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Story of my life
Now how many of you have read the “Dove story”?

Sooner or later she had to realize my word’s worth. Sooner or later she had to dilute me
into the fabric of other people’s lives.

For days she would spend umpteen sleepless nights, burning the midnight’s oil unable to
make sense of her developing thoughts .Many an unfinished collection of thirsty,un
sequenced words would finally get wrapped up and discarded in an unkempt corner of
her semi dilapidated room overlooking the mighty ocean.

God only knows, what was to become of me in the first place. She came back that
evening (rather jovial) from the local drinking hole, fruity smell of the last drink still
lingering off her vibrant lips and started etching heavy typing strokes on the keypad.
Another bright idea had just brewed up in the myriad thoughts of London’s rising prose
writer. Success had in no terms scratched a dent on her amicable personality which
spanned nineteen years of spinning words out of life. Who could have ever thought that a
sudden long conversation on the phone sometime that evening would change everything
for ever? So poignant was the message, that we were all precariously hanging from the
hood of her rather ancient car, by the break of dawn ready to start a new life in the

Separation is a strange thing. Everything that comes with the creation of a relationship
suddenly becomes a subject of discord. The flower pot, the message board, the rolling
pin, the giant coffee mug were all travelling companions, to my epic journey from the
infamous bylanes of London to the serene country aisles of Cornish countryside. Tucked
precariously between the ageing dentures of an eponymous Remington type writer etched
with a few unheralded Ps and Qs, (signifying every uncharted pothole on the way to
navigating the country code) I finally reached Sennen, a village by the sea.

Writing always happens in unannounced lashes of thought waves. Weeks after

suffocating under the rather funny looking fur coat in the damp corner of the double
garage did I finally see the light of a Cornish day. On the most unexpected of days, when
the sun had made a rather rare appearance, on the eastern horizon, over the hills, she
picked up a few picture albums. In the beginning she sobbed a little, and then pondered,
and then a sudden sprite of smile appeared on her dimpled cheeks and she got back to the
machine that has carried many an unguarded secrets.

Word after word chugged harmoniously out of an engine jiving with joy. Cornwall had
brought a sliver lining into her life. One paragraph, gave way to the next, and then the
next to the next and soon I knew in the little corner of my heart, the curse of me dying as
an unknown short story was finally over.

After all every story has the ambition to become a blockbuster.