What a grand moment it was! Totally unexpected and overwhelming. This Crown is a precious gift from God which I will cherish for my entire life! It was an amazing night. For the first time ever, India had won the crown at the Miss and Mister Deaf World pageant. I’m ecstatic that I had won this crown for India.” – Nishtha Dudeja

Nishtha Dudeja recently won the Miss Deaf Asia 2018 title at the Miss and Mister Deaf World – Europe – Asia Beauty Pageant 2018 held at Prague. Hailing from Panipat, Haryana, a state which has the lowest boy:girl ratio, made the country proud when she became the first Indian to win this pageant.

“Nishtha”- her name aptly encompasses her dedication. She has proved herself and enlightened the path for several others.


That is what you hear when you read the word DEAF.

Absolute silence. Deafening Silence.

But if you stop and listen with your heart, you’ll hear the sounds of love emanate through every inch of their hearts. Their powerful silence speaks, that one may hear only with their hearts.

I can see a bright and dazzling India ahead. What a proud moment it is for all of us. She is more than equal to any other human being – so please stop calling her “disabled”. If a person has insurmountable determination and willpower, they can do wonders.

So, where does the label “disabled” fit into such an amazing person? I firmly believe that such people are gifted in other fields, that there is no room for the word “DISABLED”. They are more talented and work tremendously hard to achieve their goals.

They have got superpowers to fight this world. While we can hear, we often allow unwanted energies and gossip as sounds enterd our lives, which ends up consuming our precious time and energy. We then realize how much positivity has been soaked away from our life.

Today we know that a focussed life can help you experience wonderful opportunities. If you are positive and hardworking, your environment shapes your success.

Nishtha’s parents were a great and consistent support for her. They helped her chase her dreams, and were always there.

She now wants to help the underprivileged, without caring for her own comfort. She believes that people like her don’t need pity but only deserve equal opportunities.

Her parents were initially upset to discover her deafness, but they didn’t lose hope and supported her to achieve what she is today.

Nishtha is a graduate from Venkateshwara College in Delhi University, and is presently pursuing MA in Economics from the prestigious Mithibai College, University of Mumbai. Apart from excelling in studies, she is also a brilliant tennis player and has participated in Deaflympics 2013 (held in Sofia, Bulgaria), World Deaf Tennis Championship 2015 (held in Nottingham, UK) and Deaflympics 2017 (held in Samsun, Turkey).

To prepare for this pageant, she stopped all other things and concentrated on only winning this. And she did prove that she is the best in whatever she tries to achieve. This victory at the international level has given her a vision of an equal world. This is a story of a woman who dared to dream.

Nishtha has taught us all that you should not wait and watch for success to come to you – but if you work hard with determination, nothing is impossible..

It’s always I’m Possible!


Merry Christmas!!

“I don’t believe in Santa, no Christmas party,” Ms.Edward said stubbornly, looking at her daughters. Her voice got heavy and she turned away blinking back her tears.”But Mom, Dad used to love Christmas party, for him we have to celebrate.” Sandra looked haughtily.

Emma countered a little forlornly. “What about the gifts that we get every year in our stockings? I mean you put it there Mom?”..

“Oh! come on sweetheart mommy don’t feel disheartened we all love you and Dad is with us!”

Both of them put their arms around her and kissed Ms.Edward.

It had been almost a year since Ms.Edward had lost her husband due to a sudden heart attack though she tried to adjust new life but she couldn’t help missing him constantly.

And the special occasion made it worse. Christmas being his favourite, all celebrations, parties gifts … how she could forget all these even now? She felt as if some miracle happens and she could get back Mr.Edward again..

She watched indulgently as Sandra and Emma bustled about preparing for party to give Santa a thumping welcome.

They had bought a HUGE Christmas tree and decorated it with all stars and glitters. They loved doing up the tree.When all fairy lights glittered in the evening , this tree looked simply gorgeous and glorious.

Ms.Edward thanked God for giving true Angels as her daughters.

Unknown to everyone she made a small card for her husband and wrote “Merry Christmas”.

She put it in an envelope and placed it under the tree where no one would see it. She prayed if Santa could help her to reach to her husband. If he really exists, then he will.

