There are certain accidental discoveries which constitute the beauty of life. Sometime, wandering aimlessly you land in a place you never wanted to be and encounter the most wonderful person with whom you either eventually spend your entire life or well, maybe accidentally you loose that person and end up cherishing the brief encounter for the whole of life. Well, this piece is not about that incomprehensible life force called love, at least not in that sense of word. It sure does refers to love in some form, but that that is what the title of the blog promises any which way. The accidental discovery which I am referring to is not about some exquisite individual, but rather about a book by an author whose name I had not known till the time I picked the book "Notes to Myself" from the lanes across the railway station in Indore during my masters. It was like a kid who goes out playing with marbles only to find a priceless rubies among the marbles he collects from near the sea
I am a Worshiper of Words. I ponder, I think, I write, therefore, I exist. A Blog on Literature, Philosophy and Parenting