


Money has changed so many colours;

From gold, silver, copper to paper.

To think, money is just a name could be a thought of a fool.

Or, is it the importance that we give it makes us foolish.


Life could be so simple without money.

But we all seek money for living.

Money gives us power, so the mind thinks.

It could buy everything, could be a mind game.

Money is just money;

Nothing more, nothing less; if we learn the truth.

Is it the job or the boss or you?



I guess we all remember our first job (the same way we would remember our “list of firsts”). I don’t know if I was excited or nervous (pretty much the two feelings attached with anything on my “firsts list”). Any ways I remember being introduced around and to my desk (to which I would serve other than my boss and the company). Till a few months it was a comforting place, until one day my boss summoned me to his cabin. I thought I’ll be appreciated for my work, only to know in few minutes that my myth was about to be broken.

She said in a serious tone,” You are not performing well. It has been three months and you are not meeting your deliverables. As a result we’ll have to put you under “PIP” (performance improvement plan). As scary as it sounded it also sounded awesome to me (of course the acronym, one of the first lingos of the corporate world).

With a sinking heart and heavy steps I reached my work station. Now the desk didn’t seem inviting or comfortable. The talk had snatched away my comfort zone and transformed it into a lion’s den (the one place that I would be afraid to sit).

My reaction seems to have been blurred but I still remember that my feelings had taken a strong grip of me. Tears started to roll out, knowing and thinking that I’ve failed. Then, this feeling was overpowered by crazy thought to just harm the one who gave me this news. I didn’t know what to do, thinking that I’ll be fired I just started pushing myself too much (of course there were people around who were very supportive).

I don’t know if it was the fear of failing or the fear of losing my job that made me hasten my steps towards my job. By the end of the month I was not announced the employee of the month, however, I was performing. I was glad to hear the news and relieved to have been removed from “PIP”.


Years have passed by and now I’m the boss. Sometimes I find myself in the exact same spot as my boss. I would not say that I act better than her because it would mean comparing (you cannot compare the situations, in my understanding because situations and people will not remain the same). I would like to say that I try to wear a different approach when I have to break a bad news.

This experience has taught me how the person would feel at the receiving end. As the boss I know I’ve to break the news. I can hear their confidence shatter (the same way mine was broken like a glass back then). I try to gather the pieces with them and from here on I become there silent and active guide. By breaking the news you are already the devil, the least you can do is be the person and guide him/her.

When you are bad at something, you would already know that. Someone telling you that “you are bad” will not solve the problem. What will solve the problem is if that person can tell you what needs to be done. The best way to say would be, “exchanging the role from the giver to the receiver” and play the role of your receiver.


Have you seen those, scarecrows in the fields? They guard the fields and scare the unwanted guests in the fields like crow, birds, rats etc. I wish I had a scarecrow to ward off my fears.

I don’t know if growing up has helped me improve controlling my fears or deepened those at roots.

As a child, I was always scared to bandage my wounds, so much so that I would act crazy to convince my mother to leave the wound uncovered. I still remember, I had hurt my knee badly while playing football and mother found it difficult to bandage my wound, as I would not let her do that. It turned out that the closer the bandage came the louder was my cry. The entire house was filled with my loud cries. Finally my aunt came; she held my arms as mother with a very gentle touch bandaged my wound. I think, I have overcome that fear now but there are still others to conquer. However, I find it strange that I’m not afraid of injections. I can stare at it while getting those.


I always have torchlight or a cell nearby. I think you would have guessed by now why these two things are important to me. Well! Yes I’m very scared of darkness. I just feel like the darkness has eaten me up or I’m melted in it and at that moment my only saviour is any form of light. Even if it means light flickering from my cell I feel comforted.


You would find beauty in some creatures and in some god knows what. Have you seen a snake? They have beautiful patterns each different from other (of course! I would not pet those or want them in my house). I get goose bumps when I see the lizards in my house or on the walls. I just don’t like them and I’m scared to do anything to those. I can squash a cock roach, but lizards are deadlier to me than snakes. I don’t know what will they do to me if I hit them. Will they bite me or stick out there venomous tongue. I wish I had a scare crow to scare them off. But till then, I would be the one scared of them.

Art is where the heart is


I found myself gazing at a wooden frame which was at a display and had amazed the art lovers. It was not a work of some world famous artist; however, the novice artist had managed to gather some appreciation for his work, locally. The artist had played very well with the colours and made the canvas come alive.

The colours were playing in the garden of canvas as the children would play in the school play ground; each with a unique character of its own breathing the life in the wooden piece of canvas. Like others I found myself staring in admiration at this beauty. And as awestruck I was I just uttered, “What a piece of art”.

So, what is art?

Is it a mere canvas on a wall or only the work which is respected and paid in hefty amounts?

And, who is an artist?

Well, I simply believe that anyone and everyone have an artist at work within themselves.

Art doesn’t have a specific address. It can be born anywhere: on the streets, at shops, at homes just anywhere. I also believe that an artist can be born when true dedication burns in one’s heart.

A mother is a dedicated artist; she is the only one to take care of her children without wanting anything in return. Since the day she becomes aware of the fact that a life is being nurtured in her, she becomes an artist. Every day she might paint a picture of how her child might be. She gives an identity to her child by not only naming her but from now on she would dedicate her life in the upbringing of this child; the child who is her creation.


A confectioner is really patient and passionate about the sweet delicacies that he makes. Ask me, how?

In the greased canvassed tin he would gently lay the sweet children of cookies. After years of perfection (or maybe he would still be new to the business) he would inspect each cookie, and then he would decorate it with rubied cherries. Finally giving them a gentle brush with egg glaze, which would give them the perfect smile for the baking photo shoot. At last when they march out, he would gently powder them with a little flour dust. Thus ultimately he has created an art.

