Showing posts from August, 2011

'Musings of a Wanderer'- A review

I remember a friend of mine expressing his doubts about the future of poetry when I suggested he seriously consider getting his collection of poetries published. Someone had crippled his faith by saying that prose would rule the publisher’s choice over poetry, anytime! I beg to differ.                My heartfelt congratulations to you Shreya Chatterjee and I applaud your effort in bringing your feelings out into the limelight through such fluent poetic verses. Shreya Chatterjee’s ‘Musings of a Wanderer’ is a collection of short verses that rekindle hope in this day and age that poetry will not die a slow death. As long as emotions and experiences stir one to pull out their quills, one should continue to write in verse. And also believe in it enough to know that there will be some hearts out there that will definitely relate to your words and connect with your book of verses. This extremely reader friendly slim book of 95 Pgs. is full of sweetly simple poetry that cl

55 Fiction #8

His heart began racing on hearing the roar in the distance. It was a pitch dark night. He bravely began moving in the direction of the growling which got louder and louder, as he inched closer, stealthily. With one sweep he deftly pulled the wallet out from beneath the snoring man’s pillow and bounded away. 


With a promise that I have picked up my pen with an intention to write and post more regularly, now on, like in the past. My dear readers, I'm sure will rebuild my faith in my writing with ur kind words of appreciation and serious criticism too..:D Here's a fresh new story as a toast to this rich blogger's world and our friendship!!! Now on I will write like there is no TOMORROW.. TOMORROW “Rickshaw” she yelled but all zipped past her, laden with passengers. Well past 10pm. M.G. Road was still a busy thoroughfare. The dinner meeting had sealed the deal and Neena was elated that she’d be standing on her own two feet, an independent fashion designer, very soon.  Presently however, she couldn’t stand in her stilettos anymore. Her back hurt so much that she wished she could tear them off her feet right away. Just then a rickshaw stalled a little ahead seeing Neena flailing her arms. She was saved.  “Aundh” she informed the rickshaw driver. As she hastily stepped in, Neena