My Petridish

Imagination is the fire of life…

Tag: Writing (Page 1 of 3)

Creativity is a form of life. Hemangini Patel Raj

Is Society Responsible For Killing Our Creativity Skills? Let’s See In An Award Winning Animation

Every child is born with an unusual creativity skill that keeps their childish enthusiasm alive.

“Never lose your childish enthusiasm….”

So we tell our kids as they grow up and enter adulthood. ¬†But our society has to tell us on every step of our life how we should live, how we should behave, dress and so on. Sadly, it doesn’t stop there, it also needs to dictate what we should do with our career and how we should earn instead of ‘live’.

Clean Slate – every child is born as one until they begin to understand the world around them and we begin to tell them how inappropriate their actions are and how they need to change. Dictation starts at home and then it drags on to public/private school. The education system is the best place to kill a child’s creativity, except if you have Mr. Han or Miss. Gruwell to teach you.

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Only Regret. Short story

The Only Regret. A Short Story.

Regrets, some of us have them in our lives. I never thought I was capable of regretting, until now. This is a story about the only regret I have.


The only regret.

The curtains rose and fell, wind crept in silently. Taking a slow breath she commented, ‘I like this part of the story. The princess Sati takes action for herself. Brave, isn’t she?’

‘Yes.’ I kept on reading the book. It is a sunny day outside but she can not go out to take a walk, something she loved dearly. Sunday is the only day I get to spend with her. She is so beautiful, my first love. Seeing her in this condition pained me but I had taken it in my hands to take care of her every Sunday. My college friends made fun of me when I refused to go out with them.

She fell from the steps three months ago. Her back was badly hurt, doctors said she will not be able to walk anymore. We didn’t have much money to provide her with the medical care she needed. Since a month she is constantly suffering from viral fever. My mother is a sole earner for my family.

We are left with very less every month after mine and my sister’s college fees. She knew this very well, she knew we couldn’t spend much on her. She was understanding and I was helpless. With my part-time job, I could barely make up for my living expenses in another city. Whenever I can manage I will bring her favorite snacks for her. Today it is Jamun. She loved the salted ones.

I kept the book down and took her hand into my own. They rarely took care of her, they were just so busy. She just lay there in the bed, helpless until someone was free enough to come to her. I was bewildered.

Looking into her eyes and asked her, ‘Do you want to come with me? I will take care of you, I promise. I will talk to Maa & Di.’

‘No. Look after yourself, go on with your studies. Make a wonderful life. Take care of them.’

‘I promise one day, I will take care of you. You deserve so much more.’

Taking her in my arms I cried like a baby. She cried too. She caressed my head and assured me, ‘I am sure you will.’

I left after she had gone to sleep. Very next day I got a call that she had passed away. A pain surged through my body numbing me down to the ground. I cried for all that she had done for me and all that I will never be able to do for her.

Once we lose someone we never get over them. Especially when you have grown up in their arms, listening to the many stories and myths like they were real.

This is the only regret I have. Maybe I will carry it with me to my deathbed.

‘I promise one day, I will take care of you. You deserve so much more.’


I hope you liked the story. Please give it a thumbs up and share it with someone you know. ūüôā

Take care.  See ya ^.^

Perfect strangers so close yet too far apart

Perfect Strangers. So Close Yet Too Far Apart.

This article will reach all kind of people, the perfect strangers that I write about. People from different ethnicity and religion, different cultures and age groups will be reading this post. Most of us will never meet each other personally nor would we talk for more than a few times if not at all. Yet, by reading each other’s written words or pictures we converse.

We convey to each other our heart’s desires and our deepest troubles yet we feel misunderstood and unhappy. Most of us will never know what the person living next to us wants the most or fears the most, we won’t know a lot of things about someone who lives right next to us leave alone someone who lives a thousand miles away.

Yet by crossing this initial barrier of ignorance and invisibility, by acknowledging that someone out there is going to read my post, just imagining about that makes me feel the presence of another human being. Just like me, sitting there, reading…

There are too many of us and we are all too far apart. 

So true Kurt Vonnegut.

I say this because I feel that we have become immune to everything else but ourselves. Every tragedy, bad news, social issues sounds fake somehow. The person walking two steps from us seems like a perfect stranger, we hardly even recognize that person as a human being. Our power of empathy seems to be taken away from us¬†because there’s just too many of us… Too many to count.

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Story Teller Unlike Any Other, R. K. Narayan. Revisiting Malgudi Days.

R. K. Narayan

You become a writer by writing. It is a Yoga.

Born in Madras of British India in 1906 R. K. Narayan short for Rasipuram Krishnaswamilyer Narayanswami, is one of the most celebrated authors in India to date. His simple writing style and descriptions of a hearty Indian town with its mix of townspeople won him hearts all over the world.

His first novel “Swami & Friends” was published in 1935 with help of British author Graham Green followed by “The Bachelor of Arts” made him an instant success in India as well as abroad. Graham Greene considered him one of the greatest novelist in English¬†Language and fondly wrote,

Narayan wakes in me a spring of gratitude. Without him, I could never have known what it is like to be an Indian.

R. K. Narayan shortened his name after Graham Greene advised him to do so. He told him, “In this country, a name which is difficult for the old ladies in the¬†library to remember materially affects sales.” Graham Greene became his mentor and friend for the rest of his life. Both writer’s influenced each other and that can be seen in their works.¬†

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Write Every Day… A Rarely Followed Classic Advice.

