Alone I stood

At the edge of my cliff

Taunted by the sea that stretched beneath

Long way down, miles down.


They had all flown away

Soaring in the sky

Showing off their feathers

Tempting me to fly.


So I ran to the brink

And flapped my wings

But a gush of fear

Washed away the courage within.


Betrayed by my strength

To my hole I returned

Where I had spent nights

Dreaming of my marvelous flights

With wind rushing against my breasts

Over my stomach

Below my chest.


This was it

The moment had come

I realized

And mustered all the courage

For my first flight.


I ran to the brink

And flapped my wings

And with a scream

Joined the wind.


A terror seized me

My heart stood still

But when I opened my eyes

I was flying.


That is when I realized

I was always able to fly

Because I was born for the sky

Because I was born for the sky .


dance with your demons

Depression is the most prodigious feeling. It’s colossal. If you have never been there, never been consumed by that aching chasm, you cannot quite understand what goes through the mind of those, who’re constantly blaming themselves for everything. You will never get how dark glumness can be. How amputating vulnerability is. How hard something as textbook as waking up from bed and facing the world can become.


Depression is as ruffling as it sounds; it will chill you to the marrow, and let me tell you something that no one will ever dare to tell you: You can never vanquish depression! But if you accept this and embrace it until it becomes a part of you and flows through your system, you can dance with your demons and fall in love with them. You can feel more deeply than those whose hearts have never been broken and hence have never truly opened. Feeling deeply, however, depressing, shouldn’t be traded for anything.

-The girl who lived.

It’s bucketing as I write this. I am sitting at the doorstep of my room. I moved in here 3 months back. Oh that was such a turbulent time; much like the weather right now. But this commotion is strangely comforting, possibly because I am only a spectator and not a part of the chaos (or a cause of it?).


The stray cat gives me company as I sip on the tea my landlady was kind enough to serve me. It’s undoubtedly the worst thing I have ever put my lips to (and that’s quite a thing to say given my kissing history!).


I am thinking about the time this picture was taken; whether I was happy, what was bothering me that day, is it still bothering me today, what all have I learnt since then, what all have I let go off.


The cat growls a little, apparently, irritated with my musings! I shut my thoughts up and enjoy the moment instead, so that tomorrow when I wonder about today, I’ll be certain that I was happy. 🙂

The Intolerant Indian

Sorry to disappoint you, but this post is not about JNU or the ‘Beef-killing’ or even Aamir Khan’s comment about where his wife planned to relocate (or how Modi could drop her on his way to that country!). Would you ‘tolerate’ it if I said that the title was only a marketing gimmick to pull you here and increase my ‘views’ on WordPress? But Indians are a tolerant race, much like Brutus was an honourable man!

I went to the university today, like I did yesterday and the day before, because I have to ‘tolerate’ it, for that ‘shit’ of paper, which will be handed over to me as a stamp (blotch?) of 2 years of tolerance! There is this one professor who I call my favourite, not because I like him but because he is the least insufferable. Isn’t that how we Indians define our favourites? Anything that we can’t talk about for more than 12 seconds is, apparently, something we like. Because if we don’t, we can go on yapping about it (or them) for hours and days and years, if not decades (sorry Mom!).  Yes, so Mr S was lecturing us about surveys when he swiftly took a detour and started talking about cricket matches at Eden and those at Lords. (P.S.: I love his digressions because I learn more through them than when he is teaching the subject!) So here’s his observation:

If today India plays England in England and the British-Indians wave the Indian flag, nothing happens, nobody panics. But if Pakistan plays India in India and an Indian-Pakistani (yes, they do exist!) waves the Pakistani flag, everyone loses their mind!

Very Joker-ish of him, I know, but Joker was the only one who made sense when the (K)night was dark! 🙂



A due adieu

“Give someone a cuddle or a hug. It induces, umm O-o-o-xy-to-cin, yes Oxytocin. It’s called the love drug, Ranu. For women some estrogen or something is produced. Good for the body, they say”, she declared animatedly while munching on her food. Muni was in class 6 & interested in science or so her 11 year old self thought. Her Gran, on the other hand, didn’t understand half of what she was lecturing her about, almost all of it gibberish to her. Nonetheless, she lend her ears, and that was all the fledgling badly wanted.