Christmas Eve, everyone looked dashing in their best costumes. Nobody could forget that this was their first Christmas without Dad. Everything reminded them of him-his innovative ideas, his arrangements, his handmade cakes and jellys mouth watering puddings and crepes, his chiding them to hurry. The gully used to light up with 100 twinkling stars and what a lavish christmas party it used to be! Full of frolick and fun.

Ms.Edward peeped into the place where she hid her wishes for her husband hoping Santa to take care of. Still a child lived in her heart with a hope. All came and they enjoyed the evening though remembering Mr.Edward.

She heard a sound and a swish of air passed by as if someone is their with her that night, as people say, “He is there with you whenever you need him”.

After the party, she switched off the lights leaving only the fairy lights blinking under the tree. Sandra and Emma had a great time. Being tired they went up to their rooms and slept off. After cleaning the mess Ms.Edward looked for her envelope still lying with a hope. She then went into her bedroom still thinking “Does Santa really exists?”

Her love for Mr.Edward made her to think like a child with lots of quirky wishes to come true.

A bright morning with a beam of sunlight falling on her face made her to getup fast. As if a toddler, she went to see her envelope, and to her surprise she found a heap of brightly shining gifts lying under the tree. She grabbed the card kept in between those gifts and with trembling fingers she pulled out the paper inside, she just closed her eyes and opened with a flash

‘Iam there honey! With you all the time, love, David!” said the card and under it faintly written words “and so am I,Love Santa”.

All of a sudden, the clock stopped. Ms.Edward stared at the card, was it her dream or reality? She looked up into the sky and drops of tears rolled from her eyes, she felt him, his warmth. These were tears of joy and with renewed faith streamimg from her eyes, she kissed the paper and wrap it around her heart…. She never noticed two loving hearts, bright with unshed tears, watching her through the upstairs windows.

Aromatic Flavours Of Indian Kitchen!!

A glance at Indian Kitchen! It is so appealing to see an array of sparkling utensils and aromatic flavours emanating from the typical traditional Indian Kitchen! Whether it is a simple roll of films (chapatti) or a sumptuous biryani, our kitchens are always full of flavours and spices, with elaborate cuisines and uncontrollable mouth-watering fragrances. The limelight in any of the Kitchens in India is the evolution of Indian utensils. Each utensil whether big or small has its importance in cooking a particular dish. Be it a simple tawa, kadhai or even the venerable kiln, bhatti. All have a unique way of cooking an item and making the dish yummier. The clitter-clatter or rattling sound of kadchi on the kadhai is common acoustics in our Indian kitchens. I was ten years old when I struggled to make a cup of tea for my dad. I wanted to impress him. But I was never fascinated by culinary skills and it was a jigsaw puzzle till I got married.

In my house, our kitchen used to dazzle with all brass and iron kadhais and brass patilas placed height wise on the shelves, with glasses kept in apple – pie order. They used to gleam and beam, on being meticulously washed and polished.

I would see my mom, and even sometimes Dad, cook wonderful dishes. My mother liked experimenting new recipes and she would invariably get complimented by all. My mom’s food was always talked about. No wonder it still is. She cooks wonderfully as everyone agrees that life’s favourite cuisine is “Ma ke haath ka khaana”. She still believes that real taste comes from kadhai made of iron or brass, sil -batta, hamam dasta (mortar-pestle), chulha and ancient ways of cooking…We had a beautiful heavy thick based iron kadhai. Whenever my mom put it on the stove, I would run to sit beside the kitchen slab to peek into the kadhai. I used to cherish the aromatic flavours of spices and was always thrilled to see vegetables being tossed. Once accidentally, the kadhai, full of hot gravy turned upside down and some of it splashed on me. My tender skin was burnt and for the next few days, I was the apple pie of all my family members. It taught me a lesson – not to play with fire!

Soon enough, all our iron kadhais were replaced by stainless steel utensils and non-stick ones, as they were the latest fad. They were bought after watching those convincing and flattering ads who gave fabulous deals to attract customers. The ladies of the house often exchanged old utensils for a set of new four kadhais and Voila!!! A non-stick dosa tawa free! Wow! What an amazing offer! (Or so it seemed at that time!).

