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Literary Lemonades

musings of a wanderer

Author

Neha Sharma

Tiptoe

She began to crawl and she began to cruise
and she learned to utter ‘yes’ and ‘no’,
But no one remembers just when that baby girl
actually began to tiptoe. Continue reading “Tiptoe”

यूँ ही कभी कभी

Sometimes, I write about how much I don’t want to write. Sometimes, I am unable to write because I have just finished a beautiful book.  Sometimes, it’s just the good old writer’s block. Confused?

Continue reading “यूँ ही कभी कभी”

The Illusion of Choice

In a world where female athletes are comfortably mocked on their lack of femininity and girls are expected to ‘look like girls’, it’s necessary to emphasise how women, even today, face an illusion of choice.

Continue reading “The Illusion of Choice”

The Ideal Date

“What would an ideal date be like for you?”

Continue reading “The Ideal Date”

The illness of the setting Sun

This poem is the byproduct of anger against the burning of over 30 schools in the Kashmir valley amidst civil unrest. It is disturbing to see how low humanity can stoop and what horrors it can bring forth.

Continue reading “The illness of the setting Sun”

A life that slipped away without a hint

This poem is a translation of a poem I wrote long back. The original title was बीता हुआ जीवन and it is the voice of a person who is about to die and is evaluating his life in his final moments.

Continue reading “A life that slipped away without a hint”

How to write good fiction?

All the good stories are out there waiting to be told in a fresh, wild way.

I didn’t say that; it was Ray Bradbury, but I could not have agreed more. Continue reading “How to write good fiction?”

The Damsel in Distress

Flipping through the pages of yet another piece of fiction, I had an epiphany. There was something wrong. The book was well-paced. Neat plot. Then what was it? After a few moments of silence, I got the answer.

Continue reading “The Damsel in Distress”

Petrichor

As I stepped out of the building, the evening sun washed me over as if it was trying to have a final word before it leaves, followed by another familiar feeling. It was the petrichor. The wondrous fragrance of the first rain of the season.

Continue reading “Petrichor”

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