THE Dream!

When dreams are the same, you just have to share the blog post! This was originally posted on It reflected so many of my dreams at that age, there was no way I could not reblog it! I love the way she writes. Definitely a writer to watch out for.


It is a beautiful rainy day. The tiny bookstore is filled with people wearing bright smiles holding books and coffee mugs in their hands. In the middle of everything is a girl with the brightest smile. There is a pile of books on her table. She has two mugs of coffee not one because she is absolutely addicted to caffeine. Today is her day. The huge poster reads ‘Priyanka Hasija’s book signing’.

This is my dream. It is not a dream. It is THE dream. THE dream I have been dreaming of since I was a little girl. THE dream which is more precious to me than anything else. THE dream I am working day and night to turn into reality.

Most people never realize what their purpose on this planet it. I realized mine very soon. I was born with a love for words and I want to spread…

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Shifting my blog to my new website

First of all I want to say, “Thank you”.Thank you for following my writing on “The quill of the phoenix.” Thanks for all the lovely comments and the encouragement.  However, I am shifting this to my new website

So please do follow my writings there. There is a lot of new stuff; a lot of different kind of stuff; specially now that I am taking my writing a lot more seriously.

I am also planning to get a book of my poems published in a couple of months and I will be posting updates on that as well. I know I can count on you to be with me on this dream journey of mine and wish me well.

If you’d like tips or prompts on writing, you can also subscribe to my weekly news letter, “Let’s Write” where I share tips on writing .

These are my latest posts on  I’m sure you’ll like them.

Happy Reading!



Today so much has happened.
They say we have reached Mars.
And somewhere else a filmstar
And a newspaper clash over bras.
Jammu and Kashmir still
Suffer the aftermath of the flood,
And someone posts on facebook
An urgent need for blood .
My neighbour and Bhajiwallah
Bargain over the price,
While the crows create a clamour
Over the offerings of rice,
I read, I see and listen
And pay them little heed
And thinks instead of what
My family I will feed.
My nicest bedsheet I find
Ripped into tiny shreds
By the angelic little puppy
Looking adoringly at me from the bed
“Mom! I’m going to be late
My bus I am going to miss!”
And my darling daughter
Leaves without a kiss.
The other news around
Seems to fade away somewhere
I know all of it
I just don’t seem to care.
It is not part of my world
Of what I do or say
Just noises on the fringe
Of my busy busy day.

Pending Storms

It is unusually still today. And horribly hot. Not a single leaf moves, not a single blade of grass sways. The birds have all fallen silent. There is a waiting, a hushed hold your breath sort of waiting. Waiting for the storm to break, yet not knowing if it will or when it will. In that waiting is a whisper of hope. A hope of a respite from this suffocating stillness. A respite from this not knowing. A respite from the fear of what might be. This calm before the storm. Sometimes more terrifying than the storm itself.

Another day, another lifetime. Standing at the window, feeling the oppressive stillness. It has been calm for too long now. I have been safe for almost three months. And in this silence is the warning. Any day now I expect the storm to break. I unconsciously brace myself for the blows, the lashings, yet I know it can be days or weeks before anything happens. It is the knowing that it will happen, yet not knowing when, not knowing what will trigger it, that suffocates, that has me holding my breath just like the leaves outside.

The thunder suddenly crashes loud outside the window, the wind rushes around like a mad man, the rain pelts down, relentless, battering everything with all its might. But once spent, it disappears, leaving behind a magical world, full of sparkling drops on leaves and grass, containing a million rainbows. Illusions that disappear once they dry up. The breeze too tired of having held its breath for so long, blows gently. The world suddenly seems so beautiful.

At home too, the storm arrives, vicious and cruel. But having spent itself, it changes . It is as if all the tension of the previous days has just disappeared. As if it never happened. The gentleness and love is poignant with regret and though I know it is just as much an illusion as the rainbows outside, I hold these moments close, knowing that I have a respite for some time at least and I can breathe once more albeit for a little while, till I start dreading the build up of another storm. 

Balloons And Happiness

He stood there in a dirty kurta and pant, holding on to his cycle which was decorated with balloons of all hues and shades. He was part of the scenery outside the mall and I didn’t spare him a second glance as I tried to get an auto to go home. 

“Memsaab, please ek balloon lijiye.” I was startled to hear him speak so close to me. I turned and shook my head. There was no one young enough at home to play with balloons anymore.

 “Please memsaab. I have not sold a single balloon today and I need to buy something for my kid to eat.” He pointed to his cycle. There tied to the bar was a tiny mite, about 2 years old, gazing at everybody with quiet intensity.

“I don’t need a balloon,” I shook my head again, “there are no kids at home to play with one.” 

“Please memsaab, for my child’s sake. He is hungry. I need money to buy him food.” 

“A scam if I ever heard one,” I thought to myself as I shook my head again. But then I made the mistake of glancing at the little one on the cycle. “What the hell,” I thought to myself. “It’s just one balloon. As it is I spend on so much other unwanted stuff.” 

“How much?” I asked . Sensing a sale, he quickly replied “Only twenty rupees.” And that is how I was the owner of a cheerful yellow balloon. 

I got an auto almost immediately and as we passed the other exit of the mall, I saw another balloon seller who also had a baby tied to his cycle. I smiled wryly as I admitted that I had been conned into buying the balloon.

But looking at the balloon, I could not feel angry. There it sat next to me in the auto, tied to my bag, bouncing happily at every pothole. I giggled at the sight, forgetting what it was I was supposed to be worried about. I wondered what is it about balloons that make your heart sing. They just have the ability to change a bad mood into a better one. 

I reached home and went about my work, unusually happy. Memories of childhood and evening walks with Dad, which were never complete without buying a balloon and eating an ice gola at the talaopali, flitted through my head.

And then when I finally saw my teddy bear, Fred, playing with the balloon, I knew it was a good buy after all.


Falling in love or falling in lust?

A group of friends met over coffee. Catching up with what was happening in everyone’s life was fun. Till they all decided that it was my turn to be grilled. “So have you found anyone yet?” one of my friends asked. Pretending not to understand what she was asking I asked back, “For what?”

“Arrey, have you found someone to fall in love with yet?”  Another friend asked, tongue in cheek, “it’s okay to tell us if you have fallen in lust too.”

That actually got me thinking. Just like everyone else, I would love to have someone special in my life; to fall in love; to be loved back.  Yet, the very thought of falling in love again is so scary. It is so much easier “to fall in lust” as my friend put it.

When you fall in lust, you don’t have to take the responsibility of your feelings. You can blame it on hormones or anything you want. You don’t have to act on it and you don’t need to feel guilty drooling over someone whenever you think of them. You don’t even have to know the person well.

Now, being in love is definitely scarier. It is a decision you take. You can’t fall in love without knowing them. And after you know them, you decide that you want them in your life.  They become important to you and you are happy when they are happy, you hurt when they hurt. Your emotions get linked to their emotions. Yes, loving someone is scary ; and if you don’t even have a clue about their feelings for you, it can be even scarier.

That’s why it is so much easier to admit that what you feel for someone is lust rather than love. 

Life gets in the way

Please let my dreams come true,

Fervently I pray.

But unfortunately you see,

Life gets in the way


A famous author

I want to be someday.

Write  a dozen bestsellers,

But life gets in the way.


I have so many adventures planned,

With happiness everyday,

Doing what I love,

But life gets in the way


I want to sing

And dance today,

But there is no time

For life gets in the way


To the people I love

I have so many things to say.

Will I have the courage

Before death gets in the way?