We used to sit together at the dining table on Sundays for lunch and dinner and wait impatiently for all the special dishes made by my Dad. Of course, it was accompanied by my mom’s tricks and tips. When the sizzling hot pot would appear, on opening the lid the steam would wheeze out. Our room used to fill with a mouth-watering aroma. It would tempt us to fill our hunger – tingled stomach savouring each bite and munch it as if we were having a lifetime meal in one day!

The serving spoon showcased the tender meat and vegetables sitting in the pot still bubbling sauce with the aroma of spices

That was supreme satisfying…… I miss my good old days. My mother’s treat after I returned home from school and how she took care of all my tantrums and my fussy eating habits. I miss my mom a lot! All grilled pans, non-stick kadhais were our heroes in the kitchen. But somehow, I was not happy as the non-stick coating would wear off in a few months making it unhealthy to cook in. We bought these utensils repeatedly as soon as the coating started wearing thin, to be sure of good health. But somehow we miss our iron and brass utensils. Yes, some doctors and medical journals now recommend using our old traditional cookware as it fortifies the food with iron which is so essential to our body. This feels like we are all going back to our roots which are enriched by our values!

So, before I end, here I go for a ghost korma recipe, with an authentic touch if you want to impress all.

The extraordinary thing about a korma – which is thin gravy -is that it is cooked without turmeric.

Serves: 4

Preparation time: 40 minutes

Cooking time: 1 hour



1.2 kg mutton

150 g ghee (optional)/Oil

10green cardamoms

5 cloves

2 sticks cinnamons

2 Bay leaves

160 g onions (1 cup)

50g ginger paste

50g garlic paste

10g coriander powder

5g Red chilli powder (1 tsp)

Salt to taste

220g yoghurt (1 cup)

5g garam masala(1 tsp)

3g mace and 1/2tsp cardamom powder

3g black pepper powder

1 tsp saffron

2tsp milk

20 roasted Almonds


1. Clean and cut breast portion of meat into 1/2 inch chunks.

2. Peel wash and chop the onions.

3. Whisk curd in a bowl.

4. Dissolve Saffron in warm milk.

5. Pound the Almonds with a pestle.



Heat ghee in an iron kadhai (it will give you authentic taste) you can use your options as well add cardamom, cloves, cinnamon and bay leaves, sauté over medium heat until they begin to crackle. Add onions, sauté until light brown, add ginger garlic pastes and sauté until the moisture has evaporated. Then add coriander powder red chilli powder and salt stir add mutton, fry for 5 minutes, add yoghurt, bring to boil, add water approximately 800 ml that are 3 1/2cup cups, cover and simmer, stirring occasionally, until mutton is almost cooked. Now add gram masala, mace and cardamom powder, and pepper powder, stir cover and simmer for 8 -10 minutes. Adjust the seasoning. Add saffron and stir.

To Serve


Remove to a bowl, garnish with roasted almonds serve with phul ka or pulav.

I have one thing in mind every time the food which we cook for our family it turns out to be yummier with a pinch of extra love and care that we add into it. Happy Cooking.

60 And NOT OUT

I am at the golden age of 60. In fact I turned 60 the last week. And then, I was handed a letter of retirement, reminding me how tireless journey I have been through, in these years of yearned service. Only I know what efforts I have given to this school where I taught and what it took from my slice of life to be here today.

The temple bell chimed, the cuckoo was singing in the soft breeze of dawn. The sun was peeking in between the clouds as if a child is mischievously playing hide and seek. Her face had lost its shine. She had a wrinkled face, dimmed eyes and dry grey hair. She had grown into an old woman into the past few years. Sitting in the garden, she was remembering.

I was sitting on my Jhoola (Garden Swing) and staring at the open cloudless October skies of Jammu at the foothills of the Himalayas. Myriad thoughts were pouring into my mind that made my heart ache with bitter sweet memories. With every sip of the lemon ginger green tea, I recalled my farewell speech that I had delivered yesterday. The faces of those teary eyed students and staff were fresh in my memory and the image lingered before my eyes as I was staring at the sky. A distant loneliness and nostalgia engulfed me. It was the same time of the morning that I had been rushing around all these years to reach my school on time. But today it seemed that the time had stopped, and everything was frozen in their place. There was an uneasy sense of relaxation. My heart and body were cool and calm but my mind wandered from one thought to another reminiscing the past three decades.

