Suman

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Weaver of stories.

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The door to dream for.

Also, lately, there's been an unhealthy amount of fixation with duck-egg blue. So much so that the shade just follows me wherever I go.😄
#doorsoflondon
"Isn't she done already?! If only she could stop hollering my name and leave me to my grass-eating!"
Well, who am I to disagree? After all, it's spring and the grass couldn't be greener, eh?!😉
Breathing dreams like air.
Afternoon light.
In a world of looming paranoia and shifting insecurities, light, I feel, is the only constant. That, and the joy of a good cup of tea.
Homesick. No, food-sick actually. 
Food nostalgia is the worst kind of nostalgia, I believe. And more so when the food in question is gupchup/puchka/golgappa. Sigh.
Chasing vintage.
Curtain raiser.🌸
The quiet beauty
of a beautiful chaos.
Curiouser and curiouser.🐰
एक पुराना मौसम लौटा 
याद भरी पुरवाई भी,
ऐसा तो कम ही होता है 
वो भी हो तन्हाई भी।
— गुलज़ार
Spring promises.
"How I hate this godawful weather and being dressed in ten layers of clothes. Hence, I'll protest by being grumpy and taking off my mittens while she tries and tries for a happy picture."
All very peacefully, of course.😅