I cannot effing sleep.

It's been 48 hours
and I have slept for barely five.
I am not anxious.
Nor am I high.
I ran 6 kms yesterday
and I still am not tired.
I wrote & read like any other day
and I had six balanced diets.
My heart rate is normal
and I'm feeling rather light.
I am just a wee bit worried
that this hyperactivity
might end in keeping me up
for yet another night.

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I sit in front of Photoshop,
satisfied with the day,
a day when I slept (finally!),
a day when I made yum pulao for parents,
a day when I took Sitar lessons
over Whatsapp video call after 4 months
and found out why a teacher is necessary—
I was playing the right things in the wrong way,
wrong fingers on the right frets
and hence, never speedy enough.

I sit in front of Photoshop, satisfied
after a fast 2k on the treadmill in the living room,
and wrap the cover design of Postman's
recent book, Pocket Sized Love Letters,
and then, write this poem on Day 2 of
the 100 poems for 100 days challenge.
Tomorrow's wallpapers are next in line,
given my mood, they will turn out just fine.

-

Professionally, today was a big day.
The Government of India recognised YourQuote.
Thousands of messages flooded in
from friends, fellow writers, well-wishers,
extended family and even school teachers.
My parents and the team were the happiest.
I was, too. It took a three year long wait
to hear a good news from outside.

Personally, today was a bigger day.
I graduated from being a cook to a baker.
I got my first OTG, an oven toaster griller,
and celebrated the day with homemade pizzas.
Baking is like coding, needs accuracy else things burn.
Right temperature, right time, right placement.
Cooking is like writing. Do what you please.
Just don't forget the salt. Guess what I'll like more?

-

This month, I have been running
on a treadmill almost everyday
clocking 1k, 2k, 3k and even 5k once.
It'd be hard—not physically
but mentally to persist beyond that.
I'd find excuses on the run:
the room is too stuffy,
my tonsured head too sweaty,
the insinuating smell of mustard oil
on the stove too suffocating.
Gosh! I wish I was out in the open.

Today, I ventured just outside home
for a run after a month.
Six kilometers into my run today,
I figured why I'd easily continue for another 4k
and make it one complete 10k—
home was still 3.5 kilometers away.

It's easier to persist when running towards home
than when running away from it.

-

Nowadays, nights are spent working.
Avro, YQ's product designer,
the man behind how the app looks,
feels, smells, tastes, is designing
our newest product, YourWallpaper,
and I make wallpapers for you.
It is nice having two designers—
one professional, I, the amateur—
collaborate, argue, come up
with the future on our laptops.

You know why I like working in a startup?
It lets us live a bit of the future in the present.

-

My day started late, like it usually does nowadays,
but it doesn't really matter. I'm smiling.
I ended up finishing many things
I was procrastinating for days.
I made yum South-Indian style paneer
for the birthday boy, Papa.
I designed the pending book covers.
I drilled holes on the window pane & clamped
the guitar hanger with the Hofner 3/4th.
I helped Ma with her first Unacademy class.
I ran a 5k finally, phew, late night.
Stretched with yoga for 30 minutes.
I finished Bandish Bandits with Dad,
which inspired me to play the sitar
for an hour and half at 2 am in the night.
I fasted in the morning, I'm fasting now.
And I just finished writing this journal too.
At last, I will read myself to sleep.

A day is like a story. In the end, it's how you end it
that matters. I am ending it with a smile.

-

Today evening, I donned a mask,
took out my bicycle after the sunset
and decided to go for a ride.
I cycled in the dark amidst the traffic,
on crammed roads of
the C. V. Raman Nagar and Indiranagar,
my spectacles covered with the mist of my breath.
I had no headlight,
just a red LED blinking behind the cycle.
At the start, I was scared for myself.
What if a car hits, not seeing me?
By the end, I was scared for the pedestrians.
I almost crashed into them twice. They were crossing
the road unaware of a cycle speeding their way.

I had a helmet, an LED, a cycle bell and two brakes with me.
They just had their feet & their life on the road.

-

MY AUGUST GHAZAL

It's not only mine but also YourQuote's birthday in August.
At the cusp of 31, my youth is about to slip away in August.

I plan to run a non-stop 10 miler as the 31st birthday gift.
There better be a drastic change in what I weigh in August.

I read & got started with intermittent fasting from tonight.
16 hours fast, 8 hours of eating is what I'll obey in August.

At 30, I resolved to make my health the priority of my life.
At 31, my report card might just be up for display in August.

There is a reason why we chose August as the month of lists.
Birthday month, it is. Resolutions choose to stay in August.

YQ, on its 4th anniversary, has grand plans for everyone.
Your ardent readers can subscribe to you & pay in August.

Harsh, you sound quite hopeful. What's happening, tell me?
There is something. :) I'll rather wait and not say in August.

-

Books are strewn on my bed
as if a backstage of a fashion show
of retired models.

I just paraded them on my Instagram
for an AMA about books with their pictures,
and now they feel tired
with all the attention they got
after years of eating dust.
Surprisingly, they don't mind me,
somehow even feel safe around,
knowing I mean well, that I care,
despite not knowing them fully.
The fellow models tell them
how last winter week I spent
my days & nights listening to their stories.

Books have tongues. Gossip is bound to happen
when you place so many stories together.

-

A NIGHT GHAZAL

The difficulties of the day disappear at night.
I can't seem to choose what to wear at night.

Sleepless, I walk from one corner to the other.
Dreams or nightmares—what to fear at night?

Empty street, empty apartment, empty bed.
Morning—the only thing that is near at night.

I'm tired of clichés in writings about love loss.
Sad stories don't make me shed tears at night.

If not sorrow, what makes your night, Harsh?
Clever use of language has my ear at night.

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