Nikita Sawant embodies confidence, heart and exquisite passion in her words.
She is imaginative and inspiring. Her word play is
a tug of war between full bodied emotion and logic.
Her strength of character is so immense that her visualization is just as powerful as a movie scene.
Her thoughts are full of intense depth you become curious as to where they come from.
Many of her pieces have a wide range of diversity with great craftsmanship. She has a sincere and kind soul.
It is a pleasure to read her works
Name: Nikita Sawant.
Location: Mumbai, India.
Q: How many hours a day do you write?
A: It depends. Being a student, it leaves me little time to indulge in writing after classes and assignments. But I try writing as often as I can.
Q: How do you deal with personal doubters?
A: Sorry, I do not understand the context of the question.
Q: When you were growing up, what made you want to
become a writer?
A: I was always good at putting my thoughts on paper. Early on in my life, I realized that I had to really try to express my thoughts and feelings verbally. So I always used to jot down what I feel and this led to what I do now. Even now, I prefer writing and expressing over talking and expressing, anytime!
Q: Describe a perfect setting where you can get writing done.
A: I can write anywhere. Be it the quietest of places or in rush-hour crowded trains. But I have seen that my best work was produced at 2 a.m., while trying to sleep. And sleep came only after I finished the piece!
Q: What kind of books did you read when you were growing up, if any?
A: I read random books, mostly. One book that made me actually think was Ayn Rand’s ‘The Fountainhead’. I like to read romance a lot. Most of my work is based on it, too. I grew really fond of Mills and Boon classics.
Q: Are you a traditional type of writer (paper and pencil) or do you use your computer to write?
A: I use my computer to write. If I can’t access the computer when I need to write something, I do use paper and pencil, too.
Q: What’s your favorite part of writing?
A: I like my writing to have some twists and turns; something unexpected. And I like it when my work is relatable to others. I like to know what people interpret from my work. Writing is like a parenthesis from normal life. It’s indispensable for me.
Q: How do you get past all the frustrations that come with trying to be a successful writer?
A: As of now, my only priority is writing as much as I can. I’m still a student, so the only obstacle I come across sometimes is writers block.
Q: What do you do when you have several book/piece ideas?
A: It gets a little confusing with all the thoughts in my head, but I try to sort them out and write them as soon as I can. Ideas have a way of escaping as quickly as they strike you!
Q: Do you have an agent representing you/your work to publishers?
A: No.
Q: Have you ever been published/self-published? (list published works and/or experiences – Optional)
A: I haven’t been published so far. I hope to be someday
Q: What genre(s) describes your work?
A: Mostly romance, but I also write about anything that I think is worthy to be put into words. For something to be written about, it has to have that much substance, too.
Q: Do you write under a pseudonym? If so, what is the story behind it?
A: No I do not.
Q: What/who motivates you to write?
A: No one specifically motivates me to write. I draw inspiration and motivation from my surroundings and personal experiences.
Q: Do you have your work showcased on any website?
A: I have my work on WEbook and Facebook.
Q: Share with us a fun fact about yourself.
A: When writing a piece, the title of the piece first strikes me and then I compose a piece around the title. It strikes me as odd and funny sometimes. And I’m not much of a talker, so I and my best friend used to write letters to one another which is kind of funny now.
Q: What does the future hold for you as a writer?
A: Whatever I end up doing, I would want to retire as a writer. I’m studying to be a journalist and as they say, all journalists are writers. But not all get the chance of getting their work published. I would like to be an exception.
Below you can enjoy a few selected pieces by this writer.
.
THE WOMAN IN ME
I would say love is fake,
And I would swear by Satan’s passion,
Lust is no sin for me now,
Just a mad scramble for compassion.
Embark on a journey, and take no map,
Searching for companionship, and a catnap.
But the siesta doesn’t last,
Oh no, it’s not for me,
And I get lost in my way,
As I run scot-free!
I am confused mostly by things,
That people normally do,
When I play scrabble,
I forget what goes where,
I forget English too!
When it all comes to me, in a wild rush,
I go “Ah!” and I all but blush!
It’s a scuttle, believe me you,
For a woman to keep her head,
It’s a task, maybe for two!
And I will think about you, and I will think for you,
And I will think because of you,
Yes it’s true, because when I say I love you,
I really do…
Though some may say it’s just the flu!
But when you say you love me too,
You’d better mean it because if not,
I’ll curse and I’ll swear and I’ll swoon over it,
And when I come around I’ll cry my eyes out,
Something you don’t want, oh my beau!
I can thrash and I can flail and I can be unladylike,
Spill wine all over and my hair I can toss,
Cycle my lungs out; or I can smoke too,
Wrench your neck to put my point across,
And I can blame that time of the month, like I now do!
I would wrestle you and bite,
Trust me it’s a toothy delight!
But when I get bored of it, I can scream “Stop!”
Grudgingly you’d have to set me free,
But I’d simply shrug and say, “Honey, it’s the woman in me!”
.
MELANCHOLY IN JOY
Flying away on the wings of air,
Plunging, soaring, dipping and diving,
Feeling the magic of life so pure…
And then suddenly, out of the blue,
Lightning strikes, thunder claps,
Making the notion of joy unsure…
Virgin at prayer, so white, so holy!
Could a more chaste vision ever be seen?
Blissful and contemplating the face of her Lord,
Kneeling and demeaning the Satan of sin,
Go away Devil, and leave me be!
I’m praying, and thinking, just let me be!
But Satan is strife and all things bad,
He demands and commands and plans a scheme,
He pulls her hair and gets her on her feet,
Shrieking she says, “Oh Lord, I pray to thee!”
He locks her hands behind her back,
Sets her on his shoulder, like a lifeless doll,
She cries out for help, “Someone, please save me!”