I saw my garden and its colours. The colours seemed very different from ever before. I thought that as these beautiful flowers of my garden would end up one day with fall of petals one by one, my life too will also come to an inevitable end. Although the time seemed still, its imperceptible passing made me sad and nostalgic.

I picked up the water pipe and began to water my plants, mechanically. I felt a certain sense of contentment in the flowers of my garden. Now onwards, they would be more in touch with me, and this thought consoled me a bit. I pondered on the question of what to do after my retirement.

The words penned down on a piece of paper, my retirement notice, had taken away all my expressions and feelings and read out loud my aching heart.

“Mumma! Mumma….ji!!!”

I was broken from my reverie by my younger daughters voice.

“Where are you? You have a missed call!” Jagriti called out loudly. Amidst the ocean of my thoughts, suddenly I hit on the hard solid ground of reality.

“Whose call is it? I don’t know! Keep the phone away!”

After some time I kept on wondering who it might be. “Jaggi, let me call that number. It must be Akanksha calling.”

Akanksha is my sweet little elder daughter, who lives in Delhi and practices Ayurveda. She sometimes plays pranks over the phone. “Let me see what she is up to, now!”

I started dialing the unknown number.

“Hello!” a sweet unfamiliar voice came up on the other side. “Yes, who do you want to speak to?”

“Me?!! Not me, its you, Madam, who called up first! The call was from your side first. What’s up? From where are you calling? Madam, please tell me where are you speaking from. I found a missed call from your number, hence I called back!” I said. I was a bit upset since morning. I was fantasizing what about the new and creative things I would do during my retirement.

“Missed call?!”That chirpy sweet voice retorted in a surprised tone. Then, she said reassuringly, “Don’t worry, it must be a WRONG NUMBER! I am from Mandi. May I know from where are you calling?”

“Jammu!” I replied. The voice at the other end of the phone sounded happy and full of vigour. There was passion in it.

“Madam, don’t worry, it happens many a times. You live in a beautiful place. Nice to have a chat with you. I am Alka here. The sweet voice said.

“Hi Alka! I am Dilshad! I thought my daughter must be playing some pranks. It is nice to talk to you. I never thought that I will get such a decent reply from a wrong number. I am teacher. And yesterday I have retired from my school. They had given me a farewell yesterday. I was in a flashback and memories with a heavy heart since today morning. Suddenly I got distracted by the call on the cell phone. But after talking to you, I am feeling so relieved. Never thought that I would love to get a friend after dialing a wrong number! I was thinking of giving back to my community, doing something for the homeless elderly people. Also of course, I wanted to cherish my hobby of photography by traveling. Somewhere during this time, my late husband’s business suffered a series of losses as he was suffering from cancer. Oh! I am only talking about myself! Please tell me about Mandi, I have never heard of the place!” I asked gingerly.

“Oh! I have listening very intently. I found your talk very interesting! I am in Mandi. It is in Himachal Pradesh Ma’am! Its a beautiful place surrounded by mountains and the River Beas, its a small place which comes as you travel to the Kullu valley and the highway leads to Manali.”

Alka was beautifully crafted by god, with her twinkling blue eyes , lustrous lips and sharp features, she was a well sculptured “pahadan”. There was a jubilation in her voice and for her agile nature, she was the heartthrob of her small town.

Alka told all about her place and people. It was nice listening to her. My tensed mind relaxed with this chit – chat.

She continued, “So sorry Madam. Retirement is your time. In Mandi, we celebrate retirement like it be a wedding! There is a grand function and everyone rejoices. Your time – to be who you want to be actually! You can crave for something new. Enjoy this beautiful world with your grandchildren and family. In everyone’s life there is some or the other trouble or problems. But when you worry, you make it double. Don’t worry! Arrange to meet with friends for coffee each morning. Join a club. Whatever you do, make it a habit. Do it being NOT OUT!”

“Yes, Alka! This wrong number has given so much hope and now I rethink of living life, doing, feeling, seeing, adapting, changing, loving and adding another brick to the new foundations of my life’s journey. Retirement will have to wait for me!” I replied.

I will be your lifelong friend my wrong number!

You have given me hope and path towards happiness. We can be friends forever! You are my WRONG NUMBER!

Da … Dadi!

