You were crying in your room when I entered. I saw tears running down your face.
I asked, what happened?
You said, he died.
I asked, Who?
You said, The character in my book. And started howling again.

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I try to gather my thoughts. To knit a poem or prose. They keep scattering. I catch one word here two there. And when I pen them down. To my disappointment, they just don't make any sense. But somehow, the process calms me down, and I think that's when the goal is achieved. Cause for me, the primary purpose of writing or any sort of art is to calm your nerves and soothe your heart, everything else is just the aftermath.

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You confessed,
She accepted
And I blushed and bookmarked the page.

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Every broken thing pierce a little more when touched upon.

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Crying isn't "manly" thing to do.

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Men thinking feminism as anti-male.

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We treat our daughters like sons.

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How do you come to terms with the truth when you know, It will consume your life forever? How do you become strong enough to absorb something that you know will flip your life upside down? How do you prepare your heart to accept something that will make your whole life a lie? How do you put faith in something that makes your existence a mere mockery?

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Train journeys are special. At least for me, they have always been special. I don't know what about it makes them so special. I guess they teach us how to move on with a smile intact on your face in anticipation of new things ahead. How not to cry seeing things that you leave behind. How peaceful it is to keep moving, not stopping at one place longer than required.

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It shouldn't have been "बेटी पढ़ाओ, बेटी बचाओ"
It should have been "बेटा पढ़ाओ, बेटी बचाओ"
Cause unless you didn't educate your boys, nothing is going to change. You, as parents, must teach your boys No means No. It is your responsibility to teach them "होंठों पर अगर ना है तो दिल में भी ना ही है" and make sure that they don't take these sexiest Bollywood lyrics to their hearts.

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