I’ve been writing for years. I remember journalling from my teens. When I reinvented my career, I supplemented my personal writings with commercial assignments, most of which I have enjoyed. I’ve written narratives, aborted novels, ads, scripts, plays, short stories, poetry, social and political commentary, history, animations, digital books, prayers, all sorts of genres. I do it because I love to write.

I often go back to my past writings. More often than not, I cringe when I read what I had written. Sometimes because my thoughts were immature and sometimes because of basic language and syntax errors I had made.

Sometimes I cringe when I read what I had written because my perspectives have changed so much as I matured that what I felt strongly about, no longer matters to me. Other things have taken greater importance.

Some five to six years ago, I wrote a series of very (very) short stories called “Micro-fiction”. These are stories that are usually less than 200 words. I wrote these to convey a message in an extremely succinct manner. I had intended to compile a series of these, get them illustration and published.

I wrote a piece called The Masquerade Party which I revisited last night. This is one of the rare pieces that I still like very much reading it years after it was written. I edited slightly though, because I didn’t like some of the syntax and spotted an error.

So, here is The Masquerade Party, revisited 2013:

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