Creative Corner · Guest Corner

Should you hunt for wellness & wellbeing?

The next part of the blog is in continuation with this blog part written for Vandana’s blog on wellness and wellbeing. An extension of the same as to what happened later.

Once you read the first part of the wellness and wellbeing blog, do read this part for more insight.

That morning I woke up from a good night’s sleep. I barely sleep so smoothly as I always, toss and turn in bed, read and play music at night. Nights are the only time when the world around you is as thin as the air of that place.

While I walked down the stairs, I saw Mackeri cleaning a sword, a beautiful 17th -century sword with a scabbard lying close by.

“What is it, what are you doing?” I asked her as I flipped my hand to check the time by the watch quickly. It was seven in the morning, and she seemed to be long awake. “Did you sleep or were you awake the whole night?”

“Ohh! Hello. Did you sleep well?” She smiled, to which I nodded.

“I was cleaning my old sword, I do it every three months, and that’s a ritual now.”

I could see the sword clearly, right in front of me. Made of a metal with a strange greenish tint, that was not steel, but an alloy, the silvery glaze of the sparkle shone brightly under the Sun.

“Do you know what swords are for?”

“Yes, for killing.” Of course, there could be no other reason for it, whatsoever.

“No, for knowing what death is. Killing is a gross term, and merely killing is what it is used now for. But it is not killing it is to know the essence of life, to know how beings move around. How they cease to exist with just one blow. Their soft flesh can be pierced by anything harder than them, and yet, we fight. This is the insanity people gain from living here, on this planet.”

Words were minced meat under her tongue. I saw her husband for the first time. He lay on the cot, staring calmly at the sky above him.

“You mean to say that actions don’t matter or do they?” I was curious.

How is it a circle?

“You have to always know that every action taken is reciprocal. Actions are boomerangs; they come back to you every time, you throw it to cut down someone else.”      

“It is somewhere in the circle; people get back what they give back. If they create trouble, know well it gets back to them. If something is wrong as per you, and you are not wrong in any way, then it is not yours, but their gift and the ball will lie in their court. There is a strong court where you might have to defend yourself.

But, again there are those who get back just for being mere bystanders. For not getting associated with the good or the bad. For being neutral, as neutral serves no one and is aloof. They often seem stronger. Not participating in something means you either fear it or you understand it. Yet, it is useless to others and thus, is often the first to go out of the equation like my husband.

In some other instances where those who become the medium to deliver it might be gaining slightly now from it but will also get back for the imbalance they bring, eventually. If they need another birth to give back, that too will happen. It is how this world works that the laws are written in the very matrix that surrounds us and you cannot avoid it, but take it.”

“It is difficult, but I will eventually understand this part of wellness and wellbeing.” I tried soaking in the words as much as the sun, both seemed precious right there.

“You mustn’t harm without being very sure that you must and for that you have to prove yourself. To prove it, you must work towards it and the sword is good then. Killing neutrals will not help, killing the ones supporting good will also not help. Use your judgement judiciously.”

What happened next?

“Yeah, I know.” I nodded.

“Unless someone finds you worthy enough to understand all of it, you cannot understand it. Most of us are born here but not all are worthy to understand the wisdom for which we come here. If you are proven worthy the portal will open since this is the only portal that is beyond the reach of ordinary humans.” She smiled.

“Okay, I will see what I can do.”

“Stand to the life you are given, till you die. Here, take this, a dragon vein and keep it close. Anger is your fire, bury it deep or transmutate it. Learn and learn till this life ends and come back whenever you can.”

She turned back and went inside with the sword; I had packed my bag, and cleaned up already when I came down. Near the well was a small tiffin box, I grabbed it and took a peek- warm momos with my favorite soup was waiting right there.

I paid her back an amount I knew will be valuable for her to survive some hard months and, that was my hard-earned money. I went off to meet my grandma who was in the next quarter. With just the train fares left, I knew I would have to beg to grandpa to help get back where I came from remembering well, life moved in circles.

There is a bit more to the wellness and wellbeing story for later.


The Nanny Manny Video Game

Here’s a poem about the modern world.

A light hearted poetry, it focuses on a concept- Gen X and Gen Z


For an evening, I was the nanny of a boy.

An eight year old lad, he was both bright and coy.

His mother was to leave for the show with her friends as I stepped inside to take over the chores.

He smiled at me, and waved gleefully with his fingers four.

“Where is your thumb? I asked him.

“Resting.” He said in a whim.

“Video games, I hate it.” His mother screamed from behind the closed doors.

“Ohh!” I merely could utter nothing else fearing I might sound like a bore.

After I sat down with a glass of water,

Juno peeped from behind the living room clutter.