I can see art and artists everywhere; the only thing is sometimes we are aware and the other times we are just oblivious of the fact that we are creating an art.

The truth is, everyone is creating an art form: from a simple gardener to a cook; from a school teacher to a copywriter; from a sculptor to an architect all are busy creating art.

If you ask me, “what is common between these renowned artists and disguised artists as common people?”

To me “the passionate heart” sounds as the only answer. A true artist would never worry about the returns (monetary or non-monetary). He/she would just create from the core of his/her heart. Driven by crazy ideas from the mind but fuelled by passion and dedication from his/her heart.

Hence, I believe that art can be found anywhere and everywhere. All the things that we see reflect some form of art;as a creator would have created it with a true dedicated heart.

Shoes without socks



I just love to wear shoes without socks. It doesn’t bother me much how it appears but I feel good. I remember I’d always wanted to do it since I was a child, but someone kept me from doing so. You might ask who?

“Where do you think you’re going, without wearing socks? You need to wear socks with your shoes.” These were the words that mother used to shoot at me, if she saw me going out in shoes without a pair of socks.

Back then, as a child I was far behind the understanding of mannerism; so mostly I did what I was asked to do. Secondly, I was of course intimidated by my mother (not that she was scary, but she knew how to play a good mother and a bad mother, depending on the time). And thirdly, the idea of punishment did not seem exciting.

But now, the child that I’m has become a free fighter and a risk taker. Out of the many things that I wanted to do my way, this was certainly on my list.

As I go through my footwear: slippers, boots, sandals and shoes and decide what to wear or what not wear. I’m asked to think,” what pleasure does Mr. Shoes have for getting the company of Ms Socks? And why are others deprived of the comfort and cozy friendship of Ms Socks?”

Well! I have no idea but they certainly get the best pair award. And who could argue, they have been sitting in our wardrobes, like Harry met Sally that we dare not mess with the pair. I think to match socks with any other than shoes might be a question of simple appearance or I don’t bother attitude or may be some weather condition. Most of the people would like to go with the first (because appearance does count). However, I would go with the second (some lost flocks would go with this one also).

I simply like to slip my feet into the shoes and go out on a wander trail with my shoes, leaving behind the pair of socks all by themselves at home. I think it saves my time and the burden of sitting and pulling up my socks (as in literally and in great effort). It can be another way of saying that I’m a free spirited person. Or, allowing my brain cells to rest without being bothered while doing something that I’d always wanted to do my way.

A few days back I went on a stroll with my usual companion, and on the way I met Ms. Looks. She is someone who likes to do the things simply, because they are meant to be done that way. Apart from that she is just my park buddy (we walk together nothing more nothing less). She greeted me with a smile. All of a sudden, I could see my mother staring through her eyes, as she rolled her eyes looking, from my face to my feet and back to my face. At that moment we exchanged looks and speeding thoughts. Right at that moment, my face with a gentle smile and innocent eyes gave a look that said,”hey! I don’t care”.

I didn’t know that it could be so difficult a thing to do such a small thing your way. But when I did, what I did, I could sense a little bird in me that flew free for a while. I’m still half way through on the list of things I want to do my way.

Thorns And Roses


Life is a drama, so they say.

Life is tempting, so everyone knows.

It’s not a fair game to play;

Everyone says, it’s a bed of roses to lay.

Sometimes, velvet petals to touch your feet;

The other times, harsh thorns to prick your feet.

Love and life balance the game.

Live your life to the fullest, is all I say.

Love your life, to do the things you always say.

Love and life make a good couple.

Where you become a priest, without any tussle;

Money, is an illusionary master,

And, a mistress to this wonderful couple.

So, lay in the bed of roses, for long as you live.

Live, to breathe the sweet smell of the roses;

And, love to feel the pain of the thorns in the roses.


Ratatouille is a French dish, however, I’m going to share the recipe for Writetatouille which is nothing similar to the original Ratatouille dish. I hope  that you enjoy cooking and eating the dish as much as I did.

As I see outside the window the weather seems to be pleasant to cook a mouth- watering dish. I decide to go, not with sweet gossipy dish but a filling meal for the heart.

So, I decide to make a wonderfully delicious recipe (so, I think every time). As I go not to the kitchen but to the writing desk which is placed right next to my window. It gives me the best view possible, while I’m cooking something in my mind. All, not dressed to kill, but just to write, with the most powerful ladle in my hand, I think.

This metallic ladle oozes out blue liquid in the form of ink is handy to intelligent and common people alike. It’s easily available and ranges in price from low to as high as possible.

While preparing the dish in the wok of blank white sheet of paper, I like to sip a cup of tea. I place the wok of blank sheet of paper in the low flame of my thoughts.

I add a little oil of incidents in the wok, and then I add the chopped vegetables that form the character of my dish. I keep stirring this with simmering thoughts in my mind. It goes on for ten, fifteen minutes or can carry on for half an hour or more than that depending on the colour, thickness and plotting of the dish.

For aroma I’d like to add wonderful spices of instances from my life or others. Let me tell you, these instances are not very difficult to find, as it is readily available in the garden of observation.

I like to give the dish a stir of life and cover it with the lid of thoughts. As the dish is being prepared I relax myself by looking out of the window.

After sometime I take off the lid and give the dish a last stir, and shake it with a good read. In the end I garnish it with leaves of videos, pictures and smilies (where necessary). The lovely dish is finally cooked with great care and tenderizing love.

You can serve it with friends or perhaps like me read it when alone.

You can serve it to the blogs or newspaper or just keep it in a diary for yourself.