Writersmind.Surabhi

After admiring my skills at photography, I decided to write about this compelling picture. Surely, it is more than just a random click on my morning run. I stood there for a while, admiring the lamp and its gorgeous bluish-greyish background, watching the light from the lamp growing weaker as the morning sun rose slowly, but proudly, getting ready to outshine everything else around. I recently learnt that this hour was called the "Blue hour / blue light". I was witnessing it in all it's glory. Blue light means the light just before sunrise or sunset. Delving deeper into the personality of light, I wondered how strange and obvious it is that one light outshines the other at different times of the day. At night, the familiar wrought iron street light is sometimes the only source of light, guiding me not to fall off the edge of the road and crash into cars speeding past. And at daytime, it's just a pretty antique looking lamp standing witness to everything that walks

"A little magic can take you a long way," _ Roal Dahl. This holds true for the prompt that was used in my writing group last week. We had to write about the things that make you feel like a kid again. I began writing about my grandmother, but a ton of other things emerged out of my pen, taking over my thought process and leading me to a place that I wanted to dwell in for a while. I surprised myself and that's what I love about this piece. My mind wandered in the lanes of nostalgia, with a beeline of memories that made me smile, starting with my nick names, to my eagerness in waiting to catch a glimpse of the rainbow, the sweet smell of jasmine flowers bunched up, ready to be tucked into my thick, long, black hair, glass bangles particularly in green and red colors embellished with gold dots, shimmery hair bands, scrunchies, living on a steady diet of Enid Blytons, Nancy Drews and comic books, fountain pens, fancy letter pads, satin bows and school uniforms. The ecst

My essay published in Charlotte Lit's digital magazine. Read here

For a long time the only day I celebrated my mother was on her birthday. I would spend days writing poems, saving up money to buy her cards, chocolates and flowers or do something special for her. In my growing up years, Mother's Day did not exist. It came much later, along with the wisdom of how much a mother does for her children and that her sacrifices and unconditional love either go unnoticed or are taken for granted. The only other place which celebrated mothers was Bollywood movies and their highly emotional songs. Archies greeting cards was a close competitor. But now, Mother's Day is a universal celebration. The second Sunday of May is one day where my phone will buzz with non-stop messages and videos about the significance of it. Let me be honest. Being a mother myself, I also look forward to this day. Even if some of the messages that I get on my phone are repetitive or a little too flowery, I enjoy reading them. I find myself nodding in agreement to some of the quo

Read about the emotions that crossed my mind when my home country was a victim of the Pulwama attack. Read here

I had submitted this for a prompt on the Momspresso website. I did not win, but my essay got a good response. Read here

Mother's Day is one of the most special days for me. But it brings along some bittersweet memories. Read one of them here

Read my piece on Momspresso here