80 Days Since February 3 is not just a book, it is a mix of emotions… of despair, hope, rage and love for life. We often hear cases where people are molested but we hear nothing of the journey after. The breakdowns, the fear, the struggle and the courage it takes to decide whether to let yourself wither or continue to bloom despite the scars.
Format: Kindle eBook/Paperback
- Kindle eBook: 99 INR/$2.99
- Paperback: 239 INR/$12.99
My Ratings: 4.5/5
A collection of poems and write-ups on varied topics, this book is a thought-provoking read which will leave behind an aftertaste of epiphanies and euphoria.
A collection of beautiful poems and short writeups.
What I liked about the book:
–> The ‘Note from the author’ at the beginning of the book, which is so raw and real and makes you feel empathy towards the author right away.
–>The book is a miscellany of emotions, feelings, truth, hope, rage, love, and life.
–> The author has tried her best to bring hope and positivity to the readers of the book via her words.
–> That the author uses writing as a form of healing, which is very relatable for me.
–> It is a very thought-provoking read, forcing you to think about things and topics you may never have done before.
–> The book makes you question and introspect.
–> The very conversational tone, which makes the reading personal and easy-going, despite the depth of the words.
–> Every now and then, while you read this book, some line or the other will instantly resonate with your inner being and you’ll relate to the book in so many different ways, leaving you either nodding or wondering about what you just read.
What I did not like about the book:
–> The prose or write-ups could have been more impactful in the form of poetry.
–> Some writeups felt more like a stream of consciousness and lacked a certain charm.
—> I had a hard time contemplating if I should come out in the open about my molestation or just sob behind closed doors. Well, our society isn’t much comfortable around women with history like me.
—> I tried everything I could to help me get past the traumatic experience but nothing helped, except for one thing – writing Writing became my escape. Writing became my comfort.
—> The journey of healing is hard and I’m still figuring out my right path.
—> If you are someone like me, I understand your pain.
If you know someone like me, try to understand theirs.
—> Bridges intimidate me. Broken bridges don’t, for then I don’t have to cross over.
—>What is to time if it has already committed itself to not getting any better.
—> There is so much unseen art that it could consume all the traces of war and suffering this race has had. If all this art would one day come out in open and breathe. The sky would turn into an orchestra and the wind would recite and sing. Flowers would dance, and the air would smell of heaven. Humans will smile.
—> We walk on so many paths in a day that we sometimes forget our way back home. We’re holding so much more than we are supposed to and we are suffocating, only not realizing. Nonetheless, we are surviving. Aren’t we beautiful?
—> We are all a little fragile and often, confused.
—> We get our hearts broken more often than we get paper cuts in hands.
—> We confuse smiles with love and bid farewells with hope of meeting again. After all, we are not yet completely doomed. Confusion is good.
—> There are so many stories around, some flying along with the dandelions, some wrapped around the pebbles rolling beneath your feet, some growing in the planters in your balcony and some inked as tattoos on your wrists. To think that I might miss on the chance of any such story wanting to reveal itself to me, causes me immense discomfort.
—> Find me in my flaws. That’s where I am most honest.
—> Us humans are naive when it comes to dealing with difficult emotions. We master the art of feeling happy. Emotions like joy, gratitude, hope, pride and serenity come easy to us. We sure as hell know how to party. However, when it’s about the darker side of the world, we fall apart too soon.
—> We are always bluffing. To others. To ourselves. We are continuously trying to portray this image of ourselves where we are strong. We move around during the day wearing these plastered smiles and when it gets dark, we sink under our blankets, searching for someone to call home. To whom are we lying? And why?
—> I wonder how beautiful it would be to live around guided by sunsets and sunrises and flow with streams of passion and amore without any blocks of unnecessary directives from society, whatsoever.
—> We used to scribble on walls and try to live in plastic houses. We used to talk to cotton, stuffed in fancy shapes. I guess we were lonely. I wonder if childhood is as good as we accept it to be or it is just misery masqueraded as joy and laughter. I will let you decide this for yourself for this no longer is childhood.
—> I guess life is about sparkle and sugar for most parts and for the rest, we have poetry.
—> Maybe it’s for your own good to not know it all and be lost every so often.
—> A little fear is all you need to be able to truly appreciate the little things that make life beautiful.
—> I want to exist beyond time
to be found bleeding in a sonnet
‘for once, I’d like to be the poem
and not the poet.’
—> It is in conversations that we find empathy, love, affection or even hate.
—> Conversations are where we at times make love and sometimes even kill hope. We make and break people with words spilled around in these conversations. Sentences and phrases – some as bright and warm as sunflowers and some wrapped into poisonous leaves that burn your skin. Some you reiterate every night to yourself like a beautiful song. Some you wish to forget. But it is in these conversations where one also finds a home. Some where you smile and want to keep them close, always carrying them in your back pocket.
—> Maybe promises are not a secure foundation to build our havens on.
—> The only thing that flows inside keeping me barely alive is hope. Hope of an early spring, hope that life will soon bloom again in the garden outside in form of little white flowers and breeze scented of liberty and release will makes its way into the room.
—> Drop all of those self-doubts and let your art be a reflection of what remains of you.
—> Out of everything we receive, what makes us most happy is ‘kindness’.
—> Love is selfish because it’s a constant exchange process, exchange of time, patience, understanding, and ofcourse, gifts! 😉 But kindness comes to us demanding absolutely nothing in return and that’s what I believe what true magic looks like.
—> If kindness was to be learnt, the world wouldn’t be in such a turmoil or maybe, we just exhaust our share of kindness too quick.
—> Is it that I just haven’t found the right door yet?
Or I found it and but decided to take the one beside it, labelled as ‘life’.
—> It’s utterly simple and yet wonderful how doors work. Only if life worked that way where I could just pull a handle and walk away from this strangely familiar melancholy, mixed in the air I’ve been breathing in, away from the incoherent desire to achieve something I don’t even recognize.
—> We make choices everyday, choices driven by need or desire, by purpose, rapacity, maybe by instinct or at times by reasoning. Nevertheless, whatever choices we make, they define us.
—> Questions keep revolving in circles of various diameters. The bigger the diameter, the longer you get to search the answer however, sooner or later, they do return to us – each one of them. Questions are like lost lovers thrown in an orbit of harrowing destiny, fueled by the gravity of lies we carry in our hollow eyes. Does a question ever die?
—> That’s how fate is, always a little in favor of certain people, isn’t it?
—> It’s weird to no longer feel anything and then feel everything you can in the same moment.
—> Not everything underlying those magnificent blue waves and within those green trees laid out like an abstract art, is beautiful.
—> Avarice is like a lover who breaks your heart but kisses you good.
—> Loneliness feels like home.
—> I’ve fought battles in all shades of black.
The only thing that has been constant is that you always lose.
Sometimes in parts and sometimes in whole.
—> I live in moments that slowly trickle onto my eyelashes from the stars above. I live in my poems, at times trying to hide from the dead in the world, at times, coming out loud to kill them with sharp edges of my verses.
So, where do I go to find home?
—> Words hold the greatest of powers and we humans master the art of weaving them together into these extraordinarily beautiful garlands. We have created more words than we need or ever will and still we continue to create more, for something that gives us liberty to call moon our lover, how can we ever have enough of such magic? We use words to fill in voids in our hearts, calm down hurricanes in our bellies, see what is forbidden to us but mostly we use them to make the unreal seem real.
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