Her thoughts scale a tangled deadfall…
Trapped she feels, an animal hunted,
Seeking a place that she can hide in,
People she didn’t know and she didn’t care,
For it was the Lord she wanted to confide in!
Debased she feels by his touch,
Flailing her arms, she cries and thrashes,
She cries like rain on a parched land!
Imagining herself as the bearer of his seed,
She feels helpless and she wants to run,
From the clutches of this fiendish man!
When he plants her down, with a decisive thud,
He also tears apart her velvet robes,
And breaks her sanity down to the floor…
Unfeeling and brutal is his might,
When he forces himself upon her fine form,
Writhing and churning, her body turns sore…
There she waits, with a broken lip,
A blank stare and a broken hip…
But still she sings her faith in her Lord,
Oh Devil, what you did was wrong!
But how did it all end up here?
Why did her smile end up being a tear?
Fondly, she knelt and prayed all day,
Rapturous in the Lord’s rhythm and say!
Such a beautiful picture once she made,
But now that beauty had to fade,
Breaking her faith was the Devil’s ploy,
Never have I seen such Melancholy in Joy!
.
SECRET OBSESSION
I should never have touched you there,
At least not with hands bare…
I couldn’t have been more thoughtless,
Leaving my fingerprints,
All over your throbbing pulse like this.
But you throbbed so alive like,
And held my hand tight, all the while;
Breathing me in like air,
And then choking as you wouldn’t let it go.
I seared my pretty palms,
Trying to keep you away,
But you had a strong hold on me,
As you straddled me on your lap.
And I can’t help but remember,
Those moments last night,
When this very teasing had led to what we had…
Those moments of acidic passion,
Who’d kill the other first with it?
Was the only question;
The only mad obsession.
And it couldn’t have been more right,
We were drunk to our delight!
But I know, what we had was nothing we didn’t want.
Who is to know if it will last?
Who is to judge an instinctive gesture?
That whisper in my ear, that brought it all on?
Who is to know? Not one soul.
And I can’t describe, how it felt;
to have you pour yourself into me,
All that you are, all that you had,
Just for me, no I cannot describe it.
And I could see it hit you deep too,
From the way you never let go,
And when I trembled, you held on;
My shoulders still feel your death grip…
And your kisses still linger,
Hovering little bastards,
Making me purse my lips;
trying to taste you again, to keep them there.
How long will it last, this magic of tastes and desires?
Who is to know?
And I stop thinking, as we go at it again;
Clutching this fiery passion,
Our secret obsession.
.
MY CLANDESTINE AFFAIR
I have secrets I rather not delve into,
Dark, evil ones that shouldn’t be given away,
And I’m scared, to let my devil out…
There is a lifetime crammed in my closet,
And another million years left alone,
It’s something unknown, for me to let out…
And there are images I conjure up,
For the sake of not being alone,
It doesn’t make sense to just let the sorrow be…
But still I feel forlorn and left out,
The images make matters worse,
It still doesn’t add up…does it even matter to me?
Misery has been a living thing,
A strange ache weaves inside of me,
They want to be set free…but can it happen?
Silence settles down on me,
Every time I’m sitting still,
Life seems a maze….a puzzle misshapen…
I fancy talking to my dreams,
Talking to my alter ego, is what people say,
But there are shadows…shadows of people who help…
There’s this imp inside, ready and alive,
To reveal my callous candid tale,
That I’m having a clandestine affair…with myself!
.
SOFT UTTERANCES
Baby, you amaze me,
With your gentleness and quiet,
But you’re still so improbable,
About the power you hold over me!
Don’t make me wonder, honey,
That scares me and you know that,
That I’d come out strong,
And be too unkind…
I want to talk to you,
When you melt in my needy embrace,
I want so much to ask you,
If you feel the same way as I do!
I want to kiss your eyes,
I want to just touch their depth,
But I know I can’t, they’re too deep,
I’m scared I won’t come back…
Baby, I want so much to,
Stroke your lovely curls,
As I know you like it so,
That makes you feel at home…
Your smile, Oh, so chaste,
Like an angel smiling down on me,
Sprinkling stars all over,
Making my home a living heaven!
Alive I am when you lie next to me,
With the heat blazing from your body,
Ah! What joy it is,
To see you crumble against me!
And still I see you rising up,
Like a shining new sun,
To take the reins in your hand,
And then break me down…
Baby, I’m amazed,
You always seem to stop time,
I never want it to start again,
I don’t want to return alive…
I want to reach inside,
Pull my heart out,
Hand it over to you,
As I know you’d keep it safe!
Your lips close around my ear,
Sending shivers down my spine,
You back away just long enough to utter,
Soft utterances that blow my mind!
.
DISSONANT MELODY
Striking chords,
Completely dissatisfied,
Guitar, Sitar,
Violin and the Harp…
Sitting lonesome,
In an overflowing compartment,
Of a bulging train,
Like a loaded elephant…
Biting cold,
It’s raining outside,
Shivering against,
The chill inside…
Making music,
Within my head,
Disgruntled chortle,
Of the night train…
Chugging chugging,
On the deathly tracks,
Taking my body to my destination,
While my soul weeps and sacks…
Chattering teeth,
While in a trance,
Looking at everything,
Registering nothing…
Eyes blood red,
From the pouring rain,
People look on,
As if in a daze…
Clamped together,
In that wicked night,
Even the moon wouldn’t show,
Its unholy sight…
Pulling my scarf,
Tighter around my throat,
I just want to go home,
Yet, I don’t want to go…
Finally the train,
Pulls at my station,
Striking chords of satisfied disharmony,
Feeling its way through a dissonant melody!
.
Click here to read more from Nikita’s work.
