Sometimes I fail to understand
How we started romanticizing
Speaking our hearts out;

In real life,
The harsh truth the heart holds,
Only hurts if told.
Only breaks people apart,
Distance and guilt,
It's recipe for a melancholic art.— % &If the world is not built of people
Who can listen,
Then why do they say
That this world is for people
Who let out their heart's content?
— % &

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Sometimes the one
who was supposed to be there,
Make you laugh,
Be your cheerleader,
Will pick up the phone years later,
Only to point out
Where you sucked.

Sometimes the one
Who was supposed to
Wipe your tears,
Will only reach you,
Once the tears have dried up,
To tell you,
Tears looked better on you,
You should do it more often.

-

Before you speak in front of me, know this, degrading and disregarding another woman or women will not be tolerated.

I am not different.
I am just like each of them.

-

In a race of washing away their sins,
Some of them got left behind.
Question is,
Whether they didn't sin enough
to qualify for the dip?
Or the lord, the invisible protector,
Needed a break?

-

29th December 2024

This day marks two years someone beloved departed for their final journey.
Two years since I learnt what trauma really is,
And I how I react to it.
Two years since I knew how immensely strong I am,
And how much I can love.
Two years since I learnt I should have brought flowers for him,
Because when I did it was too late for him to know.

It slowly taught me
What grief truly is.
It isn't white clothes
Or melancholic music.
It is a series of feelings.
Feelings that strangely starts with shame.
I felt smaller under the sympathetic eyes of everyone around.
I felt angry, angry at the dead.
Angry at the dead for dying.
Then came the phase of questioning why me?
I looked for answers everywhere.
At some point realised the search was endless,
And I still had a life to live. — % &And then gradually came the phase
Where I learnt grief is nothing but paralysis.
It'll haunt you to the core,
Show up during the happiest hours,
Make you stop in your way on a happy go lucky day,
And you can do nothing about it.
You try to feed the poor,
You try to donate,
You try to live as he would have liked,
But nothing brings him back.

It took me two years to learn
I'll never flee the grief.
I'll never find a love that replaces it.
I'll learn to grow with it.
I'll let it create a depth in me.
And on days I can fight it,
My boxing punches will have the force.
And on days I can't,
I'll let it flow.
After all tears are the truest form of it. — % &

-

One day you realise
Maturing was not only about wisdom
But also about adulteration of your soul;
Letting crimson take over your white,
Because stains are less visible that way.

(Continued...)
— % &One day you realise
The traits that were seen negatively,
Will be necessary to survive
In this game called life.
That you miss your old soul,
But the adulterated one is working better for you.

And then one day
You see a child,
With a pure smile,
And a zeal to grow up
As early as possible,
You smile and murmur,
'Take your time buddy,
It's a long road ahead.'— % &

-

It was 12 am.
On a ill lit mountain top,
He brought me to sit under the starlit sky.
I wanted to sit by the edge,
He wanted to move towards inside.
I said, 'the fun is in being on the edge.'
He said, 'the peace is in knowing you are safe.'
I smiled.
We shifted inside.

I asked what's next,
He said nothing.
We sit and watch the stars all night.
The ADHD stricken me mentally cried for help.
The same view for next 7 hours?
He reached for his bag.
'Please tell me you are carrying booze?'
He smiled and brought out a thermo flask.
And then 2 kulhads.
'I am carrying garam chai.'

As we took sips of the tea
He asked me to pick a star.
I picked.
He told me how the star was born.
Stunned, I asked how do you know?
He responded, 'I imagined.'
I picked another star.
He charned another story.
As the night progressed,
His stories deepened.
At some point he picked a star.
It was my turn to tell a story.
I did tell a mediocre story
And then accepted, 'I am not a storyteller.'
He smiled,
'If you look look through my eyed,
Of all the stars we picked,
This star is now shinning the brightest.'— % &With time, the conversation travelled from stars to life.
The life we led, the feelings we felt,
The love we harbour and the things we care for.
It was around 3 am, when the moon started to set.
The more part of it was veiled,
The more mysterious it became.
It's light fell on the edge of the mountain in front of us,
And the silhouette of Rhododendrons lined against it became visible.
I watched in awe.
Like there was so much to consume,
So much to see.
As I brought my camera out,
He held my hand.
'The scene is too vast for any lens.'
I put my camera down,
And looked into his eyes instead.
The moonlight was reflecting through his eyes.
I reached for them.
I ran my fingers through his face,
Tracing moonlight all the way.
His face relaxed,
His smile broadened.
It was the moment I fell in love.
My heart throbbed.
Like it was coming out of the ribcage,
To lay open in front of him.
We waited till the last ray of moonlight on his face,
And then as the first ray of sunlight fell on it,
He gave me his hand to get me up on my feet.
As I got up, I fell straight into his arms.
Our lips reached for each other.
If love is magic, the sun rays on his lips was the magician that day. — % &

-

The BMS queue for the Coldplay concert
And the hilarious reaction of millennials
Taught me one thing today -
10 years later,
You will use
your poor AIEEE/JEE/NEET rank
that seemed like the end of life then
As your meme content.

-

Life is a race only if you are running in it.
Otherwise life can be a drive too.
You can choose your destination
Far enough to know you have driven,
But close enough for you to still come back home.

-

For you, it's just another news,
For me it is another tight grab around the pepper spray.
For you it's the tiredness after a long day at work,
For me it is the anxiety whether I'll reach home safely today.
For you it is just some malfunctioning street lights, matter of inconvenience;
For me it is a poorly lit street,
Passing through it makes my character questionable.
For you it is a matter of the type of clothes, the tone of voice, the time of the day and her lack of prudence.
For me it is a jacket covering my dress, live locations shared with a friend, double checking for hidden cameras and self defence.
For you it's not all men, that few case of false charges by women.
For me it is knowing and imagining myself in the horror that 90 women has suffered today, another 90 will suffer tomorrow, day after and each day.

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