Quill, Write Ups


The pain of the hot oil which spilled on your hand, that searing pain you endured, without a word and with tears in your eyes, a burn because of haste, to fill an empty stomach. The red eyes and yawns, those sleepless nights, when my aching body and agonizing cries were enough to keep you awake. The slender hand with firm fingers wrapped around my waist, supporting my stumbling figure, helping me walk after a long time. Those huge eyes, deadpan eyes, staring at me, doing their magic as a glance was sufficient to make me do my chores. Your death stare is indeed remarkable.

Delicacies galore, which I missed when you weren’t around. An assertive voice, supporting me through thick and thin, standing up for me and daring anyone to mess with me. Quirky humor, giggles, cackles, soundless laughter and a broad smile, a sign of how proud you felt when I first won a competition. Those endless talks on the couch, when I started confiding in you, those horrible mood swings when I banged the door of my room in your face, not realizing the sorrow it gave you, those beautiful moments when I cried and your shoulder was always there to support my frail emotions. You give all of your time to me, loving and caressing me, not understanding how difficult it makes the decision of leaving you and finding my own path.

I don’t need one day to appreciate you, I don’t need to put a status on WhatsApp to show the world how much I adore you. I don’t need to wish you a Happy Mother’s day because I strive to take care of you and love you every moment of my life. I wish to make your everyday special.

Brevity, Quill


The soil is moist. The rain drenched the caked Earth. The beautiful fragrance of the soil wafts through the air. The lush green fields with a tinge of golden mustard; the village where women sew dupattas; the cattle munching on fodder; children running after each other and drinking huge glasses of lassi. My homeland is a potpourri of colors and hues. Mixed with aromatic heritage, the spicy struggles lend a richness to it. A dash of pepper and loads of generosity emboss it in everyone’s heart. My homeland is a place of comfort, a land with its own share of difficulties, the scarred past of partition an invaluable adornment. I am a Punjabi. My ancestors built their lives on this land, tilled the soil and earned their place in this world. I am a Punjabi who is loud, proud and has a heart big enough to make people happy. My language may amuse many but it is who I am. It is my expression of feelings. My love for Punjab is not limited to stereotypes, it transcends the boundaries of materialism. My mother, my home is intertwined in my essence. Jeevay Punjab!

Poetry, Quill


As i sat down, reminiscing the moments we shared,

I noticed intricate details,

that defined our love, the bond we shared.

I tried to bury my feelings,

but the crevice in my heart won’t be filled

and the tears in my eyes won’t stop,

I was devastated as I realised,

it was meaningless to be alive without a reason,

I am not here to wander aimlessly,

Devoid of purpose,

I was hopeless, as i got a call,

which changed me, my life, my everything,

that call was by my 


Brevity, Quill


Her laughter rings out like ripples in still water. She giggles and chortles, eyes turned to slits and mouth in a wide smile. The creases of her face disappear, radiating pure joy. She keeps on laughing till her stomach hurts and jaw grows weary. And afterwards a warm and comforting feeling makes her glow. Her eyes dazzle with mischief as she hugs me. Yes, she was successful in scaring the wits out of me. After all my mother deserves her share of laughter.

Art, Poetry

Just like you

Love of  mother and daughter  is always eternal 
“Whatever the situation i’m going through
I want to handle it just like you, 
I’m tryna watch each step you make
So i can take each step you take.
Like you i want to be strong 
so i can make you proud lifelong”


As the petrified juvenile rose upon his toes and, ventured to peep through the keyhole, he watched with tears rolling down his chubby cheeks and inscrutable face, the ‘MAN of the Family’ beat his mother again. Submitting to the cruelty he rushed to the shore and questioned his God, “Oh! God, if mother’s placed even above you why doesn’t she get the powers at least similar to you? Why doesn’t she get at least half the respect given to you?” and added suddenly, “And please reply soon this time, she easily differentiates between the sea water and tears hid beneath the sand upon my face.”