P!nK BoW

When I was folding the laundry. To be precise.. Masthu kaali unde battalu martestunde. So yeah, I was wondering what if the only clothes we have for the month are in our backpack! What if all the emotions we feel are carefully packed in Spotify and injected into us via earphones every now and then, when the breeze hits the face! What if all the hot coffee or chai you have is not on a lazy Sunday in your bed but with a beautiful green view! The strong caffeine smell or the boiling bliss of chai-patti on the hilltop! What if the only thing that runs is your bike and not your mind! What if the roar of the bike excites your heart not just some century from Virat or a groundbreaking goal from Ronaldo. To be precise again. I barely watch sports. Any. So the names of players are not gender restricted but Instagram story restricted. I keep drifting. Back to the point. Well, What if this imagination is just a ticket away. A ticket for a week away from work. (W.A.F.W) Hey! I just need wafw. Not...

I am beautiful. A really hard sentence to accept. When the night is long and peaceful, when I can hear the train, clickety-clacking its way through the rail, I believe that I am beautiful. A 3-year-old picture in my snap memories made me realize that I have been beautiful for a very long time. The adoring looks people gave me that I misunderstood made me wonder how exactly they felt looking at me being me. I politely deny and barely acknowledge the word beautiful just because I choose to think that I ain't beautiful. Today, It just took me a second to think that I am beautiful. I remember the days I covered my face when my best friend tried to click my pictures. I remember the days when I twirled in my jeans. (Yeah material girl). I remember me wearing the white and blue satin frock and my mom called me pretty. I remember the look on my father's face every damn time I try on a new dress. I remember the day I wore a saree at my sister's wedding. I've been beautiful then ...