My books are precious to me!

When someone borrows a book, and you in all goodness lend it wanting the spread of the value of the word, little would you know that the book is gone forever. Books very often are precious or invaluable only to its collector and it is one of those commodities easily borrowed and forgotten to return. And if you with all your sincerity ask for it back, you are looked upon as a worthless scheming person who has not even half an heart to let go of material possessions. Let me ask you, would you agree to the same if I borrowed your car or diamond necklace and showed reluctance to return or in turn just forward lend to it to someone you have never heard of let alone met. Then why should my books be any less important or valuable to me.  And then there are those who feel comfortable enough to scribble on my books, tear pages for want of keepsake or even add on their contorted talents to illustrations. My books are me, and I don't want to be touched, when i don't want to be touched. Love me, ask me out, invite me over, enjoy spending time with me but don't take me for granted, so please can I have myself back!

Fairyland!!

Two years back when I admitted my little girl in ballet lessons little did I know that she would overwhelm me with her performance. More than just her performance, it is the scurry of little feet and the float of pretty ballerinas back stage that I remember the most. The large hall which housed children of all ages till the performance started was like a fairy land. Vivid pastels of the lacy tutus, shiny satins and body suits that shimmered weaved a magic that I had never seen in real before. Somewhere deep within I wished I was a child again, wanting to be part of that wonderland where bows and frills, pinks and lilacs stars and sequins came alive !