StoryBooksMania

Hey, hi from an unknown writer. It’s me, ManKum. Today, I’m here to share a little piece of a feeling I call: “The Little Joy of Being Seen.” So, I was just going through some old blog posts — and after so many years, I stumbled across a tiny comment on one of my creations. And that little moment… it made me feel so warm. Kind of giggly, honestly. It might sound silly or small to some, but let me show you from the perspective of an artist — someone who rarely sees their work noticed in the wild. That small comment wasn’t just a few words. It meant so much more. To someone who loves to create — who pours their heart into little pieces of art, writing, or ideas — those small, random acts of appreciation hit deeply. They bring a rush of joy. A wave of self-confidence. A quiet reminder that maybe, just maybe, our work is something to someone. Being an unknown writer or creator often feels like whispering into a vast, empty space, unsure if anyone will ever hear us, feel us, or see things...

Listen, some stories reach your heart because they are meant to be written . I believe we all have some tales to share or to write. We all are, somewhere, searching for some beautiful stories—just so we can understand what the heart wants to say through them. I believe tales are beautiful, whether written or not, because tales are a part of the universe . Whenever I see the sky changing colors, I believe each day holds a new tale. And when you feel lost in the complexities around you, I think looking at the sky—trying to understand its tale—can help you reconnect with your world. Everyone has some words they've always wanted to write down. So if you’re wanting to write one, write it — before it becomes too late to put it on the page and bring it to life. It’s not always necessary that there are ears to listen to your tale, but I think telling your heart is important,  so it doesn't die. Not die in the literal sense, but in a way where it has nothing left to feel. Writing my boo...

A poetry for nation dedicated to the brave hearts, to the soldiers of the country. कल चिट्ठी आई थी, साथ नया तोहफा लाई थी, उसने खोल के देखा तो उसके लिए उसकी वर्दी आई थी। उसके चेहरे की खुशी को बयां वह मां नहीं कर पाई, जो जानती थी साथ वो कुछ दूरियां भी लाई थी। पहन कर उसे, वो तनकर उठा, बड़े फक्र के साथ आइने के सामने खड़ा था। बाबा तैयारियां कर रहे थे, मां उसका डब्बा बांध रही थी, कुछ घंटे बाद उसको घर से जो जाना था। छू कर के पैर मां और बाबा के, गले लगाकर कसकर आखरी बार वो निकला था। पड़े पैर सरजमीं की मिट्टी पर जब, वो बैठा जमीं पर, उसे माथे पर सजा लिया। मगन हो गया वतन कि रखवाली में इस कदर, घर पर बैठी बूढ़ी मां को भूल गया। कई साल तक कुछ चिठ्ठियां उसने इकठ्ठा करी थीं, बाबा के प्यार और मां के दुलार से भरी थीं। हर बार की तरह, उंतालिश बार भी वही सवाल था, उसके घर वापस लौटने का जवाब मांगता था। हुआ था तैयार, घर जाना था वापस, एक चिठ्ठी के ज़रिए आने का पैग़ाम भिजवाया था। वो दोपहर धूप भरी थी, बाबा बैठे थे आंगन में, जब एक डाकिया एक ख़त ले आया था। "मां थोड़ा देर लगेगी घर आने में मुझको, तू फिकर ना कर, म...