Raising Ganga – A Middle Chapter

You have to read this.

Shishur Sevay

“Raising Ganga” should be a book one day.  This is just a middle chapter.

Today we were driving to Apollo Hospital for Ganga’s check-up, I kept thinking of the harrowing and frightening drive there just eight days earlier, late in the night, as Ganga had thrashed, cried, kicked, yelled, and could not be soothed.  Whatever lingering doubts I still had about having wanted her in the hospital have now disappeared.  Ganga was clearly back with us, with her naughtiness intact.  We had some answers, but even more important, she was better.

I’d intended to post a blog when we brought her home.  I wanted to thank all the people who had written and messaged us on FB, and who sent their wishes, prayers, and told us of crossed fingers and toes.  Ganga loved hearing about their messages.  And I was immensely strengthened by the support.  Well, WordPress disappeared the post…

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Writer at work, till a block!

I am wondering, If all the people lived in one country, would there be any borders and if there were would there be control over states and cities?
Or would we all come together?

Would there be any culture or preaching or there would be nothing at all?

What if all the countries disappeared and only one small chunk, may be just a mountain remained?

Would there be flags?
And what would happen to technology?

Would that also mean that we have come so far for nothing?

Science says that life will not end until there is light.
So till the time there is the sun, there is life.

But there is something called The Black Hole Theory, no?

Well then that would explain. a lot of things.

And now I have a writer’s block and cannot bring up another word.

Again!

For the book readers, the dreamers, the believers, the lovers..
Having had a heartache more than once,
when lovers left us before the story was done.
Having had a dream to be woken up by the kiss,
But nothing seems real for the bliss.

Fairy tales fed the brain,
When Cinderella, was the first book to begin.
Often left in cinders then to the bin.

It is the dreamers who get their hearts broken to love again.

Memories in multitudes, 
Actions without vicissitudes.
Hopes for miracles.
Prayers piled in a collage,
Oh wish there was an Oracle!

It is the lovers who get their hearts broken to dream again.

Sooner than later does the poetry come to play,
Dante and Petrarch,
Homer and Horace,
Seneca and  Virgil,
Lyrically delight with their prey.

It is the readers who get their hearts broken to believe again.

Conspiracy theories,
Understanding maladies,
Reckless philosophies,
The search for peace.
Nonchalance is unavailable, it blew with the breeze.

It is the believers who get their hearts broken to read again!

15 Things Ambitious Girls Do A Little Bit Differently When They’re Dating

TO ALL THE GIRLS WHO NEED WORDS TO SAY WHO THEY ARE.
THIS IS A GOOD READ 🙂

Thought Catalog

ScandalScandal

1.Their relationship will not take up 100% of their life, but they will put 100% into their relationship. It’s important to ambitious girls to have other priorities and things going on outside of their relationship. But that doesn’t mean they won’t give it their all when it comes to being happy with someone.

2.They’re not looking for a challenge, but they are looking for someone to challenge them. They’re not interested in the chase or winning the game. But they’re interested in being with someone who’s going to challenge them to be better and to grow every day.

3.Romance usually means something different to ambitious girls. They love dates and surprises just like the next girl. But in their minds, the most romantic thing in the world is being with someone who they can truly relate to, and someone who supports them in everything that…

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HOW I MET MY MOTHER

This is from one woman who has been an inspiration to me. I am sure, somewhere she will inspire you too.

Adventures of Lady Long Legs

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This is a story that really happened a long time back and this is my way of saying Happy Mothers Day to my Mom.

The story begins 18 years back when I must have been around four or five, I don’t quite remember. On a sleepy afternoon in the sleepy corner of a sleepy neighborhood in Siliguri, I curled up in the moss green couch that had been my favorite friend since our family moved from Kathmandu. Along with my purple stuffed dog that I had named Appu after our dog who had recently died, I remember sitting on the couch in the small patio that overlooked the lane that led to the main road. Here it may be fair to add that my Mom called me Appu too. This is what it feels like when you have a long name. People will come up with so many different…

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