“What is it that you’d say if I ask to join me for a game?’

 “A game of what?” I could see everything else, other than the video game.”

“Video games, PUBG, and what? He stood there, unsure of my reply.

‘Ahh! But your mother does not favour it.” I replied quickly.

‘I can teach you,” he offered a deal I could not deny.

I knew deep within, I felt a bit peevish in not knowing how to play a game, and now here I was having an ally.

Coyly I obeyed my master, too short, to be one.

But I did not go by his size, for don’t they say, size doesn’t matter when you want to learn having fun.

His room was not too tidy, but then he offered me the big bed.

I didn’t mind the breadcrumbs on the floor as I long as I sat upon the homestead.

Then he gave me a small horse shoe or so it seemed at a glance.

Until I noted small buttons- red, green, black and blue,

Slowly, I sipped from my glass to quench my thirst.

A remote, I rectified my thought.


He gave me a nod and said, ‘Here we start, you are no longer my nanny but my opponent and you possess the darts.”

I looked at the screen, some cartoon figures brightly dressed, stood there, smiling at me.

“You are this one- Lady Kararoomba,’ the boy spoke as though a kid very smart.

“And you are who?” I asked quaintly, almost loosing my sheen.

“I am the bad king and you are the good girl,’ he said as I shook slightly from fear.

Again he nodded and the screen came alive.

Everything was moving and I felt as though the whole screen was taking a dive.

“Ohh my God, what do I do, what do I do.” I panicked for goodness must thrive.

“Use the buttons dumbo.” He did not look up but on the remote, he stuck his eyes open wide.

I pressed the buttons but I admit the screen was moving faster than my nimble fingers could glide, on the machine.

“Save Kararoomba, save her, you owe your blood to her alone, abide.” The screen screeched and hissed and I was out of my wits again.

The screen came to a halt and with it my heart leaped and leaped.

“Did she die?” I asked him and his eyes grew wide.

“Yes.” He nodded and I could see te from his face slide.

“Haven’t you ever played it?” I was almost in tears for no fault of mine.

Guilty, and ashamed of not having been able to save her.

For in my time, we roamed free to oil our gear.


“Fine, let us play Ludo then, I am sure, you know what that is, like my old mother.”

“Yes, yes. I do. I nodded to shake away my guilt and fear.

I remember as a girl, I played Ludo amid the free woods,

Which were long gone and now there stood,

a resort which people visited to cover their moods.

He snatched the remote from my hand.

But, I still felt fear and guilt well up, guilt with shame.

I wish I could set everything right by merely swinging a wand.

I wish I could earn fame as a dame playing the video game.

But, then we played Ludo and spent the evening left, silently until her mother came.


I hid the event from her and I was sure, so would Juno.

That night when I went back home and sat beside my mom,

She asked me what crime I had done to be so numb.

I told her I failed to save Kararoomba from the video game.

“Who?” My mother questioned even when I had explained every bit to her about the game.

I could now see why people get hooked to such games, as my dad stood nodding, understanding nothing,

But just the name in the game.

Creative Corner

Do you ever need a poetry course?

Here we talk about a poetry course today but before that let me ask you, do you need a course at all?

Well in my opinion, we do need a course for everything new we want to learn and begin.

Courses may not be perfect but can align your thought process immensely well.

It is these courses that tell us more about this new world we are trying to explore.

One such course is right now what I am trying to bring forth and this is a poetry course.

Why suddenly poetry and why even a course? Aren’t there already enough courses in poetry?

Yes, but all of these courses have something different to say and so will my course do something different.

Learnings from the poetry course

Through the course, you will gain in three ways and three kinds of people.

  1. If you are willing to take up a new hobby, tune in to this course that teaches you how writing can be adapted as a hobby.
  2. If you are trying to heal from experiences that were unforeseen and tough, you can try out this course and learn how you can once again jump back to your life. The course tells you the reason you must take up writing.
  3. If you love writing poetry but you are not aware of the facts that can help make it stand out, try this course.

I am no renowned poet but I have years of experience in writing poetry. I do not believe recognition alone can be the factor guiding your choices, there are many good things in the world yet, they are not a brand. It was a line in favour of why you must take this course from me :).

A poetry course that can change the way you look at the world. Hosted with Indie IT Press that has a bunch of good courses to offer, I would like to tell you to join me in this journey.

Charges vary and is based on your country and job status. It is not a free course but is economically designed for different needs.

If you want to try a free course in writing, you can join this one by Vandana Sehgal.

Creative Corner · Poems

We Want to Control Everything

We want to control everything

We want to tame down all.

Our desire to control,

overpowers our inner animal.

Our inner animal overpowers,

our inner human.