Small tender hands curled up my neck from my back. Holding and kissing me innocently. It was my granddaughter. It was entangling me towards life. She had collected a lot of night jasmine flowers, that had fallen on the ground overnight. The fragrance of the night jasmine was wafting all over the place. I suddenly remembered, that the night jasmine tree had been planted by my husband. While I was inhaling the aroma of the flowers, I felt his presence and realised he was egging me on to start a new innings of my life afresh.


Still Life Goes On ….

I am a girl. Today is my 10th birthday I am very happy. World is like a paradise… a fairy tale land where iam the princess Snow-white or Cinderella… spending my life joyfully, my heart is full of childish dreams.. I am a carefree child, playing all the time, going for hunting in the evening with my friends to collect bright feathers and curious round pebbles. And then one day, imperceptibly, with time I grew up I was no longer kids. Our childhood dreams got lost. Now, no one tells us to go out and play. When we were children, we were of pure heart, innocently winning hearts of millions ..But time and tide waits for none..

I am the younger one so my elder brother and sister love me so much. I am shining star of my parents. I love my home and family.

Time passed rapidly i turned into 16. My elder sister get married and residing with her husband. Life is pretty busy with my study activities, but still joyful.Enjoying TEENS of my life with having lots of dreams in my eyes .I am very happy. I am a teenager in her prime. The world is like a paradise for me with all the fun in school, friends and mischiefs. I am spending my life joyfully without getting fussy over things and without a care in the world about tomorrow. I am the shining star of my home. I love my home and my parents. I want to decorate home as per my wish but I am told that I am young and immature to do this and when I will get married I will have ample opportunity to decorate my home according to my wish. So i have started to wait to grow up to be lady for all my wishes to get fulfilled.

With passing time, I grew up into a sincere college going girl waiting for all my desires to be a successful woman living her life with dignity. Life is pretty busy with my study activities, but it still is joyful with college friends, college canteens, bunking classes, watching movies and celebrating each moment of life but with a little bit of trepidation about the future too.

But with the passage of time everyone made me realize that this is not my home.

I turned into 20, my elder brother get married and i am happy that bride of my brother ll fill up the vacated space of my sister and we both ll set the house beautifully. But with the passage of time she make me realized that this is not my home. I have to go to a new home after marriage and that ll be my permanent home. This reality was hurting but my parents are now grown old and they are worried about me so i felt that this is necessary to go to my permanent home by getting marry in order to satisfy my parents.

I have to go to a new home after marriage and that will be my permanent home. This reality started hurting me deep inside but looking into my parents eyes it was better to get married so as to see them happy and finish up their responsibility , settling my home. I don’t want to leave my home but I have to.

A boy has been selected for me. Though it is very difficult to leave “my home” and parents and to join a new family, home and man in a new environment with a lots of new values and rules. It will take a lot of effort in adapting them and forgetting this home which I thought is mine but Alas!

Now I have to move ahead to another home …”MY HOME” this with lots of fears and dreams in my eyes. I am now ready to make my home and decorate it but leaving my parents and my native place is the worst part that every girl goes through. Is it easy ???? A few of them are lucky to get a good surroundings and acceptance from new people others struggle till the end of their lives.

After marriage I realized that life is very tough with lots of responsibilities, household work and if you want to work then finish up all the household chores then after making all others happy you can start up your own. Again only a few are lucky enough to get enough support otherwise it all depends on the husband’s or in laws ‘s wish. My wishes have no value. Because I came to know that this is not my home, I can live in this house only if I obey all the orders/ wishes of my in laws and husband.

I completed my half century with all greys and blues.i.e. I am 50, my son is my the hope of life and my ultimate happiness. He is my wealth. He loves a girl and wants to marry her. I am happy bringing that girl as my daughter in law. They are very happy with each other but slowly they make me realize that this is their home and I am useless here disturbing their lives……

I am turned into 60, sitting on a bench in park thinking about my home “my home:”, where it is. Can anyone guide me and other women like me…..

Aunty!!Radha…Aunty! please give us our football. A curly haired boy shouted. I rolled my eyes for the ball and kicked it in the air as if that ball kissed the utmost point above the horizon with a wink in my eyes .. a hope still remains in my heart,Life goes on!!

Beauty of Womanhood

You are more powerful than you know; You are beautiful just as you are

Melissa Etheridge

Every woman is beautiful inside. She just needs to realise this. And this realisation will make her grow and expand and allows her wings to soar.