This time of the day was their favorite. Ranu waited for Muni, with her much loved, lemonade, sacrificing her after lunch nap. Muni, on the other hand, waived her Cartoon Network off to tell Gran how her day had unfolded – an in depth account of each class, especially, the lunch break, during which all exciting things happen. Muni was often upset with Ranu for keeping her sentiments to a minimum. Ranu hated PDAs, “waving emotions as if they were flags”, she would proclaim. Ranu never responded to Muni’s, ‘I love yous ‘ nor did she reciprocate the hugs or kisses. She would, sometimes, even make fun of it. In reality, Ranu wanted Muni to recognize that love is not in the words but in the actions. But Muni was too little and naïve to grasp this deep a life lesson.

Days went by. While their friendship grew stronger, Ranu grew frailer until she was almost completely consumed by the ‘evil’ of Osteoporosis. Muni, fairly as expected, had grown up and her interests had shifted from Science to Arts, CN to MTV. From being daddy’s girl to a rebel heart, she was an adult, like any other, trying to find a purpose. But throughout all these transitions, the one thing constant in her life was her bond with Ranu.

Muni was Ranu’s strength. She would nurse her and tend to her as though she was her baby sister. But then, soon their paths had to separate when Muni had to go to college. Her world was setting off while the curtains to her Gran’s life were drawing to a close. This was to be their last good bye (though none knew of it). Muni kissed Ranu, and kept her head lightly on those frail shoulders when she felt something on her back, something that felt as light as a leaf, something that was trying to caress her, love her. Her Gran had hugged her back!


Happiness Overrated

Delicately lay moments

Trembling cruel fingers!

Let flavours blend,

But free and loud.

Greying cruel eyes


Neatly assembling my collage.

A ‘picture-perfect’ life !

But the ugliness I conceal ?

Scarred tissues in me?

My bones crave sadness

The Relaxing night I sleep into!

Happiness: Is that what I really want?

The window in me

Sights a blue ladder

Against a grey wall.

Each step:

Losing the ground

Breaking the bonds

“But the view on top is beautiful”

The ‘lucky ones’ say,

Nothing to touch nothing to keep !

Happiness : Is that what I really want?

So let me grow a shiny shell

With you under my skin

And all along the way

We’ll just breathe !!

The Dichotomy of Love

The Dichotomy of Love


I remember watching, “The Bridges of Madison County” and crying my eyes out when it ended without Robert and Francesca living their fairytale, their “happily-ever-after”; something that my 16 year old self was not inured to! I remember the same wretched melancholy trying to haunt me again, a year later, when I watched, “Atonement”! This time, I must say, I found myself receiving a mellower blow. Time had shown me by then that love is not always ‘rainbows and butterflies’! It has heartburns and anguishes, heartbreaks and disappointments. The fault in the stars cannot be altered by mere mortals, like you and I. I had understood that love doesn’t follow our expectations. It’s enigmatic and absolute. To quote Gibran, “Love possesses not nor would it be possessed.”

I know, I am blackwashing something cruel for you to consider, asking you to question all the fantasies and fibs that you grew up on, unlearn the always and forevers. I, being a hopeless romantic myself, can very well identify with your dilemma. However, if a love couldn’t be lived, does not in any way mean, that it never was! Love is not something so trifling that it would need closure. The idea of love, is like that of God. He exists despite us. His existence isn’t subject to our belief in Him or whether our prayers are answered each time. Quite ironically, His presence is felt deeper through unanswered prayers. The sorrow of it draws us closer to Him. Analogously, a love incomplete is amorous and most passionate, the realest.  A legend of pure love, that the world has worshipped, would be Radha Krishna’s, chaste though flawed. A love of this sort happens but once every lifetime.

Love is an amusement of extremes – you revel in its glories and dooms. It’s strange how one thing can be so charming in its prodigality, embracing both good and evil, pleasure and pain.  Masochistic pleasure of the pain of love is something we can all relate to. Otherwise how would you explain why we follow love when it summons us, even though we are conscious of the turmoil it has in store for us? A candle eloquently burns itself to illuminate the world around it; a clichéd analogy but nonetheless poignant.

I appeal that my musings mustn’t be mistaken for dissuasions. On the contrary, I am bringing you to recognise love in its totality, because otherwise you will be one of those unfortunate many, who do not allow themselves to soak love in its entirety, and so are miserable. Love and be loved though the road is brutal and steep. It will crown you king and also crucify you.  But if you try to restrain it with shackles and hold on tight, it will suffocate and die a definitive death. This love will persist, in the ordinary sense of the word, but it will actually be a breathing lifeless body. It’s for you to choose what you seek and settle for!

Bereavement in love is completely ubiquitous and it is healed only when you acknowledge that it will return to you, though in a different form. You just have to believe in its comeback and recognize it when it makes one.  Love and be loved!