पन्नो के भरोसे हम सब का पन्ना,
कितने फाड़ोगे कितने बनाओगे,
एक दिन तुम भी बस पन्नो से ही बाते करोगे,
और एक दिन वो भी सिर्फ़ तुमसे,
और फिर शुरू होगा और एक पन्ना |

पन्नो के भरोसे हम सब का पन्ना |

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• Roots •

Imagine lives being multiple lines, with different start and end points along the time and space line. For anyone to be able to understand the perspective of roots for each one of them, would take introspections as to where the journey started from, and then interventions to see if they understand the points which they didn’t traverse through. This is where on-the-ground exposure comes into picture, in my view. The act of going further backwards that you came from to understand what is it that you need to solve if they are your target audience, be it from administrative perspective, or from social work perspective or a product or understanding a person on a deeper level.

If you look closely, you would see that the mesh converge in the understanding, what lies beneath is a world of cognition, a world of introspection and something so abstract but yet so structured. It’s just that you need to understand, that unless you dig deeper, you would never make sense of what it is that you are looking for, and what it is that you should look for.

Maybe, If we could pause, look around and make efforts to find the roots, the world would be a much better place.

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You do most of the talking
when you’re silent.

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• The channel •

It was cold, and I could see the silhouettes walking with me staring at the ceiling of the head, as if I was one of them. I blended, and then slowly started staring at the ceiling of the heads. It all made sense, as they now mumbled and fumbled with the languages they thought I knew, and then everything went silent.

I looked at them looking at me, and that was the moment I realised I wasn’t one of them, and so did they. I started walking again, with them following me following them, It was as if we were in a circle, i wondered why, and then there was light, at the end of the tunnel, where it seemed to end. I looked back and noticed the silhouettes walking along with me, waiting to see if they were still alive because I was.

The light was brighter than I thought and then slowly It became darker. It seemed that to be watched was a bigger freedom than to be not and that’s how it all began. To be the channel, not one from the Thames, but of the other side, a journey of transition and change, which is seen only by the people who don’t confine themselves into silhouettes.

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What we know to not know
to have known to know
should’ve been known
had we wanted to know.

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• Silence • Delhi , 9-Apr-25

Silence, It touches you; In ways you know you won’t accept to be understood. Calm breaths, soaking in every ounce of bounded freedom, making you yours and yet no one’s. It’s strange, how we rely on stories to feel alive, and be alive to feel stories. In words, everything makes sense, eventually; but question is, should it? should we always have to be dying to feel the loss of life, isn’t it brutal enough to be living it through stories?

The realities are astonishingly brutal, like you are sitting in a carbon fibre box, while the world crumbles down, and even though you don’t end up perishing, you feel you should. What are people without people doing people things around, I ask. Most of you would agree, but then again - you still won’t speak up against silence.

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16 March 2025 • Delhi, India

Around 7 months ago, the last time I was here I fell in love with the spices the vendors put in. There’s a bit of tanginess, the food just near to home but also not too far away from that rowdy street you would sneak out to, and get scolded for afterwards.

Just like any other metropolitan, the city keeps moving, you have got to be careful, but I have heard from Delhites - that’s how the world is and Delhi prepares you for that, and It kind of hit me. Delhi is about adaptation, teaching you how to survive with so many cultures blending in. While I was en route to my stay, I saw Bengali Market - which took me back to my roots, but then I also saw Punjabi Bagh , and then Nizamuddin, and then Rajendra Nagar and It kept on coming.

Delhi brings in a tint of excitement, and while It’s been just few hours, It’s already growing on to me. Here’s one to Delhi.

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• 14 March 2025 , Saigon, Vietnam •

It’s been an hour since I have been sitting at the bench at the Nguyen Hue Street , facing the bright displays of ads on the skyscrapers, when a bubble flies past almost touching my nose while I momentarily look at my screen, changing my focus to a kid, running zig zag on the walkway firing guns of bubbles at people, making them pay attention to the small joys of life.

The north-bound breeze from the Saigon River, makes it a pleasant evening to sit and listen to music while the city keeps moving. I am joined by two men from their early sixties, who are looking at the life, with a sense of pride, peace and disbelief, and a fee policemen embracing the vibe, occasionally looking the top of the skyline, sometimes at the kids playing, sometimes at the couples clicking pictures, sometimes at groups pulling their friends’ legs, while making sure they do their job.

Saigon, and all of Vietnam is a testament of how you don’t give up for what defines you. The kids now are firing the guns directly at me, I have got to go, the bubbles have ambushed me.

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I wish I could name you in the prompts
so that you could respond as you would
but then I’d know it’d be me
talking to me, like I’d want it to
but I didn’t love you, to be talking to another me.

I guess, recreating you is a futile attempt
remembering you, as you were
is the most feasible option
but that also means
you’re lost.

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• Places •

There’s something strange about living every moment. It transcends dimensions you are not even aware of, and if you end up liking it, losing it feels like being lost. Imagine being in space without thrusters attached to help you navigate yourself.

Places, a mesh of land masses, walked over by people, decorated by their emotions and thoughts, reimagined by their journeys, and actions, almost making them theirs, yet not and that’s the beauty of it.

But in the process you leave a part of yourself, knowingly or unknowingly, because even though places may not become you fully, you do become them, and I guess that’s why it hurts - Leaving.

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