The good thing is, when you realise you are beautiful, it becomes your first step towards harnessing the power within you.

The BEAUTY of womanhood is that, women are blessed with a nurturing force. Not only do they create life but also they incubate it and deliver it to the world, notwithstanding the immense pain inside them.

People often try to dissuade us from reaching our goals but a strong woman will overcome every hurdle to make herself a rainbow of life. In being strong inside, one can change their way of life – growing and developing one’s own life as she choose it to be. Creating paths, rather than letting others to decide what sort of life one will have. With determination and willpower one can do wonders. Being strong makes one beautiful.

Speaking up for themselves is one of the keys to becoming strong. It is this important skill that motivates one to lead a life of one’s own choice and to become the best woman that one can be. When you pursue dreams you have to speak up to achieve your goals.That’s one of the things that makes you beautiful .

Mother Teresa was a lady that we all adore for her selfless love and caring for the poor. She embraced all and did small things with great love and beauty to serve the people. She inspires us to live for others, to spread love and kindness. So, being beautiful is also having a kind heart to bestow love for others to be an inspiration to the world.

When I was younger, I watched the Miss Universe beauty pageant where Ms Sushmita Sen was asked:-

What is the essence of being a woman?

She was able to conquer the universe with her instantaneous and prudent answer, empowering thousands of other beauties who need to breathe. She answered, “Being a woman by itself is a gift of the God that all of us should appreciate, the origin of a child is a mother and is a woman. Woman is one who shares love with men and teach that what love, caring and sharing is all about.”

It was 24 years ago. Her inspirational thoughts changed my views regarding the definition of a beautiful woman.

She writes poetry. Well, she basically weaves magic with her words. After reading them I thought to pen down my own thoughts. It inspired me during those days to write poetry. I was in school and I started my journey of writing, which I still do to express my emotions.

Last year, I had to leave my much loved teaching job due to our transfer. I felt suffocated and stuck up at this new place. However, the passion of writing again motivated me to chase my dreams – a new path indeed. It was a doorway to live my life with a disarming smile from the depth of my heart .

There are a lot of inspiring personalities in my list. These are beautiful people who are working dedicatedly to make a mark and are inspiring others. I will write about a few of them.

My Mother – an angel on Earth.

Since I am very close to my mother, she is also my inspiration in life. As she sacrificed so much to make us stand on our feet. Life grappled us with many problems but she stood by us every time we needed her.

Losing my Dad to a deadly Cancer – our world was suddenly broken. Only because of her patience and dedication that we are, where we are today. We means, my brother and myself. She has the highest respect and love in my heart. How she raised both of her children, protected us like a bird, taking care of her chicks, giving warmth when our spirits were low and till today, being our “Rock “.

It is her wisdom of ages which we carry in our heart today to make our world beautiful. She is a reflection of unconditional love, power, beauty and inspiration for us. Being a single mother, she fought with the world whenever needed and protected us.

As we stand today, I find myself totally dedicated and steelily determined towards my work through the doldrums of my life, all thanks to her.

My *mother – in – law,* is a retired headmistress of a Government school. I am fortunate to have her in my life. She was awarded the best teacher award. She harvests the simple things in life, nourishing pure minds with a golden heart that beats for her loved ones. She is a hardworker and dedicated teacher supporting her family in every way. Doing household chores with her job was a difficult thing that she achieved gracefully with a smile.

Her pleasant aura makes a bond of love with everyone and creates a positivity in the surroundings.

Both beautiful ladies are inspirational and example of true beauty in my life.

She adores me, as I continue to be in her profession, i.e. a Teacher. I am grateful for this and I proved to be one of those few fortunate individuals with two moms who get love unconditionally with all my flaws and faults. Their strengths and beauty and love has made me who I am today.

Being a teacher I intend to share my pearls of wisdom with the young ones, inspiring them to live a life of love and courage never bogged down by life’s challenges, take time out to celebrate “YOU” because you are the most beautiful creature on this EARTH.

When I care for them, teach them I feel a completeness. I thank God sometimes for giving me a beautiful soul inside to nurture and give others and feel content.

Giving to the society selflessly is another way of being beautiful heartily!

When I googled the meaning of beauty it showed the result as a combination of qualities such as shape, colour or form that pleases the aesthetic sense, specially the sight.

