Writing 101: A Guide

I have often found myself wanting to make a blog post but not having anything to write about. Rather, I cannot decide what to write about. So, there I was reading an ‘Ultimate Beginner’s Guide To Blogging’ because, well, let’s face it, I could use some help. Anyway, so the article said something oh, so profound, “write something you would like to read”.

And BAM! An idea was born.

I should just make a guide to writing! Maybe this will result in an epiphany that I so desperately need. Well, even if it doesn’t, at least I chased my inspiration and got the idea down! Which becomes our first principle.

I. When inspiration strikes, write, write, write!

II. Got no idea what to write about? Pick up a notebook and start writing.

It is common belief that the process of doing things goes something like this:

Inspiration ——— Motivation ——— Action

But psychology begs to differ. Mark Manson says in his book, ‘The Subtle Art of Not Giving a F*ck’, “Action isn’t just the effect of motivation; it’s also the cause of it.” The real process of doing something goes like this:

Action ——– Inspiration ——– Motivation

III. Practice makes one SO much better

When writing for an audience, people tend to second guess their writing. The only solution to this is to keep on writing. The more practice you get, the more confidence you’ll have. The more confident you are, the better because confidence enables you to write more openly.

IV. Be. You.

Everyone has their own style. Your writing style may be different from mine and mine may be different from my friend. Your written works reflect who you are and what you believe in. Being yourself is key. You have your own style and you should be proud of it.

You got this! Believe in the power of you. I know I do ; )


Lost Friendships

You were two fishes in the ocean,
Strangers with different notions.
You shared a few glances,
But never took any chances
Maybe, someday, somehow.
Will you ever be ready?

Definitely that day, that way.
A spark inside you
Ignited the friendship
You talked and talked
And built a foundation
Of trust
For your skyscraper of
Respect and affection.

Months passed, memories made
You were always there for each other
But then came stormy days
And slowly,
Just like that,
It all fell apart.

You tried to make it through
But I guess it just wasn't meant to be
Because now, when you look back sometimes
And miss it all deeply
You wish mournfully
That you had remained
Two fishes in the ocean,
Strangers with different notions.

pour me out

i'd pour myself out  
from the depths of my heart, 
but all you might find  
is some poetry, soft music,  
and a love for the little things in life. 

occasionally you might see 
fragments of childhood memories. 
a little glimpse here and there 
of the ocean of love I've received. 

i have tried so hard 
and finally can say that 
hate has no control over me, 
so, no rivers of hatred 
in my world you'll see. 

happiness keeps me going 
but sometimes sadness takes over me 
and when clouds blanket the sky 
and gloom refuses to leave, 
my best friend, through all of it, 
remains this poetry.

fatally perfect

the human ideas of perfection often clash with survival. we go to such lengths to be “perfect” that we forget that our body has some basic needs that we need to fulfil. 

we romanticize self-destruction through the concept of perfection. our ideas of perfection have evolved into something grave and fatal. there have been cases in which people have become anorexic to look good in Instagram pictures! is giving yourself an eating disorder really worth some likes and comments on social media? the society has made a good body image toxic. being fit is not just being skinny, it’s being healthy. 

passengers aboard the time train, here we take a quick stop at the 2010s, the era of superficiality. a place where being skinny is being healthy and a person is judged based on their looks. 

next stop, a movie theater. now showing: suicidal teens and where to find them.


you are not one
you are many.
for your existence has infinite variations.
you are a different ‘you’
in the mind of everyone you’ve ever met.
you’re the hero and the villain.
you’re innocent and you’re guilty.
you’re right and you’re wrong.
you’re everything and you’re nothing.
you’re a paradox.
you are plural.
you can’t help this,
it’s all about perspective.


“You know just because you’re beautiful, that doesn’t mean you can treat people like they don’t matter.”

-Cameron James, 10 Things I Hate About You

There are two types of people in this world: the Guilty and the Victims.

It is all written in the name. The Guilty are the ones who create the Victims. They are the bullies, the judgemental people. The people who are so self-obsessed that they treat others like they mean nothing in this world of almost 8 Billion people. These are the people who don’t care about how they make the other people feel as long as they are happy. These are the mean people.

And the Victims are the people affected by the Guilty. They are the ones who think a dozen times about each and every piece of judgement they could possibly receive before they say, do, post, text etc. to anyone. These are the people who are insecure because of the Guilty. All the judgement and hate they’ve ever received in their life has led to this moment. After some time these Victims begin to think it’s their fault that they had to suffer from all of that crap. But, whose fault is it really? Well, that is just a game of perspectives my dear friend.

Take a minute, decide whether you’re one of the Guilty or the Victims? Oh, you don’t want to be the one you are? What to do?

Well, don’t turn towards me for answers, for I know none. And I, myself, am a bit of both, pleading for mercy.


If I could get any superpower in this world, I would ask for just two things.

One, the superpower to be telepathic and be able to read other people’s minds and communicate with others via my brain. To know whether the other person is telling the truth or not, whether someone feels the same about me as I do for them. To know how someone is feeling, making me understand what the situation is and how I can make it better, etc.

Two, to be able to put me in other people’s skin for a day, just to feel what it would be like to be them. Are the people who I think to be very lucky, actually so lucky? Are the people who I think to be depressed, really depressed? Are they actually happy? Are they actually living the perfect life I assume them to be living? What would it feel like to be so popular or beautiful or lonely?

But I guess I would never know. All I know right now is that I am just another silly girl, in a city, living a normal life with some wonderful memories and tragic stories. A girl who overthinks the tiniest of situations and loves easily just to break her own heart. A girl who thinks that if she had these two superpowers, she could prevent these questions from tearing her apart on the inside.

Stars That Die With an Explosion

“Most stars die a peaceful death, gently shedding their outer gases into interstellar space. But one in a thousand – the star whose mass is greater than about seven or eight times than that of the Sun – dies in a violent, dazzling explosion called a supernova.” -Neil deGrasse Tyson
This might seem like a random quote about space and stars. But if you take another look at it, the same theory, when applied to human beings, may leave you as pensive as the quote left me.
Millions of people die natural deaths every second all over the world. In fact, while you are reading this, while I am writing this, someone, somewhere reached Elysium. These are the stars that died a peaceful death.
At the same time, there are people whose mass is more than others, metaphorically speaking. Who have a habit of carrying the weight of the world on their shoulders. Who feel like a piece of grunge nobody cares about. Those, one in a thousand all over the world, who are depressed, suicidal, etc. Those are the stars that die in a supernova.

The Artist Next Door

Right by the corner,

Next to my house,

An artist thrived

With a cat and a mouse.

He painted and sketched all the time,

While his sister sat by him like a mime.

His cat and mouse

Ran round the house

Just like Tom and Jerry.

Perchance if separated,

Sad they got very.

Early morning, while the world slept

He started to paint on a canvas, fresh.

By nightfall, his work got over,

His painting, a sophisticated lawn-mower.

Modern art was his passion

His painting hangs in a famous mansion.

This 19-year-old dreamt big

Only if we knew what fate had in store for him.