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Born in a small village amidst the hills of Uttarakhand, Medha Bhatt considers herself to be a part time writer and a full time traveler. Her abiding interest in art and culture led her to pursue a post graduate degree in archaeology and heritage management . She is currently working in Mumbai. Passionate about writing for long as she can remember, she loves traveling alone, reading novels, collecting books, dancing, collecting stones, enjoying rain and playing with dogs. You will always find her with her basta, containing a few novels, her diary and lots of toffees. 'Beghar Kavitao ka Ghar 'iRead More...
Born in a small village amidst the hills of Uttarakhand, Medha Bhatt considers herself to be a part time writer and a full time traveler. Her abiding interest in art and culture led her to pursue a post graduate degree in archaeology and heritage management . She is currently working in Mumbai. Passionate about writing for long as she can remember, she loves traveling alone, reading novels, collecting books, dancing, collecting stones, enjoying rain and playing with dogs. You will always find her with her basta, containing a few novels, her diary and lots of toffees. 'Beghar Kavitao ka Ghar 'is her debut attempt at publishing some of her poems.
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Poetry can be described as a beautiful form of restlessness, drawing ink into poets mind from her surroundings and bleeding onto the pages of her diary at the end of the day.
Beghar kavitao ka ghar is like a home for all those restlessness which i have collected though hustle bustle of life, all those poems which were lying homeless under the roof of dusty papers, now sprouting gingerly under the lushness of thoughts...
Poetry can be described as a beautiful form of restlessness, drawing ink into poets mind from her surroundings and bleeding onto the pages of her diary at the end of the day.
Beghar kavitao ka ghar is like a home for all those restlessness which i have collected though hustle bustle of life, all those poems which were lying homeless under the roof of dusty papers, now sprouting gingerly under the lushness of thoughts...
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