Day 1303: When Dad Left for his Maker

This past year has been one of amends. One I am partially proud of. One you’d never be proud of. Drastic changes always had you in knots. But that’s what life has been all about lately. Am I sad all this is happening? No. Am I happy? No. But that’s for best sometimes! I thought…

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Day 1266: When Dad Left for his Maker

I guess what tends to amaze me the most is – people. They are unpredictable, insensitive, and for most part, just unbearable. *Of course, not all of them!* I write about dad, about what I feel without him, because I don’t want to lose him, not yet. You must think I’m stupid, plain daft. That…

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Day 951: When Dad left for his Maker

Like a wave, they catch me off guard and take me to crannies dense with your memories. Aisles I’ve been eluding find my steps and pull me in, and before I know I am tracing paths, the same old paths I have been avoiding, but I guess I haven’t been doing a very good job…

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Day 662: When Dad Left for his Maker

There is this song that makes me miss you so much. The song I speak of is Alone by Alan Walker. I do not know who’s the singer. But something is different about the music. It takes me to a place I so want to be. And I know that place is nowhere. Because no…

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Memories – Micropoetry

A thousand roses couldn’t smell so poignantly as some memories did from a hundred years ago Follow @badbookthief on Instagram for more micropoetry. Happy writing till we meet next. Until then, carpe diem! 🙂 ~~~~~ © Asha Seth Stay in touch. Subscribe Now: Youtube| Twitter| Instagram| Facebook| Tumblr

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जब याद तुम आते हो …

पुरानी यादों को निचोड़कर कभी ख़ुशी तो कभी ग़म पी लिया करते हैं जब याद तुम आते हो दुनिया से छिपकर रो लिया करते हैं अपनी खामियों पर खुद को जी भरके कोस लिया करते हैं जब याद तुम आते हो दुनिया से छिपकर रो लिया करते हैं तुम्हारे वादों में ज़िन्दगी का मकसद ढूंढ…

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365 Days. 93 Books. 14 Cities.

2019 steps out the door and I am thinking of events that happened this year. I’ve known people to calibrate their year based on the good and bad times. I feel that is rather depressing because psychologically, in the end you are left pondering about everything that turned out different from your expectations. I don’t…

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Day 365: When Dad Left for his Maker

Dear papa, You’re gone a year today and you’ll want to know this. I don’t cry today. I don’t look back. I don’t ponder over the ifs and whys? I don’t think it matters. I don’t curse anyone. Nor do I regret life. But let me tell you this, I also feel I don’t have…

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Day 282: When Dad Left for his Maker

Imagining life without someone, when have we ever given that a thought? I was the same. But with you gone, life has taken an unexpected turn. I am now looking at things, I never gave a thought. I am reminiscing over events, that once craved my attention. I am lusting for certain aches, that once…

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घर

दीवारों की दरारों मेंछुपी ज़र्द यादेंपास जाकर देखाकभी मेरा बचपनसतह पर तैरताकभी दादी का बुढ़ापाकनखियों से झाँकताखिड़कियों के पार सेसन्नाटे ताकतेकभी होली में रंगेमाँ-बाबा की झलकतो कभी बिदाई में सजीअन्नू का अक्सखाली कमरों में गूंजतेहँसी के पटाखेकभी पापा के ठहाकेतो कभी दादा केकहानी-किस्सेएक एकड़ उस ज़मीं मेंहज़ारों यादें दफ़्नकभी वो मन बहलातेतो कभी कितना तरसाते

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बसेरा…

चुपके से दबे पाओं आकर मेरे दिल में तुम्हारी बातें कुछ ऐसे बसेरा कर गयीं की आज मुझसे ज़्यादा कहीं तुम हो झलकती उन आइनों से जिनमें मैं कभी खुदको तलाशता था ~~~~~ आशा सेठ

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The Hate I Harbored

Time wasn’t on our side. Today, when it is too late, I convince myself thus. Maybe I wasn’t the right age to understand. Maybe you were too harsh that I suffered in vain. Maybe I comprehended you wrong. Maybe you misunderstood me much. I believed you knew what you were doing. Unleashing a world of…

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सुनहरी यादें…

सूरज की लौटती किरणों के संग हताश तन्हाईयाँ वापस लौट गयीं सुनहरी यादों से लिपटी यह शाम एक बार फिर हमें ज़िंदादिल कर गयी… ~~~~~ आशा सेठ

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Day 170: When Dad Left for his Maker

There are nights I wake up in a haze. My eyes travel to your rocking chair at the end of the room. Is it truly rocking or is it my mind playing tricks? It is difficult to say in the dark of the night. I stare hard and long as if staring longer would make…

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One Last Time…

What can be hoped after your last chance is snatched away? What can you say when a debris of words clogs your throat, gnaws at your brain? What remains when your heart’s tired of being numb? What can be done, when that ‘one last time’ never comes? ~~~~~ Asha Seth

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Day 100: When Dad Left for his Maker

Dear papa, This heart’s broken into pieces, forever; there’s no denying that now. It bleeds barrels. I can’t seem to be able to put it together. No matter how hard I try, it crumbles like a castle, into a thousand tiny grains of sand at the slightest memory of you. There’s an ache that threatens…

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एक सफरनामा ऐसा भी …

एक सफरनामा ऐसा भी… जहाँ भीगी बारिशें तो हैं पर नमी में लिपटी मुरझाई यादें भी… एक सफरनामा ऐसा भी… जहाँ मुलाकातें तो हैं पर होटों पे सिमटी ज़र्द ख्वाहिशें भी… एक सफरनामा ऐसा भी… जहाँ हर वक़्त हलचल तो हैं पर पल पल पे जमी ख़ामोशी की झिल्लियां भी… एक सफरनामा ऐसा भी… जहाँ…

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The Bus Stop – A Short Story

It struck twelve. ‘Twelve in the night is an odd time to be in a small village, especially for a girl’, a man whispered not very far from me. I cringed at the shaky voice. It heavily smelt of booze. Suddenly, I was not alone anymore, and that frightened me more. The man moved away…

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