I understand fighting

against an enemy that tries to kill us.

But why kill?

Why territorise?

Why not live together?

One who understands enmity,

often fails to practice it.

One who fails to practice enmity,

are often termed as weak men.

A weak man is always overpowered.

So, we must keep killing.

Many must die for one to stay.

Many must go for one to be.

One man drops his weapons,

another tries to overpower, what must one do?

Pick it up again?

Blame the world for making him a killer?

A horrible killer?

Killer of men, slayer of dogs,

Master of violence.

The happy days are gone as a man watches in mute silence,

as men watch obliquely.

All these ages have gone past,

What makes humans forget every time

They are born here; we are to make peace and not war.

We are to return home and not wade far.

That one thing in us – a worm I call, could not be killed in so many years when we have almost killed all –

our mightiest enemies,

our faintest fears,

Our near and dear,

our garish ears,

our inner gears,

the world we hear,

our mockeries & jeer,

We kill always our dear & near.

That inner worm still lives after so many years!


Fun poem- The Taj is on sale

Taj Mahal entry restricted to 3 hours for tourists | Times ...
Image credit: TOI

Once I went to visit the Taj Mahal.

the white, translucent macabre I had heard , it once was.

But no longer, it seemed translucent by any means.

A little pale or maybe a light cream, you can call its hue now is,

I stood there in a wig, a brunette, I was trying to be.

I wanted to avoid my friends, by all means.

I frankly wanted to roam alone.

So I not only wore a wig, but a hat atop,

with pale dark glasses to match, covered my big, petal eyes.

Away from the crazy crowd,

I slowly took one step at a time.

It was still gorgeous,

Silent and calm, watching over men,

the cool floors enticed me.

I sat on the sides, under the shade for a while,

beside a man, quite unaware of him.

In a minute or two, he asked me,

“Are you from Greece?”

“No, why?” I noticed him for the first time.

“You look like a Greek Goddess.” He bluffed.

“Which one?” I prodded his knowledge.

After a while, he shouted, “Athena, I believe.”

“Well, Hungary, I am from Hungary.”

I held my nose a little high in the air.

He did not ask for my ticket or I could be caught.

After an entire minute, he spoke again.

“Do you know the Taj is on sale?”

Which Taj, I asked?”

“How many Taj’s do you know?” he challenged me.

“Many.” I told him and followed my friend’s queue.

While turning round the square corner, I quickly stashed my wig, hat and glasses in my duffel bag.

I also borrowed a long shrug from a friend to hide my frame,

as I slipped past the man.

But, I saw, by then, he

had already started selling the Taj to another svelte blonde.

Climate Frontier · Poems

The end will begin again-Poem

Do you really think the end will begin again?

With the kind of swift ecological degradation, we are inching fast towards an ice age evidentially. So what good way to start a new phase or chapter in my renovated blog than a poem on Nature, the one which is standing on the brim of hope for a better world.

Here it it is!

I pulled my grey coat close.

I was not sure how long the gnawing wind could be stopped by a mere coat.

The temperature dropped and I grew colder.

The ice age was nearing.

“Run, run for your life,” someone screamed loud.

I ran home and started a hearth I knew would not end in a long while..

We had to live.

The temperature fell fast.

People fell faster.

I was though clever.

At 1500 metres above sea level I was all I could be.

then one day, all was white.

Almost five years of isolation grew my bones weary.

I needed to see a doctor first, I thought to myself. I needed to know I was still enough to move around, to hope, to dare again.

Then, I needed to breathe the new world.

I thought again, half of the world was lost.

A few peeks stood tall.

I was in one of them.

Among friends who had saved me somehow.

My family stood close.

I closed my eyes one last time to end the very night that stood between me and the new morn.

Next time, you come back there will be more than this poem here on this site.

Creative Corner

The dragonfly dragons tie

As the wind blows faster even the tiniest dragonflies grasp and hold onto the best piece of support and when you see them from close you learn it’s always best to rest when the wind blows loud.

Our big eyes are often too caught in the windy hurricane that surrounds us often but then we all must be like the daring dragonfly dancing in the wind yet, grasps a support for it knows the fiery winds won’t last long.

Dragonflies have inspired the civilisation for long. They can do a lot of things none can and so they became famous but what grasps life around a dragonfly is this tiny line between intellect and wisdom of when to leave what and whom to hold when?

Crossing this sea of judgement making has taught me the art to choose and so has it taught the dragonfly.

For we have to always know our truths, our lives better than anyone else.

