Wandering with Words

Random musings of a reckless soul.


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Timeless present…

This watch was given to me as a gift by my father in 2002. I remember because I had cried. Cried, not because I was overwhelmed or happy but because I had asked for a headphone (those were a rage and rarity back then) and instead, he got this watch!

How many times as children do we think that our parents just don’t understand us and that what they do are just their attempts to hold us down?

I remember many times when I would mentally stomp my foot and tell myself that I would never be the parent my parents were.

All that went into the drain when I actually became a parent.

Sure, there’s a layer of toxicity that we all lose when we become parents because it softens our heart and soul.

When I graduated, I was pretty sure that I would be parceled away as a bride. It was my father who told me to get a job and experience the real world. He taught me how to ride a bike. He supported me when I wanted to get my Diploma in fashion design. He was my adviser when I wanted to pursue post-graduation and later encouraged me to get an Education degree. All this did not just help me attain financial independence but it also prepared me to handle real life situations. It made me wiser and better as a person. I gained confidence, became bolder and learnt how to take a stand. I learnt both- when to give an opinion and when to shut my mouth.

Now as a parent I realize what a difficult task it is to manage a toddler who hasn’t fully developed a personality yet. I can only imagine what I made my parents go through at times. I wish my father was here so that I could let him know that I’m sorry and he was right and I am so proud he is my dad!

So, if you are among the lucky ones who have their parents by their side, just try to be more appreciative of all they do and tell them you love them before it is too late.

P.S. the watch is, to this day,  one of the best presents I have received.


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Old books

Turning the book over in my hands I wondered how many people must have handled it. To the unseeing eye, it was only an old, tattered book- unworthy of any praise. But a lover would know its worth. I wondered how many stories it held, apart from the printed one.
How many moments it treasured?
I love reading for all those well known reasons- for visiting unknown places, for the new eyes, new adventures, new friends, the knowledge, the wisdom. I love the musty smell, the sound of flipping a page, the feel of a book in your hands. I love it all!
But I love reading a borrowed book most. I love reading the tales hidden in them. Faded covers curling at the edges, browned papers… Finding a dried petal or flower in between the page connects you to some stranger-friend. Words scribbled on the edges and careless doodlings. Favorite passages marked and dog eared pages!
A stain here and a stain there, telling stories within a story. Chocolate marks, candy wrappers, names of lovers scribbled in tiny hearts drawn at the corner of a page. How many stories could a book tell? And how many could you read?


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Knowledge is power.


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Frozen Emotions.

Daddy-and-Daughter il_fullxfull.417946032_i8b8

I ask my father many questions, the answers to which I am incapable of finding on my own. 

He just looks at me and smiles.

It’s a pity that framed photographs do not speak.

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