Anurag kushwaha

Not a day passes, when I don’t think of the days of my past glory. When I wasn’t a dusty, bedridden, neglected repository of thoughts. Sigh! Sometimes, at the end of another lonely day, I shed few tear drops, nostaliging. I am a blog, of course, I am dramatic. [Read More]

She brings her hands close to mine, fingers touching. Heart flutters. Wind reverberates. Moon snaps back its attention. Her eyes are distant, rafting in some unconquered utopia. Her fingers long and warm and brown. The air smells of lavenders or is it her hair or both. Arrgh! It’s difficult looking... [Read More]

“Pack up.” I was told. [Read More]

To, The girl on the other side of screen [Read More]

You aren’t Rumi’s couplet or Shakespeare’s sonnet, you are Manto’s atrocity. [Read More]