Like a rainy breeze

He was like the breeze on a rainy afternoon.

The soft drizzle had died down,

The sun slightly showed its golden crown.

She sat at the window overlooking the city

She despises the rains, but today it looked pretty.

For she felt the freshness of the wind against her face.

As she sipped some tea, staring at the city in a daze.

It was quiet and serene, a little nook.

As she cuddled up with a poetry book.

Today, she knows why she adores him the most

It’s because of his mere presence, that the purpose to the day isnt lost.

A tale with a twist

Once in a land that had was perfectly ordinary in all respects, lived a young girl, doe eyed and innocent at heart like all children of her age. Growing up listening to fairy tales, like every other girl of her age she dreamed of becoming a princess someday. However, as the years passed, she was constantly instructed by people on several fundamentals of being a princess. Talk in a soft tone of voice, stand erect, wear high heels, wear superfluous elegant dresses, associate with only a select few so on and so forth. She was dazed, because she thought the main duty as a princess should be to look after the well being of everyone, to protect and lead.  However, later on she was informed that’s the job of a prince or a king.Finally, she grew sick of these ‘guidelines’ and decided to give up on being a princess.

Thankfully for her, she found a new dream. Not a dream, as much as a way of life. She decided she was done with trying to do good for the masses. Thus, she chose to live a common life as a common hardworking, honest girl. Going about her business. However, the society as we know it still just couldn’t leave her alone. There were rules to be followed in this regard too. For instance, she was frowned upon when she stayed out late working after it was dark, they said it wasn’t ‘safe’. They gave her ‘different’ work, more ‘suited’ to her capacity as a girl, they said. They wanted her opinion, but only for the sake of it.

Weary of all these restraints and feeling utterly disfavored she decided to abandon all civility and cross over to the dark side, become an evil witch. It wasn’t too hard. Women before her had done it too. She had to just find them, and she did. She found being dark, oddly liberating as no one dared to speak to her, or dictate the terms of her life. However, sadly for the poor little girl, it wasn’t the end of her ordeal. The people still had something to say, now more than ever. They called her horrible names and banished her from society ( even though she never really did anything ‘evil’, except perhaps living in the dark forest and practicing magic). As much as she tried to ignore the jabs, she was fed up.

One day, she woke up and decided she was done living a life where she had no freedom whatsoever.  She performed one last spell as a witch, a complex and painful one and transformed herself into a young lad.

Thereafter, she did whatever she wanted, went wherever she pleased, spoke however she wanted to and lived happily ever after without any interference from the people who had tormented her with their rules all these years.


The end.





Copyright (c) Sneha P

Ink splotches on a paper

Suddenly they weren’t just ink splotches on a blank page anymore. They are a part of something bigger. Interwoven into my  soul.
They’ve altered me. In their own little way.
I see the world in a manner which their weaver wanted me to see it. I see it how the weaver saw it. Through his/her eyes. I feel what they felt.

My perception, my thinking, possibly my beliefs, all of it is affected. Subtly, but it is.

Every word is a sneak peek into the writers mind. A part of his existence.  Now a part of mine too.

Suddenly I am that page. That blank page. The words of the writer write on the blankness of my thoughts.

Subconsciously the words have charmed their way into my heart and worked the hypnotic magic the hypnotist  wanted them to.
Someday they’ll spill over and touch countless others.

This way the words will live forever.
Suddenly they are a part of the universe.
Infinite. Indestructible. Immortal.

This way, the writer lives on through the reader. Forever.



Copyright (c) 2015 Sneha P [Rights Reserved]

Inside a Writer’s mind

A writer’s mind is a dark place to be in.

Imagine billions… okay I guess that’s an exaggeration, dozens of thoughts gushing and spouting in you mind. A beautiful mess. It’s YOUR mess.

At times its like a dark night, writer’s block as we know it. No matter how much you search, and wherever you look, all you draw is a blank.

Imagine looking for a door in a dark room, especially when you don’t even know where the door could be, which is the right one, or where they lead you, where your only hope is a sudden flutter of light, from which direction? You don’t know.Frustrating isn’t it?


That’s what it feels like.

Other times the mind if bursting with ideas, at the oddest of times. At 3 am in the night, In the shower, at a party, at a date! When you just can’t wait to get your hands on the nearest smart phone, tablet or writing material in case of us traditional writers.

Then comes the hardest part, of putting it into the right words.

Even though you may have a great idea, a great gut feeling about some thing – at times you just can’t articulate it. You feel it, but you don’t know how to make others see what you feel. How to make them see meaning in your mess.

To top it off, at times there’s a flutter of light, of an idea in that dark room only to slip away before you can act on it.

There are times when your friends and family might get annoyed at how you manage to turn personal incidents into stories in your pieces, or how you shut people off for some time when you are in “the zone” and need to write your thoughts ( It’s like a physical urge to just pen down the thoughts at times before they fade away) I honestly thank such people for accepting such quirky behavior at times.

a writers mind

But I honestly can’t complain. Being an aspiring writer, whatever ideas do come I accept them graciously and hungrily. Whatever be the frustration, the struggle to find the right words, the dilemma of choices, the constant contemplation – the end result, your final piece and the reactions it manages to elicit from your readers – a smile, a frown, curiosity, longing, tears, fear, empathy – it makes it worth it.