But is looking physically attractive enough to accept someone as beautiful?

A fair, pretty, tall lady with willowy hair, having a great figure with whole make up, eye lashes, high heels and gown look. Is that all what beautiful means?

A woman is beautiful when she chases her passions, shows compassion with all her intelligence and with a fun loving spirit. She keeps a sense of adventure, never giving up to ebb and fear having tons of confidence to ignite and spark everything around her.

These days, beautiful for teenagers means taking selfies, making pouts, filtering them every minute and unloading them on social sites to collect likes and comments. They measure their self worth and grade themselves accordingly. Hundred of “likes” on a picture would make them blush, whereas no like would demoralise them to the pits.

In the long run this behaviour is probably unhealthy and it would have an adverse impact.

Some woman cherish their looks every moment. If they find a blemish or wrinkle or a flaw it creates a panic situation and they knock the doors of a good plastic surgeon or a dietician or a workout guru.

True Beauty doesn’t come from looking at the mirror with a lipstick tube or a mascara wand or a blush brush , BEAUTY comes from looking deep inside oneself and their heart

External appearance is for the time being. Inner beauty of a person counts more with growing age.

Don’t get bamboozled by the society’s impression of what a woman should look like. Being beautiful includes well equipped with knowledge. It includes having a good personality as well as having great spirituality.

Walk gracefully with a smile and confidence.

Treat yourself like a queen. Find a reason to fall in love with yourself everyday, admire yourself. You are valuable. You are lovely. Feel it, fondle it, kiss it, frolick in it. Every single day – you are Awesome! You are beautiful!

Love You Forever

A have spent my entire life of four decades at this place. I would have been somewhere else before coming here but now I have very foggy memories of that time. I only remember the time I have spent here. In the beginning I was alone. For the first decade or so I did not pay much attention to anyone else. I was new and stubborn and being philosophical. I must also say that I was a snob. And then she came. I do not recollect exactly the time, but it must have been about 15 years or so after I had arrived. By then, I started having a feeling that there were few takers for me – being big, bulky and boring. I noticed her immediately, as she came to live next door. She was unlike me in every way. She was slim, beautiful and romantic. Oh her eyelids! When she fluttered those, my heart melted. I never knew such feelings and things existed before I saw her. Over the next days and months, I watched her steadily. She had enamoured me. I wanted her to notice me too. But I didn’t know how? In any case what she can find interesting in me? I guess she noticed me for the first time a full three months after she had come to live next door. Our eyes met and she gave me a piercing look with her cool blue eyes. I froze. After a few days, I noticed that she also had started fancying me. Many times in the day I caught her stealing glances at me. Being so savvy and hot, needless to say, she was very popular. Frequently, she was going out. I used to envy the people who used to take her out. I wished, I too could be with her. I too wanted her company. To be able to look at her and smell her fragrance. I thought that day would never come. But finally, it did. It took four decades but the day came when my wishes came true. This is the story. My story and hers. And of our love. But it is no ordinary story and might sound confusing to most humans. So I must start at the beginning and tell you all in detail.

I am a book. My name is Story of Philosophy. I was written by the great American Philosopher of the twentieth century, Will Durant. I am a very famous book but few people have dared to read me. As I am a bulky book on a difficult topic, people usually buy me to keep in their bookshelves rather than to read me. My present form is black leather bound with golden letters. I live in the massive David Sassoon Library at Pune, in a huge oak-wood bookshelf marked P for Philosophy.

Since I came here from the bookshop, 40 years ago, a few people have issued me out. But very few have read me. My first reader was a middle-aged man. He wore a thick black spectacles. He chain smoked cigarettes, blowing the smoke on to my pages. He was a fast reader and perhaps an intellectual, because he finished reading me in three days. Then, there was this young buxom lady who used to wear eau de cologne. She took longer, about a month to finish reading me. Of late, very few people have bothered to look me up. Invariably, I lay ensconced in my book rack labelled ‘P’. Right across my bookrack, is another one. The sun shines on it even in winter. ‘R’ for Romance, is its label. I used to look down upon the book rack and its constituents as frivolous. After all, how serious can Romance be? That was until she came. She was “Love Story” by Erich Segal.

