Harsh Snehanshu   (हर्ष स्नेहांशु)
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Joined 28 August 2016


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Joined 28 August 2016
16 JUN AT 23:24

If a meal were a paragraph, every dish would be a sentence and every sip of water, the full-stop. Water cleans your palate just enough to sober the aftertaste of the previous dish, and lets you begin a new one. Don't forget the space after a full-stop.

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10 JUN AT 1:10

You are just golden, Bumrah. What a bowler! India is lucky to have you.

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29 MAY AT 1:24

We sit together
on a chair,
half-butts dangling.

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25 MAY AT 18:10

Big and beautiful windows
turn into makeshift balconies
in houses that lack space.

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25 MAY AT 2:36

You should buy a bookshelf even if you have a few books to keep for two reasons:

1. Books will be easily drawable: You won't need to keep your books stacked up. You can put them side by side and take them out and in at will.

2. More books will arrive over time. Empty space of a bookshelf will make you want to fill them.

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20 MAY AT 1:02

"You should leave. I can't continue with this."

"Why can't you?" he asked.

"Because I don't love you."

"Then you should leave. Why ask me to leave?"

"I don't have love, but I also don't have the strength," she said.

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19 MAY AT 0:40

I am happy for RCB but sadder for CSK. Now, since my favourites are out of this year, I'll root for RCB.

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16 MAY AT 1:54

A help that's truly helpful is aligned with what has been asked, not with what one believes will be helpful.

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14 MAY AT 19:01

Only those like rain who have a shelter above their heads.

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9 MAY AT 7:42

Bengaluru's weather has improved at last. I was able to sleep peacefully, without feeling shoved inside an oven that my top floor apartment becomes after a usual sunny day. One might wonder what's there to write about this, that too so early in the morning? To me, that's probably the most worthy subject to write on about this city.

To a city which offers little apart from its amiable weather and pretty trees, watching it reclaim its long lost self with daylong cold winds, regular rains and t-shirt temperatures is worth documentation. It is synonymous with recording a page of its urban history, to register this momentous occasion when this country of concrete could let go of the heat it was holding within for months like resentment. This is as momentous as coconut oil freezing at the beginning of November every year in Delhi, marking the arrival of winter. As momentous as the year's first snowfall in Kashmir. As momentous as a lily popping up in my balcony garden after a year of hopeless watering. What climate change is to environmentalists, weather change is to writers. So I write.— % &7.30 am. 9th May. Last night, after two long months which felt like five, I slept without night sweats, without craving for an air conditioner, postponing the thought of leaving this city for good for later. It rained last three evenings, and the city let out a hot sigh. The first rain felt no less than a splash of water on a hot steaming dosa pan. While the first rain turned all the trapped air into humidity, the subsequent rain were purposeful. They arrived like firefighters and doused all the pent-up fire in the city's cemented belly. The air was cool again. It felt as if the city woke up after a prolonged memory loss. Precipitous, incontinent, spontaneous—Bengaluru became everything it used to be, especially with rains!

AccuWeather promises precipitation for an entire week. Evening rains, that too. I look forward to those. Under the pale street lights of residential Bengaluru—the only other thing I love, the rain looks like drops of dreams falling. Sparkly, golden, soft. I like the cool and cosy Bengaluru it leaves behind, a city shy and shivering after a brief kiss. A city that lets me sleep again. A city that lets me dream again—a city where I can stay, once again.— % &

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