Dragonfly copyright © sneha
Creative Corner

One dream! It keeps coming back

There is just one dream that keeps coming back to me ever since I remember I have been dreaming, like since my early childhood and it is this,

“An angel is all set to drop me down a big, dark tunnel and as I stand beside the winged guy, all happy and excited for a new life, he turns to me and says,

“Are you sure you want to go through this dark and meaningless pursuit called life?”

I am dumbstruck, and so I ask, “Am I not preparing all these days for just this?”

“Yes, but you haven’t picked up everything, still and I wonder if you can even manage there all alone and trust me, I would rather like having you here. Life on Earth is boring. There’s nothing much to do. You keep repeating yourself in different ways, it’s just that. Making meaning out of it, is really tough, given you’re not even rightfully trained.”

Why didn’t you do it then?” I charge him this time.

But just when he is about to answer the “why”


Then I am out into the open.

I hear nothing but I realise I am somewhere I was not previously and lo! I begin to panic.

That’s when I cry out for the first time since the world around me looks exactly the way my handsome angel had defined it.

I am cleaned and out of shock and tiredness I fell asleep and then the angel appears again.

“Could you come back?”

I panicked but by then, my aunt, a newbie in this field excitedly picks me up and goes out of the hospital room to show me to her friend.

In this cold night, freshly born, I go out in my towels with my aunt.

I close my eyes and I nod to my angel. He smiles as I go unconscious.

The cold was to much for me to tolerate since the hospitals did not have warm corridors in those times when I was born.

“But then there is a flurry of reactions, a warm heater and a voice’s intervention keeps me back on Earth.

The voice says, “Ohh boy! Why do you want her now? I am sure a few days of yours and a few years of hers would do you both good.”

What have I learnt?

  1. The Last Leaf by O’Henry teaches us to have hope and all of us must keep creating our masterpieces to keep up that hope that drives humanity since ages.
  2. The story of the two monks and the injured woman by an anonymous writer tells how Monk 1 is the one who has carried the injured woman on his back and yet after dropping her on her village gate, he forgets all about her whereas, the second monk goes ahead and complains to the head monk about the first monk’s action which he interprets to be against the protocols of monkhood. So, there are two kinds of people in this world and it is always better to stick to the like-minded ones.
  3. The adventures of Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn by Samuel Langhorne Clemens teaches me to live my life with my brains right on my shoulders. So, when someone gives me a fence to paint and I want to go fishing, I need to find another who could enjoy whitewashing the fence for me.
  4. God sees the truth but waits by Leo Tolstoy teaches me when God is lazy to act, you must not be like Aksionov but instead should stand up and fight for rights.
  5. The Bet by Anton Chekov teaches me not to be part of any bet and even if I am, I should be like the lawyer, renouncing what needs to be, only to rise again.

I laugh and scream out of joy.

Creative Corner

What is it that matters the most?

What is it that matters the most?

Thoughts on “What is it that matters the most?

I was trying to put in a few words this morning.

But then I was feeling slightly obtuse.

I did not perhaps understand why or what is it that matters the most?

The birds were chirping and perhaps, calling my name I looked up. They were free.

Was I?

So did freedom matter?

Or was it the ego inside me driving me, pushing me to not listen to anyone but to that just one dream inside my head- write since you love to write.

Often our egos fuel even the most innocent thoughts inside us, therefore they say, “Be careful where you put your egos in.”

So, now that I was confused, I stopped writing and began pondering over this fact.

Ego or freedom, what was it?

But then perhaps none, I said to myself and then a memory hit me.

Back when I was very small, an old man used to come begging in the afternoon when my parents were away for classes.


What is it that matters the most?

He used to always sit on our stairs and I would give him a glass of water and some biscuits that I would be saving the whole day to give him on thee day next.

But, yes my mother feared him and doubted he was a kid-picker, but she could not control his coming, so she controlled me.

She would lock the double door and all I had was a window that too was grilled.

So, one day the old man told me, “For all your biscuits and all your water, let me tell you one thing. Remember it, for I have nothing else to give you. If you remember it and practice it, it will become a gift one day.”

I was tiny but his voice quivered as though he was slightly emotional and even though ordinarily I would hardly listen, his livid eyes kind of opened my ears.

I listened and listened quite nicely.

“When you grow up do things that would add meaning to your life. Do something which will help you understand your life and your role on Earth and work alone until you find true friends.”

“Does begging help you understand your life?” I asked for children are cruel when young I have heard.

“Yes, it does. But I am not a beggar.”

“What do you think I am?” He laughed loudly.

“A kid-picker.” I told him what my mother told me for I had no brains.

“Ahhh! But I am not that, kid, I am a God-picker. God bless you.” He said and vanished in no time.

After that day, he never came again and I never saw him again even though i waited many afternoons for him saving my biscuits for him only to feed the crows in the evening.