I think at some point in my life I became an impersonator of various things - a career woman, a mother, a wife, a woman, an Indian citizen, a human… I am not sure how or when that happened. As long as I can remember I had always wanted to write. Writing was my one saving grace, and refuge. I even landed a job because of it! That was a long time ago. Sometime between then and now, a new entity took over. This entity stepped back, let life take her on an as-is-where-is basis and looked at herself as dispassionately as she looked at life around her. Today the purpose of existence seems forever balanced on a single pivot - writing. And everything else turns into fodder for the pen or more appropriately the key board. But I could never exist without my family. I could never have become this ‘me’ without them. So there will always be this conventional reason for being alive. Meanwhile, the writing grows like a vine that will not be controlled. Thank you for stopping by. I hope you’ll be here long enough to click on the links to the right and read my poems, fiction and sometimes opinion etc.

	In an ideal world, writers are read and heard, but seldom seen