I remember that my friendship with words is as old as my memory. There were days when I found my self very lonely in my childhood; even in those days words used to flutter within my closed fist. As soon as I opened my fist, they used to fly towards the sky shining like glowworms. I used to sadly watch them go far away, thinking “Why did I open my fist? If I had not, the glowworms would not have flown away.” One thing I could never understand, whether I saw words or pictures? Some say that we see pictures in the shape of words. But can more...
