One Lovely Blog Award Nomination

Strangers, complete strangers, write in to tell me that they enjoyed reading what I wrote.
Today, someone nominated me for an award: One Lovely Blog Award

Here's the pizazz:

Rules
1. Thank the person who has nominated you and shout out loud.
2. Pass on the award to 5-10 bloggers.
3. State 7 random facts about yourself.
4. Post the award pic on your wall.

RULE #1 - Thank the person who has nominated you and shout out loud:

Dear Aashirwad Nunihar,
I've never known you outside your blog, or outside my facebook page, but you've been wonderful enough to nominate me and acknowledge my work as worthy of an award. It means a lot to me as a reader and writer, since it's coming from a reader and writer like myself.
I really appreciate it. THANK YOU SO MUCH!

RULE #2 - Pass on the award to 5-10 bloggers

Aashirwad Nunihar: http://aashirwadn.blogspot.com/
Vaishakhi Bharucha: http://tectonicshifts.blogspot.com/
Vinay Venkatesh: http://wankatesh.posterous.com/
Viji Venkatesh: http://vijiv.blogspot.com/
Anuya Jakatdar: http://fireyourstylist.wordpress.com/
Scherezade Shroff: http://scherezadeshroff.blogspot.com/
One Hippie Boy: http://freudslipped.wordpress.com/


RULE #3 - State seven random facts about yourself

1. I love cats. I have a cat.
2. I pretty much love all animals, but I'm not one of those "SAVE EVERYTHING THAT EXISTS" fanatic. I believe I do what I can, when I can.
3. Another strong belief I have is that artists don't need to be continuously grieving or sleep deprived to be creative (it's a different issue if they ACTUALLY ARE and not forcing themselves to be).
4. Eventually, I want to write a book or story that gets turned into a film, for which I will also (hopefully) write the script. I want my lyrics turned into songs too.
5. I sing. Occasionally. And in the shower. I thank my mother for tolerating it at 9am.
6. I love to paint and make random digital art pictures. Most are here: http://www.facebook.com/niyatiwrites/
7. I like to share what I learn/know. Writing fictional stuff tends to limits me sometimes, so I also have another blog that expresses my life-event-and-memory-writing side. http://rulesoftheuniverse.blogspot.com/ I try not to get preachy, and I try to bring clarity to the ideas and lessons I learn and share.  

RULE #4 - Post the award pic on your wall


DONE.

The Birth of a Phoenix

The fire was horrifying. So were the screams of the family that managed to escape it.
The fire was uncontrollable, just like Monica.

It all started when she was four. It began with her finger.
Her Mummy told her not to touch the pot, but she wanted to know why.
It stung for days, the blister on the tip of her right index finger. She wanted everything to burn for how it burned her. So first she got a lighter from her father's cigarette box, and went to the bathroom. He didn't notice because he was drunk and asleep. He would never know, because he'd wake up and think he misplaced the lighter, like he usually does when he's drunk enough to fall asleep.
She burnt the whole roll of toilet paper, bit by little bit.

After that she burnt everything she could, even her mother's clothes once, and blamed her father and his smoking for the destruction. It was so easy to just pin it on him. He'd drink and forget about it all anyway.
The most fun Monica had with fire, though, was setting off the alarms in school.
She snuck into the bathroom near the chemistry lab last year, lighter clutched tightly in her hand that was buried deep inside her hoodie pocket. By the time she reached the end of the first toilet paper, the exhaust fans had stopped doing their work.

But the neighbour's house... the neighbour's house was an accident.
She only meant to burn the plant under the window, she had plucked out all the flowers and turned them to ashes already.

It started with one leaf, one dry leaf, that almost went out but touched the wood of the house before it could.
She lit one leaf that almost went out, and she thought it went out, so she tried to light it again.
The plant almost caught fire, and the house certainly did.
Her hoodie wasn't enough to put it out. She knew that, so she didn't even try.
Or maybe Monica didn't want to try.

She watched the house, engulfed in flames, slowly crumbling.
She did THAT.
I did that, she said to herself.
There was a moment of fear, a moment of sheer panic.

And then just an essence of power.
She looked across the road, and at all the other houses.
They have some pretty plants with some pretty flowers, she thought to herself.
She looked back at the fire, put the hood over her head and went home.

Lies, Silence, Violence and Other Such Realities.

I saw, I saw
The swift, sharp movements of the swordsman against
The one he swore to protect.
I heard, I heard
The sweet words of the estranged lady for
The man she couldn't get.

I saw, I saw
The smile upon his face when he was done
As he got up to leave for home.
I heard, I heard
The cry of the quiet woman in the shadows
Who chose to be left alone.

I know, I know
Nobody may really say words that
Can be completely true
I grow, I grow
To realise I can't rely on words which
Don't even come from you.