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You are in perpetual love, the kind that inspires poetry...You rearrange life, snapping fingers for each other.
You are in perpetual love, the kind that inspires poetry…You rearrange life, snapping fingers for each other.
You are blessed, you gladly become a compass to the other
You listen to silent spaces, release it afterwards to choirs across horizons
You are like homing pigeons; bring stories home to read together
You colonize, playing center to fragile corners of the other
You are hunters, of lost treasures in frayed pockets and laughter in worse moments
You light flames to warm hands on the most fragile nights
You let in spring filled wafts through cracks so it can carry away tears
You paint, your canvas seeps into the deepest ink of your hearts
You memorize footsteps, knowing the weary from the swagger
You pretend to laugh, at broken jokes
and cheer on at silly games
Your hands learn places that become your secret dwellings in each other
You go to war just so you can hibernate into a hug
You are foodies, lay out dinner in two places and then eat from the other’s bowls
You craft compositions, to string and hum into dreams
You decorate each other’s gasps like rain drops embellish roof tops
You are in perpetual love, the kind that inspires poetry
You rearrange life, snapping fingers for each other
®️©️kashiana
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Neena was the sole caregiver of Amma and though one would think that Amma was dependent on her, Neena felt otherwise.
Neena inhaled the aroma that emanated from the pan and took a deep breath. The aroma of cumin interspersed with butter transported her back to the modest kitchen in her native village. She could picture her father standing in the kitchen wearing his white crisp kurta as he made delectable concoctions for his only daughter.
Neena grew up in a home where both her parents worked together in tandem to keep the house up and running. She had a blissful childhood in her modest two-room house. The house was small but every nook and cranny gave her memories of a lifetime. Neena’s young heart imagined that her life would follow the same cheerful course. But how wrong she was!
When she was sixteen, the catastrophic clutches of destiny snatched away her parents. They passed away in a road accident and Neena was devastated. Relatives thronged her now gloomy house and soon it was decided that she should be married off.
Being a writer, Nivedita Louis recognises the struggles of a first-time woman writer and helps many articulate their voice with development, content edits as a publisher.
“I usually write during night”, says author Nivedita Louis during our conversation. Chuckling she continues,” It’s easier then to focus solely on writing. Nivedita Louis is a writer, with varied interests and one of the founders of Her Stories, a feminist publishing house, based in Chennai.
In a candid conversation she shared her journey from small-town Tamil Nadu to becoming a history buff, an award-winning author and now a publisher.
Nivedita was born and raised in a small town in Tamil Nadu. It was for schooling that she first arrived in Chennai. Then known as Madras, she recalls being awed by the city. Her love-story with the city, its people and thus began which continues till date. She credits her perseverance and passion to make a difference to her days as a vocational student among the elite sections of Madras.
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