ImageI read stories because they make me believe. Stories are fragile, created by balancing words on air with only imagination to hold them together. Stories are confounding, every beginning isn’t clear and all endings aren’t happy. I read cause it fill my mind.
I write stories to make sense of the chaos in my head. I write stories that I live in and the stories live in me. They help me understand, they help me in being understood. There are stories that end too fast and leave me craving, there are the ones that never end, they go on forever even when I stop reading.
Long stories are seductive, they wrap themselves around, like soft velvet as you read, you fall in love and the affair continues. A short story has a different feel to it. Like Stephen King said “A short story is like a kiss in the dark from a stranger”
Stories make the world perfect with words knit together in harmony, making reality palatable by adding a squeeze of fiction to it.
I make my stories, while my stories make me!
Photo credit: Ashutosh Khandkar

Life between the lines.


My first one came on my seventh birthday, wrapped in shiny pink paper with a bow on it. I opened it excitedly. I placed it on my table and stared at it for days. “Little women” it said on the cover. Then one night shyly approached it, picked it up and sat crossed legged on my bed. It’s smelled funny. I turned the first page and began to read! A few lines through, I realized we were going to be friends. We met almost every night. It transported me to a whole new place. A place where I was never alone. A place where magic was real. A place where the famous five, the hardy boys, Nancy Drew and I were friends. I would wait all day for the time we could be together. The stories were happy and fun. Made me smile, even giggle at times.
I was smitten, and thus began my love affair with books.
We grew up together, spent more and more time with each other. I would sneak a peek at every chance I got. There came times when our bedtime escapades became all day affairs. The stories became different too. They had darker shades in them. Of unhappiness and sorrow, of longing and belonging. What did not change was the love I had for books. It only grew, like my appetite to read.
I have learnt almost everything I know, from books. Sydney Sheldon taught me that no matter how big or small you are, the stars will shine down upon you. Eric Segal made me believe in love stories. Ayn Rand shrugged me along with the Atlas and changed the way I thought. Richard Bach cleared all my illusions and made me believe in my dreams. Mr. Jeppesen taught me how to fly a plane!
Each of these guy teaches me something new every time I fall back on them.
We are now inseparable. I have one with me, always. I have been seen reading in the most arbitrary places and times. I have read all night, all day and all night again!
I am as excited to open a book today as I was with my first one. The smell of a new book makes me smile every single time. I still believe in magic.
I wish I could crawl into one of them and live between the lines!