Ana’s Corner

I always fancied being a writer. Originality seemed to be a way of life from a very early age for me, being the daughter of a painter and a scientist that I am. Creation seemed to be a natural expression and to me, writing seemed to be the most fitting mode. Other voices cluttered my head for a long time – ‘could you earn a living by writing?’, ‘writing can be only a secondary vocation’, and so on – but the passions remained, pilfering themselves into diaries, into class notes, into seminar presentations and into academic papers, until one day, when I couldn’t contain them any more under any other name. When the demons of creativity flowed itself into lines and lines and more lines like tears of ecstasy. They wouldn’t stop, the ecstasy was new found, the voice was new and life seemed to flow into dead muscles, and dry bones and listless blood. No, there were no stories, no novels, but a few very powerful lines, which taught me more about myself, which taught me to tread fearlessly, which took away the exhaustion and the limitless fatigue. No, they were not meant to be published as they were fearful of telling a story yet familiar to all. They were nervous lines invariably blowing out the passions of fear, of truth, of hatred and of love – they were about people known and little known, who added colour to my nondescript self, they were expressive and they were vehement. Yet, they defined me, in all my eccentricities. They underlined the fluidities that I traverse, between dreams and reality, between imagination and the seen, between colours and darknesses, between men and women, between loves and non-loves – they expressed what I was, what I am, as these lines would somewhat say:


Do you realize,

When I loosen the thread

Of affection,

And when

I do not

Hold you tight enough?

When I don’t care enough,

As it were?

Do you then

Feel lost

And empty

And distanced,


As if

Time could never

Breach the gaps,

In between?

Have you,

Have you,

Ever, ever


So empty?

You must have

But it changes,

You know,

It changes colour

Colours of



Endurance –  

They change

And soon enough

Of those

Black moments

Of unendurable


I return

I return

To you

My home

My haven

My peace

My self

My solitude

And the



Here to stay

For this time

And forever.

For, even the

Day and the night

Also change colour

Don’t they? –

So smile,

My love,

It’s natural –

You know

How strong

And eternal

It is…

It is.


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