I call it, Love.

I was just wondering if you still think of me?

-Sleep, you’re drunk.

But I sure know that I miss being next to you. 

But we are older now and I’ll be getting married soon.

And I can’t let you be on my mind 365 day of the year.

I can’t harm everything which is waiting ahead of me.

As I’ll be getting married soon.

And it won’t be you!

But some days when my eyes meet that box of petels and photographs which I keep under covers. Away from sun, dirt, and rain. I think of you.

I think of the days we spent with each other finding home away from home.

How I clenched onto your navy blue pants, which you left to me, they still smell you. I think of you.

How I still get confused between taking right or left, trying to recall the difference which you once taught me. I think of you.

I think of those stolen evenings spent leaning on you every day of week, before you could leave the country.

I think of us a lot of times.

But I hope, I hope you look for me in every girl you meet.

Cause, I don’t know if I should feel happy that I’ve known what home was in your arms or bitter.

Because I know, I’ll never be home again!


To the one, I love..

I never thought it would teach me so many things, in so different ways.
..Nothing teaches patience more than long distance relationships.

Witnessing some of the best conversations at airport departures, some of the loveliest memory over minute-meets, clearly understanding the definition of dream by looking straight through his eyes.. yet refuse to accept the change, and not to forget the heart wrenching goodbyes..

It’s like writing a script expecting him return to you, saying “I am forgetting something?”

And you start looking around in panic as he is getting late to catch his flight.

While he stood their watching you move, getting restless until he holds you to make you realise what he is leaving behind.

 “Am here to take you, come.” 

And you suddenly get hit by one of the strongest emotion of standing at the either side of the departure gate, looking at each other through the glass window while still being on the phone and sigh each time the announcer said, “Last few minutes before we close, check-in.” 


..W A I T I N G days after days, until you become actor in all of the scripts.

And what if he never returns?

But the feelings may remain..

That Wednesday afternoon when you sang to me in your broken voice.
I knew. It’s time to believe.

All the childish thought of yours, that the aeroplane shit drops down, moon could follow your car, orange was considered the coolest colour, how donuts could easily replicate the South-Indian dish menduwada, and many more countless insensible thoughts started making sense. 
Is when, I knew. This would go long.

You remember the hault you had, for the car you loved which we met our way back home? 
Is when, I saw dreams in your eyes shining brighter than the sunshine.

Look, “You stand within me, exact in the middle” you said, while editing your name with mine.
Is when, I got a reason to live for.

That heavy strawberry pieces left in the middle of the shake, un-churned purposefully, by you. Just for me. 
Is when I felt, everything and nothing at the exact same time.

To finally when you stopped me saying, “Keep your hand free. While we greet goodbyes.” every time we met.
Is when, I realised. That to feel is to live.

And as I started to learn the mole on your neck, which my eyes could meet every time you took me out for a ride, sharing every bit of you right from your shower stories, to your tiny trek achievements, to self discovery of your pizza recipes, to your Life goals, as our shadows collide.
Is when, I believed such thing comes once in lifetime.

Although I never expected it to be a bed of roses, when I decided to spent the rest of my life tip toeing around the idea of us, because I knew you, I knew me, and I knew YouMe.

But now,

Us? Just as scattered as my thoughts are. 

As I realise,

That all the questions are left unanswered, and the answers are not questioned anymore.

Little joys of life..

Fresh page. Clean water. Discovering new places which hasn’t been discovered by the world yet. The smell when it rains. Cup cakes for dinner. Cafes that serve free food. Happy faces. Comforting arm. Great ideas that come in the middle of the night. New movies. Old friends. Great books. Night walk. Songs that get you. Laughs and giggles. Conversation. Red roses. A hand to hold. A friend to talk. Seashore. Candles that take you to another time and place. Long shower. Lazy afternoons. Tiny efforts. Change, even if you don’t see it as a good thing yet. Cozy corners. Good sleep. Passports because they guarantee conversations on how “terrible” you look in the photo. Journeys. New day. Sunshine. Sunrise. Moonlight. What Next? Where Now? OhKay. Goodbye. 

In bed with society!

