Abhishek's Musings

  HOW TO MAKE FRIENDS WITH BOOKS?   #1. CHOOSE THE RIGHT BOOK:  Always start with a genre book that interests you. It can be fiction, nonfiction, biography, memoir, self-help, or anything that arouses your curiosity.   #2. CREATE A READING ENVIRONMENT:  Find a comfortable spot to read. It should be well-lit, and there should be no strain on your neck muscles. Your reading spot should have no distractions, so always choose a comfortable chair with back support.   #3. START WITH AN OPEN MIND:  Do not be prejudiced or have preconceived notions. Always approach reading with an open, inquisitive mind. Be open to new thoughts, ideas, perspectives, and experiences. Every book lets you converse with the author and offers a unique peek into their thoughts, minds, and learnings.   #4. READ REGULARLY:  Start small. Read for 10-15 minutes or read three to four pages daily.   #5. TAKE NOTES:  As you read, jot down or highlight important thoughts, quotes, or information. This will help you engage mo

  SURVIVAL GUIDE: ESSENTIAL “HOW TO’S” FOR EVERYDAY LIFE   *How to make small talk?   *How to care for your voice?   *How to make reading a habit?   *How to turn problems into opportunities?   *How to deal with toxic people?   *How to forgive those who have wronged you?   *How to make winning a habit?   *How to make friends and influence people?   *How to start a hobby?   *How to thrive being alone?   *How to make friends with books?   *How to handle criticism?   *How to always look at life's brighter side and keep your shine?   *How to be a good parent?   *How to spend more time outdoors?   *How to make art?   *How to handle stress?   *How to stay calm and composed and keep your cool at all times?   *How to learn from the experiences of others?   *How to lead in times of chaos and confusion?   *How to avoid food poisoning?   *How to not let the hurtful words and actions of others dull your shine?   *How to always be on time?   *How to enjoy your own company?   *How to think like a

  SCENT OF THE WORLD   Mike woke up to the fragrance of the fresh morning air wafting through his open bedroom window. He took a deep breath, letting the pristine air fill his lungs. The aroma of the potted plants and flowers on his balcony filled his nostrils, evoking a sweet feeling. The world around him was hazy: a blur of shadows and light, but his nose was his weapon, his guiding star, sharper than ever.   Stretching on his bed, he could decipher the scent of birds chirping outside, each with its unique smell, some earthy, some smutty. Moving into the bathroom, he was greeted by the usual smells: soapy water, toothpaste, shampoo, and the damp smell of the towel hanging there. As he worked up a rich lather, the menthol smell of the shaving cream tingled his nostrils, followed by the sharp sting of his aftershave. He looked forward to this elaborate ritual, feeling the excellent lotion soothe his skin and close his pores, followed by dabs of cologne, the spicy, woody fragrance trans

    THE ANGST OF ALEX   The pervasive smell of sterile antiseptic filled the room like an uninvited guest, a memory best discarded to the dustbins. Alex sat on the edge of his bed, his fingers tracing the scars zigzagging across his abdomen: a stark reminder that the battles he fought were far from over. The doctor’s advice echoed in his mind like the persistent battering of the rain on the terrace's tin thatched roof, repeating themselves in an endless loop. “There’s a possibility of a third surgery. It’s not a matter of if but when.” He swallowed hard, his gaze shifting to the faint outline of a Father’s Day card drawn by a boy on the nightstand: a gift from his son, now gathering dust.   The room was dim, the only light from a zero-watt bulb engulfing the room in a golden haze. Alex’s thoughts were troubled, guilt-ridden, and tangled, making it impossible to find any semblance of peace. He reached for the card and glanced at the drawings and notes scribbled on it. His fingers tr

  WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED TO ALEX?   Alex had always been a dreamer, but unlike most, he had the talent to back it up. His practicality complimented his romantic nature, which made him a dynamo. His mind was a kaleidoscope of ideas, thoughts, colours, shapes, emotions, dialogues, and poems, each pleading to be brought to life on canvas, in music, scripts, on paper, or through performance. He spent years being aware of and nurturing this gift, convinced that with the proper training and some hard work, his name would one day be spoken in the same breath as the greats. The arts were his destiny, and he would not let anything stand in his way.   But fate had other plans.   It started subtly, like a whisper in the wind. Minor inconveniences crept into his life: splitting headache, pain in his legs and abdomen, burning eyes, nagging pain in different parts of his body, mysterious wounds in different areas of his body, inability to access his art courses and lectures, his supplies misplaced,

   HARMONY: HIGHWAY 61 REVISITED   Donnie’s dream was getting bizarre with each passing day. Every day for the past month, he walked down the hauntingly familiar cobbled street. The same man with a white coat, a goatee, tight jeans, and an unmistakable glint of a round single silver earring would appear before him. They never spoke, and the dream always ended just as Donnie felt the man was about to tell him something important.   But today, as Donnie walked home from school, he froze and stopped in his tracks. The man from his dreams was just outside his school's front gate. The same white coat, the goatee, the earrings—everything was the same.   “Is this for real?” Donnie whispered as he pinched to ensure he was not dreaming and to get a grip on his rising adrenaline.   The man noticed Donnie and began walking. As if pulled by some irresistible force, Donnie followed. The street felt familiar, just like in his dreams; it was a surreal feeling of déjà vu coming to life. He was uns

  FACING ATELOPHOBIA PERFORMANCE ANXIETY   The auditorium lights dimmed as the curtains went up, and the audience's murmur faded into eager, hushed anticipation. Eric stood backstage, his palms and hands sweaty, clutching the microphone with shaky hands. This was his moment to sing for Creation Week, a chance to showcase his talent. He had chosen the song “Take Me to Your Heart” by “Michael Learns to Rock” for this occasion. “Stay cool, just breathe, just don’t mess up. Breathe, don’t mess up, stay cool, you got this,” he chanted silently.   He had rehearsed the song countless times, each note and rhythm implanted in his memory. “You know this song like the back of your hands. You’ve got this.” Yet his inner critic whispered, “What if your voice cracks? What if you forget the lyrics? What if you sing out of tune? Everyone will be judging you. He realised he performed much more freely when nobody could judge him.”    He remembered the inter-school talent show last year in his junior

  THE FAMILY MAN   It’s hard to believe a family man’s woes The stuff that can’t be broadcast on radio. When he says that he and his family were living under a shadow But the media, in jest, called him a hot potato.   He had made calls, sent emails, slamming the people And did his best to grapple with the devil. They played with his family and plunged them into doom and gloom All the time proclaiming he was their groom.   The tall man now walked with a limp The result of relentless attacks from the chimps.   His face grimaced in pain. As he was forced to slide down the drain.   His face that once had a look of calm Had now lost most of its charm.   And for whom the bells used to toll But now his life was spiralling out of control.   He who was once climbing the ladder of success He was now in a state of severe distress.   For they decided to snatch his laughter And discard his family to the gutter.   As he looked at himself in the bathroom mirror He whispered to himself that he once ag

  LOVE IN THE TIMES OF POPULATION EXPLOSION   In a city suffocating under the load of its burgeoning population, Edmund found solace in the cosy corners of his cluttered, cramped apartment. The ceaseless noise and chaos outside his window served as the only source of ventilation and a constant reminder of the dystopian world he dwelled in. Yet his mind was filled with the thoughts of Layla, who, with her brilliant mind and effortless beauty, occupied a special place in his heart.   Layla’s terrace garden was her refuge and sanctuary. Amidst the chaos outside, she birthed life, cajoling vibrant blooms from the dirt. She was the picture of perfection: flawless complexion, luminous eyes, graceful, athletic figure, and a creative mind that spun with ideas. Her digital lectures, videos, and educational content have garnered her a devoted following. Still, her thoughts were often with Edmund, the dishevelled writer who had stumbled into her online class and life. Despite her perfection, Layl