She was unlike me in all respects. Instead of being leather-bound with golden letters, she was in a bright pink paperback. She shined even more as sunlight fell onto her jacket. She was issued out much more frequently than I was. People thoroughly read her and enjoyed her much more than they would ever do to me. I was smitten by her on the first day she was brought and placed in the rack opposite mine. And over a period of time, it turned into love. I used to chat with her across the book racks after the closing hours of the library – as books often do. She used to intently listen to me with open-eyed wonder and in return she read her own story to me. Over the last 30 years or so since she had come I had heard her story at least a thousand times. Yet, I yearned to hear it again and again. I fell even more deeply in love with her after each rendition. I wished to be with her, on her rack, beside her. I wanted to smell her aroma – which is unique to every book – and is revealed to one only when he is deeply in love with that book. I wondered if she would want to relish my aroma. If she would smell me, would she get the odd smell of cigarette smoke and eau de cologne? I wondered if she would like my aroma.

After speaking to her for many I years, one day I finally opened my heart and confessed my love to her. She laughed out loud, her already pink jacket turned even pinker by her blushing. She asked me what took me so long to say it? I told her that I was afraid that I would be rejected. After all, there is nothing common between the two of us. To this, she quoted from her story, “I was afraid of being rejected, yes. I was also afraid of being accepted for the wrong reasons.” And I agreed. Hastily, she added, that of course, she was accepting me for the right reasons! I asked her, what were those. She looked me straight in the eye and smiled. “I like your body”, she said. Another of those fantastic quotes from her story! But alas our love was to be platonic. Unlike humans, we could not hop, jump or even walk. So we were reduced to watching each other from a (human) arm’s length and chatting after the library closed.

Till one day last autumn.

Two youngsters landed up at the library. The boy picked me up from my shelf. Although I am calling him a boy, he was more of a man with boyish looks. He was a quick reader, although not a gentle one. I gathered that he was doing a major in philosophy in a postgraduate programme. The girl, again more of a woman but with the charms of a girl, picked up “Love Story”. Instead of issuing out the books. They sat on the reading table and delved into their respective books. It seemed that both were in a hurry to read and finish. They kept on reading way past the closing time. The librarian must have forgotten about them. He closed the library leaving these two readers locked inside. They were oblivious to this. For the first time in years, I was near my love. Still a bit far but much nearer than when we were on the shelves. I started talking to her in our book language which humans perceive only as a faint rustle. We were discussing our respective readers. We talked about their qualities such as reading speeds, pauses and focus. After a long while, the boy finally spoke. He said, “Amita, it is quite late now, I guess we should leave”. Amita nodded and they started walking towards the exit, leaving us open on the reading table. Soon they realised they had been locked inside! It was time for Amita to panic! The boy (whose name was Rahul – I later learnt) assuaged her. But the girl was panicky. She was even refusing to sit down. After a while, Rahul finally convinced her to calm down a little and they sat down on the carpet on the floor.

Meanwhile, Rahul had picked both the books and was keeping them in his hands. This was the first time I was in touch with “Love Story”. It felt nice to feel her pink paperback cover. A faint fragrance emanated from her reminding me of first rains. I loved it. Rahul and Amita were sitting together on the floor and soon they were chatting. She had calmed down now and was speaking in a normal tone. She picked up her book and Rahul picked me up and both started reading where they had left off. After about half an hour they stopped and looked at each other. They kept us – books – aside. We were both open and on top of each other. Rahul and Amita were holding hands now and Amita had kept her head on Rahul’s shoulders. I too held the hand of my love. In fact, now we were in an embrace – both books were open. She was open on the page which has the description of love-making of the protagonists. Rahul and Amita were now mumbling and I saw Rahul lightly kissing her on the cheeks. And then on her lips. Suddenly they embraced each other. That shook us both the books and we were flung out. We landed some distance away on top of each other. Rahul and Amita were in the throes of passion. I too made hugged the love of my life and whispered – I love you my darling! They were in an unusual haste while leaving. In their haste, they kept us together on another shelf! And thus, our love got consummated and wish of being together came true after 30 years!


This post is part of the Valentine’s Day blog train hosted by and sponsored by ShilpSa, Kalpavriksha Famrs and Neha from @bloggingmadeeasier
This story is in response to the photo prompt at the beginning of the story.