Ever faced caste differences? Yes. Came across a point where it all goes in line? Well yes. No wonder am here talking about the ultimate term, “log kya kahenge?” This is the biggest question that dominates the view, and the major reason behind the cynicism. How will it work? What name will you give to your child? What rituals will they follow? How will the families adjust? Will you convert or ask him to do the honours? 

This isn’t a wonderland, and you’re no Alice. You shouldn’t have thought about this at the first place. I’ve been pinched through these questions around the corner…
I wonder if the people stating, would have thought before stepping out of their mother’s womb or would have taken permission before making sex. Why would we not be more of peace loving than socially acceptable kind of people in this world? Whom would you put first your very own kid? Or the society that will come only to dine, talk, comment, leave and forget. How far will you go to keep the society happy? 

Not all get the one they love. Nor all love the one they get. Nah? Then what to think about? Why to think about? Both of us would survive apart, but for what? 

As in the end you’re alone at night and neither of us wants to be. And you can’t fill your bed with groupies. It doesn’t work. I dont want to be a swinger. I’ve being through it all and nothing works better than to have someone you love hold you. 
Then asked Happiness for you – Morning coffee with him! 

How can I enter, if you refuse to open?

When you look at someone for the first time, you don’t know if they prefer tea or coffee or if they have pet dog or if they like yellow lights and antiques. You don’t know why they love the colour orange or why they prefer long walks on seashore at night time. You don’t know what makes them laugh hysterically or why they have invisible cracks on their body, you don’t know their reasons to be broken. How on some day they feel the world beneath their feet and on the other days the very same feet tremble on the bathroom floor. You don’t know why they incline towards moonlight over sunshine. You don’t know why the cold side of the pillow makes them believe in magic. You don’t know why they are suddenly happy when the clock reads 11.11 or why they fear the dark. You never get to know anything remotely substantial about a person on the basis of their looks –none of the immaculate details that define them, anyway. All you get to do is assume, and hope you get to walk past facade, and into their soul. Once you reach there and exist along with their deepest, darkest secrets and extreme vulnerability, you get to know them for who they really are.

Only then, you see them for the first time.

Only then you know why?

Only then, you fall in love.

Lets run away to yesterday..

I often wonder how happy and chirpy I used to be as a child. I would write statements like ‘I am the best’ and used words like joyous, playful, and merry-girl, to portray myself in the slam books I filled. How difficult it use to be for me to get rid of some old clothes even when they no longer fitted me. There use to be fun, family, drama, chaos and me.

And now, there are nights that don’t pass, and days that don’t come. There’s sadness and sorrow hovering all around. Has anyone I know died? No. Did something awful happen over? Not really.

Yet, and yet I have lost the energy to leave my house, the passion to work towards my goal, the enthusiasm to look forward for a new day. What is it that has changed? Why are we all consistently suffering, always stressed and forever unhappy? I think, deep down we all know the answer. Isn’t it daunting to think how social media absolutely transformed our lives? It bought miles of distances to an extend that you bedroom and even your washroom is no left longer private. Privacy is dead. And who killed it? Well we all know.

With clatter of applications, notifications, and friend request it’s become harder to differentiate between a human versus a phone. Our emotions too have become slaves to technology.

As I scroll down my Facebook newsfeed at frequent intervals, I see people going abroad to study or work; I see humans getting married to other humans and posing at exotic locations; I see #SaturdayNights and #FridayFun; I see poems, photographs, art, videos, paintings, articles, achievements, success and triumph – all of it staring at me, laughing at me, making me feel insignificant and inconsequential.

Don’t get me wrong. I am not a evil person in general nor an anti-social one.

As much happy as I am for everyone else’s feats, it all comes down to that one question – What am ‘I’ doing in life?
Am I good enough for this world? Am I strong enough to survive this competition? Have I wasted 21 years of my life? Am I missing out on all things important? Did I choose the right field? Have I made my parents proud? What is my real dream? Will I ever be able to achieve it? Do I even have an ambition? Can I make it to another day? Well, the questions never seem to end.

I visited an old friend today, the corner of her home still had that broken clock reading 4:12 am, just like it did years ago.

Now I know. What is that has changed.