The walk 2 work

Two day weekends had become inadequate. And then I run into a one day weekend. I cannot recall the day when weekends moved on from being a break to follow your passion to a basic recharge which was not enough to get you through the week. The day when my day job had killed my dreams. It did not happen in a day, it was a slow painful death. There was a time when writing a few pages used to get me recharged and add a spring to my step that lasted the day. Days when I used to write were far and few in between, similar to the posts that I have made in this blog. I needed the safety net. I needed to pacify my misplaced ego. In simpler words, I was addicted to my monthly payslip, and the annual hike. It was no different from the bonded labour, humanity had broken free from. The only happy moment I now feel was when I sat slouched in front of the television and saw a good movie start immediately after the previous one got over. I want to wake up again to the dream of writing. My l...

I remember this birthday card that I received from the only two people who could miss me, from the moment I closed my eyes to sleep for the very first time. There were those blue fringed lines at the border slightly fading off to the edges, where the card was cut in curves, so as not to have sharp corners. In the center, in glossy print was a small kid wearing a cap and swinging a golf stick at nothing. On the card was this line “You made us stretch, be it your untidy room, the blaring music, or the unique dreams you believe in …….. But then, we know that we have got a uniq...