Awhile ago I received an advice,“Write every day”. There’s nothing new here, it’s an age-old advice. It’s still great because it’s true. I agree, writing on daily basis is exceptionally helpful to budding writers like me. It helps you increase your vocab and learn new things. It teaches you to break off from laziness and write stuff, stuff that matters to you.

Perhaps writing stories become easier as you go on, your mind develops a fluidity and words flow. Whenever I am writing something with continuity I can feel the words flowing like a river but as soon as I skip a day or two it stops. Then I have to force myself to write and do it till I can feel the flow again. I have been blogging for a year and three months now and I have not written 100 posts by now nor do I have thousands of followers. Makes me look like a lazy person and I become one time to time. Just so you know, I love my blog and adore writing here being around people who write/take photos/share their thoughts is awesome. I am sorry for not being more punctual.

Write Every Day. Enid Bagnold

Writing is addictive.

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Being Writer

Being A Writer.

“Being writer who moves people with her writing is my aspiration. I am still practicing, not good enough.” I said with sparkling eyes.¬†“Dude, seriously?”¬†At an office party I found myself sitting beside a pedigree kid who has been talking about how his father’s huge clothing business and how getting into banking is so not his thing. Honestly, why do people do a job if they don’t need it and are going to whine about it all the time to those who want to do it?

I found myself marveling at the fact that human ignorance and self-righteousness actually knows no boundaries when I told a that I want to be a full-time writer someday. The prompt response I received was, “Dude! Seriously? Isn’t that borish? Sit and make things up? A total waste of your talents you know.” Not wanting to offend the man I racked my brains for a subtle answer. How could he know what talents I have in 3 months? “On top of that It’s too easy to write. Can you tackle a financial formula and give a loan? Don’t think so. I can write a novel if I want to but I don’t. Like I said, it’s borish.”¬†

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Lose fear of fear

Lose Fear of Fear.. We Are Nothing But Stardust, Wondering In The Universe.

Specks of Stardust. That’s exactly what we are. We are nothing and we are everything…

Lose fear of Fear.

  • I don’t want to live. What is there to live for?
  • Not good enough, Big enough, strong enough, successful enough… ENOUGH!¬†Will I ever be enough.
  • Even I don’t know what I want and it’s driving me crazy, what should I do?
  • The Universe is so big and there are so many people, I’ll never be noticed.
  • I look like a scarecrow gone wrong. Look at her/him, they are so beautiful.

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Found in the wreckage

Found In The Wreckage.

Tales as old as time keep finding its way towards our world like the waves of ocean, eventually crashing against the shores and leaving a hazy trail. One such tale, I found in the wreckage that I thought I would become.

My tiny boat wrecked on the rocks near the beach. The waves saved me, it brought me to the shore. Alive but alone. A week has passed by. It wasn’t tough to survive the island, it was tough to remain alive with the demons that hunted me every single day. How long has it been in this tiny boat that was expected to bring me to my death? I succumbed to my injuries and fainted even before the boat passed across the misty orange clouds of justice. Have I lived past those clouds or am I dead? What brought me here? I’m not sure of all that either. But I heard my people say, “No one survives the sea. Especially not magi people. Sea devours them.”

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I Write. Because You Exist.

I Write. Because You Exist.

Someone must have said this before. Someone must have felt this before. Someone must have written this before. But no matter; I will say it again, I will write it again. I write, because you exist.

You. Yes, You – you changed my world by becoming a part of it. One day, like the unexpected breezy rain, you gushed into my life on the wings of the wind.¬†You shook me gently and woke me from a slumber I didn’t realize I was in. You filled the empty spaces in my heart like pure rain water smoothly runs into the cracks of the river banks and fill up the reservoir for the coming summers. Yet, in the summers you stayed, like a giant oak tree shelters many, you sheltered my lost belief.

Is this love? I kept asking. I told you, “I love you.”

I was frustrated that you never spoke of the love you felt for me. Oh no! I only read it in your actions that spoke to my aching soul. Truth smiled upon me, the beauty of your tranquil love; revived the words in me. Such stupidity you had to endure yet you stayed.

I wrote in vain, I wrote for what it seemed like a century. Maybe, just needed a soul to recognize the tiny voice within me. I turned on the lights to look for something & I found you staring back to me. A wandering soul, I was. You gave me a home. You became part of my adventures. I can still not wrap my mind around how you and I became us.

You saved my words and you nurtured them, even though you didn’t know how to. Maybe you are as clueless as I am. I just want you to know….

 Because You Exist. I will keep on writing.

365 Days of Blogging. My Journey So Far.

If a writer falls in love with you, you live forever.

365 days passed so fast. 365 days of blogging or the lack of it. I am not a big fan of birthdays or any other kind of celebrations, not that I do not enjoy it, it’s just that I find them unnecessary due to my lack of time for writing. A hearty wish is more important to me then a party and gifts. I flutter and smile like a child when my siblings and my parents wish me and I take in their sweet thoughtful presents like a child. “What did you bring me?” I would ask like a child and gasp getting excited when my brother presents me with a Harry Potter book on my 16th birthday! Gosh! Best gift ever. So guess what happened when my blog turned a year old on the 3rd of July? Nothing special! I wished myself and went to sleep. Hardly even came online for almost half the month. Didn’t even mention it to anyone.

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